#it's been a whole year and i am still not over it

[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

[adriellej]

See I'm not per se disabled, but I have taken two nasty falls from a horse back in 2023, I have since then had chronic lower back pains for 1,5 years... Still have them, but on January 5th, the beginning of a new year of properly coming back to my riding, I caused my chronic back pain to become acute pain instead... Which means I can barely walk now, I can walk 600 meters on a good day, I can't sit on a chair, I can't bend over to pick things up from the floor, I can't drive my own car, I'm not allowed to carry anything heavy, which means I can't actually carry my 5 and 6 months nephew and niece, I also can't do my job as a NICU nurse... I can only sleep on my back and I have to take so much medicine all the damn freaking time... I don't just have the pain in my back, I now also have some problems with my nerves that cause pain to radiate from my back and into my legs, feet, arms and hands... I have pain breakthroughs where I cry for an hour because the pain won't stop, when these happen, from a scale of 1-10, it's 20. I have sensory disturbances, where my left foot suddenly burns up from the inside but my foot is cold. I had new MRI taken in hopes they could find the reason to it, hopefully it won't be anything bad, but we don't know. I'm 26 years old, and I can't do anything at all, but lay on my couch and play videogames or watch series or movies, but that's almost it. I sometimes get taken out to the horse I ride, but I can't really do anything but maybe groom him, but that's it. I've had people say, oh just wait, it'll be worse when you're 40... And I honestly can't imagine being in more pain than I already am, this is excruciating as it is. Sorry for my rambles, I just really get this, because I'm terrified I might not get back to working as a nurse, or maybe I won't ever ride again, and riding, that's my whole life, it's always been my whole life... And I just can't handle that I might not get to ever sit on a horse again. Or get back to work...

If you're a disabled young person, you've most likely been hit with the "pfft you think you're in pain now? Just wait til you're my age" bullshit from older people at least once. Everyone talks about how invalidating it is

But I haven't seen anybody mention how it's terrifying, too. Yes, I know health deteriorates with age. I know that old age is a disability unto itself. I know that the healthiest person alive will start getting aches and pains past the age of 40 and may even need mobility aids

I know all this stuff. And it always makes me think "yeah, if I can't walk without joint pain even while using mobility aids AT AGE 21, how painful will life be for me at the age where it gets painful for everyone?"

And it's hard not to feel like I'm doomed, y'know? Where most people get a period of health that they wish they appreciated more when they start to lose it, my starting point was a body that doesn't work properly and it's only gonna get worse from there. It's worse every fucking year.

TLDR stop telling disabled young people that their pain will only get worse to the point of being unimaginable as they age, WE FUCKING KNOW

[imaginespazzi]

GUYS GUYS GUYS I FINALLY GET TO GIVE Y'ALL THOUGHTS AND HAVE THE YELLING BE OUT OF LOVE AND HYPE AND EXCITEMENT (should tell you in advance that a lot of this might be in cap because I'm so fucking happy)

AZZI FUDD

OH MY GOODNESS AZZI FUDD

LIKE BABYGIRL YOU HAD ME WORRIED A LITTLE BIT IN THE FIRST I CANNOT LIE LIKE I WAS GONNA HAVE TO MUTE YOU ON TWITTER AND SHIT

BUT THAT'S MY BAD CAUSE AZZI FUDD 3RD QUARTERS??? INSANE SHIT

Like honestly she was just....wow. Brilliant, spectacular, amazing. And I have to just point out what a testament this is to the growth in her mentality because there's a version of Azzi who would've gone 2-10 and then just stopped shooting. But not this one and man oh man was it freaking awesome. Also the 5 rebounds? Means the world to me actually. And what's being talked about less is that she played hella good defense today and kept Pao Pao from ever getting into a rhythm.

POINT GUARD PAIGE BUECKERS

WELCOME HOME SWEEHEART WE HAVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH

MY GOAT FINALLY GOT HER DOUBLE DOUBLE ALMOST A TRUPLE

You know what it didn't matter that, that basket coulda been the size of an ocean and Paige still might not able to get a ball through it because Paige was the heart of the offense. THAT'S MY LEADER. MY PG. MY OFFENSE MOVER. And she did it beautifully, all while occasionally having to defensively play PF.

