#i feel like such a failure at everything i do

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 18 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You find out why you have been feeling so sick lately. Some things are good. Some things are bad. And other things are straight-up cruel.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues/abortion, kidney failure, poisoning, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The voices were so soft that you barely even heard them, but you knew they were there.

You were probably dreaming. But what were you dreaming about? What had you dreamed? Were you already fully awake – awake enough to forget what you had been dreaming about?

A sharp pain in your arm made your eyes flutter open and you glanced around in panic. It suddenly all came back again, quick and unyielding.

The blood. He had to be dead. But, God, why was he dead? And why had he followed you?

Your gaze flew around the room, helplessly trying to recognize where the hell you were, when it suddenly dawned on you. You weren’t home.

Maybe you were indeed still dreaming.

Or maybe it was a nightmare you were caught in.

You gasped loudly and tried to sit up, only to feel a pair of gentle, yet firm hands, push you back down.

“Stop, I- What-“

“Shh.” He kept you gently pressed against the bed and regarded you with a look so tender and concerned, it immediately increased your panic. “It’s okay. It’s okay. We’re in the hospital. You’re alright.”

You glanced around, only to then realize it. The white walls, the neon lights, the rustling and the people around you. One looked like a doctor, another one like a nurse, but she left quickly.

It slowly came back to you. The wardrobe. The dizziness. The god-awful amount of blood. Your first impulse was to ask him what had happened, but you kept quiet. Everything was just too much – and his expression was by far the worst about it. His brows were furrowed in concern and his eyes were soft and cautious, as if he expected you to pass out again any moment.

He hadn’t even managed to get properly changed. You still saw the faint traces of blood on his shirt, right under his jacket. And even his hands had that light, red glow of someone who had just butchered a lamb.

The faint cut right above his eyebrow was new. And it made your heart clench.

“What happened?” You whispered hoarsely. “How long was I-“

“The doctor was just about to explain.” He said as he gently squeezed one of your hands in his both. “I told him that you don’t speak Korean. He’ll explain it in English.”

Your eyelids fluttered in confusion. He was behaving so…odd.

Of course he had been gentle before, no question. But this was so entirely unlike him. He was so soft-spoken and careful. It was hardly the same man.

When the doctor cleared his throat, you snapped out of your thoughts and looked up at him instead. You were filled with dread, far more so than ever. Something was wrong, you could tell. A part of you expected him to tell you that you were going to die soon. Who knew? Maybe you would. It wouldn’t have surprised you. That was just what your life was like. Predictable and disappointing.

“We ran a few blood tests, miss, as I just now mentioned to your husband.”

Husband. The word rang in your ears.

You nodded.

The doctor, a man in his middle-age with kind eyes and a certain softness in his voice, sighed softly and slowly sat down on the chair by your bed.

“I have bad news and good ones. I would like to start with the bad news.”

You felt him tense beside you and his hold on your hands tightened ever-so-slightly.

By the time you looked up to meet his gaze, you realized, he wasn’t looking at you. Instead he was staring at the doctor before you, his eyes fixed on the man and his body rigid on his own chair.

You nodded again.

Oh God, what now?

“The reason for your breakdown was a circulatory collapse. That in itself isn’t all too bad. Your husband informed me of the fight you witnessed.” The blood on him. Clever. “That level of stress, combined with your high blood pressure, were what caused it. I ran a few blood tests and that’s where it gets complicated. I’m sorry to inform you that one of your kidneys is in the process of failing.”

You felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You had always known this would come someday. But you couldn’t help but ask.

“The slow one or the other one?” You asked quietly.

You felt him stiffen beside you and the pressure on your hand was almost painful by now. He stared at you with an incredulous look. “What do you mean the slow one?”

You found yourself staring at the doctor instead. Maybe you should have told him, you suddenly realized.

The doctor kept staring between the both of you, before he hesitantly settled his gaze on you again, after you just so openly ignored your husband, waiting for his answer.

“I think your wife is referring to her birth defect. She was born with a kidney that’s rather small and has a hard time keeping up the process of cleaning her blood, as while the other one is normal in size. But unfortunately, that’s not the one failing.”

You closed your eyes. “So, the good one.”

“That’s the thing. I noticed something about it. I found your blood levels concerning, so I ran a few more tests. There’s a lot of protein in your urine. Have you had a history of using the bathroom often?”

“Yes.” You said quietly. “But it was always like that.”

“Did it lessen over the years?”

That made you pause and you took a moment to actually think about it. Looking back, as a child, you had to use the bathroom at least every hour. But these last few years…

“Yes, I think so. Why?”

He nodded with a solemn expression on his face. “I assumed so. I have a bad idea about what might be going on. I’m sorry to say this, but neither of your kidneys was working properly. They were just barely keeping you alive at this point.”

“Wait.” His voice was so soft that you barely even heard it, but it was enough to make the doctor’s head snap up.

“Yes?”

“So, she was born with one kidney damaged. And the other one is failing right now.” His grip on your hand slackened and so did his expression. You slowly turned your head to look at him and the sight of him nearly made you go pale. He was pale. His eyes were and his hair a mess. You had never seen him look like this before. He looked so…so…afraid. “Did…Did something cause her kidney failing? Did someone cause-“ He stopped and you felt the way his hands were shaking.

And you suddenly realized what he was asking. What he was thinking.

Did I cause her kidney to fail? Is it me who almost killed her?

You quickly reached for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly, but all he could do was stare at the doctor with the same horrified look.

The doctor leaned back in his chair, clutching the papers in his hand and he sighed deeply.

And to your horror, he nodded. “I’m afraid it were indeed external circumstances that caused your wife’s kidney to give in. I’m afraid someone might have poisoned her.”

For a moment everything was quiet, except for the soft humming of the machines, the slow drip of the IV. But then something in his face changed. The fear turned to the same murderous look he held whenever he got so ungodly angry.

“Poisoned her?” He said slowly.

The doctor nodded again. “I’ve found her sodium chloride levels are concerningly high. And unless she hasn’t been eating spoonsful of salt every day for months or years of her life, someone might have slipped her a preparation.”

His expression changed yet again and now he looked at you with a mixture of fury and pleading; pleading to believe him that it hadn’t been him who tried to poison you. But you were already more than aware.

“I know who did it.” You said quietly. Both of them stared at you in shock.

“What?” Asked the doctor.

You nodded slowly. “My mother. She gave me medicine for my slow kidney since I turned fourteen. I never questioned it.”

The doctor’s expression turned sour at the mention of that. “If that truly is so, we have to inform authorities and-“

“My mother is dead.” You said without flinching.

“Oh, that’s…alright, then. However, it would make sense. It’s good you stopped taking the medication. Had you continued to take it, it might have caused a cardiac infarction. Your husband said you just recently turned twenty-five. That’s not normal. It was highly intentional. Your mother caused great harm on you, miss.”

You took a slow breath to try and keep yourself from crying, but it was useless. Tears clouded your vision and you hid your face behind your hands.

Despite the tension in his body, the anger coursing through his veins, his hands were gentle in your hair.

“It’s okay.” He whispered in a mixture of furious and tender. “She won’t ever harm you again. No one will.”

It took you a few minutes to finally calm down again, but when you did, he gently pulled your hands from your face and looked at you with the same concerned look.

“So, what does this mean now?” He asked the doctor. “What will become of her?”

The man looked down at the files on his lap and shook his head. “On the long term, she will need a kidney transplant.”

It was the worst thing he could have said. The worst. A quick death was what you always anticipated and hoped for. Him losing his patience and shooting you in a fit of anger didn’t sound half as bad as that did. You knew how these things ended. You’d get on a list and you’d never ever get a kidney in time. And if you did, your body would fight it and you’d end up dying anyway.

He seemed to have the same thoughts, because you felt him freeze. His grip on your hand stayed the same, but all the color drained from his face. “Transplant?”

The doctor nodded. “On the long term, yes. We already put you on the waiting list, miss. We’ll do our best, I promise you and I stand by my promise. You’ve been through so much and you’re so young. We’ll do our best for you. Until then…you’ll have to go with dialysis.”

You were crying silent tears, begging and praying on the inside.

God, why me and why that? Why couldn’t it have been me who fell on the trainlines instead?

“Dialysis.” Your so-called husband responded in a breathless whisper. “That…that’s not so bad, right? It’s not like chemotherapy.”

The doctor nodded. “It’s still a great effort for her body to take, but it’s not comparable to cancer. She’ll be weakened, yes, but she’ll be able to perform basic tasks and take care of herself. And we’ll be working to find a kidney for her as fast as possible. A kidney isn’t as hard to find as a heart would be. It’s not likely. You might even get lucky and have a donor in your circle.”

He released a slow breath and drew gentle circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“You said you had good news for us?” He asked quietly.

The doctor nodded slowly and set the papers aside. His expression calmed somewhat and he regarded you both with a long look, before his gaze settled on your face.

“You’re seven weeks pregnant.”

He might as well have punched you, because that was exactly how you felt.

You wanted to react, in any way really. But you had no idea how you felt. How you were supposed to feel. You only knew that you were terribly afraid.

And so you slowly looked over to the man hunched beside you, trying to gauge his own reaction. Was he happy about this? Was he angry? His face gave nothing away. He looked dumbstruck. And for the first since you knew him, he looked genuinely terrified.

“Pregnant.” He whispered.

His gaze slowly wandered to you and back to the doctor. “But her kidney-“

“It is not impossible to carry a child in her condition. There may be a few complications and the risk is slightly higher than it would be if she was completely healthy, but it isn’t impossible.”

“What does slightly higher mean? Higher chance to die? No, forget it.” He bit out. “We’re not doing this.”

“Forgive me, but-“

“No.” He said firmly. “I’m not going to let her die over this.”

The doctor cleared his throat and nodded. “I understand that. And what you’re going to do will be you and your wife’s own decision in the end. I’d just like to make the following clear: She can still take the dialysis, even while pregnant. We could perform a peritoneal dialysis. It would have to be done every day, but she could do it at home. It’s rather uncomplicated.”

He was still rigid beside you and just as he was about to snap at the doctor again, you spoke in a quiet voice, causing him to stop himself.

“Would it harm the baby?”

The doctor smiled a gentle, reassuring smile. “No.”

“And the baby wouldn’t have any disadvantages due to my lack of a functioning kidney?”

“There’s always the possibility that the baby might come early. We’d have to keep a keen eye on its development, of course. It could be that it gets born with a birth weight of under 2.500 gram. That’s not uncommon for cases like yours, but it by far wouldn’t be the first one.”

You felt your insides twist painfully. Everything was simply too much. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact that your own mother tried to murder you for some reason and now you were here. Pregnant. Talking about things like birth weight.

“Am I-“

“I told you, this isn’t up for discussion.” His firm voice suddenly interrupted you.

You bit your lip and looked up at the doctor. “Could I get a moment alone with my husband?”

He immediately got up and gathered the documents surrounding him. “Of course. Take as much time as you need.”

The moment the door shut behind him, he shot you a crazed look. “There’s no way in hell you’re actually considering this.”

You stayed silent. A part of you wanted to fight him on this, but you felt weak. Too weak to argue, too weak to even speak. Something had changed, something had changed so drastically that you didn’t even know what you wanted anymore. The only thing you truly knew…

“I can’t kill it.”

He took a deep breath and sat down beside you again. “We’re not killing it. It doesn’t understand what’s going on. It is too tiny to feel pain.”

“But it’s our baby.” The words slipped out in a pained whisper before you could stop yourself and the effect your words had on him was immediately recognizable. His eyes softened the same instant.

“I know.” He said quietly and reached for your hand again. “And I’m dying to have a baby with you. Really, I am. But not if it means you might die trying to bear it.”

“But the doctor said-“

He gently cupped your face in his palms and made you look up at him. “You’re sick.” His voice sounded as firm as it was gentle. His eyes were practically pleading with you. “You’re sick and I can’t lose you.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and gently circled his wrist in your hand. You were probably being manipulative, you were biased anyway. Unlike your mother, you immediately loved your child. You didn’t understand it. Didn’t even fully realize that it was truly there, inside you, but you loved it. And you couldn’t kill it. Never.

You gently got hold of his hand and guided it down your chest, until it reached your abdomen and you pressed it down softly.

His eyes followed your movement and he seemed to hold his breath. He wanted it just as much as you did, if not more. You saw it in his eyes. The tenderness. The pain. The instant protectiveness. Everything you loved about him.

The man who cut your hair and hit you when you spoke out of line, he was gone. The man who took your name and your identity from you, the man who threatened you, the man who scared you – he was nowhere to be found.

He was still the same, dangerous man underneath it all. You knew that. There was no way you could ever forget it. After seeing him murder someone twice – and maybe a third time – you knew what he was.

But in that moment? In that moment, he was somebody else.

The husband type of guy.

Your guy.

Your man.

And you were his. Only his.

He released a slow breath and his gaze slowly wandered up from your stomach to your face.

“I can’t.” He said quietly.

When you shot him a confused frown, he sighed and leaned back, but he kept his gentle grip on you.

“I can’t lose you.”

You sighed softly and gently tightened your grip on his hand. “But I might die anyway.”

His eyes darkened at that. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare even think that.” He hissed.

“It’s true.” You said quietly. “How high is the chance that I get a kidney in time? How many people live in Korea?”

“Don’t think about that now.” The determination is his voice was almost reassuring. Almost. Like he knew something that you didn’t. “I’ll find a way.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “All you need to do is focus on yourself, alright? Nothing else. I’m going to take care of everything else.”

“Okay.” You said quietly, even though you were not even close to convinced. What would he take care of? What did that mean? You had a bad feeling about it. “But I’m not having an abortion.”

He exhaled slowly. “You’re so fucking stubborn.”

You smiled weakly. “And you hate that about me, don’t you?”

Surprisingly he returned the smile and gently touched your chin. “I love that about you.”

His gaze wandered back down to where his hand lay and he slowly shook his head. “Are you really sure about this? It won’t be easy.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

His brows furrowed in thought and he didn’t meet your gaze yet. “I’m going to be a terrible father.”

That sent a spark of pain through you, because you heard the sorrow in his voice. What a silly man he was. Didn’t he see it?

“No. You’re going to be a wonderful father.”

He scoffed and attempted to look away, but your hand shot out and you gently touched his cheek, guiding him to look back at you. He seemed surprised, but he still let you.

“You are going to be a wonderful father.” You said slowly and firmly. The firmness in your voice took you by surprise, but you didn’t back down. For some reason, you were more than convinced of your own words. “You’re going to be everything your own father wasn’t.”

Under the gentle touch of your hand, you felt him tense, but he didn’t look away and it wasn’t anger in his eyes. It was uncertainty. Fear, maybe. And a whole lot of disbelief.

“How would you know that?”

“I know how it feels to be loved by you.” You said quietly. It was true. He was a twisted freak, someone who had missed not many an opportunity to hurt you. But at the same time, he protected you. He cared about you and he went to extreme lengths for you. “Wouldn’t you die for me?” You didn’t understand your own question or why you asked it, but something made you. A higher power, something that took control over your mind and tongue.

His frown deepened and he tightened his grip on you. “What a dumb question.”

You nodded and gently caressed his cheek. “That’s why I’m sure.” You whispered. “I want this baby. I want our baby. Because I…I trust you to take care of me. Of us.”

He kept staring at you with the same thoughtful, pained frown, until he finally closed his eyes and gently buried his face against your midsection.

“You’re such a stubborn idiot.” He murmured.

You smiled and gently buried your fingers in his hair. “Such a harsh way to talk to the mother of your child.”

You heard his smile, even though you didn’t see it. “I have a few conditions though.”

He looked back at you with a stern glint. You raised a brow and waited for him to continue.

“You don’t do anything. All you’re going to do for the time being is lay in your bed, read your books and nothing more. You’ll leave everything to me and you’ll listen to me. Understood?”

For some reason, that made you smirk. “Or else what?”

His eyes darkened. “Understood?”

Your smile softened and you nodded. “Understood.”

He sighed deeply and regarded you with a careful look. He still didn’t seem all too convinced.

“Alright.” He murmured.

“One more thing.” Your eyes shot open and you looked at him, the softness and warmth gone from your tone. “What happened today?”

He tensed again and averted his gaze. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“What? But that guy who followed us-“

“Shh.��� He shot you a glare. “Stop it. No one followed us.”

You frowned incredulously. “I’m not letting you shut me out like this. Where did the blood come from? What did he want?” You said lowly, looking over his shoulder to make sure there was no one listening in on your conversation.

“This is neither the time nor the place.”

“You said something about my mother.” You suddenly remembered. “Before I passed out. Tell me the truth. I’m not joking. What about my mother?”

He clenched his jaw. He was losing his patience, but so were you. “I didn’t-“

Now it was you who shot him a glare. “Tell me.”

“Listen.” He said slowly as he leaned back and shot you another stern look. “I can’t have you stressed out right now. Did you forget what happened last time?” He tugged gently on the IV as if to remind you.

But you didn’t let him and you caught his hand in your own. “Tell me. Right now. Why did he follow us? Did he-“ Your eyes widened and your grip on him loosened. “Oh God.” You whispered. “Oh God, she sent him.”

He immediately caught you by the shoulders as you tried to sit up. “Calm down, okay? Stop this. It’s not that dramatic.”

“She sent him.” Your voice grew shaky in panic. The same woman who had systematically tried to poison you. The same woman who marked you. Who isolated you. The woman who was supposed to love you and give her life for you. “Did you kill him?”

“No.” He said quietly.

“No?”

He shook his head. “He’s in the wardrobe.”

You felt yourself go pale. “What? In the-“

“Don’t. Panic.” He said firmly. “I’m not letting him leave like that. I have plans for him. I’m going to find out what he knows and how he found it out. And I’m not letting him get back to her. I have his phone and everything else.”

The dizziness came back the same instant and your eyes fluttered shut.

“Hey, hey.” He murmured and gently touched your cheek. “It’s alright. Don’t worry. You’ll never see her again. I promise you. Over my dead body. And you don’t have to see him either. All of that is nothing but a matter I’m going to take care of.”

You nodded weakly, but inside you felt nauseous. How on earth did she find out?

“And the blood?” You whispered.

He scoffed. “The bastard tried to inject me something. And he even had a taser. What kind of man would use a taser?”

You took a shaky breath. “But he didn’t?”

He shook his head. “You think I’d let him?” He smiled bitterly. “When I looked outside, I saw his gun and I knew something was off. I immediately knew he wanted something from you. Why else would he have followed us? I also have no idea how he found the right apartment by the first try. There are many things I don’t know yet. But I’m going to find out. But you.” He shot you a stern look. “You are going to stay in bed and do nothing but take care of the little one right here.” He gently prodded your bellybutton with his index finger and it almost made you smile.

If it wasn’t for your mother, you would have smiled.

“I can’t go back to her.” You whispered. “I’ll die before I do.”

He inhaled slowly and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “No one’s taking you away from me. And anyone who tries, will see.”

After a while, the doctor came back. He explained a few more things and after running a bunch of tests, he announced you wouldn’t have to go through dialysis yet. He’d have to check your kidney progress twice every week and there would be no way to avoid it, by the time your slow kidney decided to give up entirely.

But until then, you’d check your blood pressure three times every day and unless it got worse – you were free to act normal. Of course everything was a bit complicated so he prohibited you from taking any demanding tasks. But so far, and unless you weren’t taking the dialysis, your pregnancy wasn’t high-risk. He said that he would prefer it, if you took things easy – “Oh, she will, don’t worry. I’m not letting her leave the bed.” – but he gave you green light for light tasks and intimacy. Before you left, he said something to the doctor in Korean. They both glanced at you quickly before they slowly left the room, leaving you there in confusion and suspicion.

The drive home was rather quiet. Both of you were lost in your thoughts and your fears, but he kept a possessive grip on your thigh the whole way.

“You can’t die, you know.” He suddenly said. “If you did, I’d follow you and kick your ass.”

You smiled softly and looked up at him, but his gaze was trained on the street and there was not a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“I won’t.” You said quietly. “Who else would show you how to change a diaper?”

Now, that made him smirk. “As if you know that.”

You laughed quietly. “We’ll learn it together.”

He took a turn and parked in the car park. When he was done, he slowly turned to face you.

“Are you really sure you want to go through with this?”

“I am.” You said gently.

He took a breath and nodded. “Alright.” Just as he was about to open the door, you held him back.

“What did you ask the doctor?”

His brows shot up in surprise. “What?”

“You know what I mean. Before we left, you spoke in Korean. What was that about?”

He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze. He got worse and worse when it came to lying to you.

“Come on, let’s get inside. I have to take care of a few things.”

___________________________________________

Tag list 1:

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Author's note: Surprise, surprise. Hehe. Also, guys, I have a feeling I'm stuck between half the readers wanting more angst and drama and the other half wishing for more fluff. Might have to throw some flashbacks in?

Love you!

[barnacles34]

My Greatest Joy

IVE Yujin x Male Reader

16k words

'A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.' — The Year of Magical Thinking

18+ smut

The Birth Crisis. The Great Vanishing. The Specter of Demographic Collapse. The media couldn’t decide on a name, only that it was happening. Some said Korea would be empty in a century. Others, ten years. Twenty-five, if they were feeling generous. A hysterical pendulum swing between denial and terror, between think-tank white papers and government campaigns urging citizens to bureaucratize what was once spontaneous: love, sex, reproduction.

But in Dunsan-dong, no one talked about it. Not really. Not in any meaningful way. The village shrank in slow motion. Affairs stopped happening—nobody had the energy, or the audience. The local divorce lawyer quietly removed ‘Infidelity’ from his services, then shut down altogether. Playgrounds grew ghostly. The corner food stands, once territorial battlegrounds for unruly teenagers, went bankrupt one by one. ‘Kids these days grow up too fast,’ one ajumma said, as if that were the whole explanation.

And yet, in all this entropy, two were born. A statistical error. A miracle.

Miracle is not hyperbole. In two decades, the birth count had been three. The bureaucratic failure of Love—yes, Love, capital L, the thing that was supposed to be instinctual, inevitable, the thing people built whole religions and K-dramas around—had finally completed its slow bureaucratic death. Love was no longer a force. Love was paperwork.

Except for two people.

For them, Love was everything.