SARAH MF-ING STRONG AMAZING AS PER ALWAYS. Like truly what is there to say about Sarah because she's just always so consistently good and that one half-court steal? OH I STOOD UP AND EVERYTHING

OH AND OF COURSE ANOTHER DOUBLE DOUBLE FOR MY NFOY

JANA EL ALFY BEST GAME OF THE SEASON AND OH MY GOD THAT HUSTLE??? Y'ALL SEE THAT HUSTLE? IT'S BEEN THERE ALL SEASON TBH BUT IT REALLY SHONE THROUGH TODAY AND THAT FIRST MOVE WHEN SHE CROSSED THAT GIRL OVER? OH THAT'S WHEN I REALLY STARTED TO BELIEVED. Just amazing work from MY center and miss girl didn't even miss a layup today I think (even if she did we didn't see it okay?)

ASHLYNN YEEHAW SHADE GIRL I HAVE YELLED AT YOU (and I still side-eye the hell out of you off the court for that follow) BUT M'AM YOU SHOWED UP! Those 3 threes really set the tone for the whole game and like she has all season, Ash hustled on the glass constantly and she saved some really important posessions.

KK GIRL THAT ENERGY BEEN CONSISTENT EVERY BIG MATCHUP AND YOUR TEAM FINALLY MATCHED IT! And those two fouls on Milaysia that she drew? Crucial shit forreal. Defense was great, made the right moves offensively AND DIDN'T GET BLOCKED ON A DRIVE!!

KC HAD A SOLID GAME!! Quiet 10 tbh I barely realized she'd gotten double digits but I did notice every basket and you could see her being aggressive about it and that's so important.

AUBREY BBG GOT SOME GOOD MINUTES TOO!!! Hard to say if she should've gotten more after such a dominant performance by but her presence is always great and I think really deflated SC, seeing her come off the bench in the 2nd half when we were already demolishing.

REBOUNDING REBOUNDING REBOUNDING. I been yelling all season and then we play the best rebounding team in the country an out-rebound them? SHUT ME UP UCONN

DEFENSE IN GENERAL? SO FUCKING GOOD. They couldn't get nothing going and we didn't do any of that overhelping shit (again mayhaps that's the adrenaline but even if we did, I didn't see it) and it was just lockdown at all time JUST AMAZING

And finally, no one I have yelled at more than Geno fucking Auriemma. AND THIS IS WHY. BECAUSE GRANDPA IS THE BEST COACH IN THE WORLD AND HAS BEEN FOR YEARS. AND WHEN HE REMEMBERS THAT AND COACHES LIKE IT, LOOK AT WHAT WE CAN DO. Like this man did everything right today. He gave the ball to Paige, he called the right timeouts, he ran the right plays at the right time, subbed the right people in and out the same time AND LIKE THIS IS MY FUCKING HALL OF FAME CAOCH. DO THIS EVERY GAME GODDAMN ION LIKE YELLING AT YOU EITHER GRANDPA.

MAN OH MAN I AM SO FREAKING PROUD OF THIS TEAM LIKE I CANNOT EVEN EXPLAIN TO Y'ALL JUST HOW PROUD I AM. THIS IS THE POTENTIAL THAT HAS BEEN THERE THE WHOLE TIME AND THEY JUST HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO SHOW AND LOOK AT THAT THEY FINALLY DID. AND MORE THAN ANYTHING ALL I WANTED FROM THIS TEAM IS TO JUST COME OUT AND LOOK LIKE THEY FUCKING WANTED IT AND THEY DID AND THEY GOT WHAT THEY WANTED JUST LIKE I KNEW THEY WOULD IF THEY JUST PLAYED TO WIN!!

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 26

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n my cat is very sick this weekend so leave some comments to distract me, thankyou. have a lovely weekend, cuddle your pets

previous | masterlist | next

---

Your phone drops from your hands onto the floor of the practice room, thunking softly against the hardwood. Your head follows, falling backwards in a controlled motion that ripples pain through the sore muscles of your abdomen, your legs, your back. The bright lights of the ceiling are little relief, even when you throw an arm over your tired eyes.

Your whole body aches, but that's nothing new. You've been at it for hours - and days, and months. You work hard and the crowd won't cheer, and you work harder and the company ask for more, and you put your every waking moment towards it and the fans don't see the difference, and the voices online are never happy, and the work just keeps coming, one performance after another, opportunity after opportunity to make a fool of yourself.

Your body hurts. It's inevitable. 

It's fine, even. It's been six years since you traded in youth for the promise of fame, after all; pain becomes a constant companion after a point, every dancer knows that. If your body doesn't hurt, then you're probably doing something wrong.

You have to get up. 

It's your own voice that gives the order, your mind that knows you have another performance to run through before you can be done, but your body doesn't move, the heat of it soaking into the lacquered floor. The will to dance has leeched out of your bones with it, and it feels guilty to admit that even to yourself, but there is nothing in you that wants to dance again. You kind of hate dancing right now - but this is your dream and there's one chance to get it right, and you cannot hate dance for even one moment.

You have to get up. You don't move.

The door opens, but you barely notice it, your breath settling and your eyes blocked from the light. You don't open them until the toe of a shoe nudges your side; then, you squint up at the blurry figure above you, waiting for your tired eyes to adjust again.

It's more the shape of his shoulders and the stout figure that give him away than the details of his face. "Binnie," you greet him with a sigh and rub at your face. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he answers. "Were you asleep?"

"No." You look up into his face again, but you're not sure he's convinced. "I'm just...resting."

A wry grin crosses his face, laughing out at you even as he offers you a hand up. "You looked more like you were dying," he tells you as he pulls you up into a sitting position.  "Or in a crisis."

"I am in a crisis," you quip. "I'm not very good at my job."

A finger flicks your forehead. You stare up at him accusingly, but he only shrugs. "People who say bad things about our noona get flicked," he informs you, and he doesn't sound the least bit remorseful. 

"You've got a lot of Stays to flick then," you grumble; and then add, "Slacker," to cover up the guilt that stabs at you so hard you nearly cringe at yourself. Ungrateful, he's going to say, or whiny. It's all you can think, so surely he would too. 

All he does is smile though. "After lunch," he promises. "Are you coming to eat with me?"

You stare at him, bemused. "I'm in the middle of dance practice."

Changbin frowns. "You said in the group chat that you were done."

"With that performance, yeah," you say, your hand drifting unconsciously towards your phone. "I still have the MAMA performance to try."

"It can wait until after lunch."

"Lunch can wait until after practice too."

"Not if it's that new place around the corner," he argues. "They close so early, this is my only chance."

You don't mean to, but you know your face tightens and your belly rumbles, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. "I have a diet, Changbin," you remind him gently. "There's at least four of the other kids at the company, they'll go with you."

"You've been suggested a diet," he amends without missing a beat. "Doesn't mean you have to do it."

"Do you come from another planet?" you scoff, squinting up at him. "Did we not sign the same contract?"

The smile he gives you is impish, spelling out trouble all over his face. "If you just ignore them long enough, they give up," he informs you proudly.

Your gaze runs over him again critically, tight shirt and loose pants cutting a figure you could never hope to mimic. "You're all muscle though," you point out, your finger jabbing accusingly in the direction of his chest, "even though you eat like a garbage can. Some of us are just fat."

"Garbage can?" he repeats incredulously, his voice rising with every syllable. He steps back, shaking his head, and you climb to your feet yourself, reaching back to fix your hair as you stand. "I eat like a normal person."

"Like three normal people, maybe."

"Come to lunch with me and I bet you'll eat more than me."

"You can come to lunch with me, in the cafeteria, sure."

He stares defiantly as he chooses his next words. You meet his gaze evenly. "I don't want to eat chicken and salad in the cafeteria," he whines after a moment. "Who even said that you were fat?"