—

'One move and you'll split open like a badly wrapped present.' ‘Is that your professional opinion?' 'That's my twenty years of keeping-you-alive opinion.' She's biting her lower lip, the way she always does when she's trying not to smile at your stupidity. 'And I really don't want to explain to some emergency room doctor why I have a boy bleeding out in my room at 2 AM.'

The gash should hurt more. Six inches of red spite across your forearm, but all you can focus on is how Yujin's looking at it—like she's found something breakable in a world made of steel.

'I really fucked up.' 'Did you?' Her touch finds your good arm, barely there. 'Or did you do exactly what you meant to?'

The lamp makes everything soft. She's wearing your t-shirt—the one you left here that summer when the AC broke. Cotton worn thin enough to catch shadowy curves underneath. Silk pajama bottoms that whisper secrets when she moves. You try not to notice. You notice everything.

'This might need stitches.' 'Are you volunteering?' 'Shut up and hold still.' But there's laughter in her voice, the kind that makes your chest tight. 'Some of us are trying to work miracles here.'

The first-aid kit looks wrong in her small hands. Those hands that used to patch up your scraped knees, that still know exactly where you're breakable.

'Remember that time in third grade?' Her fingers ghost over your skin. 'When you tried to convince me you could fly?' 'I could've.' 'You broke your arm.' 'Minor setback.' She laughs, soft and close. 'Nothing's changed, has it?'

Everything's changed. The way moonlight catches in her hair now, how her perfume makes your head swim, the careful distance she keeps even when she's touching you. But you say, 'Not the important things.'

Her breath hits your arm in warm little puffs as she works. Clean movements. No hesitation. Like she's mapping something she never forgot.

'Almost done.' Her thumb traces the edge of the bandage. 'Next time try not to bleed on my carpet?' 'Yujin-ah.' 'Mm?' 'Thank you.'

She looks up. Those eyes crack something in your chest. Then she smiles and whatever was cracked turns to stardust.

'So how'd it happen? And don't say you just slipped, because I know all your clumsy excuses by heart.' 'Just slipped.' 'Onto what? Did some wandering samurai leave their sword in Dunsan-dong?' 'You never know what you'll find these days.' 'Hey.' Her voice goes quiet, the way it used to when she'd tell you secrets at midnight. 'Tell me? I promise to not scold you…much.'

Face to face now. The universe narrows to this: her eyes on yours, her hands still on your skin.

'Okay.' You gesture with your good arm. 'Window.' 'What did you—' Her voice catches. 'If you've done something wild—'

Then you smile.

You watch her shoulders drop. It's a small thing, being able to do this—turn her static to quiet. Not exactly Superman stuff, but it's the only superpower you'd keep if they were dealing them out.

She knows. You can see it in how she moves—little half-dance steps to the window, taking your words as is—hopefully, something good. The curtain whispers. You don't watch. Can't. Your skin's electric with her lingering smell—something you'd bottle if you could, except that'd ruin it, the particular way her skin holds the perfume.

The silence stretches until you think you might snap. Then—

'What am I supposed to be looking at? Because all I see is Mrs. Kim's cat trying to fight a streetlight again, and—' She stops. 'What's it say?'

'Let me make sure I'm reading this right.' She's still facing the window, but you can hear the smile breaking through, eyes transforming into pure joy. 'Because either someone's confessing to me via Christmas lights at 2 AM, or the neighborhood's having a very very specific power outage.'

'These past years—' 'Wait.' She spins around, eyes catching lamplight. 'Did you seriously string up every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong just to—' She takes three quick steps toward you, stops. 'The lights outside the convenience store. The ones from the coffee shop. Even the ones from—' Her eyes go wide. 'You didn't.'

'Old Mr. Park drives a hard bargain.' 'His birthday lights? The ones he's kept since forever?' 'To be fair, they were already purple. Worked with the aesthetic.' 'And what exactly did you promise him?' 'Just my eternal servitude. And maybe repainting his fence.' 'The whole fence?'

'Both sides.'

She shakes her head, but her smile could light up the whole neighborhood. 'You're insane. Completely insane. Do you know how many people I had to convince about your mental well-being?'

'Had to?'

'Have to. Present tense.' She's between your knees now, playing with your shirt hem like it's suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 'Though I guess now I'll have to change my story to "dating a lunatic who steals Christmas lights and nearly loses an arm trying to spell out love confessions."'

Your heart stumbles. 'Dating?'

'Well,' her borrowed shirt slips further, showing more shoulder. 'I mean, you did just write my name in stars.'

'They're Christmas lights.'

'Same difference.' Her fingers trail up your arm, careful of the bandage. 'Very romantic Christmas lights.'

'Does that mean—'

'It means anyone crazy enough to risk tetanus and Mr. Park's wrath deserves at least dinner.' A pause, then softer: 'Maybe breakfast too, if they play their cards right.'

'Just breakfast?'

'Don't push your luck.' But she's smiling that smile—the one that's always been just for you.

'Yujin-ah.'

'Mm?'

'All these years, did you ever—'

'Every day.' She doesn't let you finish. Doesn't need to. 'Every single day.'

'Can I—'

Her mouth finds yours: the way her lips part like flower petals at dawn, soft and inevitable. Her breath mingles with yours. There's the perfect arch of her spine, the way her breasts press warm against your chest through thin cotton, how her hips seek yours with an instinct older than thought. The taste of her, sweet milk tea and something darker, something that makes your blood sing. Her hands flutter at your neck, startled, before finding home in your hair, and there's that smell of her—woody, floral, fruity—that makes you dizzy, makes you forget where you end and she begins. Delicate sounds escape her, primal and pure, vibrating through both your bodies like a struck chord. Then she's pulling back, but her body stays honest—trembling, burning: alive with new knowledge.

'Sorry,' she whispers. 'Got carried away. We should probably wait until your wound is healed.' Her smile is so reassuring, masking the softest disappointment that her eyes couldn't hide. 

But she was in luck.

Your fingers circle her wrist mid-fret, right as she's about to check your bandage for the seventh time. Her skin is cool against yours, pulse like a hummingbird.

'Stop fretting.'

'I'm not fretting.' But she's barely holding back a smile, eyes bright with something more than just lamplight. 'I'm calculating how many years Mr. Park's going to make you repaint his fence.'

'Already negotiated.' You tug her closer, feeling the way she pretends to resist. 'Two coats, both sides, and my firstborn child.'

'Bold of you to negotiate with children that don't exist.' She settles between your knees anyway, like she's found her way home.

'Yet.'

Her borrowed shirt—your shirt—slips further off one shoulder. 'You're impossible.'

'Impossible enough to steal every Christmas light in Dunsan-dong.'

'Borrow,' she corrects, fingers playing with your collar. 'We're calling it borrowing. Sounds less felonious.'

'Look who's being responsible.'

'Someone has to be.' But she's leaning closer, breath warm against your mouth. 'Since you've apparently lost your mind.'

'Lost it years ago.' Your thumb traces her lower lip. 'Right around the time you started wearing my clothes.'

She makes this sound—half laugh, half something else entirely. 'Smooth talker.'

'Only for you.'

Her hands find your chest, but there's no real resistance in it. 'If you tear those stitches—'

The kiss swallows her warning. This one's different—deeper, like you're trying to taste every year you've waited. She makes a sound that turns your blood to starlight, fingers curling into your shirt like she's afraid you'll disappear.

'That's cheating,' she whispers when you break apart.

'Is it working?'

The lamp catches gold in her eyes. 'Always will.'

Your hand finds skin at the small of her back. She arches like a cat stretching into sunlight.

'You're staring.'

'Can't help it.'

'Try.'

'Make me.'

She kisses you this time—soft, sweet, dangerous. When she pulls back, her smile could outshine every stolen light in the neighborhood.

'We should probably—' she starts.

'Probably.'

Her fingers find the hem of her shirt. Your shirt. Details.

What follows is an exercise in creative problem-solving. One functional arm between you, too much cotton, not enough coordination. Her hair gets caught. You both laugh. The shirt wins the first round.

'Left,' she instructs.

'My left or your left?'

'Wait—here… I got it.'

The second attempt goes better. The shirt surrenders its hold, and suddenly there's just Yujin—all golden skin and starlight. Her bra's simple beige cotton, but the way it holds her could make Michaelangelo weep.

'You're staring again.'

'Still can't help it.'

She kisses you quiet, hands on your shoulders, pulling you closer. Everything soft and warm and perfect.

'Can I—' your fingers find her back, trace lace.

'Yes.' Another kiss. 'Please.'

The bra falls away like a secret finally told. You forget how words work.

The air hums with the weight of revelation—her body an altar, every contour a psalm. Your breath tangles as you drink her in: the bronze aureoles, the arch of her ribs like a vaulted sanctuary, the pulse fluttering at her throat like a caged sparrow. She shivers beneath your gaze: the raw vulnerability of a soul laid bare.

Your palms ascend her sides, mapping the smoothness, the glory of it all—each sigh, each hitch of muscle, a dialect you ache to memorize. She tips her head back as your thumbs brush the underswell of her breasts, a whimper dissolving. ‘More,’ she murmurs, not a demand but a prayer, a beg; her fingers knotting in your hair as if you might slip away like smoke.

You oblige, slow as honey, mouth tracing the salt-sweet hollow of her collarbone. Her skin blooms beneath your lips—petal-soft, fever-warm—as you chart a path lower, lower, until her nipple grazes your tongue. She gasps, back arching. Her hands clutch at you, anchor and plea, as you worship her with unhurried devotion, savoring each tremor, each stuttered breath.

When her legs part—a silent invitation—it’s your turn to shudder. The heat of her radiates through the last fragile barrier, a molten promise. You press closer, the rigid heat of your unclothed shaft straining against her thigh, a visceral counterpoint to her softness. She rolls her hips, deliberate, and you groan as her warmth grinds against you, friction sparking like flint.

You linger there, foreheads pressed, breaths mingling, the world narrowed to the space between heartbeats. Her eyes lock with yours, galaxies swirling in their depths. ‘I want to feel you,’ she whispers, voice trembling. ‘All of you.’

You move as tides do: inevitable, reverent. Her thighs cradle your hips as you guide yourself to her entrance, the head of your shaft slick with Her. The first breach is a shared gasp—a threshold crossed in tandem. She tightens around you, velvet heat clenching like a fist around your length, and you still, trembling, sweat-slicked and spellbound. Her nails score your shoulders, anchoring you to the agony of slowness.

‘Slowly,’ she breathes, and you obey, each fractional advance a pilgrimage. Her fingers trace your jaw, your lips, as if memorizing the shape of this moment. When you’re sheathed fully, time suspends. Her lashes flutter closed, a tear escaping as she whispers, 'Yes.'

You move in thrusts. Her sighs crest into whimpers, into chants of your name, each syllable a spark in the gathering storm. Her breasts sway with the rhythm, nipples brushing your chest, while your hands grip the flare of her hips, guiding her into the tide. Around you, the room dissolves: there is only her skin, her scent, the liquid pull of her around your shaft—a mosaic of need and nectar, each fragment a revelation.

You kiss her deeply, tasting the salt of her surrender, as the world fractures, reforms, and fractures again.

—

Sheets tangled like an afterthought. A leg hooked over yours, pinning you in place with the quiet authority of someone who has long since decided where they belong. The desk fan ticks through its slow, mechanical arc, stirring the air, stirring her hair, making it brush your chin in the softest, smallest way possible.

She shifts, just enough for her ribs to press against yours. You feel her breathing. Deep. Slow. Listening.

‘I have an audition next week,’ she says, voice barely above a whisper.

‘For what?’

‘Community theater. Spring show.’ A pause. Then, quietly, ‘It’s dumb.’

‘You don’t do dumb things.’

She laughs. A real one. The kind that scrunches her nose a little, that makes her shoulders shake just enough to jostle you.

‘Except this,’ she murmurs. Her fingers trace slow circles on your chest.

‘This was a strategic decision.’

‘Oh?’

‘Carefully calculated.’

She laughs again, softer this time. Her breath is warm where it spills against your collarbone. You could live here. Right here, in the space between her voice and her warmth and the way her hair tickles your skin.

She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you. The Christmas lights outside flicker purples and blues across her face, her skin, making her look like something caught between a dream and waking. Her smile is quiet. Not big, not blinding. Just there. Something she’s forgotten to hide.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hey.’

Her fingers tap lightly against your chest. ‘Remember when you proposed to me behind the school?’

‘Which time.’

She grins. ‘The time I lost the play to Wonyoung and cried so hard I got a nosebleed.’

‘Ah. I told you it didn’t matter because you’d always be the lead in my story.’

She groans, dropping her forehead to your shoulder. ‘You were so corny.’

‘Still am.’

‘Yeah,’ she murmurs. ‘You are.’

You feel her smile against your skin.

The fan clicks on again, stirring the night, the space between you. The crickets outside hum in harmony with the distant sound of a train—faint, but there. The whole world is slowing down. Breathing with you.

She shifts again, nestles closer. Her lips brush your skin—your collarbone, then just above your heart.

‘I can hear you thinking,’ you say.

She sighs, slow and steady. ‘Just… happy.’

You don’t say anything. Just hold her tighter. Like keeping her close might keep the moment from slipping away.

She pulls back, just far enough to see you, really see you. Her hair is a mess. Her lips are still swollen. The Christmas lights turn her eyes into something impossible, something endless.

‘I love you, you know,’ she says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like she’s never known anything else.

You smile. ‘I know.’

She kisses you. Slow, deep, soft. Like a secret. Like an answer.

The fan ticks. The lights flicker. The night stretches on.

—

It was supposed to be small. A local theater gig, a footnote in her life story. Something that kept her busy while she figured out the rest. That was the plan.

Then a casting director walked into the wrong show on the right night. A single scene, a single line delivered with the kind of weight that makes people stop chewing their popcorn. Two weeks later, she’s everywhere.

At first, it’s just murmurs. Articles in the culture section. Buzzwords like promising, raw talent, the next big thing. Then the billboards go up. Magazines with her face—half-laughing, half-serious, eyes catching the camera like they know something you don’t. The first time you see one, it’s plastered on the side of a bus stop you used to share, back when the only lines she rehearsed were whispered promises and badly sung pop songs.

Now she’s too big for Dunsan-dong.

Not just big. Seismic.

Korea’s sweetheart, the industry's new obsession. Agencies circle like sharks with briefcases, smiling through teeth polished for negotiation. They offer her everything—money, sponsorships, a life where she doesn’t have to wait for the subway or count change at convenience stores. And she takes it, not because she’s greedy, but because this is what she was always meant to be.

You watch it happen the way people watch slow-motion car crashes. Helpless. Horrified. A little bit in awe.

Because here’s the thing they never warn you about when you love someone who's destined for greatness: fame isn’t a door. It’s a chasm. You can’t walk through it holding hands.

At first, you convince yourself nothing’s changed. You still talk, still text. But her replies come slower, her voice more rehearsed. The calls happen between set breaks, her voice filtered through exhaustion and bad reception.

Then the interviews start. The talk shows. The press tours.

She gets good at the answers, the little smiles, the artful dodges. The first time someone asks if she’s dating anyone, she hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for the internet to notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. That she’s protecting you. That this is just part of the machine.

But a few weeks later, you see a headline:

‘The Nation’s New Star: Who is Yujin’s Mystery First Love?’

And for the first time, it hits you—really hits you—how easy it is to be rewritten.

The tabloids build their own history, constructing boyfriends from old classmates, exes from co-stars. They don’t name you. They don’t have to. Because in the world they’ve built, you don’t exist.

And maybe, you start to think, maybe you never did.

Maybe love isn’t enough when it’s up against the weight of the world. Maybe you were naive to think you could be something more than a footnote in her legend.

Maybe you were never really two. Maybe it was always just her.

Moving forward. Rising higher.

And you—

You’re just the idiot standing still, watching her disappear into the stars.

—

Yujin called you up.

The night was cutting: cold, unrelenting Snow blew sideways, a thousand tiny knives catching on your exposed skin, but you sat there anyway—legs crossed, hands in your lap, all polite.

The bench was old, paint curling at the edges, the kind of place people only sat when they had no better options. You smiled at the irony.

You’d met Yujin in worse places. Loved her in worse places.

And maybe, just maybe, lost her in worse places too.

Then she emerged from the fog, a silhouette first, then a shape, then a person.

Five benches away. Maybe six. Distance had become an abstract concept, like time, like certainty, like the idea that love—real love—was enough to hold the weight of the whole goddamn world.

She didn’t sit. Didn’t hesitate.

‘Let’s break up.’

The words didn’t belong to the girl who used to steal fries from your plate, who used to call you at 2 AM because she saw a cat in the street and thought you needed to know. They belonged to someone else. Someone who had spent hours, maybe days, rehearsing.

Her voice was final. Her eyes were final. Everything about her, from the way she stood to the way the wind refused to touch her, was final.

You should’ve said something.

Anything.

But the air left your lungs in one sharp exhale, stolen by the weight of three syllables arranged in an execution sentence.

The snow caught in her hair, in her lashes, in the hollow curve of her collarbone, and she looked—god, she looked—like something from a dream you had once, the kind you woke from gasping, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

And then she wasn’t.

She turned. Walked away. Snow swallowed her whole.

You could’ve chased her. Could’ve fallen to your knees, begged, pleaded, made a scene, made a fool of yourself. Could’ve grabbed her wrist, reminded her that you were not just some chapter to be closed. Could’ve thrown every memory, every quiet moment, every touch, every whispered I love you in her face like proof of something sacred.

But you didn’t.

Because Yujin never spoke like this. Not unless she meant it.

And that’s what gutted you most.

You sat there long after she was gone, staring at the place she used to be, like if you looked hard enough, you could rewind time, unbreak whatever fragile thing had finally snapped between you.

The sky stretched empty above you, stars sharp against the ink. You tried counting them. Tried counting anything to stop counting the ways you’d just lost her.

One star. Two. One mistake. Two. Three years. Four. Five benches away.

Maybe six. The wind howled, and you let it.

—

The beer’s flat, but that’s not why it tastes bad.

You lean against the bar, watching foam dissolve into something thin and lifeless, the way good things always do. Three years distilled into neon lights and a tab you don’t remember opening.

She’s 24 now. You keep count because she was impossible to avoid—billboards, subway ads, every damn screen flashing her face like she owns the world. And maybe she does. The brightest star, the nation’s darling, the girl who left and became.

You should be proud. You tell yourself you are.

But pride doesn’t feel like this. Doesn’t sit heavy in your ribs like grief. Doesn’t twist like a blade when you flip through channels and land on her.

The latest drama. Friends-to-lovers, some rom-com fluff. A special kind of hell, watching her fall for someone else, even if it’s scripted.

And the kiss—god, the kiss.

Over and over. Different angles, different takes. The guy has trepid shoulders and a weaker mouth. You want to reach through the screen, grab him by his stupid collar, shake him until he understands: You don’t get to kiss Yujin like that unless you mean it.

The beer in your hand swirls, a storm in a pint glass. You watch it spin, thinking about how everything these days seems determined to drown you.

Then Roach walks in.

Roach—half philosopher, half walking disaster. A man with too many past lives and a prosthetic eye that glows faintly under bar light, making him look part machine, part ghost.

‘That recovery group, they’re solid,’ he says, by way of hello. His voice is like chewing on gravel. ‘Might’ve been able to quit if I stuck around.’ ‘4.8 stars on Google, right?’ ‘Right. Wait. How’d you know that?’ His synthetic eye sits there while the real one narrows. ‘Been there.’ ‘What?’ ‘Been there. You recommended it.’ Roach laughs, short and sharp. ‘That was the review forum.’ ‘Memory’s fuzzy.’ ‘Fuzzy? You’re getting soft.’ ‘All those reviews read like discount novels, Roach.’ ‘Why the hell would I write reviews?’ ‘Same reason you do anything—to feel something.’ He smacks your chest, hard enough to make you look up. ‘Yujin broke you. Plain as day.’ Your throat tightens. The name alone feels like a switchblade. ‘It’s not like that… anymore.’ ‘Sure looks like it.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘You’re on the leaderboard in this bar. They’re bleeding you dry, and you’re letting them.’ You don’t argue. Just take another sip. ‘Don’t deserve this money anyway.’ ‘Then give it elsewhere. There’s an orphanage across the street.’ ‘Don’t play saint with me.’ ‘It’s just a block away.’ ‘Fuck off.’ ‘Just a block—’ ‘Fine.’ You press your glass against the table, like the condensation might hold you steady. ‘I’ll think about it.’ Roach grins like he’s won something. ‘Ever watch her show?’ he asks, tilting his flask toward you. You hesitate. ‘Not really.’ ‘Bullshit. Saw you yesterday. That rain scene.’ Your grip tightens around the glass. The rain scene. You were there. Back when “we” still meant something. Holding her coat between takes, watching her shiver between scripted heartbreaks. ‘She always cried pretty,’ you murmur. ‘Even back then.’ Roach nods, takes a sip. ‘Tell me about it.’ You do. You don’t mean to, but you do. ‘Nothing to tell,’ you start. ‘I was nobody. She was becoming somebody. Simple math.’ ‘That’s not what I heard.’ ‘Yeah? What’d you hear?’ ‘That you proposed. Night before Seoul.’ The beer sours in your mouth. ‘Who told you that?’ ‘Does it matter? True though, isn’t it?’ You let out something that’s supposed to be a laugh. ‘Got the ring from my grandmother. Vintage Tiffany, art deco. Yujin loved vintage.’ ‘And?’ ‘And she cried. Not the pretty kind.’ You see it now, clear as the night it happened—her shaking hands, the way she pressed the box back into yours like it burned. ‘Said she couldn’t. Said she wasn't ready. I guess that was the foreshadowing: she broke up with me just a week later.’ ‘A choice between you and fame?’ ‘Between real life and the life she’d dreamed of since she was six. No contest, really.’ Roach doesn’t speak for a while. Just stares at the bar like it’s holding the right words. ‘Where’s the ring now?’ You smirk, but it tastes like blood. ‘Pawned it. Bought a week of blackout drunk and a ticket anywhere else.’ Roach exhales, long and low. His eyes flick to your watch, but nothing gold can compare to what you lost. ‘And here you are.’ ‘Here I am.’ Bass pulses through the walls, someone screams about love on the dance floor, and the bartender slides another drink toward you like it might fix anything. Roach downs the rest of his flask, claps a hand on your shoulder. ‘Well. Good luck with that. Got a missus waiting. Let me know when you find one.’ You don’t look at him. ‘We might never speak again.’ ‘Doubt that.’ A pat on the back, one final grin. Then he’s gone. You scoff. If ever. And you leave.

—

Seoul in summer is a thing that sticks. To your skin, to your thoughts, to the spaces between breath. Heat rises off the pavement, thick and wet, settling in your lungs like something permanent.

The city is wide awake, but softer at this hour. Convenience store fluorescents hover in the humidity, blurring edges. Subway vents exhale something metallic, ghostly. The crickets don’t know they live in a city. They just keep singing.

You walk. Not home, not anywhere. Just walking, because it’s better than stopping.

Stopping means remembering.

Every street corner holds a version of her. The Yujin who stole fries off your plate, who could sleep through a fireworks show, who once convinced you that every ice cream cone tasted better if it was half-melted. She’s there, tucked into flickering billboards, frozen mid-laugh on subway ads, threaded between the chords of songs you don’t mean to hear.

You take the long way. Five, six corners. Maybe more.

Then the bus stop appears.

Half-forgotten. Almost overgrown. A bench with its paint peeling like old skin, weeds curling around the edges like they might swallow it whole.

You sit. Elbows on knees. Hands folded. Thinking. Not thinking.

The streetlight buzzes. The air is thick with waiting.

Then—

A shadow falls across your feet.

A shift in pressure. Not wind, just something. The moment before a storm, before impact, before memory collides with the present and makes a mess of everything.

‘What are you doing here?’ Soft. Not a blade, not a wound. Just a question that lands like an old habit.

You don’t need to look. But you do. Because some habits don’t break.

Yujin stands there, framed by sodium light, hands tucked into the pockets of a hoodie that looks too soft to exist. No cameras. No entourage. Just her.

And god—just her is enough to knock the breath out of your chest.

‘Hiding?’ Soft. Like the question isn’t a question, just something to fill the space between heartbeats.

You don’t look up right away. You know the shape of her. You’ve spent years knowing it. The way she stands, weight slightly to one side. The way her voice lands, gentle, edged with something only you ever got to hear.

But you look anyway. Because it’s her. And some rules of the universe don’t change.

Yujin.

Not the Yujin on billboards, the Yujin on magazine covers, the Yujin who belongs to a nation that adores her.

Just Yujin.

Hair a little messy. Hoodie swallowing her frame. Hands tucked into the sleeves like she’s bracing against a cold that doesn’t exist.

And—god. Her eyes. Still warm. Still familiar. Still Dunsan-dong in their quiet, endless way.

She tilts her head. Smiles. The kind of smile that makes you feel seventeen again, like you just said something stupid and brilliant in the same breath.

‘Hiding?’ she repeats, softer this time.

‘Hiding implies I have something to hide from.’

‘And do you?’

A pause. Then—

‘Maybe.’

A hum. A small shift in weight. Then she sits. Just like that. No asking, no hesitation. Just sits, close enough that her knee brushes yours, like muscle memory, like the past hasn’t completely given up on you yet.

The air smells like street food, like summer. Somewhere, a neon sign hums its last flickers before shutting off for the night.

She bumps her shoulder against yours.

‘Missed you, you know.’

You turn your head. Blink. She’s watching you, like the sentence wasn’t a trap, wasn’t something heavy. Just… true.

You swallow.

‘Yeah?’

She nods, pulling her sleeves over her hands. ‘Yeah.’

The night stretches. Not awkward. Not tight with something unspoken. Just easy. Just… there.

‘How’s life?’ she asks.

‘Oh, you know. Full of bad choices.’

‘Any good ones?’

‘Still deciding.’

She breathes out a laugh, soft.

You glance at her, at the curve of her nose, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear like she’s done since she was a kid.

‘You look…’ she starts, then tilts her head.

‘What?’

‘The same.’

You huff a laugh. ‘That’s a lie.’

‘No.’ She nudges your knee again. ‘You’re just… still you.’

And it’s so simple, the way she says it. So casual, like she hasn’t just pulled the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. Not yet.

She leans in slightly.

‘Still drink too much coffee?’

‘Still sleep through earthquakes?’

Her grin widens. ‘Still remember that?’

‘Some things don’t change.’

‘Some do.’

A small shift. A glance. A fraction closer.

And the city moves around you, oblivious.

But you?

You stay still.

You stay here.

Yujin sighs, long and soft, tilting her head back, watching the streetlight cast flickering halos through the humidity.

‘Seoul’s different at night,’ she murmurs. ‘Seoul’s different all the time.’

She hums, half in agreement, half just because she likes the sound. You forgot about that—the way she used to make tiny noises when she was thinking, little musical notes that filled in the gaps between words.

‘Feels slower now,’ she says. ‘That’s just you.’ She turns to you, eyes warm. ‘Yeah?’ You nod. ‘Everything moves too fast for you these days. You forgot what slow feels like.’ A small smile. ‘Remind me?’ Something tightens in your chest. She doesn’t mean it like that. Doesn’t mean it like anything more than what it is—a quiet moment, a quiet ask. But still. You shift, leaning back against the bench, stretching your arms across the top like you own the night. Like it doesn’t own you. ‘Alright,’ you say. ‘Lesson one: sitting still.’ She huffs a laugh but follows your lead, sinking deeper into the wood, legs stretching out. Her foot knocks against yours. ‘Like this?’ ‘Yeah.’ A beat. ‘And then what?’ ‘Nothing.’ She raises a brow. ‘That’s it?’ ‘That’s it.’ She exhales, slow and thoughtful. ‘You always made things feel easy,’ she says, voice quiet, like she’s afraid of disrupting the moment. You glance at her, and she’s not looking at you—just at the night, at the city, at something only she can see. ‘Not sure that’s true,’ you admit. ‘No, it is.’ She pulls her sleeves over her hands again, eyes flicking toward you. ‘You made me feel easy. Like… breathing.’ Something inside you curls at the edges. ‘Yujin—’ ‘It’s okay.’ She shakes her head, soft, smiling like she’s telling you not to carry it too heavily. ‘I’m just remembering.’ The city hums around you both. A distant motorbike rumbles past. Somewhere, an old radio plays a song you half recognize. You look at her again. Hair slightly mussed. Eyes bright, soft, familiar. Like she was never gone at all. She shifts, tucking one leg under the other, hands still hidden in her sleeves.

‘You ever think about calling?’ Her voice is light. Not demanding. Not accusing. Just... wondering. You let out a slow breath. ‘You ever think about picking up?’ A small laugh, exhale-soft. ‘Yeah.’ You glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, chin propped against her knee, smile barely-there but real. ‘But I figured you needed time,’ she says. You swallow. ‘Did I?’ Her fingers twitch against the fabric of her hoodie. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I just told myself that so I wouldn’t call.’ The honesty knocks something loose in your chest. You don’t say anything for a moment. The city moves around you both, neon humming against the wet pavement, the smell of night air thick with too many things. Then, quietly— ‘Three years is a long time, Yujin.’ ‘I know.’

She shifts, slow, careful, like she’s turning over a fragile thought in her hands. ‘But I never wanted it to be forever.’ Your throat tightens. You want to ask her then why did you leave like it was? But you don’t. Because you already know the answer. Because she was always meant for something bigger. Because she was scared, because you were scared, because maybe—just maybe—back then, love wasn’t enough to hold everything steady.

Instead, you say, ‘You look good, you know.’ Her lips curve, soft. ‘You do too.’ You scoff, tipping your head back against the bench. ‘Liar.’ ‘I never lied to you.’ That shuts you up. For a moment, you let it sink in. The weight of her voice, the way she says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something you should’ve never doubted. Then, softer— ‘You really never called?’ she asks. ‘I really never called.’ She doesn’t look away. ‘Why?’ You inhale. Let the air sit heavy in your lungs. ‘Because I thought you’d be better off without me.’ The words land, quiet and unpolished. Yujin blinks. Then— ‘You idiot.’ And then she’s moving, shifting closer, her fingers finding your sleeve, gripping just slightly, just enough for you to feel her there, to feel her warmth against the fabric. ‘Do you know how many times I almost showed up at your door?’ she says, voice soft but steady. ‘How many times I wanted to tell you that I was still here? That I—’ She stops. Exhales. Looks away, looks back. ‘That I missed you?’ You swallow. She’s close now. Not quite touching, but nearly. The air between you charged, something slow, something waiting. Your heart does something complicated in your chest. ‘You missed me?’ you murmur. Yujin smiles, small, fond. ‘Of course, you idiot.’ The city hums. The night exhales. And you— You don’t move away. Yujin stays close. Close enough for you to count her breaths, to feel the warmth of her body radiating through the space between you. You should say something. You should do something. Instead, you just sit there. And Yujin—Yujin lets you.

Her fingers stay curled into your sleeve, loose but certain. Like she’s testing gravity, checking to see if you’ll stay, if you’ll shift, if you’ll remind her that you’re real. She tilts her head, watching you the way she used to—like she’s memorizing you, like she’s trying to fit you back into the version of her life where you were always supposed to be. And maybe she is. Maybe she’s wondering how you look the same but feel different. Maybe she’s cataloging the way your shoulders have set a little heavier, the way your mouth curves in thought before you speak. Or maybe she’s just looking. Like she never stopped. ‘So,’ she says, voice light, careful. ‘What now?’ A question too big for this moment. A question you can’t answer, not yet. So you do what you always do. You deflect. You lean back, arms stretching across the top of the bench, looking at her out of the corner of your eye. ‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that?’ She lifts a brow. ‘You were always the planner.’ She snorts. ‘Hardly.’ ‘Oh? I seem to remember someone who had color-coded schedules for summer break.’ ‘That was one summer.’

‘Still counts.’ She exhales a laugh, tipping her head back against the bench, looking up at the sky. ‘Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little obsessed with plans.’ ‘A little?’

She shoots you a look, but it’s all warmth. All familiarity. ‘You liked it,’ she says. ‘It was efficient. It was cute.’

You hesitate. Just slightly. But she catches it. Of course she does. Her smile softens.

‘You can say it, you know.’ You tilt your head, pretending to be confused. ‘Say what?’ ‘That you missed me too.’

Something about the way she says it makes your stomach pull tight. Not teasing. Not fishing. Just true. You turn back to the street, watching the way the neon catches in the puddles, turning them into something like galaxies.

‘You already know.’ Yujin hums. ‘I want to hear it anyway.’ You exhale.

Three years of distance. Three years of silence. Three years of trying to unwrite the part of your life where she belonged.

‘Yeah,’ you say, voice quiet. ‘I missed you.’

Yujin doesn’t say anything right away. Then—

Her hand slides fully into your sleeve, warm against your wrist. A small thing. A quiet thing. But it’s enough.

‘Good,’ she murmurs.

You sit there like that for a while. Neither of you moving. Neither of you pulling away. And for the first time in years—

The silence between you doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning.

Her hand stays there. Not gripping. Not holding. Just resting, warm against your wrist, like it belongs there. Like it never left.

You let out a slow breath. Three years. Three whole years. And somehow, this—her, the quiet press of her skin against yours, the way she’s just here—feels so natural it makes your ribs ache.

‘What are we doing, Yujin?’

Soft. Not accusing. Just—just needing to know if she feels it too, if this night is supposed to mean what you think it does.

She tilts her head, slow. Her hair slips over her shoulder, catching the streetlight in its strands. ‘Talking?’

A small, careful smile.

You huff. ‘Is that what this is?’

She hums, shifts a little closer, foot knocking against yours. ‘I don’t know. Feels nice, though.’

Nice. Nice, like it isn’t everything. Nice, like you aren’t suddenly breathing her in again, like your body hasn’t been on high alert since the moment she walked into your orbit tonight.

You roll your wrist slightly, just enough so that your fingers brush hers. She doesn’t pull away.

The city hums. The night exhales. And then—

‘Do you want to go for a walk?’ she asks.

It’s an easy question. A simple one. But something about it knots itself into your chest, makes your throat tight. Because that’s always how it was with her. Yujin never asked for big things. Just small ones, one after another, adding up to something impossible to resist.

Do you want to get ice cream? Do you want to climb onto the roof? Do you want to watch the rain with me? Do you want to stay?

And you had always said yes.

You glance at her now, at the way she’s watching you, hopeful but not pushing, patient in the way only she could ever be. A walk. A moment. A step toward something you don’t quite know how to name.

You exhale, slow. Then you stand.

‘Lead the way.’

Her smile—god. Her smile.

She slips her hand fully into yours, easy, thoughtless, like muscle memory. Like no time has passed at all.

And you— You let her.

The street hums around you, the last traces of night shifting toward something softer. The vendors have mostly packed up, but the scent of grilled meat and frying oil still lingers, floating warm through the thick summer air.

Yujin’s hand stays in yours. Not tight. Not hesitant. Just there. Like it was always meant to be.

You walk without direction. Just moving, side by side, the way you used to. Her footsteps match yours easily, a quiet sync neither of you planned.

‘Where are we going?’ you ask, voice low.

‘Nowhere,’ she says.

It makes you smile.

A few years ago, that answer would have annoyed her. Yujin, the girl with color-coded schedules, with plans so detailed they might as well have been carved into stone. But now she just says it like it’s enough. Like it’s the whole point.

She swings your hands slightly, absentminded. ‘You always walked like this,’ she murmurs.

‘Like what?’

She shrugs. ‘Like the city doesn’t own you.’

You breathe in, slow. The neon of old convenience stores, the occasional flickering of a streetlamp. ‘I guess I never let it.’

She hums. ‘I did.’

You glance at her. ‘Yujin—’

‘It’s okay,’ she cuts in, smiling. ‘I wanted to. I just—’ She exhales, presses her lips together for a moment, then shakes her head. ‘I forgot how good it feels to walk like this. Without thinking.’

You squeeze her hand just slightly.

She notices. Her thumb brushes the edge of your palm. Not an accident. Not a mistake.

The city stretches ahead of you, quiet. ‘You ever think about coming back?’ you ask.

She doesn’t answer right away. Her fingers tighten around yours, just a little.

‘I used to dream about it,’ she says, voice softer now. ‘I’d wake up thinking I was still in Dunsan-dong. That I’d step outside and find you waiting, like always.’

Your throat goes tight. She turns her head, studies your face in the flickering light.

‘But I was scared,’ she says, gentle. ‘What if you were different? What if I was?’

You don’t look away. ‘And now?’

A breath. A small, small smile. ‘I think I was scared of the wrong thing.’

Your heart stumbles.

She slows, pulling you toward the edge of the sidewalk, toward a tiny park that barely qualifies as a park—a patch of grass, a few trees. The kind of place nobody notices. She stops. Turns to face you.

You should say something. You should say everything.

But she beats you to it.

‘You were always the best part of my life,’ she says, voice steady, firm, like she’s decided something for herself.

Your pulse jumps. ‘Yujin—’

‘I just needed you to know that.’

She’s looking at you like she’s bracing for impact. Like she’s not sure what you’ll do with this thing she’s handing you.

So you take it. Carefully, quietly, the way she deserves.

You lift your hand—the one she’s not holding—and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath catches.

‘Yeah?’ you murmur.

She nods.

And then, softer—

‘I think you were always mine.’

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Because the next thing you know, her hands are on your face, and your mouth is against hers, and the whole city dissolves around you.

She tastes like everything you remember. Like fine tea and something sweeter, something that was always just hers. She presses closer, hands slipping down to your collar, holding you there like you might disappear.

You won’t. Not this time.

When you pull back, she’s breathing fast, forehead resting against yours. You smile.

‘Still walk like the city doesn’t own me?’ you murmur.

She laughs, breathless, and pulls you back in.

Yujin kisses like a memory you never let go of. Like muscle memory, like breathing. Like the space between your ribs was always meant to make room for her.

She pulls back, just enough for her nose to brush yours. Her breath is warm, uneven. Her hands are still curled into the collar of your shirt, holding, gripping, keeping.

You open your eyes. She’s already looking at you.

Not like the girl on the billboards, not like the actress on screen. Just Yujin. Soft, real, right here.

Her lips are pink and kiss-bitten. She blinks slowly, dazed, like she’s trying to piece together what just happened. And then—

Then she laughs.

Not a big laugh. Not loud. Just this tiny, incredulous little sound. Like she can’t believe it. Like she can’t believe you.

‘What?’ you murmur.

She shakes her head, smiling, fingers still resting against your collar. ‘I don’t know.’

‘That’s a first.’

She huffs. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

A flicker of something in her eyes. Amusement. Mischief. Something else.

She tilts her head, considering. Then, in one slow movement, she leans in—

Not kissing you, not quite. Just close enough that her lips barely graze yours. Close enough that you can feel her smile.

‘Tempting,’ she murmurs.

Your heart stumbles.

But then she pulls away, slipping her fingers from your shirt, stepping back onto the sidewalk, like she’s giving you space to breathe.

You don’t need it. But you let her.

The city hums around you, the distant rumble of a car engine, the occasional flicker of neon against damp pavement.

You watch as Yujin tilts her head toward the sky, stretching her arms out, exhaling like she’s just remembered how.

‘I forgot what this feels like,’ she admits.

‘What?’

‘Not thinking.’ She lets her hands drop to her sides, flexing her fingers. ‘Not planning every second of my life in advance. Just… being.’

You shift, watching her.

‘I don’t think I’ve done that in years,’ she says.

A pause. Then, softly—

‘Stay with me.’

Your heart does something complicated in your chest.

She looks over, a little hesitant now, like she’s not sure how the words sound out loud.

‘I mean—’ she starts, but you shake your head.

‘Okay.’

Her lips part slightly.

Like she expected you to hesitate. Like she thought she’d have to convince you.

You step closer. Just enough that the space between you disappears again.

‘Okay?’ she echoes.

You nod.

Then, quieter—‘Anywhere.’

Yujin’s face softens.

And god, it’s so easy, the way she looks at you. Like you are something known. Like she is something understood.

She lets out a small, breathy laugh, reaching up to brush her thumb against the corner of your mouth.

‘You’re so stupid,’ she murmurs.

‘You love it.’

‘Yeah,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Yeah, I do.’

She slips her hand back into yours, fingers threading together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she never left. Like you never let her.

And the city stretches ahead, wide open, waiting.

You should take a taxi. That would be the smart thing. A quiet, unremarkable way to disappear from the city before someone notices Korea’s brightest star walking hand-in-hand with someone who isn’t famous, isn’t scripted, isn’t anything but hers.

But Yujin shakes her head.

‘Not yet,’ she says.

So you walk.

She keeps close, hood pulled low, fingers curled into yours. The streets are thinning out, the city exhaling into its quieter hours. The air smells like fried oil and pavement, the ghosts of dinner service still hanging in the air.

She bumps into you once, then twice.

‘Are you always this bad at walking?’ you ask.

She grins, breathless. ‘I think I forgot how to do it with company.’

Company. Company.

You’re not sure if you’re relieved of that; that she was too busy to even meander through lazy lovers.

You squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.

Your place isn’t far, but when you reach it—when Yujin stops at the entrance, tilting her head back to take it all in—something shifts.

‘Huh.’

That’s all she says.

You fight a smirk. ‘Huh?’

She makes a small noise, arms crossed, like she’s trying not to look impressed.

‘You kept acting like you lived in a shoebox.’

You raise a brow. ‘Did I?’

‘Yeah.’ She gestures vaguely to the high-rise, the massive glass windows catching the city lights. ‘I was expecting something small. Modest. Maybe a bachelor pad with an ugly couch and a tragic little coffee table.’

You scoff. ‘What do you take me for?’

‘A very humble man, apparently.’

You shake your head, leading her inside.

The elevator is empty. Too bright. Too quiet.

She rocks on her heels. ‘So, do I get the grand tour?’

‘I don’t know,’ you say, pretending to think. ‘You might not be able to handle it. Very overwhelming.’

She elbows you in the side, laughing. ‘Shut up.’

The doors slide open.

She steps out first, into the hallway, waiting while you fish your keys from your pocket.

She glances over. ‘I still can’t believe you live here.’

‘Why?’

She shrugs. ‘It’s just weird.’

‘Weird how?’

She scrunches her nose, like she doesn’t quite know how to explain it. ‘I don’t know. You just never cared about stuff like this.’

You unlock the door.

She steps inside.

And immediately—

‘Oh my god.’

You roll your eyes, shutting the door behind you. ‘What now?’

She turns in a slow circle, taking everything in. The high ceilings, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft lighting that spills across the polished wood.

‘Are you kidding?’ she says, spinning toward you, mouth open in faux outrage. ‘This is beautiful.’

You snort. ‘What, you thought I was sleeping in a broom closet?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow. Faith in me is strong, I see.’

She grins, moving toward the living room. ‘No, it’s just—’ She shakes her head, fingers brushing over the back of the sleek, perfectly chosen couch. ‘You were always so… comfortable with less. I figured, even if you had money, you’d still live like some struggling artist in a shoebox.’

You scoff, kicking off your shoes. ‘What does that even mean?’

‘Like, I don’t know, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. A single sad chair. Stacks of books everywhere.’

You raise a brow. ‘So your image of me is basically a broke philosophy major?’

She shrugs. ‘It suited you.’

You exhale a laugh.

‘But this,’ she gestures around again, ‘this is… grown-up.’

‘Was I not grown-up before?’

She grins. ‘No.’

‘Wow.’

‘But,’ she continues, stepping toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the city spills out in front of her like a living, breathing thing, ‘I like it. It feels like you.’

You pause.

Not expensive. Not fancy. Not over-the-top.

It feels like you.

You scratch the back of your neck, looking away.

‘Yeah?’

She nods. ‘Yeah.’

She turns back to the glass, resting her fingers lightly against the frame. ‘You can see the river from here.’

You step up beside her.

It’s a view you see every day, but somehow, with Yujin here, it looks different.

She breathes in. ‘It’s nice.’

You breathe her in.

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It is.’

She turns.

And then she kisses you.

Not careful. Not planned.

Just Yujin.

She tilts her head, presses up slightly on her toes, and meets your mouth with something warm, something easy.

It’s not perfect.

She misses, just slightly. Laughs into the kiss. Her hands fumble for your collar but find your wrist instead.

But god—

It’s real.