"JYP himself," you deadpan, only cracking a smile at the anguished laugh that comes out of his mouth in response. "I don't know. A manager somewhere. Does it matter?"

You can see the teasing spirit drain from his face as his smile fades, his face turning to things that are softer, more serious. "As long as you know that you're pretty enough to make most of us look ugly, it doesn't matter."

You scoff again, your tongue tasting acerbic against the embarrassed red of your cheeks. "Pretty enough to be here," you reply. "Not the prettiest."

Changbin's arm is a heavy weight across your shoulders, squeezing you tightly as he all but drags you towards the door. "You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he says; and somehow, it is so friendly a comment that it doesn't heat your face again, nor come off as awkward; but that is Changbin's effortless charm, his friendliness. His ability to listen without judging.

Anyway, your lips curve up into a smile, your elbow digging into his side just long enough to make him let go of you so that you can open the door. "It's all plastic, buddy," you quip as he steps through, and pull it closed behind you. "I'm a modern scientific miracle."

For several seconds, he just looks at you, unsure whether to laugh or not. "Have you done anything?" he asks, just to ask, ambling along casually beside you. "You have such a nice face shape."

You contemplate your answer before you give it, your mouth opening and then closing again. "Maybe a little here and there," you say and let a little grin slip onto your face. "Maybe not. You know I was dropped from Midnight for being 'the wrong look', right?"

"I didn't know that," he says, cutting a glance at you. You wonder if, under the genuine astonishment that plays out over his face, he can see the way that acknowledgement still guts you like a knife. You'd managed to say it out loud without cringing away from it, at least; maybe the hurt is starting to dull. Maybe one of these days you'll be able to look forward at what you've got without also looking back at what they'd taken away from you.

"Well don't go changing now," Changbin says, pushing straight past the whole dilemma. "They think you're the right look for us; don't ruin it."

"I only aspire to look like you, Changbin-ssi," you assure him. 

He laughs at you; actually, properly laughs, his voice echoing down the hallway. "You can start by actually going to the gym," he tells you. "And going to eat ramen at the new place down the street. You can't claim to be Changbin when you're so small."

"Bit rich, coming from the smallest person in the group," you mutter under your breath, and you can't help but snort a laugh at the affronted shout that sounds from beside you as he tows you towards the elevators.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[jjsloverre]

babydaddy!jj taking pouge!reader on their first official date for valentine’s day!

in which… jj is on a mission to man up for you and the baby. his first step is taking you on an official date.

contains… a bit of angst, fluffy fluff, cursing, jjs first step in becoming a better man! (not proofread)

__________________________________________________________

being with jj wasn’t easy, bitches still flirted, he still acknowledged them, possibly sleeping with them… who knows at this point? he’d been ignoring you and yelling at you for days, you didn’t understand what you were doing wrong, then kiara comes in and says that he’s staying with her instead. figures right?! your best friend, way prettier and she’s not pregnant? jj would have a good time.

“hi pretty, whatcha thinkin bout?”

you were surprised to see jj right there with your favorite pink roses. “went across the world to find these damn flowers for you mama to be! go get ready, i got dinner reservations for us.”

“for what?” you ask confused.

“it’s valentine’s day? i want to take the mother of my child out on a real date, show her how much i appreciate her carrying my child and never giving up. you’re amazing, my superstar.” he kissed your temple, not wanting to overstep your boundaries. “please let me take you out.”

“i don’t really wanna go out.” you lied. it was bullshit. you just didn’t want to be out with him.

“alright… i’ll just sit here then and bring the dinner to you.”

“or you can just go home.” you cut him off. he sensed it, you didn’t want him there. tears welled up in his eyes but he pushed it back. “it’s my only time to take you out, i have work nonstop… im sorry for hurting you i really am, just let me try and make it up.” one tear escapes his eye. you never saw jj cry, not ever. he barley cried when his dad abused him. but he’s crying in your face? all because you don’t want to spend time with him? somethings up.

as fast as the moment came, it left instantly. jj realized you were staring at his tears and quickly wiped them away. “but if you don’t want to spend time together it’s fine. i could take the extra shifts for some more money anyway.” something in you snapped. “sit down.” you demanded. jj immediately sat down, looking for the first time in years, looked nervous.