You breathe her in. Hold her waist. Feel her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt like she’s trying to pull you closer, closer.

She hums against your lips, smiling.

You grin. ‘You missed.’

She exhales a laugh. ‘Shut up.’

‘Make me.’

She does.

The kisses are clumsy, messy, soft. The kind that happens when two people are trying to remember, trying to relearn each other in real-time.

She tugs at your shirt.

You trip over the edge of the couch.

She gasps.

You land in a heap, tangled together, breathless.

Silence.

Then—

She laughs.

Bright, full, head tipped back against your chest.

You groan, letting your head fall back against the cushions. ‘Unbelievable.’

She grins, shifting so she’s straddling your lap. ‘I don’t know, I think it’s fitting.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah.’ She leans in, pressing her forehead against yours. ‘Clumsy love suits us.’

Your breath catches.

Then, softer—

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘It does.’

She cups your face, fingers warm against your jaw.

The city hums outside, unaware.

And you—

You stay here.

With her.

You don’t know who says it first.

Maybe her. Maybe you. Maybe neither of you—maybe it’s just implied, wrapped up in the way she’s still sitting in your lap, fingers absently tracing patterns over your collarbone, skin warm against yours.

But at some point, between the teasing and the breathless little ohs that slip between kisses, it just becomes a fact.

You’re both too warm.

Too sticky from the night air, from walking too long through humid Seoul streets, from the thick summer heat pressing against the glass of your windows.

‘Shower,’ she murmurs.

You’re not sure if it’s a request or a declaration, but either way—

‘Yeah,’ you say.

And then you’re moving.

Yujin laughs when you lift her off the couch, stumbling slightly as you navigate through the apartment. She doesn’t let go, arms slung loosely around your neck, breath warm against your ear.

‘Are you always this dramatic?’ she asks.

‘You love it.’

She hums, not denying it.

The bathroom is bright, too bright, the kind of brightness that makes everything feel a little more real than you’re prepared for. But Yujin doesn’t hesitate—just pulls her hoodie over her head, shakes her hair out, steps closer like she’s done this a thousand times.

Like she’s never left.

You watch as she turns toward the mirror, tilting her head slightly.

‘Haven’t been in a place like this in a while,’ she muses.

‘A bathroom?’

She snorts, shoving you lightly. ‘No, this kind of bathroom.’ She waves a hand vaguely, indicating the open shower, the marble walls, the soft lighting. ‘It’s fancy.’

You roll your eyes, reaching for the faucet. ‘You act like you don’t stay in five-star hotels every week.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How?’

She steps behind you, pressing her chin against your shoulder. ‘This feels like you.’

You don’t know what to say to that.

So you don’t say anything at all.

The water warms between your fingers, steam rising slowly.

Yujin hums, stepping forward, slipping her fingers under the hem of your shirt. ‘Come on.’

You don’t move.

She looks up, amused. ‘What, suddenly shy?’

You scoff, shaking your head, but your pulse jumps when her fingers skate lightly against your stomach.

She grins. ‘Cute.’

‘What is?’

‘Three years apart, and you’re still so you.’

You exhale a laugh, finally pulling your shirt over your head. She does the same, tossing her clothes into a messy pile, and then—

Then it’s just you and her, standing too close, bare skin meeting for the first time in what feels like forever.

Her breath catches.

You hear it. Feel it.

And god—

She’s so beautiful.

All golden skin and soft curves and the kind of warmth that could make the whole city feel like home.

She watches you, expectant, waiting.

You don’t make her wait long.

You reach for her—

And she lets you.

Lets you pull her in, lets you kiss her slow, deep, careful, like you’re memorizing her all over again.

She sighs into your mouth, hands trailing up your arms, curling into your hair.

‘Come on,’ she whispers.

And this time—

You listen.

The water is hot, almost too hot, but neither of you care.

Yujin steps under first, exhaling as the warmth rolls over her skin, tilting her head back so that her hair darkens, slick against her shoulders.

You’re distracted.

Too distracted.

Because—

Because she’s standing there, all bare skin and soft curves and Yujin, looking at you like she already knows exactly what you’re thinking.

‘Are you going to keep staring?’ she teases.

You swallow. ‘Maybe.’

She laughs, stepping forward, reaching for the shampoo.

You should move. Should help. Should do something.

But instead, you just—

Just watch.

The way she hums under her breath, the way she lathers the shampoo into her hair, fingers massaging small circles against her scalp.

You’re so lost in it, in her, that you don’t even realize she’s finished—

Until she suddenly turns, tilts her head, and smiles.

‘Come here.’

You don’t hesitate.

She tugs you forward, fingers threading through your hair, working shampoo into your scalp like it’s something sacred, something worth taking her time with.

And god—

God, you forgot how good this feels.

Forgot what it was like to just be, to just exist under someone’s hands, to let yourself be cared for in a way that doesn’t feel heavy, doesn’t feel like a transaction.

Her fingers move slowly, carefully, her nails scraping lightly against your skin.

You close your eyes.

Breathe.

Let yourself lean into it.

Let yourself lean into her.

And she—

She lets you.

She’s still rinsing when you reach for her.

‘What—’

You shush her, hands skimming up her sides, guiding her under the water’s warmth.

She lets you.

Lets you tilt her chin slightly, lets you press a kiss just below her ear, lets you work your fingers into her hair like she’s something holy.

Her breath catches.

You hear it, feel it, let it sink into your bones.

‘Close your eyes,’ you murmur.

She hesitates—just a fraction of a second—then obeys.

The water slides down her face, over her lips, down the elegant curve of her throat.

You watch, transfixed.

Then you move.

You reach for the shampoo, work it between your hands, and Yujin’s confused—’Again?’—but when your fingers find her scalp—

She melts.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen her this undone.

Head tilted slightly, mouth parted, body soft beneath your touch.

She hums, a small, quiet sound, like she’s just remembered something she’d long forgotten.

You barely breathe.

Just keep going, keep moving, keep tracing slow, deliberate circles, letting your fingers tangle through her hair like it’s something sacred.

Because it is.

Because she is.

Yujin, the girl who never stopped moving, who never let herself stop thinking, who planned every step of her life down to the last decimal—

She’s still now.

Still, and warm, and yours.

You rinse the shampoo carefully, letting the water do the work. Your fingers trail down, down, past her neck, past her shoulders, past the delicate slip of her collarbone.

She sighs.

Leans into you.

Lets herself fall.

And god—

You’ll catch her.

Every time.

You reach for the soap next, work it slowly over her back, over her arms, over every inch of her that you can touch.

She exhales, barely above a whisper.

‘Feels nice.’

You smile.

‘Good.’

You don’t rush.

Not when she’s like this. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her with something as simple as this.

Your hands trail lower, down her spine, over the dip of her waist. She shifts slightly, breath hitching just a little.

You pause.

Press a kiss to her shoulder.

She shivers, but not from the cold.

‘This okay?’ you murmur.

Her fingers curl around your wrist, stopping you.

For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away—

But instead—

She guides your hand lower.

Presses it against the soft warmth of her stomach.

Holds it there.

She exhales, slow and deep. ‘Don’t stop.’ You don’t. God, you don’t. You let your hands move slowly, carefully, exploring her the way you’ve always wanted to—like she’s something to learn, something to understand. And Yujin— Yujin lets you.

She lets you wash away the last three years, lets you trace something new into her skin, lets you relearn every inch of her with soap and steam and careful, careful hands.

She turns in your arms, pressing her forehead against yours. The water slips between you, catching at the spaces where you don’t quite meet. She’s smiling. Soft. Sweet. Yours. You cup her face. She leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. For a long, long moment, neither of you move. You just stay. Right here. Right now. Like this. Like always. Then— She opens her eyes. And she kisses you.

The water trails down her spine in slow, careful rivers, catching in the dips of her back, rolling down the curve of her waist. You follow its path with your fingers, mapping her skin like something sacred, something known.

She doesn’t move. Just lets you touch. Lets you care.

You start with her back, palms gliding down the slope of her shoulders, the delicate stretch of muscle beneath warm, damp skin. Your thumbs press gently into the knots there, kneading, coaxing, working out tension she probably doesn’t even realize she’s holding.

She exhales, long and slow, tipping her head forward. ‘Mmm,’ she murmurs, voice thick with something close to sleep. ‘That feels good.’ You smile. Press your thumbs in a little deeper. Let your hands drift lower, following the curve of her spine, tracing each ridge, each shadow, each memory pressed into muscle. You smooth circles over her lower back, fingers pressing into the dimples there, trailing down— She shivers. Your hands pause. ‘Ticklish?’ you murmur.

She huffs a quiet laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ‘A little.’ You grin, but you don’t tease. Not now. Not when she’s letting you do this, letting you love her in the simplest, softest way. You reach for the soap, work it between your hands until it foams, and then— Then you really start. You start with her arms, sliding your palms over smooth, damp skin, tracing the delicate lines of muscle beneath. You lift her wrist, turning it over, running your fingers along the pulse point there. Her breath catches. You watch, mesmerized, as water beads along the inside of her forearm, trailing down to the soft bend of her elbow. ‘You’re so careful,’ she murmurs. You hum. ‘You deserve careful.’ Something flickers across her face. Something soft. She lets her fingers curl around yours. You smile. Run your hands over her stomach next, tracing the subtle rise and fall of each breath, the warmth of her, the realness of her. She shifts slightly, the movement pressing her closer, pressing skin to skin, pressing warmth to warmth. You exhale. Let your hands drift lower, over the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip, the length of her thigh. You take your time. Because she lets you. Because she wants you to. You kneel then, water rolling down your shoulders, down your back, pooling against your skin. You press your lips to her hip. She exhales, shaky, fingers threading into your hair. ‘You don’t have to—’ ‘I want to.’ You slide your hands over her legs, smoothing your palms down her thighs, over her calves, down to her ankles. She watches, breathing slow. You work the soap into her skin, rubbing warmth into her, sliding your thumbs up the backs of her knees, over the gentle curve of her calves. She sighs. Soft. Deep. Content. You let your fingers skim up again, over the dip of her waist, the gentle swell of her stomach, up— Up— To her chest. Her breath stutters. You pause. Look up. She’s already looking at you. Eyes dark, lips parted, cheeks flushed from the heat of the water. She lifts her hand, pressing it against yours. Guiding you. ‘Go on,’ she whispers. And you do. God, you do.

You cup her, trace the delicate slope of her, run your thumbs over warm, wet skin, over the soft peaks of her breasts, watching the way she reacts, the way she shivers under your touch.

Her lips part.

Her fingers tighten in your hair.

‘You’re—’ she starts, voice barely a breath, barely a sound. ‘You’re so—’

You stand.

Tilt her chin up.

Kiss her.

Not hungry. Not desperate.

Just deep.

Just certain.

Just her.

And when you pull back, pressing your forehead against hers, she exhales a laugh.

‘This is dangerous,’ she murmurs.

You smile. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

She lifts her arms, looping them around your neck, pulling you in, pressing against you, warm and wet and perfect.

And you—

You let her.

The steam rises. The water beads against her skin, gliding down slow, tracing paths over the soft slopes of her body, catching at the delicate points where warmth meets shadow, where light bends just so, where she is golden and bronze and endless.

You follow it.

With your eyes first, then with your hands.

Fingertips grazing along the soft valley of her stomach, skimming over her ribs, pressing gently into the places where she is most tender, most real. You watch the way the droplets gather at her collarbone, suspended for just a moment before slipping down, down, disappearing into the delicate dip between her breasts.

It feels unfair, almost, that something as simple as water gets to touch her like this before you do.

So you take its place.

Your lips find her collarbone first, brushing against the damp skin, warm and reverent. She exhales, tilting her head slightly, letting you have her like this, letting you take your time.

You do.

You always do.

Your mouth trails lower, following the path of the water, tracing its descent. You press a kiss against the gentle swell of her chest, right where her heart beats beneath, steady, certain, alive. You linger there, letting the moment stretch, letting yourself feel it, letting yourself remember what it’s like to love someone in a way that has nothing to do with time or distance or the years lost in between.

She breathes in, slow and deep, her fingers threading through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp. Not pulling. Just holding.

And then you go lower.

The water clings to her, catching at the nipples, glistening like liquid gold against the dark-bronze warmth of her nipples. It drips, slow and deliberate, down the soft curve of her, over the places where she is most tender, most beautiful.

You chase it.

Your lips press to her sternum, then lower, following the water as it rolls over the swell of her breast, catching it before it can disappear.

She makes a sound then, a soft, breathy thing, like something breaking open inside her, like something unfolding, something giving way.

And god—

You love her like this.

Love the way she lets you worship her, the way she lets you press your mouth to her skin like it’s something sacred, like it’s something worth kneeling for.

You take your time.

You kiss along the curve of her, letting your tongue flick against her skin, letting yourself taste the warmth of her, the salt, the sweetness, the Yujin of her.

She trembles. Not much. Just a little. Just enough. You kiss the the peak of her breast—nipple, lips closing around the dark, glistening bronze of her, taking her between your lips like something meant to be savored. And she— She gasps. Soft. Sharp. Her fingers tighten in your hair, her back arching just slightly, just enough to press herself further into your mouth, to offer herself up like this, to let you take her in a way that feels like praise. The water slips between you, forgotten, but you don’t need it anymore. She is all the warmth you will ever need. And you— You are drowning. But you don’t mind. Not one bit.

You don’t know how long you stay like this—your mouth on her, your hands tracing slow worship into her skin, your tongue moving against the dark-bronze pebble of her like you’re tasting something sacred, something forbidden, something you never stopped craving.

She doesn’t rush you.

Just feels.

Just lets herself be felt.

Her fingers tremble against your scalp, gripping just enough to keep you grounded, to keep herself from falling apart entirely. The water sings against the tiles, drowning the rest of the world out, leaving just the sound of her soft gasps, her breath catching, the delicate whimper when your teeth graze over where she is most sensitive.

‘You’re—’ she tries, but the sentence breaks, dissolving into something else entirely.

You hum against her, half-smirking, half-dazed.

‘Say that again?’

She exhales sharply. Then, in a voice softer than the steam curling between you—

‘You’re ruining me.’

You smile against her skin.

‘Good.’

But then she’s moving.

Slow, steady, deliberate—sliding her hands down to your jaw, guiding you up, forcing your mouth away from her skin so she can see you again.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze, and god—

She looks like something devotional.

Like she’s burning and melting and breaking and remaking herself in the same moment.

And then she cups your face.

Runs her fingers down the sharp edge of your jaw, down your throat, down the planes of your chest like she’s trying to learn you all over again.

‘My turn,’ she whispers.

You exhale. ‘Yujin—’

But she’s already pressing her lips to your palm.

A slow, wet kiss against the skin there, warm and reverent.

You tense, watching the way she does it—how her mouth lingers, how her breath spills against your hand like she’s praying into it.

Then another.

And another.

Each kiss deliberate. Each one softer than the last.

Your fingers twitch.

Your heart stutters.

And Yujin—

Yujin just smiles.

Like she knows what she’s doing to you.

Like she knows the effect of her lips, her mouth, the heat of her pressing into you like this.

Then she goes lower.

Tracing fire against your wrist. Down to your forearm.

She’s taking her time.

Like she knows what’s coming. Like she wants you to feel every second of it before she even starts.

Softly, she lowers herself to the shower floor, folding her legs beneath her like someone praying—like someone preparing for something sacred. Water cascades over her, tracing the delicate angles of her face, slipping down her shoulders, clinging to her lashes. She doesn’t blink it away.

She looks up at you instead.

‘Just so you know,’ she murmurs, fingers curling around your thigh, pressing just hard enough to make you feel it, ‘I haven’t had this for three years.’

Your breath catches.

‘You poor thing.’

She hums, tilting her head slightly, eyes flickering with something playful, something edged with heat. ‘If only you called.’

Her grip tightens on your shaft—subtle, knowing, cruel.

Your pulse slams into your ribs.

‘Regretting everything as we speak,’ you manage, voice rough, because god—three years of waking up alone, three years of knowing what her body felt like against yours and still having to live without it, three years of not having this—

Yujin presses her lips to your hip, slow, warm, reverent.

‘Don’t,’ she whispers, breath ghosting over your skin. ‘From now on, let’s not waste a single breath.’

And that was that.

No more lost time. No more distance.

She presses another kiss, right below your navel. Cheating.

Your entire body tenses, twitches, a sharp current running through you.

She notices.

She smiles.

‘This is punishment,’ she murmurs.

Your fingers twitch against the tile. ‘For what?’

She looks up at you, lashes wet and mussed and dripping, lips parted just slightly—ruinous.

‘For almost forgetting me.’

Your jaw tightens. ‘That’s blasphemy.’

‘Is it?’

‘Every waking moment, every—’

Her hand slides along your wet shaft. Tight. Destitution incarnate.

You stumble against the back wall.

She grins, a little smug, a little knowing, a little dangerous.

‘I don’t want excuses,’ she says softly.

And then—

Then she presses another kiss, open-mouthed, slow, dangerous, right where on the tip of your cock—collecting whatever desperation you had bottled up.

You let out a slow, shaky breath.

She hums against you. Then, another kiss.

‘This,’ she says, hands curling against your hips, ‘is mine.’

And god, you believe her.

You always have.

Her mouth forms a tight ring right on your tip. She’s sucking everything out of you. Caring not for a single second how much this ruins you, how your knees intend to buckle.  

The cool wall slides against your back, and her mouth gentles now—less tight, slower, deliberate. Her lips part, wet and swollen, spit-strung as they glide over the flushed head of you. A slick sound escapes her, obscene and tender. You feel every ridge of her tongue, every warm drag, the way her saliva pools and drips down the length of you. She moans softly, and the vibration travels straight to your gut.

‘Easy,’ you rasp, fingers threading into her hair—not to push, but to feel. To guide her rhythm, your thumb brushing the shell of her ear. ‘Just like that…’

She obeys, but not meekly. Her eyes flick up, dark and gleaming through her lashes, her lips a glistening ring around you. The head glistens under the shower’s spray, spit-slick and ruddy, and when she pulls back just to breathe, a thin strand of saliva stretches between her bottom lip and your tip. She watches you watch it snap.

‘Yujin—’

‘Shhh.’ Her breath ghosts over the wetness she’s made, cooling the heat. ‘Let me.’

Her tongue swipes the slit, slow, too slow, and your hips jerk. She laughs—a soft, husky thing—and catches the bead of precum with her thumb. Holds your gaze as she sucks it clean.

‘All those years,’ she murmurs, nuzzling the inside of your thigh. Her voice is a frayed ribbon. ‘You let this ache. Let it go untouched. Why?’

You tighten your grip in her hair, not harsh, but present. ‘You know why.’

She hums, lips pressing to the vein throbbing beneath the skin. ‘Tell me anyway.’

‘Because it was yours.’ The admission tears free, raw. ‘Even when you weren’t.’

Her breath hitches. For a heartbeat, her composure cracks—lips parting, eyes glassy. Then she surges forward, taking you deep, deep, until your tip brushes the back of her throat. Her nose presses into your pelvis, her cheeks hollowed, and the wetness is overwhelming. Spit spills down her chin, drips onto the shower floor. You watch, wrecked, as she works you with a reverence that borders on worship.

‘God—Yujin—’

She pulls off with a gasp, lips swollen and slick. ‘Look at me.’

You do. Her face is flushed, water clinging to her lashes, hair plastered to her neck. Ruin has never looked so soft.

‘Never again,’ she whispers, palm cradling your jaw. ‘You don’t starve yourself. Not of this. Not of me.’

You nod, breathless, and she smiles—a fragile, aching thing—before bending again. Her mouth is softer now, languid, savoring. Every suck, every lick, pours honey into your veins. You let her take you apart, let her rebuild you, until the world narrows to her lips, her hands, the spit-slick sounds of her devotion.

The climax coils, inevitable—a wildfire in your spine, a tremor in your thighs. You feel it there, the precipice, and your hands fly to her shoulders, gripping hard. ‘Yujin—wait—’

She resists at first, brows furrowed, lips sealed tight around you. But you tug her back gently, your cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop, her lips swollen, glistening. Her confusion flickers only for a heartbeat before you fist your cock, rough and hurried, and the first hot stripe of release paints her cheek.

She gasps, eyes fluttering shut as the next pulse hits her chin, her throat, the tip catching her collarbone. Thick, pearly streaks splatter across her skin—her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, the bow of her top lip. A ragged moan tears from you as you empty yourself onto her, the mess pooling in the hollow of her throat, dripping down her sternum.

For a moment, she’s perfectly still, breath held, face tilted up as if in prayer. Then her tongue darts out, just once, catching the spill on her lip—not to taste, but to feel, to savor the proof. Her eyes open slowly, lashes sticky, gaze molten.

For a second, she just blinks.

One eye.

The other one is… well.

You watch her process it in real time.

Her lips part slightly, her breath still uneven, chest rising and falling as she takes in exactly what’s happened. Your release is everywhere—everywhere—glossing her cheekbones, slipping down the slope of her throat, pooling in the dip of her collarbone like some kind of offering.

She tilts her head. Blinks again.

‘Oh.’

Then she laughs.

A breathy, disbelieving sound, half-amused, half-are-you-kidding-me?

You’re still pressed against the shower wall, still trying to function, your brain short-circuiting between the mess you’ve made of her and the fact that she’s actually—laughing.

‘You—’ she starts, touching her cheek, then stopping, fingers hesitating before they smear through the mess, ‘—you got it in my hair.’

She looks up at you then, eyes bright, glistening—partly from you, partly from water, partly from the sheer absurdity of this situation.

You swallow, still breathless. ‘Uh.’

She blinks. A slow, lazy flutter of lashes.

Then her mouth quirks.

‘You should’ve warned me, you beast.’

You can’t help it—you laugh, too, scrubbing a hand down your face. ‘I tried. You didn’t stop—’

‘I was busy,’ she huffs, wiping at her cheek again. ‘And now I’m busy. Because look at me.’

You are.

You really, really are.

‘I mean—’ you gesture vaguely to her face, her throat, the trail of evidence marking everywhere she’s been—‘I think it’s a good look.’

She glares.

‘No, seriously. We could brand this. “Dewy Glow” or something. Sell it in high-end skincare stores. “Celebrity Secret.”’

She snorts, shoving at your thigh. ‘You absolute menace.’

And then—

‘Oh, wait.’

She freezes.

Her smile vanishes.

Her expression shifts into something far more serious.

‘Oh no.’

You blink. ‘What?’

She doesn’t say anything.

Just slowly, slowly, slowly raises a hand to her right eye.

You know what’s coming before she even speaks.

‘Oh my god, I can’t see.’

You wheeze. Actually wheeze.

She jabs a finger into your thigh. ‘Don’t—don’t laugh. This is serious. This is—I might never recover—’

‘Yujin.’ You’re still dying, but you reach for her anyway, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs swiping over her cheeks, carefully wiping away what you can. ‘Baby, blink—’

‘I am blinking.’ She’s being so dramatic about it, blinking furiously, tilting her face up to the water like it might cleanse her soul. ‘Oh my god. Oh my god.’

‘Okay, okay, come here—’

You guide her fully under the stream, hands in her hair, rubbing circles at her temples as she half-laughs, half-groans against your chest.

‘Three years, and this is how it goes?’

‘I mean,’ you murmur, fingers tracing down her jaw, ‘technically, this is a good thing. This means I really missed you.’

She gasps, smacking your chest. ‘That is not how this works.’

‘No, no, it is. You should be flattered.’

‘I am blinded.’

‘Listen, some people pay a lot of money for facials like this.’

‘Oh my god, shut up—’

She’s laughing now, still rubbing at her eye, still squinting slightly, but you tilt her face up, press your lips to her forehead, her nose, the water-warm curve of her cheek.

‘Here,’ you murmur, ‘let me see.’

She lets you, tilting her chin up, letting you wipe at her lashes, the bridge of her nose, the soft hollow under her eye. Your fingers are gentle, your touch slow, careful, as you rinse the last of it away.

Her hands find your ribs, gripping lightly, grounding herself.

‘I’m keeping score, you know,’ she murmurs, voice softer now.

You kiss her temple. ‘Yeah?’

She hums. ‘You owe me for this.’

You grin, pressing a kiss to her cheek. ‘I owe you?’

‘Mhm.’ Another soft blink, this one slower, more considering. ‘Big time.’

You exhale, pressing your forehead to hers. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

She pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm, searching.

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

A beat.

Then she grins, pressing a quick, mischievous kiss to your lips.

‘Good.’

And then—

‘Now help me get this out of my hair, you absolute monster.’

You laugh, tilting her back under the water, already reaching for the shampoo.

You barely make it out of the shower before Yujin is already reaching for a towel, scrubbing at her hair like she’s trying to erase all evidence of your existence.

You watch her, arms crossed, towel slung lazily over your shoulder. ‘You know, I could help with that.’

She gives you a look. A very specific you-are-the-reason-I’m-in-this-mess look.

‘You’ve helped enough,’ she mutters, aggressively drying her face.

You grin. ‘Want me to dry your back?’

‘No.’

‘Sure?’

‘I don’t trust you.’

You press a hand to your chest, mock-wounded. ‘I am offended by this blatant accusation.’

‘You are plotting something. I know that face.’

‘I literally only have one face, Yujin.’

‘Yeah. And I know it.’

She sighs, shoving her towel at you. ‘Fine. You want to be useful? Dry my hair. But no funny business.’

‘Define funny business.’

She glares.

You chuckle, grabbing another towel, stepping behind her. She exhales as you gently towel-dry her hair, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into her scalp.

Her head tilts slightly, unconsciously leaning into your touch.

You knew she’d enjoy this.

She hums, closing her eyes. ‘Okay. Maybe you can be trusted.’

‘Told you.’ You press a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘I am a professional.’

‘A professional nuisance.’

‘A professional lover.’

She snorts. ‘Oh my god, shut up.’

You grin, setting the towel aside, reaching for the hairdryer.

She shifts slightly in her seat. ‘Wait—’

‘Hm?’

She peeks up at you, tilting her head back, cheeks warm. ‘...I like it when you do it slow. With your hands.’

You pause.

Look down at her.

Oh.

Oh.

You set the hairdryer aside. ‘You should’ve said so earlier, baby.’

She exhales, smiling, closing her eyes again as your fingers slip into her hair, raking through the damp strands, slow and careful.

This is— This is intimacy in its simplest form. You, standing behind her, fingers combing through her hair, working through knots with gentle patience. Her, sitting still, trusting you, letting herself be taken care of. ‘You’re soft,’ you murmur, pressing another kiss to her temple. ‘Mm.’ Her shoulders relax completely. ‘Just don’t mess up my parting.’ You chuckle. ‘I’ll do my best.’ It takes a while—because you like taking your time with her—but eventually, her hair is dry, loose waves tumbling down her back. She stretches, arms overhead, and that’s when you realize— She’s still wearing your shirt. The one she stole post-shower, hanging off her like it was made for this moment.

You stare. Your thoughts are not wholesome. She catches you looking. Her lips curve. ‘You’re plotting something again,’ she says, amused. ‘Maybe.’ ‘You need to control yourself—’ ‘Nope.’ She laughs, batting you away when you attempt to grab her. ‘No. No, sir,’ she warns, scooting to the bed. ‘You said you’d be good.’ ‘Did I?’ ‘Yes. You did. You explicitly said you’d behave.’ ‘And you believed me?’ She pauses. Then groans, rubbing her face. ‘God, I’m an idiot.’ You grin. And then you pounce.

She yelps, barely managing to roll away before you trap her under you, laughing as she dodges your grabby hands.

‘No,’ she gasps between laughs, ‘we are doing the normal nighttime routine first!’ ‘This is the routine.’ ‘No it is not!’ You chase her across the bed. She giggles, swats at you, then suddenly—miraculously—manages to flip you over, straddling you with a triumphant grin. ‘HAH.’ She plants her hands on your chest. ‘Got you.’ You blink up at her. Pause. Then smirk. ‘Yujin,’ you murmur, voice low. ‘Baby.’ Her smile falters. ‘…What.’

You cup her waist, slowly sliding your hands up, over the fabric of your shirt, over the nothing she’s wearing underneath.

She realizes. Her eyes widen. ‘Wait—’ And then you flip her back over. She gasps. ‘Noooooo—’ You laugh, pinning her down, watching as she squirms, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with warmth and amusement. This. This is the routine. Laughter. Teasing. The way you move around each other like gravity has always existed between you. She exhales, chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers curling around your wrists. Her voice, when she speaks, is softer. ‘You win,’ she murmurs. You press your forehead to hers. ‘I always do.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘Ugh. Fine. Manhandle me, then.’ She’s still beneath you, chest rising and falling, fingers curled loosely around your wrists where you’ve pinned them. Her breath is quick, her pulse erratic, and you know it’s not just because of the weight of you pressing her into the mattress—it’s everything. The warmth between you, the years leading to this, the understanding that what’s about to happen isn’t just want, isn’t just release—it’s reclamation.

She swallows, lips parting slightly, pupils wide and dark in the low light. The dark strands of her hair are fanned across the pillow, tangled from your hands, a mess you’d memorize blindfolded. There’s a flush blooming across her chest, creeping up the column of her throat, a heat that you feel mirrored in yourself.

You watch her, watch the way she shifts slightly beneath you, pressing up just enough to remind you she’s waiting, waiting, waiting. You could draw this out forever. But that’s cruelty. Or maybe, maybe, that’s worship.

You press your lips to the tip of her nose, then her cheek, then down, trailing a path over her jaw, her throat, the faint dip between her collarbones. You can feel the hum of her laughter before she even releases it, a small breath of amusement, her fingers twitching against your hold'

‘You’re teasing,’ she murmurs, voice wrecked already. ‘No,’ you answer, dragging your mouth lower, tasting the salt of her skin. ‘I’m remembering.’

Because you are. You’re remembering the way her body curls into yours when she’s overwhelmed. You’re remembering the tiny, trembling exhales she makes when your hands slide over the slopes of her ribs. You’re remembering that she loves when you take your time, that she loves to be adored, that she wants to feel every inch of you.

And she is so easy to adore.

You shift lower, your hands tracing slow, lazy patterns down her sides, feeling the way her muscles twitch beneath your touch. The shape of her—long lines, soft curves, skin warm and impossibly smooth beneath your lips.

Your name escapes her in a breath, a barely-there sound that settles somewhere behind your ribs, inside your chest, like it belongs there.

You kiss lower. Down, down. Your fingers slip between her thighs, ghosting over her bare glistening pussy, and her breath stutters, a sharp intake that punches straight through your gut. ‘Look at you,’ you murmur, dragging your knuckles up the inside of her goosebump-ridden thigh. ‘Fidgeting.’ She doesn’t answer. Just glares, lashes damp, lips parted, so achingly beautiful you feel winded.

‘Is that frustration?’ you tease, dragging your mouth back up, scraping your teeth over her hip bone. ‘It’s—’ She exhales, trying for control. Fails. ‘It’s you taking too long.’ You hum. ‘I thought you liked it slow.’ ‘I do,’ she grits out. ‘But I also like it when you—’

Her voice catches as your fingers press a little harder into her. A single stroke, just enough to make her body jolt, enough to make her curse under her breath, enough to feel the sticky wetness of her—inside.

Then you do it again. And again. Until her hips are moving against your touch, until her nails bite into your shoulders, until her breath is a series of broken, unsteady exhalations, ‘Yes, yes, oh fuck~’

You kiss her then. Hard. Deep. Drinking in every shiver, every sound, every breathless plea she won’t voice but you understand anyway.

And then— Then, finally— Her thighs part wider, welcoming you; knees hooking around your hips, heels digging into the small of your back. You press your shaft along her golden-soft navel, hard enough to get her whimpering under the heat of your shaft. You drag slowly along her soft—yet firm—navel, coursing the map lower and lower—until the nub responsible for her heat—all swollen and beautiful and pink—meets your tip. She lets out a sudden whimper; She glares, and you press a kiss on her temple once again—sorry baby, sorry. At the end of the map, you feel the slick heat of her cunt against the head of your cock, her entrance fluttering, pulsing, as you grind around the clit in slow, torturous circles. Precum smears her folds, mingling with her arousal, the glide obscenely wet. ‘Fuck,’ she hisses, nails raking down your spine. ‘Stop—stop toying—’ You catch her wrist, pinning it above her head again. ‘No.’ Your other hand grips the base of your cock, guiding it through her slit, the swollen head catching on her clit with every pass. She jerks, a broken moan tearing free, her hips bucking—but you hold firm, denying her friction. ‘You wanted slow. This is slow.’ Her cunt weeps, glistening, her inner lips swollen and flushed. You watch, transfixed, as your cockhead nudges her entrance, spreading her open incrementally. A single inch sinks in, the velvety grip of her walls clenching reflexively, and you groan through gritted teeth. ‘Christ’ She whimpers, her clit throbbing against your shaft as you retreat, dragging your tip through her folds again. ‘Please—’ Her voice cracks, tears spilling down her temples. ‘Just—fuck me—’ You lean down, lips grazing hers. ‘Where?’ She glares, chest heaving. ‘You know—’ ‘Say it.’ ‘Inside—’ ‘Inside what?’ You press forward, another inch sheathed, the stretch burning sweet. ‘Use your words, Yujin.’ Her thighs tremble. ‘My—my cunt.’ ‘Good girl.’ You sink deeper, the thick ridge of your cockhead massaging her front wall, that spongy patch of nerves that makes her sob. Her cervix yields, soft and pliant, as you bottom out, hips flush against hers. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick muscle, and you swear, forehead dropping to her shoulder. ‘You’re gonna milk me dry—’ ‘Move,’ she demands, her ankles locking behind your back. ‘Move or I’ll—’ ‘You’ll what?’ You pull out almost completely, leaving just the tip seated, her clit rubbing against your shaft. ‘Beg?’ She keens, back arching, breasts pressed to your chest. ‘Yes—yes, god, please—’ You snap your hips forward, sheathing yourself in one brutal thrust. Her scream is muffled by your palm as you clamp it over her mouth, your other hand sliding between you to circle her clit. ‘Quiet,’ you growl, grinding deep. ‘You’ll take it. All of it.’ Her cunt ripples around you, fluttering in erratic pulses, her clit swollen and pebbled beneath your thumb. You fuck her with shallow, punishing rolls of your hips, each stroke dragging your cockhead over that sweet spot, her thighs shaking, her breath coming in ragged, choked gasps. ‘Look at me,’ you snarl, removing your hand from her mouth. She obeys, eyes glassy, lips bitten raw. ‘Whose cunt is this?’ ‘Yours—’ ‘And whose cock?’ ‘Mine—’ You slam into her, hilt-deep, your balls slapping her ass. ‘Louder—’ ‘MINE—’

The word cracks through the room, ragged and raw, and you reward it by slamming into her hilt-deep, your pelvis grinding against her clit as you still inside her. Her cunt clenches, a vice of slick heat, and you hiss through your teeth, your grip bruising on her hips. ‘Again,’ you demand, pulling out until only the swollen head of your cock remains lodged in her entrance. Her inner lips cling to you, reluctant to let go. She whines, back arching off the bed. ‘Yours—your cunt, your everything—’ You thrust back in, slow, savoring the way her walls ripple to accommodate you. ‘And what do you want?’ 'You,’ she gasps, nails carving half-moons into your shoulders. ‘Inside me—claiming me—’ 'How?' You drag your cockhead over that spongy patch of nerves again, deliberate, watching her thighs quake. 'Cum,' she begs, tears streaking her temples. 'Fill me—mark me—' You still, your hand sliding up to grip her throat—not restricting air, just owning. 'Ask nicely.' Her breath hitches. 'Please—please, I need it—need you to paint my insides white, need to feel it—' A dark thrill curls in your gut. You lean down, lips brushing hers. 'Since you asked so sweetly.' You start a brutal, precise rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that punch the air from her lungs. Each snap of your hips drags her clit against the base of your cock, each retreat leaves her clenching around nothing. Her cunt weeps, arousal slicking your shaft, the obscene slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. 'Look at me,' you snarl, tightening your grip on her throat. Her eyes fly open, hazy but obedient. 'You take me so well,' you murmur, your free hand sliding between you to circle her throbbing clit. 'This greedy cunt—my greedy cunt—sucking me in like you were made for it.'

She sobs, her walls fluttering. 'Yours—always yours—'

'Prove it.' You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, your other still working her clit. 'Come. Now.'

Her orgasm rips through her violently—back arched, cunt spasming, a scream tearing from her throat as she soaks your cock. You ride it out, fucking her through the pulses, your thrusts turning jagged, erratic.

'Mine,' you growl, feeling your balls tighten. 'Say it—say it—'

'Yours—god, yours—'

You slam into her one last time, hilt-deep, and hold. Your release surges—thick, hot ropes of cum flooding her cervix, painting her walls in stripes of white. She whimpers, oversensitive but greedy, her cunt milking every drop as you grind your hips in slow, possessive circles.

'Take it,' you grit out, watching her stomach quiver with the force of your spend. 'All of it.'

She nods, dazed, her thighs trembling around your waist. You collapse atop her, still buried inside, your lips finding the sweat-damp hollow of her throat.

—

Yujin’s lashes flutter against your chest, and there’s a moment where she seems to wrestle with something—embarrassment, vulnerability—but it dissolves when she feels your fingers tracing gentle circles against her back. She shifts, propping herself up just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and soft and entirely too honest.

‘You know,’ she whispers, voice almost shy, ‘I used to dream about this. You and me, like this. Just… here.’

‘Here?’ You brush a damp strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. ‘In bed, sweaty and gross?’

A soft laugh escapes her, warm and tender. ‘Yeah. Exactly this.’ Her fingertips graze your jaw, light as the touch of a memory. ‘I’d think about waking up to you, about how it’d feel to fall asleep in your arms. It’s stupid, I know—’

‘Not stupid,’ you murmur, cutting her off with a kiss—soft, lingering, like you’re trying to pour every unspoken word into it. ‘Never stupid.’

Her gaze softens even further, and she buries her face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like it’s something she needs to breathe. You feel her lips press against your pulse, a delicate kiss that sends warmth flooding through you.

‘I don’t want to let you go,’ she confesses, voice muffled. ‘Not tonight. Not ever.’

‘Then don’t.’ You trail your fingers up and down her spine, feeling the subtle curve of her back beneath your touch. ‘Hold on to me. I’m not going anywhere.’

She shifts, looping her arms around your neck, pressing her body flush against yours. The contact is warm, grounding, and you let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel the weight of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat against your chest.

‘You’re too good at this,’ she mumbles, the faintest hint of a pout in her voice. ‘Making me feel safe. Like I belong here.’

You tighten your hold on her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. ‘You do belong here. With me. Always.’

Her breath shudders, and you feel her fingers clutch at your shoulders, like she’s afraid you might slip away. You press another kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, each touch softer than the last.

‘Yujin,’ you whisper, and she looks up at you, eyes wide and glistening. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.’

She smiles—a real, unguarded smile—and you feel the weight of it settle in your chest. She lifts herself up just enough to press a kiss to your lips, lingering, tender, unhurried. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise, like something that doesn’t need words to be understood.

When she pulls back, her face is flushed, her expression open and raw. ‘I love you,’ she says softly, the words so simple, so devastatingly sincere.

You cup her face, thumb brushing over her cheek. ‘I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.’

She settles against you, fitting herself into the curve of your body, her head resting against your chest. You stroke her hair, feeling the tension melt from her frame as she presses one last kiss to your heart.

The room is warm and heavy with the scent of you both, with the quiet weight of something real and unbreakable. You feel her breathing slow, her body growing heavy with sleep, and you let your own eyes drift shut, content to let the world narrow to the steady rise and fall of her breath.

And then—nothing. Just the two of you tangled together, warmth and closeness and the certainty that this, right here, is home.

—

a/n: Experimenting yet again. Hopefully the last sex scene wasn't too mortifying. But I really enjoyed writing this—Yujin's personality meshes really well with with the dialogue I was aiming to do (hopefully I succeeded). This was a half-finished draft that I managed to finish (through merging other drafts, other idols, et cetera et cetera), and now I don't have a single draft remaining; sooo... I don't know how this fares for the next fic (hopefully not too long..... haha..heh..he).

a/n 2: Much love for all the support: they never go unnoticed!!! <3333333

[procrastinationstationn]

when the executive dysfunction be executive dysfunctioning

[kirain]

Part four of my appreciation project!

@iedistis A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

Morning light streamed through the windows, painting the half-empty bed in molten gold. Dawn—Emmrich's favourite hour. Nothing compared to the thrill of waking beside his beloved, both of them messy and vulnerable from sleep's blessed embrace. It was an intimacy beyond words, a fragile moment reserved for them alone. As she stirred from her slumber, he stood before the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt, waiting—always waiting—for her.

Filomena. His anchor. His everything.

With a slow stretch, she slipped from the bed and stepped in front of him, her movements graceful, her gown ruffled and revealing. Raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulder as she reached for his neck pin, her fingers deft from weeks of practice. This small act of service had become something sacred between them, a silent devotion he anticipated each morning.

He ignored his reflection, instead watching her hands—her beautiful, delicate hands—as she fastened the chains, ensuring the skull clasp sat perfectly against his throat. The act was tender, seductive, and yet, unbearably distant. How he longed to reach for her, to caress her cheek, to break the quiet cadence of her gestures and return the devotion she so freely gave.

But as always, the moment she finished, she stepped away. And as always, he let her go.

It wasn't just him. She did this with everyone.

When Lucanis worried over Spite fleeing in the night, Filomena kept the spirit entertained until morning. When Bellara struggled to tune the artefact, Filomena listened, offering insights long past her own exhaustion. When Harding and Davrin doubted themselves, she was the first to lift them up. When Taash needed help appealing to their mother, she stood at their side. When Neve sought guidance on blood magic, Filomena answered every question, no matter how time-consuming or difficult.

But the worst was the battlefield. She was reckless—always throwing herself in front of others, always making sure no one else bore the brunt of the attacks. She carried everything.

Everything.

And today, as she finished with his pin, Emmrich saw it. In her hands—moving just a little slower. In her eyes—just a little heavier.

"Darling," he said softly. "Are you all right?"

Filomena blinked, the brief pause betraying her feelings before she mustered a well-worn smile. "Of course."

Emmrich winced. As she turned away, he caught her hand—not forcefully, but with quiet insistence.

"Truly?" he pushed, his voice gentle, persuasive. "I don't mean to pry. You've just seemed... distracted lately."

Filomena hesitated before slipping her fingers from his grasp, her gaze flicking away. Truly, he asked. A truth she couldn't speak to anyone, not even to him.

Truly, the weight of their looming battle against Ghilan'nain pressed down on her like a vice. The closer they drew to that moment, the more she feared not just failure, but leading them all to ruin.

"I'm just a little tired," she lied, forcing another placid smile. "Too much activity the last few days. It's been hell on my elegant features." Emmrich frowned at the obvious deflection, but she shrugged it off. "I'm going to read for a bit. Why don't you head downstairs and I'll meet you later?"

Emmrich sighed, concern knitting his brow as she moved towards the fireplace, feigning contentment. He could sense her pain, her facade, he just couldn't discern the cause.

"Filomena..."

"I'm fine, Emmrich," she stressed as she lowered herself onto the carpet in front of the divan, crossing her legs beneath her. "I'm sure Manfred probably put some tea on. Why don't you go wish him a good morning? I'll join you when I finish this chapter."

Filomena flinched at the unexpected touch, her head tilting slightly. "What are you doing?"

Emmrich watched as she grabbed the book of poetry that rested on the cushion behind her, left there from the night before. As she flipped it open, her fingers stilled over the pages, uninterested and unmoving. Even as she stared at the words, she wasn't reading. He could tell.

She wanted space, but he followed anyway, settling down on the divan and caging her within the warmth of his presence. Then, without a word, he reached forward, sweeping her silken hair behind her back.

"Your hair," he said, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile. "You like it braided, don't you?"

She froze, startled by the offer. "Yes, but I can do it myself."

His hands rushed to her shoulders, grasping them firmly yet gently. "I know you can," he hushed. "But I'd like to, if you'll let me."

A rare flush bloomed across her cheeks. "Do you... know how?"

"Of course. I learned during my years as a mortician."