“did i do something? do you want money? anything you want please just tell me, i don’t want to get yelled at today.. just tell me how to fix it and i will.” you rolled your eyes. “i’m not mad.” jj nodded. he continued to fidget and was over the top nervous. your mind drifted back to the weeks jj calmed you down during doctors appointments, during outings, through it all. the least you could do was cuddle him and tell him everything’s okay.

so you did just that. you wrapped your arms around his trembling body. “look at me.” you demanded. jj reluctantly looked up at you, taking in your beautiful features. he was shaking uncontrollably now, tears welling up in his blue eyes. you quickly kissed his forehead. “shhh baby, everything’s okay.” you whispered to the blonde. in that moment, he was just a lost boy who could never find his way, but somehow; his way was to and with you. “let’s go out today, just like you wanted.” you promised him.

“i wanted to do it for you if you wanted to go.”

“well now i want to go. so go get that cute little outfit you were gonna wear while i put mine on.” jj nodded and kissed your cheek. “thank you for this beautiful. i won’t disappoint you ever again.”

once you arrived to the restaurant hand in hand, you notice that jj had rented the whole place. “this cost my whole fuckin’ check but i wanted you to be happy, oh! and here! i got you your favorite flowers.” jj exclaimed. you were over the moon with the flowers. your pregnancy made you overly emotional and the flowers were icing on the cake, or so you thought.

“order whatever you want beautiful!” you started to see the real jj, he was a really happy boy, a happy boy who was misunderstood. you moved your seat and sat close beside him, laying your head on his shoulder.

“honey— it’s supposed to be a date! you’re supposed to be on the other side so we can hold hands or shit like that.” jj reminded you.

“i wanna be right here. wanna be near you.” jj nodded, and wrapped his arm around your waist, then the waitress comes to your table. “go ahead and order love.”

once you both ordered, you had conversations. conversations about the baby, the potential gender, clothes, living situations, child support all of it. “i’m not putting you on child support jj.” he looked down at you surprised. “really? i mean why?”

“you literally always give me your whole check. maybe one time you gave me 2/4 of your check cause you had to play bills.” you explained to him. “thank you sweetheart. i promise i won’t fuck this up anymore, i’m all yours.”

“speaking of, block kie.” jj was extremely caught off guard. “i don’t have her blocked already? ok well you do it for me and just block anyone you don’t want me talking to.”

“good deal!”

when your food and drinks come, you both dig in, your eyes watered at jj’s plate and instantly wanting it in your mouth. “baby… can i have just a bite?” he smiled and fed you. “taste good sweetheart?”

“i love it! i want more!” he gave you another big bite. “you look so cute eating my food like that.” he cooed at you. suddenly, jj sat yo in his lap and pulled your food closer. “i love being this close to you baby, i’m happy you changed your mind about letting me take you out. i wanna do right by you y/n, just want you to be a happy girl and a happy mom.” your heart soared at his words. “you’ll think we’ll make it?” you asked him curiously.

“of course we will, baby you and our child are the only things keeping me held down. if it weren’t for you, i’d probably be getting my ass beat or sitting in a cell, i’m grateful for you and gonna do anything and everything for you.”

“you’re sweet. thank you for this dinner baby. it really helped me open my eyes about our relationship.”

“it’s a relationship now??”

“don’t get too ahead of yourself.” you giggle. “you need to properly ask me.” he nodded and pulled out a small box. “one more gift beautiful.”

he pulls out a stunning necklace and attaches it to your neck. “happy valentine’s day beautiful.”

__________________________________________________________

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more babydaddy!jj x pouge!reader here

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (21)

Word count: 3.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: Implications of sexual abuse, mentions of torture, PTSD, angst, flesh trade, language, mention of violence and murder; reader discretion is strongly advised.

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Look who is posting regularly now ;)

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“Miss, you can’t keep waiting by the door for him all day!”