She nearly laughed, but the weight on her heart smothered it before it could form. Instead, she simply scoffed, her gaze sinking into the fire's glow. With a weary nod, she set the book in her lap, an air of resignation in her tone.

"If you really want to," she relented.

"Thank you, darling."

He started carefully, his fingers weaving her thick, luscious strands with flawless precision. The sensation—his fingertips grazing her scalp, the steady pull and twist—was unexpectedly soothing.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, the thought unbearable.

"No. It's—" Nice. "No, you're not hurting me."

The room went silent, save for the occasional pop of burning wood and the rhythmic glide of his hands.

"I know something's wrong," he said after a while. Filomena tensed, but he squeezed his legs tighter around her arms, his body her sanctuary. "You can talk to me about anything. You know that, yes?"

She didn't respond, her heart clenching.

"Darling, please."

The sincerity in his voice, the way he begged—it shattered her defenses. She swallowed hard, her gaze fixed on the hearth, the flames dancing with the freedom she yearned for.

For a long moment, she said nothing, until her voice emerged, low and abnormally diffident.

"I hate that I was put in charge."

Emmrich didn't react. He only listened, working her hair with patience.

"I didn't earn this," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Varric left me in charge, and everyone just... follows. Not because I deserve it, but because they think they have to. 'If we don't fight the gods, who will?' So they joined at my request, never once questioning my reasons or qualifications." Her hands tightened over the book in her lap. "But I wasn't trained for this, Emmrich. I worry that—"

She cut herself off, unwilling to confess the worst of it.

She worried about making a fatal mistake.

She worried about leading him, Harding, Davrin—all of them—to their deaths.

"Well," she exhaled, ready to dismiss it, "I just worry sometimes. It's not worth discussing."

In her mind, she'd shared enough. She may have been Emmrich's partner, but she was his leader as well. He wasn't there to alleviate her doubts and insecurities. She turned a page, acting as though the conversation never occurred.

"I see," Emmrich hummed, tying off the braid with a black ribbon.

He sounded... relieved?

"That," he said, bending down, his breath a balm against her ear, "is absolute nonsense."

"What?"

Before she could turn, his lips brushed the side of her neck. Filomena stiffened, her breath hitching, but Emmrich persisted, shamelessly revelling in her scent. In her fleeting astonishment. He kissed lower, skimming her sensitive skin, his voice an affectionate murmur.

"No one follows you out of obligation, my love." Another kiss. "They follow you because you're capable." Another. "Because you're brilliant." Another. "Because you care."

His kisses trailed lower—sucking, nibbling—then back up, his moustache tickling her jaw.

"Emmrich..." Filomena shuddered.

He smiled against her, pressing another sensual kiss to her neck before gently turning her to face him. Their eyes met, and for a moment there was nothing but quiet understanding between them.

Then, his lips met hers, strong yet humble, aching with devotion. He cradled her chin, holding her comfortably, possessively. Filomena tried to resist, but she moaned, the book slipping from her grasp as she surrendered to her desires.

With a swift motion, she turned on her knees and fisted his shirt, pulling him closer, needing him—and he answered with equal intensity, his fingers tracing the line of her wrist, his body bending despite the protest of his age. He endured it. For her, he would endure anything, so long as it meant he could taste and console her. She opened up so rarely—always giving, never taking. Always putting herself in harm's way. Always suffering in silence.

Today, he wouldn't allow it.

The sound of their coupling echoed through the room, the wet, harmonious sups like a melody, crude and sophisticated all at once. If not for the incessant calling of the world outside, helpless and waiting, they could have stayed that way forever.

As the sun crawled higher in the sky, however, eventually he had to pull away, leaving her breathless but sated.

"Varric was right to entrust his legacy to you," he said, his voice velvet as he brushed his thumb along her reddened cheek. "Whether you see it or not, we trust you. Not because we have to, but because you've earned it. Every second of everyday, you earn it."

Filomena sighed, averting her gaze. "And if I mess up?"

"You won't," he smiled, urging her to look at him, to see how much he believed in her. "We choose to follow you, my darling. We all know the risks, and we know you'll do right by us. No matter what happens."

"Emmrich..." Her voice trembled, a whimper escaping as his warm, hazel eyes rattled her walls, if only for a moment.

For the first time in weeks, the tightness in her chest seemed to loosen.

"You're more than our leader, you're our friend. And to me..." He pressed a final, lingering kiss to her forehead. "To me you're—you're—"

"I know, Emmrich. You don't need to say it."

And she didn't want him to say it. Not yet. Not aloud. She wasn't ready—not for those three words that would make everything undeniably real.

"Darling, it's all right to rely on us every once in a while. That's the whole point of a team. Being in charge doesn't mean you have to do everything alone. We're here for you, just as you're here for us. I'm here for you."

"Come here," he said, pulling her up and wrapping her in his arms.

Filomena withdrew into her thoughts, wrestling with the concept. Her entire life, she had been alone. She'd always had to adapt, to prove her worth, or risk being abandoned. But as she stared up at Emmrich, feeling the warmth of his love and adoration, a timid smile spread across her face.

Filomena gasped, melting into the embrace, her hands gripping his shirt. Maybe—just this once—she'd let herself lean on someone else.

[v3nomly]

𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞-𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝗝𝗝𝗞 𝗠𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗶

• characters — S.Gojo ; R. Sukuna ; T. Fushiguro | GN Reader

• synopsis — Love is the greatest curse of all. All-encompassing and blinding, but when the rose-colored glasses slip, what do you see.

• tags & warnings — toxic aspects of relationships - mentions of intimacy, but no in-depth descriptions - reader blissfully ignoring the negative aspects of the men - controlling behavior - stonewalling - inklings of verbal abuse.

• a/n — I'm back and with my return, I bring JJK headcanons! My requests are open if anyone wants to throw suggestions my way.

Satoru Gojo is a spontaneous lover. One who would shower you with gifts and secretly planned trips. Covering your relationship in a hue of sappy adoration and gentle touches. Spontaneity wasn’t just in his actions, but also in his affections, the blooming warmth of tender care shifts suddenly to frigid frost and a cavern of distance.

The world rests heavily on his shoulders. While the burden of the past threatens to drag him to a place he’s unsure if he can return from. Should-haves circulate his mind until no other thoughts can manifest, obsessions on past failures and his own hidden faults. 

Even when your limbs tangled, skin covered in a sheen of sweat and bodies spent, you could see his mind was elsewhere. Thoughts lingering on something just out of reach. On the worst of days, he’d cast you aside, unwilling to even share space, as if your presence only further strained his fragile mental state. 

His tear-rimmed eyes begin to sting once again when he hears your broken sobs through the wall. Satoru hesitates, heart, lurching to break the barrier dividing you both physically and mentally, but he can’t.  

Spontaneous as ever the next day Satoru is back to his happy cheerful self. A smile graces his lips and his body displays and forces aloofness to his previous state.  

Ryomen Sukuna couldn’t deny that you were special to him. It was obvious in the way he treated you, gentle and soft, as if you were a delicate flower in bloom. Still, Sukuna was a prideful man and one who even on the best of days remained cruel and unyielding.  

When his pride was wounded it didn’t matter who crossed his path, all would be victims of his unfounded rage. The words he spits are vicious and venomous, poisoning you from the inside out. Sukuna could see it in your eyes, the hurt that began to fester, hidden beneath the glossy sheen of tears, but so apparent. 

He was rotting you, destroying you, slowly but surely, decaying your pedals, and wilting the beauty that shone so vibrantly from your being. The sight causes him to pause, the words dying on his tongue. 

Apologies were never something he gave, at least not blatantly, and now would be no different. His fist would clench and he’d watched you flinch, his anger now directed at himself instead of you. He could never hurt you, at least not with anything more than his words. His stupid cruel words and like the innocent flower you were, you’d forgive him.  

Toji Fushiguro is a passionate man. He feels no shame in his devotion to his partners, happily placing them on a pristine pedestal for all to see. Infatuation that borders on obsession, morphs and twists into an ugly creature when unchecked. Toji wouldn’t consider himself a jealous man, he understood his place in the world and made peace with it. That was until you slipped your way into his life. Permeating his mind, body, and soul, until he couldn’t distinguish where you ended and he began. You were his everything, so why do you need anyone else?

Reassurance was something he never had growing up, and thus the concept remains foreign in adulthood. Even when you try to whisper declarations of love during your most intimate acts he can’t help but think you’re lying. How could someone as perfect as you, look at him and see anything of worth?

It’s small things at first, him going through your phone while you shower; Making note of numbers and names he doesn’t recognize, blocking the ones that seem a little too eager for your attention. It’s not like you’d miss them. You don’t need them after all, you have him. 

As his doubt festers, he slips up more, outwardly showing his distrust, and constant questions of who you are going out with and why. Draining you until you finally relent, giving up going out to spare yourself from the inevitable argument that is to come.  

Only when the dust settles and he can see the results of his actions unscathed by the blinding jealousy, does his stomach drop. No matter how much you tell him it’s fine, he knows you are lying, really truly lying, unlike all the times before, and while he promises to do better, you both know that is a lie all of his own. 

© 2025 v3nomly do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

[livixbobbiex]

Translating the Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney Fanbook! Article 1

So, I recently managed to buy one of the old fanbooks. This one is a compilation of magazine articles and blog posts written by Shu Takumi. It's also where a lot of the really iconic official promotional art pieces are from. I know that there are some translations out there of a few pages, but I don't think anyone has done the whole thing.

The pages are typically formatted with a written entry from Shu Takumi, followed by a dialogue between various characters. I will be posting the character dialogue first (even if not on the image page) as it's probably the most interesting. You can also access the full raw text and images here.

Dialogue on artwork

Phoenix: If you’re just hanging around, go home. 

Edgeworth: Hm, I’m thirsty. 

Phoenix: This isn’t a cafe. Maya, don’t serve him tea. 

Maya: Nick’s stinginess…

Dialogue page

In Wright and Co Law Offices: On the theme of ‘Summer’ 

We asked Mr Takumi about how things are going in the Wright and Co Law Offices recently! Are Phoenix and Maya still the same as ever…!?

Maya: Everyone, it’s been a while! I’m Maya Fey. 

Phoenix: Hello. I’m Phoenix Wright. 

Maya: We did it, Nick! We’re  finally making our magazine debut!  

Phoenix: We’ve got to get into the spirit of things here, don’t we. 

Maya: That’s right! Let’s get going! 

Phoenix: Should we start without delay? The theme is ‘Summer’. 

Maya: Summer, huh? Summer is… hot, isn’t it? Every day. 

Phoenix: You’re so normal all of a sudden. 

Maya: If you’re Japanese, it’s surely time for somen noodles and barley tea. 

Phoenix: They’re nice and refreshing. 

Maya: I made the mistake of dipping the noodles in barley tea and I was like ‘it’s flavourless!’. 

Phoenix: What's with that iffy failure story? 

Maya: Hey, hey. I wonder if Detective Gumshoe is also slurping up somen noodles today. 

Phoenix: I don’t think the season matters, in his case. 

Maya: The image of Detective Gumshoe and somen noodles has become completely stuck. 

Phoenix: That’s true for you too, Maya. With miso ramen, huh? 

Maya: I’m going for it this year. “Best Miso Ramenist.” 

Phoenix: A good idea? 

Maya: In any case, in the summer, light types of noodles are the best! 

Phoenix: …Speaking of which, what does Pearls like? In terms of noodle types. 

Maya: Ah, Pearl. She really loves soba. 

Phoenix: Oh. Good choice. Feels a lot like summer in Japan. 

Maya: Right, right. By the way, how about Prosecutor Edgeworth? 

Phoenix: Knowing him, he’d probably say something like spaghetti. 

Maya: Eh! That’s so normal. How boring. 

Phoenix: No, no. I don’t actually know much. It’s just my own image of him. 

Maya: In any case I would have thought that he’d like ‘kishimen noodles’ or something. 

Phoenix: Kishimen noodles…? 

Maya: Here. The flat noodle sticking out of his mouth would suit the frills he wears. 

Phoenix: ……I’ll recommend them to him next time. 

Maya: Well, well. What about you, Nick?

Phoenix: Me? What type of noodle do I like…

[TL note: this is hilarious because of the way everything is written. The line could literally read as ‘what kind of men do I like?’ and I’m not sure if intended].

Maya: You have one, don’t you?

Phoenix: I guess. Maybe vermicelli noodles. 

Maya: …What’s that? 

Phoenix: Ah. You don’t know?

Maya: I’ve never heard of it.

Phoenix: Baked vermicelli are delicious. The feeling of them sticking down my throat is indescribable. 

Maya: ‘Vermicelli’ doesn’t sound like the name of a noodle in the first place… 

Phoenix: It doesn’t matter, really. I like them. 

Maya: You know what? The image is important. The should call it something safe like “squid yakisoba”. 

Phoenix: …Why are you putting squid in it? 

Maya: If you attach it to an awkward image, you’ll have trouble like I did. 

Phoenix: Eh? But, you like it, don’t you? Miso ramen.

Maya: I like it a lot. This time of year too, I really want to eat chilled ramen. 

Phoenix: But you can still eat it. 

Maya: But, but. Won't everyone expect that of me? 

Phoenix: Expect it…? 

Maya: Like, “look over there. There’s Maya, with the same miso ramen as always.” 

Phoenix: …Haa. 

Maya: So then you’re slurping down ramen as a last resort. It’s really hot. 

Phoenix: That’s being excessively self conscious, Maya.

Shu Takumi article

Ace Attorney and Summer 

Takumi Shu (??): The director and screenwriter of ‘Ace Attorney’. Rumour has it he’s fueled by alcohol.

Nice to meet you. I’m Takumi Shu from the Ace Attorney team. I have responsibility for the planning, directing, and screenwriting for the three works in the series. On this occasion, I’m pleased I was able to greet everyone in this Dorimaga magazine. I hope that you will enjoy reading. 

Now, onto the theme of ‘Ace Attorney and Summer’. Thinking of summer… every year, it’s the busiest season. 

First… frantically writing proposals. 

Second… frantically scripting. 

Third… frantically making final adjustments. 

…These are my fundamental memories of summer. 

The series releases in October, which means that during this period each year, it’s our last scramble. By the way, the third game was released in January…. This is because that last scramble dragged on. 

In ‘Ace Attorney’, there’s actually only one story set in summer. ‘The First Turnabout' begins on the third of August. The details… aren’t particularly summery at all. There’s probably no themes like “the sea” or “bon festivals”.

It seems like we’re not very well versed with summer. I wonder why. Perhaps it’s because I have no air conditioner in my room, so I spend every day in a red-hot hell, cursing the world. If you fail to buy seasonal goods like that once, it’s hard to find the right time to get them. 

That’s about it for this volume. I would like a change from the feel official website column, at to make here more relaxed… or, rather, I think freer. Everyone, if you have any requests or questions, please send them to me here! 

Godot box 

Prosecutor Godot compilation: Showcase of various cut content. 

Here we showcase various cut content. First is Prosecutor Godot. Here are some rejected phrases extracted from my ‘punny lines notebook’, which I prepared when writing his hard-boiled lines. I hope you’ll read them out loud as you imagine the situation. (Takumi) 

….Trite. You look like… a begging monk too naive to steal a kiss from the courtroom goddess. 

A man’s worth is determined by the smile he shows in his last moments. …Look. The coffee… smiles bitterly… 

[teastudieseveryday]

Spring cleaning & personal learnings:

I rarely ever post anything personal, but these have been my learnings of 2024:

Your social media account is your personal sanctuary, you can block/delete/remove/not follow back/unfollow people at your own whims. You can choose to block out what you don't want to see and the energy you don't want to be around. You aren't obliged to appease to people for validation. You rock with you, you do you.

Hanging out with unmotivated people who speak fear and negativity into themselves will slowly turn you into a negative/pessimistic/cynic like them even if they support you, energies matter, energies are silent!

Make your phone boring if you want to achieve something in life.

Not everyone needs to know about your plans, sometimes not even your best friend. (this is to say, a lot of us aren't blessed with pure hearted besties who genuinely want for us what we want for ourselves)

Motivation doesn't work, sometimes discipline fails too. Fear is a good tool; fear of failure works on days when motivation and discipline doesn't.

Subconscious rewiring and manifesting can change lives if done correctly and persistently.

No aim is big enough. Just point, aim and shoot!

Always monitor your own personal energy, you need to be energetically healthy to feel good about yourself and your goals and to show up consistently every day.

Some people aren't nice, they won't like you probably because you threaten their social status and it's totally normal to remove yourself from that zone instead of diminishing your light or shrinking yourself to make them feel safe and their alpha status feel less threatened because why? Why would you be less and not more of everything? You can choose not to fight for the attention/love/validation to be seen and heard and make an Irish exit from such spaces. Be where you are celebrated, not where you are tolerated! Such a quote to live by.

Pick your battles, not every battle is worth fighting.

Don't say anything you don't mean. It's very simple.

No revenge, just outdo yourself and the revenge gets taken care of.

Silence is great, not as a power move but because silence gives other people the space to speak, express and be themselves. You don't do power play with your own people; you give them the space to open up to you and be their authentic self.

If you sense powerplay, your best bet is to exit that space. You'll constantly be at an invisible battle in a group/with that person where both will try to take control of the dynamics in that setting and it will end up being a whole lot of mental gymnastics and loss of energy.

Redirect your energy towards bigger and better things, towards things that truly matter.

Reading is great, it inculcates a sense of gravity in your mind about the things you're passionate about, you don't blabber excessively in spaces that genuinely don't matter in the bigger scheme of things, and you build an air of importance and there's this 'chad' like air around you which intimidates people, and they think twice before challenging you to some debate because they know you hold a command over your subject and niche.

Not everyone is your friend. some people are here for your energy, some people are genuinely supportive of you and your goals, some people are not very happy about your small wins and big dreams. All in all- trust your intuition in these instances.

Be authentic about your expression and feelings, life is finite, we will die one day, there's no point being ambiguous or nonchalant about how you feel. Losing to someone in this area of life is far better than being emotionally constipated. Collect good karma and you'll be rewarded likewise in the future!

Your energy does reach the room before your words do, so be self-conscious in a way where you carry yourself with integrity and move with poise.

I watched this reel which I resonated with 100% it went like- life is easier and better when you are a chad, you work out, take care of yourself, do skincare, read, journal, listen to affirmations, cut off negativity, do dopamine detox etcetera. Life's just better when you are a chad, and yes that's so true. I see zero lie in that.

You aren't obligated to lookout for people who aren't fending for themselves.

Your perspective matters, if you think all men are shit you'll encounter a majority of men who are shit; if you think life sucks, it will continue sucking; if you think math is hard, it will continue being hard for you to grasp. So think 'my life is on easy mode' and watch things switch. Law of assumption is powerful.

Choose the right people: certain people bring a certain side out of you. The chirpy & secure ones make you feel secure in yourself, the naysayers bring out a more self-doubting side out of you, the spiritual ones help you get in touch with your own spiritual side. I chose to be around softer people this time, not edgy, not cold, not harsh, not judgmental. I was around accepting, kind, generous, gentle, softer people and I felt a whole shift in my own aura, I feel more confident than ever, more accepting towards myself and I am gentler to the other people I meet. Choose the table you want to sit on and be affiliated to, because that's who you'll become and that's what your external & internal narrative will turn into.

I hope this resonates with some of you and gives you some perspective.

[confused-reading-ink-rat]

(Snippet from the previous part:)

“Galinda, who is it?”

Galinda stared at them, taking a deep breath she beamed.

“Elphaba.”

_____________________________

Elphaba tuned out the murmurs and whispers around her as the students gave her a wide berth. She was no stranger to stares and the occasional sneering remark or three. She had dealt with worse. Maybe she should commend Shiz for hardly ever having direct confrontations with anyone. Except last week, she decided it didn’t count considering it was a one-time occurrence, and no one had been brave enough to confront her again.

Well, save for one particular blonde girl, which more than made up for the silent dislike the student body had. The girl that loudly proclaimed her as her rival, always neck-in-neck in every class, always trying to best her, always arguing to prove a point, always just around the corner to give her a headache.

The blonde,

Galinda.

Her soul-

She’d rather drown than complete that thought, thank you very much.

What’s worse about this sudden attention is that it did not stem from her strange verdigris, her blunt attitude, her magical abilities, or about anything she had dealt with before. No, this tied back to Galinda all over again, like it always did. Same car, different coat of paint. They weren’t staring because she was green, they were staring because there was something on the green. 

Bold neon pink below her right ear.

A poppy with heart-shaped petals etched onto her skin.

A matching soulmark to the blonde she refused to think about, which she undoubtedly showed off this morning.

Oh, Oz that girl has no shame. Now, everyone knew. 

The realization made bile rise up to her throat, then suddenly everything shattered into a million pieces. It felt like the number of students that gaped at her doubled, there were constantly eyes on her that weren’t looking in disgust or disbelief. They were looking at her in awe, admiration, curiosity, and even looks that bordered on envy. 

She doesn’t know which was worse, all she knew was that she needed to get away from here. From everyone.

Her once heavy steps turned lighter, faster. Her body taking her desperation to disappear and turning it into fuel for her sprint. She turned sharp corners, feeling goosebumps at the mere murmur about her mark. 

And of course fate decided there was no better time to bump into Galinda Upland.

_____________________

Galinda, Pfanne, and Shenshen were on their way to the quad, the latter duo had thrown her question after question, it was starting to feel more like an interrogation than a peaceful walk across campus.

“How are you going to get the girl to reciprocate?” Pfanne asked as they turned a corner. The blonde froze, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. She blinked as she felt Shenshen pull her forward, raising an eyebrow at her, she swallowed.

“I have no idea,” She answered absentmindedly.

“Well good for you, we do.” Shenshen said with a smile, Galinda gave her one in return. 

“We do?” Pfanne asked, surprised. Shenshen gave him a nudge on the shoulder. “Oh yes, we do.” He nodded.

“Well then,” Galinda tossed her hair back, “Let’s not dawdle, I have a soulmate to win over.”

___________________

“Charming her with your charisma?” Pfanne suggested.

Galinda shot him down with a look. “First day failure, Pfanne.”

“Chocolates?”

Shenshen raised an eyebrow, “Isn’t that a little more down the line?”

“Love letters?”

“What did we just say about that?” 

“Oz, this girl is difficult!” Galinda groaned, head in her hands.

They’ve been at this for hours already, smudged ink at their fingertips, fountain pens in their hands, papers thrown across the table, books opened on random pages. Why was this so much more difficult than it was supposed to be? Romance was second nature to Galinda!

She took a deep breath, trying to rack jog her memory. There had to be something, right? Something remotely personal? She was roommates with the girl, and the rivalry hardly made her a stranger. What did she know about Elphaba? She’s green for starters, she’s good at magic, she’s unfortunately behind on the fashion scene, she has a sister named Nessarose, she’s a Thropp, she lived in Munchkinland- 

Galinda blinked, her cheeks warming as she realised how foolish she had been, flowers, of course! Why didn’t she think of that first? They were a staple in the romantic scene, it was one of the most basic things one could think of. Flowers. Munchkinland’s main export! Aside from crops, but she didn’t think that would help her right now.

She reached over for the Floriography book before she caught herself.

Start with something simple, she thought, retracting her hand, but impactful. Simple but impactful. She needed a bouquet on a short notice, really short, today would be nice. It had to be sentimental, and she had the strange need to pick it herself.

“Poppies,” she breathed. She shot up from her seat, turning to a bewildered Pfanne and Shenshen. “Girls, we need to find the best florist by sundown because I will be making a bouquet.” 

“The town nearby has a shop with a great selection of them, ” Shenshen answered, Galinda beamed.

“Excellent!” She clapped her hands together, then gave them a somewhat serious expression. “Now, we better go before I start overthinking everything again.”

“You will.”

“Which is exactly why we need to hurry!”

They packed up their things, leaving the table mostly spotless save for some spilt ink. Galinda had tried to remove it, but no such luck. They walked out of the library. “What’s your first period, Shenshen?” Galinda asked, turning to the taller girl.

“I have linguistics-”

Galinda’s breath hitched as they turned a corner, slamming into what she assumed was a wall of black bricks. She began to fall backwards, and the girl caught her by her waist.

“Elphaba?” 

Previous Part:

Part 3

Happy Valentines day everyone, here's your new chapter!

@nether2010

@kekescalope

@spinelesscacti

@filofandomfrenzy

@thestorytellingfool

@mulder-its-me-223

@stars-singers-light

SHOUT OUT TO CAGE ANON!

warning: FUTURE GLIYERABA (JURY'S STILL OUT)

[10ava01]

The smartest mistake

Scott Miller x F reader

Troupe: Rival x Rival | Hurt/Comfort | Academic stress & clever Minds | Angst to Softness

Authors note: to anyone that felt like a wasted potential for not being perfect in the academic world.

Summary: Scott and reader are (MIT) academic rivals but all the bickering and teasing comes to an end when reader beaks down in front of him.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

You were used to competition, but HE made it personal.

Sharp remarks, constant bettering, smug smirks when he outperformed you by a fraction of a point. Sure, he was brilliant, and in an alternate universe, you might have tolerated him—but not in this one. For whatever reason, he was cruel. Not just to you, but to others, too.

When your fellow students admired you, he tore you down.

When you tried to stay focused, he distracted you with his taunts, his teasing, and his oh-so-beautiful face. A devil disguised as a pretty boy—that’s what he was.

But today, of all days, you’d had enough.

Enough of his insults.

Enough of the stress that haunted your sleep.

Enough of the pressure that made you want to cry until you had no tears left.

You had enough.

It starts in the late hours of the night, in the dimly lit library, with equations swimming in front of your exhausted eyes. Your body begs for a break, but another exam looms ahead. Another round of impossibly high expectations.

And another opportunity for him to outshine you.

It’s all becoming too much.

You’re running on caffeine and sheer willpower, fingers trembling as you scribble notes, but the numbers won’t make sense. The pressure is suffocating. It’s a miracle your body is still functioning.

And then, just your luck—he arrives.

You don’t look up when he sits across from you, but you can feel his eyes on you. Probably planning his next witty remark.

“Struggling, are we?” His voice is laced with mockery. “That’s new.”

Your grip on the pen tightens. The last bit of self-control you have is slipping fast.

“Not now, Miller.”

He leans forward, voice lower now, but no less antagonizing.

“Miller, huh? What’s the matter? You’re usually so eager to prove me wrong.”

You snap.

Of course, you do. There’s only so much a person can take.

“DO YOU EVER JUST—SHUT UP?”

The words come out harsher than intended, but you don’t care anymore. You slam your pen down, hands shaking, vision blurring. The weight of everything—expectations, the fear of failure, loneliness—it all crashes down at once.

His smirk falters. “Whoa—”

You shove your books away. “I don’t have time for this. I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR YOU. You think I care about competing with YOU? Well, I DON’T! I just—” Your breath hitches. “I just want to be good enough for once.”

And then—it happens.

Your body betrays you.

Tears spill over, your shoulders shake, and silent sobs escape. You curl into yourself, burying your face in your hands, overwhelmed and so damn tired.

You just want everything to stop.

Silence.

You expect him to laugh.

To mock you.

To throw another insult and walk away victorious.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, you hear a chair scrape against the floor.

Then—hesitation. A slow inhale.

And then his voice, softer than you’ve ever heard it.

You didn’t even know he was capable of speaking that way.

“You are.”

Your head snaps up. His expression is unreadable, but something in his eyes—guilt, maybe—makes your chest tighten.

Scott fucking Miller, the biggest asshole on this planet, is being soft. And not toward just anyone—toward you.

You. His biggest academic rival.

He clears his throat. “Good enough, I mean.” His fingers tap restlessly against the table, his usual ego wavering. “I—shit, I didn’t mean to push you this far.”

You blink at him, stunned. “What?”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing.

Maybe this is a dream. Maybe you’ll wake up, and he’ll go back to his usual, arrogant self.

He sighs, running a hand through his stupidly perfect hair.

“You think I’m an asshole for no reason?” A humorless chuckle. “I—I don’t know how else to—” He groans, frustrated with himself. “I only act like this because… you’re the only person who makes me try. Who actually challenges me.”

Your breath catches. “You—umm—what?”

Now you’re sure this is a dream.

Never in your life did you think Scott would admit something like this.

His jaw tightens, but he meets your gaze head-on.

“I’ve never— I don’t hate you, Y/N. I—you have to… I know it’s hard to believe because of how I’ve treated you, but—” A pause.

Then, even quieter: “I truly admire you.”

The confession knocks the air from your lungs.

“Then why—” You exhale shakily, wiping at your eyes.

“Why treat me like this?”

He hesitates before answering.

“Because I didn’t know how else to show it.”

There’s something so raw in his voice. Something so unguarded that your frustration wavers.

He looks… lost.

Like he’s been carrying something heavy for a long time and doesn’t know how to put it down.

A beat of silence.

Then, carefully, he reaches across the table, nudging a napkin toward you.

“You, uh… you have mascara on your cheek.”

You huff a watery laugh, taking the napkin. “You’re still an ass.”

He smirks—his usual cocky smirk—but it’s softer this time.

“I know.”

And maybe—for the first time—you truly see Scott.

Not just as your rival.

Not just as an obstacle.

But as someone who, in his own fucked-up way, understands you more than you’d like to admit.

[babybearnation]

WAIT YOU QRITE FOR PEPE OMG OMG OMG

okay okay i have like an idea for just like first date hcs with pepe bc i feel like it would be so cute

context: me & oli discussed this in dms and agreed for this ask to be general date headcanons rather than just first date!

pepe marti x gn!reader (date headcanons):

both shy yet confident when asking you to go on a date with him

like he's smirking and acting all confident but his eyes are a bit skittish and his face has a lovely red hue to it

takes you to a lovely restaurant for your first date and it's proper swoon-worthy

brings you flowers, pulls your chair out for you, holds your hand over the table and kisses it occasionally - hell, he'll even order your food for you if you're nervous

it's so fun and you two definitely end up attracting some weird looks with how much you laugh and giggle

after all, you two were close friends before pepe asked you out and you wouldn't let romantic feelings change how the two of you were in a negative way

loves going on restaurant dates with you because he loves seeing you all dressed up and snazzy looking

has a secret soft spot for picnic dates - basically a restaurant date but less expensive, more casual and a lot softer

isn't really a big fan of going to the cinema but loves staying home and catching up on movies with you - these can be whole day long events sometimes

always down to go on shopping dates with you

loves to wolf whistle every time you try on new clothes/accessories and he's unashamed to do it tbh

definitely gets you two kicked out of one or two stores because he's causing too much chaos

loves sightseeing with you - if you accompany him to any of his races, he'll be eagerly researching places he can take you and show you within the country

so damn eager to make sure you have a good time when you go to races because he's lowkey convinced he's "forcing" you to go

cooking and baking dates are a MUST

you two have so much fun with these and, even when things go wrong, something usually comes out good

if absolutely everything goes wrong, though, pepe will order food for you two to share whilst you laugh about your failures

always kisses your hand when he greets you for dates, always opens his car door for you, always pulls your chair out, always takes your coat for you - he's just a gentleman, okay?!

will stop doing any of that if it makes you uncomfortable though!

(could also totally see him keeping a blanket or at least a jacket around so, if you wear skirts, he has something to cover your lap with should you need it)

© all rights to babybearnation 2025.

[bloomzone]

2025 : #19 The Power of Working in Private

I will share a story that truly changed the way I look at success and failure. It’s about a friend of mine, let’s call her x and another one Y

✒️..X was everything you’d expect an overachiever to be . She constantly let everyone know how hard she was working, reminding us all that she was aiming for the highest grades. Every day, she posted pictures of her meticulously organized study materials, shared her "I’m working so hard" In a way, X seemed unstoppable. It was like she had everything figured out. The grind was her identity, and the world knew about it.

But X failed the semester.She didn’t just fall behind she FAILED.

The entire class was shocked. How could someone who seemed to work harder than anyone else not succeed?

X had become obsessed with showing everyone how hard she was working. She posted about it, talked about it, and craved validation for her effort. But the problem She wasn’t actually working the way she needed to. She wasn’t putting in the deep, focused work required for success. She was more concerned about the image of success than the substance.

Meanwhile, there was another student in our class, Y , who worked completely differently. Y didn’t post her study sessions or boast about her goals. In fact, she didn’t announce anything. She just worked quietly focusing solely on understanding the material, practicing, and improving herself without needing validation from anyone. She was low-key, but laser-focused.

When the final grades came in, Y had one of the highest scores in the class.

But Y wasn’t shocked at all. She knew her work had paid off.

And X was devastated, realizing too late that she had spent so much time proving her dedication that she never actually developed the skills she needed to succeed.

Why Do We Seek Validation Instead of Success?

X story is one that many of us can relate to. It’s easy to fall into the trap of wanting to be seen as hardworking, of craving external validation that we’re doing the right thing.Validation feels like progress, but it’s not.When you tell someone, “I studied for five hours last night,” and they reply with, “Wow, that’s impressive!” your brain gets a little dopamine boost. You feel good, but u haven’t actually learned anything. You haven’t actually moved the NEEDLE .

This is why so many of us whether in school, work, or life struggle to turn effort into results. We get caught up in the appearance of progress rather than focusing on real, tangible improvement.

In the age of social media and constant updates, it’s easy to feel like you’re making progress just by sharing how much you’re working. But deep down, you know that real success doesn’t come from likes, comments, or praise. It comes from what you actually accomplish when no one’s watching.

The Mindset Shift: From Validation to Execution

If you want to be truly successful, you need to make a shift in how you approach ur work. Stop chasing recognition and start chasing real improvement.Think about the most successful people u know the best students, the top entrepreneurs, the greatest athletes. Do you hear them talking about how hard they’re working all the time? No NEVER

They’re too busy doing the actual work. They’re not posting their progress or waiting for people to notice. They let their results do the talking.

U see, when you stop caring about proving yourself to others, you free yourself to actually focus on becoming the best version of yourself even if u cry u cry for yourself then get up . u remove the pressure to impress , and toxic judging, and you get to work quietly, diligently, with one goal in mind: mastery.

What Happens When You Work in Private?

1. You Remove Unnecessary Pressure : X always felt the need to maintain her image as the smartest student. She needed to show everyone that she was doing her best. But that pressure ended up being counterproductive. It distracted her from the true goal: understanding the material.

When you work in private, you get rid of that stress. You’re not constantly worried about what others think. You can focus purely on improving and mastering the task at hand without distractions.

2. You Build True Confidence : X confidence came from external validation. She thrived on people telling her how hardworking she was. Y confidence, on the other hand, came from knowing that she had actually put in the work and earned her success.

When you work in private, your confidence becomes unshakable. It’s built on your actual progress, not on how others perceive you.

3. You Avoid Premature Criticism and Distractions : By constantly posting updates, X opened herself up to distractions and premature criticism. The opinions of others, the need to compare herself to others, and the pressure to keep up with her image all took their toll.

Y didn’t get involved in any of that. She stayed focused on her journey, and that allowed her to perform at a much higher level without all the noise that comes with seeking validation.

4. You Become Unstoppable : When you stop seeking approval and start focusing on becoming the best at what you do, something powerful happens. You become unstoppable. You don’t need motivation from others. You don’t need praise. Your drive comes from within, and that internal fuel propels u toward excellence.

How to Adopt the ‘Work in Private’ Mindset

1. Stop Announcing, Start Doing

When u set a big goal—whether it’s acing an exam, launching a business, or learning a new skill keep it to yourself. Let the work speak for itself. Instead of announcing your plans, just get to work. Your results will make all the noise you need.

2. Focus on Deep, Meaningful Work

It’s easy to fall into the trap of appearing productive, but real success comes from deep, focused work. Focus on truly understanding, creating, and improving, not just on looking busy.

3. Let Your Results Speak

The most powerful proof of your hard work? The results. When you put in the effort, the results will show, and people will take notice. And if they don’t? It won’t matter. Because by then, you’ll already be winning.

The loudest people in the room may get the most attention, but the silent workers are the ones who change everything. While they seek validation, you build. While they perform, you improve. And when the results finally show? There’s no need to announce them. Success speaks for itself. And urs will be undeniable.

@bloomzone

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

(tw for alcohol use, feel free to ignore if it might be a trigger for you)

I think I might have an alcohol problem. I don't drink daily, but usually 2-3 times a week and it's heavy enough to make me stumble a little most of the time. I can never just have one drink. It was once just for fun but now it's also helping me cope with shit going on in my day to day life, and to pop open a few beverages at the end of a long day is something I look forward to immensely, so much so that I find myself drinking more than I originally intended, or I'll have some days with repeated thoughts of just popping open a cold one and getting very drunk. I'm trying to limit my consumption so I don't become an alcoholic, but it's hard when life is cruel and alcohol makes me feel so light and carefree. I don't know what to do, and I'm not asking for advice so much as a listening ear. I have a family history of substance abuse on both sides and I'm kinda scared right now. But when I can drink at the end of the day I feel like for a while everything's good and I love that respite in my life, when I don't have to deal with all the shit people throw at me. I wish I at least had a friend to drink with and socialize, but Im always drinking alone in the middle of the night and hoping to feel floaty and numb. It's hard to deal with. I'm going to hold out hope for the future though and know that life will go on. Trying to remember that I'll get out of this (and the sooner the better so I don't become dependent, if I'll listen to my own conscience) fortunately it hasn't impacted my life (yet) other than just spending a little too much on drinks or drinking one more than I should.

Sorry for the long ramble but thanks for reading if you have <3

I struggle with addiction myself (though not to alcohol) and here's a couple things I've learned along the way:

Even considering that you might be an addict is a really important and hard first step to take. I'm proud of you!

Addiction isn't limited to having a physical dependency which requires daily upkeep. There is also the concept of psychological addiction, which is more about how and why you engage with a certain substance than whether you're physically dependent on it yet. And refusing to face the question of addiction because you don't drink/do drugs daily will only escalate the issue.

It's easy to end up thinking that if you could just learn to drink/do drugs in a less unhealthy way, you can keep drinking/doing drugs. But once you've started using a substance as a coping method, it is very hard and often impossible to successfully go back to only using it recreationally.

Addiction is a coping method in most cases. This means that your challenge isn't just to drink less, it's to figure out why you're drinking and how to face and resolve the underlying issues that alchohol currently helps you cope with. It usally isn't as simple as just not drinking anymore when you aren't drinking for fun.

Addiction isn't a moral failure and it doesn't reflect badly on you as a person. It's a coping method that you have a genetic predisposition towards, not a sign that you're an unusually bad, weak, immoral person. And regardless of whether you're in active addiction, trying to recover or managing sobriety, your value and worth as a person is the same.

[6rookie-writer0110]

A new night with you

Hope Mikaelson x Male Reader

Request - Hello, how are you doing, could you make a male reader x Hope Mikelson? The reader is Hope's best friend, they are both in love with each other, sometimes they tried to say what they feel but it always happens that someone or something interrupts them. One day the gang decides to help both of them confess their feelings by setting them up on a date but everything turns out to be a failure, Lizzie fed up.

Lizzie is staring at you and Hope talking to each other. You and Hope are outside while Lizzie is on the balcony, but you two don't notice her. Her sister Josie walked up to her

“What are you staring at?” Josie asked

“Two clueless people in love with each other,” Lizzie said

“Oh. I don't think they will ever figure it out. But the way you are looking at them, looks like you have an idea” Josie said

“What makes you think that?” Lizzie asked

“Because I know you, obviously. How did you know that he is in love with Hope,” Josie said

“Remember, when I went on a mission with him when dad put us in pairs?” Lizzie said

“Yeah, I remember and I got paired with MG,” Josie said

“Well, a witch tricked us into thinking we were drinking a health potion but it was a truth potion. She was just messing with us and I was badly injured. I asked who he had a crush on and I thought it was you but he said he is in love with Hope but scared to tell her. The potion only lasted for a little bit” Lizzie said

“Oh, that's how you knew when you told me. They do make a cute couple but they are so clueless” Josie said

“That’s why we are going to help them but without telling them” Lizzie smirked

Lizzie and Josie walk away and Josie listens to her sister’s plan.

“Hope, I want to tell you something,” You said

“What is it?” Hope asked

“I wanted to say this for a long time. But I-I… Well, I like-”

You are in love your friend but you struggle to tell her. When its time to confess your feelings, you start to stutter and your heart race fast as if it will jump out of your chest. You have been in love with her for a long time now.

Before you or Hope can say anything, MG and Caleb ran towards you.

“The school is under attack,” MG said

“By who?” You asked

“Gargoyles are attacking the school and its more than one. We already got the other students to safety” Caleb said

“Keep doing that to make sure no one is left alone, while Y/N and the others help me fight them,” Hope said

“On it,” Caleb said

“Lizzie and Josie are fighting them but we have to hurry, follow me,” MG said

You and the others arrived just in time. Josie was about to be attacked then you saved her, by using your body as a shield then Hope used her magic to distract the gargoyle while you ran away with Josie.

“Thanks for saving me,” Josie said

“Are you okay?” You asked

“Yeah, I’m fine. You okay? The punch was pretty hard that you almost lost your balance” Josie said

“I’m fine,” You said

You and the others did fight the gargoyles, Hope and Josie used their magic to destroy them.

——-

You are in your room and Lizzie just walked in.

“I had no idea people can knock on the door without making a sound” You gasped

“Oh that was so funny, my stomach hurts. We need to talk now” Lizzie said

“About what?” You asked

“You confessing your love to Hope,” Lizzie said

“I can do it on my own,” You said

“You told me the truth about three weeks ago, and you haven't asked her on a date. Why are you taking so long?” Lizzie said

“Something always comes up. Like today the school was attacked and I was so close to telling her. Remember two weeks ago, you and Josie got killed by a siren” You said

“Okay, I get it. But I’m still going to help you. We all see how you and Hope look at each other. And I have a plan” Lizzie smiled

You said no, but didn't leave but she talked about different ideas how you and Hope can officially become a couple. Then she talked about first-date ideas, now she is just rambling.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✬

Hope was training on her own, then she saw you talking to Lizzie. Hope just stares at you and she gets butterflies in her stomach. She starts to wonder if you have feelings for her, but she has tried to tell you but the moment would get ruined.

“He does look cute in the shirt,” Josie said

Hope jumped because Josie just appeared out of nowhere.

“Don’t scare me like that, Josie” Hope said

“I was looking for you. I see the way you stare at him” Josie said

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Hope said

“Sure. all of us, are going to the movies tonight and you should come,” Josie said

“Who is us?” Hope asked

“Me, MG, Lizzie, Y/N and Caleb. Are you coming tonight?” Josie said

“Sure, I will go,” Hope said

“Good to know and I will tell the others,” Josie said

Josie and Hope walk togther back to their dorm rooms. They start to talk about the movies they want to see.

You are waiting at the movie theater for the others. You did send them a text but Hope arrived and you stared at her, then your heart started to race fast.

“Wow, you look beautiful,” You said

She blushed, she didn't expect you to say that.

“Thanks. I like your outfit. Where are the others?” Hope said

“I just sent them a text but no reply just yet. I thought you were coming with Lizzie and Josie” You said

“No. They told me to go because they weren't ready” Hope said

You and Hope stand next to each other and just wait. But they sent a text saying they couldn't make it, now you are alone with your crush.

“Do you want to see the movie or head back?” You said

“We are here so.:. We might as well watch a movie” Hope smiled

“Yeah,” You smiled

You and Hope go inside and you buy the tickets. While waiting on line to buy snacks, you and Hope turned to each other.

“Y/N, I want to say something that I been trying to tell you,” Hope said

“I want to tell you something too, but you go first,” You said

Hope was going to say it but the moment got ruined, the town was being attacked by an evil unicorn. You and Hope can hear people screaming outside, then you two went to see what is going on.

“No way, that's a unicorn,” You said in shock

“I can't believe it, but we can't pet it” Hope said

More people started to scream and run away. The Unicorn almost killed someone but Hope used her magic and then you helped the strange to get away from the unicorn.

Later, you and Hope went back to the school. You told Lizzie what happened and she is mad the moment got ruined.

———

You and Hope are training alone by the lake.

“You are too gentle, Y/N,” Hope said

“I don't want to hurt you,” You said

“I’m not made of glass,” Hope said

Hope started to punch faster then you started to block her punches. Now you start to throw punches but she is dodging your attacks. She grabbed your punch then she smirked at you

“Who is slow now?” Hope smirked

She lets go of your hand, then she tries to kick you but you grab her foot. Not too hard but you kick her other leg, and she falls down.

“Are you okay?” You asked

Hope is lying on the ground then you grabbed her hand to pull her up. But she pulls you then her foot is on your chest then you flip you onto the ground. You going to punch but she turned around grabbed your hand now her body was semi on top of you. You and Hope are staring at each other, you two are breathing hard. She gets lost in your eyes then she feels your lips on hers, then she starts to kiss you back. She pinned your hand onto the ground and she continued to kiss you.

“I wanted to kiss you for so long, Hope Mikaelson,” You said

“You can kiss me again. I always liked you as more than a friend” Hope said

“Be my girlfriend?” You asked

She starts to kiss you again and she hasn't let go of your hand.

“Now, you are my boyfriend,” Hope said

You and Hope are smiling at each other.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✬

You and Hope are on a serect date night. You surprised her with a picnic in the woods, you two are lying down on the blanket. You and Hope wanted to see the red moon because of the lunar eclipse. After seeing the red moon, she turns to you and she put her hand on your face and she starts to kiss you. You put your hand on her lower back and her lipstick gets on your lips.

The next day…

You went to get Hope in her room to walk her to class. Before leaving, she started to kiss you and you pulled her closer to you, now you and Hope are smiling at each other.

“Lipgloss got on your lips,” Hope said

She use her thumb to wipe it off your lips.

“I don’t care. I just like kissing you” You smiled

You start to kiss her again

“I like kissing you too, Y/N” Hope smiled

Lizzie and Josie walked in and they gasped, they just saw you and Hope kissing each other.

“Finally!” Lizzie yelled with joy

You and Hope moved away from each other.

“You two can't deny it now. Plus, Y/N you have her lipgloss on your lips” Josie teased

“We won't deny it. And yes, he is my boyfriend” Hope smiled

She grabs your hand and you can't stop smiling. Lizzie hugged you and Hope very tight and Josie started to laugh.

[kookies2000]

MY TOP TEN THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS SHIPS!!!! 🎪

I was gonna do this on Valentine's, but let's just say Valentine's Day is also my two little sisters' birthday. So, I thought today would still be ok to post my top TADC ships. And why I ship them.

#10 Gloink Queen x The Fudge 🍬 🍫

LOOK!!!!!! I just like the idea, ok. I shipped these two the moment I saw the image of The Fudge and just went “What if Caine plays with his AIs like they were dolls. And he makes these two kiss for fun?” I'm just saying! Two giants in love is everything to me!

#9 Mean Jokes, Kaufmo x Jax 🤡 🐰

This one grew on me thanks to my buddy Gen Toon who also ships them. I really like the idea of Kaufmo possibly telling really dark jokes that Jax would love. Also, because he was supposed to be a character in the show that was similar to Ragatha so hey, opposite attract. My favorite dynamic! Also! Jax trusted Kaufmo with his bowling ball. You don't just trust anyone with your bowling ball!

#8 Pomni x Gangle 🎭🃏

Girl failure x girl failure equals soft girlfriends crying to each other. Two girls being soft and emotional with each other is just very cute in my head. And I love it! And Episode 4 definitely fed me what I wanted. I just like this ship.

#7 Ragatha x Gangle 🎭🎀

My original first tadc ship! It started with the idea of Gangle being a bow in Ragatha's hair if Ragatha ever lost her bow. Or tie around her waist when trying on new dresses. Like a corset. Gotta help your girlfriend look nice! That and just like with Pomni x Gangle, two soft girls crying to each other when the world gets too hard.

#6 Funny Gummy, Pomni x Gummygoo 🐊 🃏

Come on, who doesn't ship this. It's such angst and sweet potential. I enjoy the ship a lot because Gummygoo and Pomni have a lot of chemistry together. They were able to be open with each other in just a few moments in a way that feels natural. And I love it!

#5 Funny Bunny 🐰 🃏

So to the top 5. My favorite ships of the show. Funny Bunny is just funny. I like their dynamic in the latest advertisement in Japan. It's so cute and fun to see them bicker like an old married couple. It's basically my favorite trope, opposite attract. Jerk trying his best to make others suffer x anxious girl trying her best to help others. You gotta love it.

#4 Checkmate ♟️

I will only say a few words because I cry over this ship. My heart broke for this old married couple that deserve all the happiness the world has to offer. They would've made great parents to the entire circus gang. Soft dad x tough mother!!!!!

#3 Showtime 🎪 🃏

Started like most Showtimers. I felt uncomfortable with the ship at first until I saw a super cute comic with the two. About Caine and Pomni going out for a walk and Pomni tells Caine about what humans are like. She gets cold and Caine hands her his coat. The comic did give me a new view on the relationship. A version where Pomnu tells Caine everything about humans and what they like. And Caine doing everything in his power to make it come true to make her and the other humans happy. He'll make mistakes here and there because he is just an Ai, and Pomni would get frustrated but correct him. It's such a cute concept and has a lot of potential for comedy as well. Where Caine can misunderstand human sayings and make them literal and Pomni is just pulling at her hat trying to make him understand. Along with angst potential. Imagine Pomni choosing between leaving for the real world and staying with Caine after he worked so hard to make her and the others happy. It has great story potential! And I love it!!!! And again, opposites attract. Caine being the overly happy and naive man while Pomni is a realist and more serious.

#2 Abstragedy 🔺️🎭

I shipped this since episode 1. It has great potential! Soft girl x tough gender fluid soul. I also believe we should have more representation in romantic stories involving non binary and gender fluid people. Especially in media where kids are around. The Owl House did a great job putting in a non binary character in a romantic relationship with a woman. Something my little sisters understood on the spot. So having a gender fluid person x a woman is also a great opportunity to introduce a new couple to my sisters. I know it won't be canon but it be great to see people/kids ship them. I also love their dynamic since episode 1. Where Gangle was the only one worried for Zooble after she got kidnapped. Episode 3, just the way Zooble says “Gangle is too shy” to Caine is so tender. And the same in episode 4 where their relationship is just that, tender. So damn tender that it melts your hearts!!!! And again, I love opposites attract! Zooble is tough, outspoken, and not afraid to speak her mind while Gangle is very timid, sensitive and keeps to herself. Their relationships with Jax also reveals just that. Gangle lets herself get pushed around by Jax while Zooble doesn't hesitate to choke Jax on the spot for using her hand as a back scratcher. Love the dynamic!!!

#1 BunnyDoll 🎀🐰

So let it be known that I have a super personal attraction to this ship. It's the ship my little sister ships the most. She is a romantic and ships everything that moves but admires Bunny Doll the most. And the most I'll say is she's been in and out of the doctor's office/hospital for heart problems that can go south easily. So my connection with this ship can't ever be broken. And will always be #1 to me.

Along with this personal connection, I do have other reasons as well. Since the teaser clips with Jax tripping Ragatha, I knew I would ship them. The clear opposites attract dynamic here. Jax is a jerk, and Ragatha is a sweetheart. And love the scowl Ragatha gives to Jax in that teaser while Jax just smiles. The clear indication that these two are gonna have a lot of old married couple bickering. Episode 1 comes, and something that makes me laugh is how both Jax and Ragatha didn't care about Zooble being kidnapped. Jax just asks if they want to do something else, and Ragatha goes along with Jax on the idea. Love that because Ragatha is not the pure of heart she tries to be, and I'm sure in another universe, Jax loves that about her. Just trying to be a nice person, but he knows she isn't and wants to see that meaner side to her. Something to notice is how Ragatha and Jax seem to be the two leaders of the gang. Jax tells everyone what to do in episode 1. And Ragatha basically backs him up in his plan. Trying to be the emotional support for everyone. Guiding Pomni into the digital world mentally and emotionally.

Episode 2, same thing. They bicker around like an old married couple. Ragatha is trying to keep Pomni safe, and Jax just throws Pomni out of the truck. Gives off the vibe of the mother trying to teach her child to swim in a gentle way while the dad just drop kicks the kid in the deep end and yells “SWIM!!!!” And this is where I adore their relationship more where Ragatha seems worried for Pomni while Jax tries to knock sense into her that they are littery in a ditch of boiling chocolate and they should worry about themselves. A dynamic I love. Ragatha tries to be kind to others, and Jax is pulling her into thinking about herself for once.

Episode 3, it was all talking about husbands and wives. And the one scene where Ragatha gives Jax the look after Martha says they know how men are. It just gave off the vibe of wives talking about the stupid stuff their husband's do. Love it!

Episode 4 is where we get more as well. Ragatha hates Jax but doesn't want him to hate her, and Jax clearly lets that get to him. He most likely knows Ragatha isn't genuine in her kindness. And I like that. Angst potential.

In another universe, I would love to see Jax trying to poke more of her meanness out of her. Or trying to make her think for herself for once. This is my favorite type of opposites attract. One thinks for himself, builds walls, mean as a way to cope and never lets anyone step on him. But he needs to learn to be more vulnerable with others. The other is kind, very vulnerable, positive, but needs to learn how to be assertive and think for her own well being. One side has what the other needs. And if written well, can become a super healthy and romantic story.

♥️🧡💛💚💙💜♥️🧡💛💚💙💜♥️🧡💛💚💙💜

All in all, this is my top 10! I ship everything and anyone! It's very rare for me to not ship something. Hope you guys enjoyed my rambling!!! 💜💜💜💜💜

[kedreeva]

HI!! It's the guy who asked about the medical mice stuff, I wanted to THABK YOU!! for your answers:) seriously informative and I appreciate it! I figured as much that culling is a massive part of it, instead of vet stuff, and I'm alright with that! I've familiarized myself with how important culling is, keeping the future mice as healthy and as unprone to diseases as I can is a big goal for me, I think. I currently own chinchillas and BOY I know how expensive vet treatment can get, I can only imagine how much more it'd be for tons of mice. And the hassle.

I had no idea disease testing was a thing though! That's interesting, but man that doesn't seem that.. worth it, with the points you mentioned. And sucks that most breeders will start over if most of their colony gets something Bad but I 100% understand that. I'll definitely be sure to research up more on everything to have on hand when I inevitably have to deal with mites, and I'll definitely make it a point to be very vigilant with health checks and quarantine:) and also 100% do a ton of research in getting good founders, thanking you a TON right now!! As I've mentioned before I really do want the best for these future guys

Sure no problem!

More under cut because culling discussion again

And honestly if you're starting with decent stock and being careful about quarantine for anything you add... You're really unlikely to have to cull much for health unless you get wildly unlucky. I've had these lines for a few years and the VAST majority of culls are population (males I don't need, pinks from larger litters, young females that don't get adopted before I need space again, older breeders that retire and don't get adopted etc), failure to thrive (ie, scrawny babies that just don't make it if left alive), and feeder quality mice (temperament issues). The biggest health problem I'm dealing with is when mice that have siamese/splash blood get a tumor/cyst or two as they get old. Old age masses are one of the hardest things to get rid of because you don't see them until the mouse is nearly done breeding. Outside of masses, I've had mites once (twice if you go back 25 years to college), pinworm once, and coccidia twice (once in the whole colony, once in quarantine but I still treated the whole colony just in case), one malocclusion, two head tilts (one of which was a circler), two URIs, a couple of cloudy/ulcerated eyes (can happen when they scratch themselves), and a couple penile prolapses way back at the start of the siamese line. I've had one line collapse (the tricolor line) due to bad founding animals. And that's across over two decades of breeding! And I can count them because I remember each case because it's unusual to have lots of health problems with mice, if you've been careful with initial stock, selection, and biosecurity.

What I'm trying to say is, don't be too anxious about it. While it will come up, and you'll have to deal with it harshly when it does, it's also not likely that you'll be up to your ears in health issues on a daily basis or anything.

Good luck with them and feel free to ask if you have other questions!

[dubiousanon]

YOU SO GET MEEEE GRAHHAHSHDXB many of these actually have multiple chapters written already, some of those chapters just aren't written in order? Like, I have chunks of various scenes but I haven't cobbled them together yet, I've just been cranking out random parts for fun. I know it's weird but... Trust the process 😔 or smth

Knock Knock (Who's There?): (KakaNaru)

Kakashi, at this point in his life, has nothing. ANBU is all he's holding onto. He's not allowed to see baby Naruto, his sensei is dead, his friends are gone, and he feels like the ultimate failure. He feels cursed.

It's practically an out of body experience to see this head of gold hair and pair of sleepy blue eyes peering back at him through his closet door. At first Kakashi wants nothing to do with him, mostly out of fear that he'll hurt him somehow, but Naruto takes one look at him and is instantly like "you're my new best friend".

Lots of napping together and Kakashi coming home from hard missions and finding a little slice of paradise away from it all in Naruto's home. Kakashi can barely stand his own apartment, but Naruto's is well-lived in, full of knick knacks and photos. Naruto is such a tactile and touchy person too, it's nothing to him to grab Kakashi and manhandle him wherever he wants. Kakashi is always, always welcome. Naruto will never turn him away.

He never asks him to take his ANBU mask off, either. And when he eventually does, he kind of just squints and is like "oh, I didn't know Kakashi-sensei had a cousin". This Kakashi smells different, his chakra is different, his mannerisms are different, he figures it's not the same person— and really, he isn't technically wrong. It helps that 17 year old Kakashi doesn't wear a mask around Naruto. When he removed his hound mask for the first time, it's just his bare face underneath.

Kakashi adores him. He brings him gifts just so he'll smile, put himself in positions that Naruto is forced to touch him in some way— close enough to the sink that Naruto has to wedge past him to get by, hovering behind him so Naruto will bump into him when he turns, etc.

Even Sakura meets him and is like "Okay... weird. I didn't know Kakashi-sensei had family. Especially this freaky one who barely talks and stares at Naruto all the time." Eventually they bring it up with their teacher who's like "I... don't have family 🤨 who are you talking about?"

17 year old Kakashi figures the dimension stuff all out pretty fast but like hell he's jeopardizing his ability to see Naruto by mentioning it.

Dream A Little Dream: (ItaNaru)

Itachi had only peripherally known Naruto, and he'd known him pretty much the way everyone else does— holder of the nine tails, kind of an idiot, kind of annoying. It's a huge shock to him to meet him and learn how quiet he can get, how insightful he is, and how easy it is to feel comfortable around him after such a short amount of time.

After a few weeks of being stuck, Itachi starts to fear something irreversible happened. If it was temporary, he'd have been able to break it by then. He starts to really open up to Naruto, and he's kind of helplessly drawn in.

It helps that Naruto is needlessly kind. They're in a genjutsu. None of this is real. There's no point in fighting so Naruto doesn't bother. Instead, he takes a look at Itachi and sees a man who's been worn down and who maybe needs someone, and he has a gut feeling there's more to him than there seems.

Naruto kind of wars with his undying loyalty to Sasuke, but he and Itachi are literally doing everything together. They can't go very far from one another. They're trapped, and Itachi has no reason to be cruel when there's nobody else to see, and Naruto kind of has this light bulb moment of oh, he's... actually really gentle, isn't he?

They have a lot of carefree moments because there are no expectations and there's nothing they can do. They can go cannonball in a lake, and count the stars, and find pictures in the clouds, and play high stakes tag just because they can. Naruto is the very definition of upbeat and fun, and for Itachi it's exhilarating.

Itachi gets into this mindset of, having had very little good things in life, he should take what he can get now. Naruto is a reprieve and he tries so hard not to touch, but his illness has progressed so far, and he's so tired, and he can't see, and he's ready for it to be over. He's been ready, and Naruto is so warm and wants to know his favorite food, and his favorite color, and his birthday, and asks if he's okay, and when was the last time someone cared?

Naruto has suffered so much in life and Itachi has too, and they connect and seriously just... fall into place. Itachi just feels this overwhelming warmth bloom in him. Naruto actually smiles at him, and he can't remember the last time someone genuinely did that. Naruto cares, and Itachi is rendered helpless by it. After months and months, it's simply impossible to resist.

if you wanted to post any of your wips… *tucks hair behind ear*

I have SO MANY that I literally don't know what to choose, I've got decision paralysis 😭 let me list a few, and maybe if anyone wants elaboration, I can go from there? If anyone even reads this? I definitely want to post something new on Ao3 soon!!!

Knock Knock (Who's There?): (KakaNaru)

When Naruto moves into his new apartment following his return to the village after training with Jiraiya for two years, he doesn't expect it to come with a roommate. But when he opens his closet, it seems to lead into... another apartment. One inhabited by a quiet teenager in a dog ANBU mask.

Naruto is nothing if not good at making friends. Nobody can blame Hound for getting attached, can they?

OR: Naruto's closet leads to another dimension— one where a younger Kakashi is drowning in ANBU. Good thing he's got a cute new neighbor intent on keeping him company.

-Dimension travel! An alternate version of Kakashi exists in a mirror world, which is somehow connected via Naruto's new closet.

-(alternate) Kakashi falls fast and hard and is pretty much fiending, he's so touch starved and so emotionally repressed. He takes one look at Naruto and he's gone.

-Naruto is so accepting of him and free of any judgement that it's impossible for (alternate) Kakashi not to get attached.

-Big Kakashi still very much exists and is very much horrified when it all clicks together. He was a hellion at 17, and now that version of himself has latched onto Naruto? Are you shitting him?

-Basically (alternate) Kakashi being down bad, Naruto being cheerful as ever, and yeah. Shenanigans.

-The Uchiha clan hasn't died yet in (alternate) Kakashi's dimension either. Food for thought.

Deep Down: (KakaNaru)

Naruto gets hit by a jutsu that scrambles not only his chakra, but his memories as well. He can't seem to recall anything. Somehow, this leads to him taking one look at Kakashi and assuming that hey, this must be his husband.

Kakashi, in love with Naruto for years now but never planning to act on it, panics. Worse, Sakura says going against what Naruto says could confuse him and make the injury worse. Kakashi needs to play along.

OR: Naruto loses his memory, assumes Kakashi is his husband, and Kakashi suffers through a dream he knows will inevitably end when Naruto fully remembers.

-A few years post war and Kakashi's feelings are so severe that it's starting to affect him in real life. He can barely work without zoning out thinking of Naruto. When Naruto is around, all he can do is stare.

-When Naruto loses his memory, he sees that stare— which is filled with blatant affection— and makes the natural leap to "this must be my husband."

-Kakashi is in heaven but suffering too. This is exactly what he wants, but it'll go away once Naruto remembers And now that he's gotten a taste, he's desperate for more, more, more.

-Naruto eventually remembers but doesn't really mention it, because he's a little shit.

Darker Still: (ShikaNaru)

When the war goes sideways, all Shikamaru can seem to focus on is Naruto. Still so bright and bold and full of life even as the world falls apart around them, all he wants to do is know more. He wants everything Naruto will give him. He wants to know his favorite color and why, his height, his preferred ramen flavor, how he sleeps, the pitches of his laughter, how many crinkles form by his eyes when he smiles, what he smells like, what he tastes like.

Nara's thrive on knowledge, and sometimes they fixate. Coincidentally, time traveling to the past doesn't fix this. If anything, it only makes it worse

OR: Shikamaru is obsessed with Naruto, Naruto is blissfully unaware of how deeply, and they're going to save the world.

-Literally just Shikamaru wanting to know every last bit of information about Naruto. No matter how small, he will hoard every scrap, will swallow it whole.

-They time travel and no, this doesn't fix the obsession. Shikamaru is awful about it. Stalkerish levels of awful. He just wants to follow Naruto everywhere and touch him all the time.

-Everyone is beyond fucking confused.

-Naruto is out here saving the world, Shikamaru is just here to stare at him while he does it.

A Soul That Rings: (ItaNaru)

Soulmates are all up to chance, and so rare they're practically a thing of myth. You've got to touch them to know, at which point you both get your "mark". They're so uncommon that Itachi is certain he's in the clear, right up until the point where he touches Naruto Uzumaki right before his fight with Sasuke and orange streaks shoot up his arm.

Everyone knows that one soulmate can't die until the other does. It's basically a guarantee that you'll live a long, happy life together unless someone can get you both at the same time. Soulmates are engineered to die from old age together, passing on at the same moment. If Sasuke tries to kill Itachi now... It's not going to stick.

OR: Itachi accidentally finds out Naruto is his soulmate right before he goes off to let Sasuke kill him, and news flash. Not only is Naruto stubborn as all hell, he is exceedingly hard to kill.

-Soulmates are so rare that some people straight up claim they don't exist. They're seriously one in a million. Worse, once you meet them, it's impossible to die unless someone can off you both at the exact same time.

-Itachi is basically anchored to life via Naruto. Even his chronic illness won't kill him. As long as Naruto lives, it literally doesn't matter what happens. The link will keep him alive.

-Naruto isn't letting this go. Itachi can try to run and hide if he wants, but guess what? Naruto has a built in Itachi-sensor now, and that shit will lead him right to him.

-Itachi with nine orange streaks twisting up his arm and Naruto with bright red flames, the color of Itachi's susanoo up his

-Sasuke has never been angrier

Dream A Little Dream: (ItaNaru)

Before Itachi fights Sasuke, he runs into Naruto in the woods, intent on transferring the Kotoamatsukami to him (aka, Shisui's eye) so that Naruto can later free Sasuke from manipulation if he needs to. However, something goes wrong. When Itachi traps Naruto in a genjutsu to do this, he realizes he... can't seem to break it. Something is wrong.

Now trapped with Naruto in an illusion neither of them can seem to get out of, the truth about Itachi's entire past unravels. Pretty soon, Sasuke isn't the only Uchiha that Naruto wants to save, and Itachi finds Naruto impossible to look away from.

OR: Trapped for nearly a year in a genjutsu, Naruto peels into Itachi like one would an orange, and Itachi finds out what loving the human embodiment of the sun is like.

-The genjutsu is basically a barren wasteland devoid of any life aside from themselves, and Naruto is the type of person who can't shut up for more than five minutes

-An invisible force keeps them from getting too far apart, so no. Itachi can't run, hide, and wait it out.

-Naruto notices immediately that Itachi seems ill and is so annoying that eventually, Itachi gives up and tells him everything.

-In the process he also somehow falls head over heels for Naruto and finds a will to live, so at least there's that?

-Idk, I'm a simple girl. I want down bad Itachi, I create down bad Itachi.

I have so many others but these are my favs ♥️