“Watch me,” you muttered and Abby let out a sigh. She must be convinced of your obsessive insanity by now.

“I called Jack and he called Castiel. Mr Winchester will not be back before evening. You will fall sick in this cold.”

“It’s already five… won’t be long before evening. You go on.”

Abby gave you a look that most definitely doubted your sanity but left you at the foot of the staircase where you sat with your book, feet tapping so rapidly, that the anklet Sam had gifted you started to sting.

For the umpteenth time, you wondered what the last, engraved square charm stood for.

Abby had seen you through a week's worth of anxiety but did not know the reason behind it. You knew. Sam was to return today and he had every intention of completely avoiding you and there was no way you were giving him that chance.

Since finding it, you had read Sam’s letter so many times, that the crumpled paper had lost most of its composition and now lay flat, the words already etched in your mind. At first, the pain and sadness in his words riddled you like bullets, but the more time you spent with his words, the angrier you felt about the whole situation.

How dare he apologise for saving you? Stupid, stupid man! How dare he make you fall in love with him even more? 

Admitting to the things he’d admitted to couldn’t have been easy… his childhood, how he truly thought himself to be responsible for his mother’s death and then Jo’s. How his father had treated him, and watching his brother, the only family he had known waste away right in front of his eyes just like his father.

You shuddered to yourself, thinking of your Han that way. Dean had an easy-going way about him. If bringing you into the picture had eased his anguish, how could it have been a bad thing? Sam, with his principles, couldn’t forgive himself for the act, but you, who was the one affected by it, wanted to find him and kiss his hands for signing that cheque now. He hadn’t just saved his brother, he had also saved you.

Then there were things he’d admitted to about you. 

…but what if I confessed that I liked the fall of your hair…

… I could nearly imagine the feel of your skin, your lips…

A soft shiver ran through your body at the recollection.

If Sam had stripped himself naked before you, he’d have still been less vulnerable. By admitting to the shame he felt over the simple act of choosing you, he’d bared more than you in that godforsaken picture. You understood him now… understood him to the depth of his soul. 

But you wished he understood that with all his principles, he was only a man. And he couldn’t keep punishing himself for having the reactions and instincts of one.

…How am I any better than all those men? How could I ever face you after that?

Reading those words? All you wanted to do was climb into his skin, dissolve into his being and hold him so tight, he’d never feel that shame again.

Footsteps echoed outside the door and you got to your feet, the book falling to the ground with a thump. Had you been less lost in thought, you would have realised those footsteps didn’t have the crispness of Sam’s.

“Hey, Honeybun!” Nick smirked. “Waiting for me?”

The air in your throat coagulated then disappeared to nothing seeing his face.

“You are as jawdroppingly gorgeous as ever.”

“And you are just as bastardly,” you heard yourself say. Any other day words might have evaded you, but living through Sam’s anguish over something he had no control over, made you livid at this asshole’s audacity, who hadn’t lost even a second of his sleep over destroying your life.

“Oh, she shows teeth now,” he said silkily.

“Get out of my house,” you hissed. “Get lost before I call the security.”

“And tell them what?” He challenged. “Why you’re kicking Sam’s cousin out? Mary was my mother’s sister, you know. I’m part of the Trust. Or do you not want the people in your house to know about us.”

“There’s no us.”

Nick took a few calculated steps close to you. “Come on now, Y/N. I know you love your secrets, you’ve always thrived in them. Secret siblings in a boarding school. Never thought I would become your dirty little secret, too.” He grinned and you shuddered. “What a privilege.”

He circled you slowly and you pressed into the balustrade, grabbing the handrail. 

“Poor little Sammy, does he know how you secretly met his brother at the pier in the middle of the night? That’s right, I saw little Y/N sneaking out in the dark. Do you still have Dean’s leather jacket in your drawer?”

The blood in your vein suddenly ran cold. “S- Sam knows… Dean and I are friends… He knows.”

“Tch Tch Tch,” laughed Nick, the sound grating your brain. “Sam knows his brother thinks of you as his friend. But you tell me, which respectable wife would tiptoe out of the house in the middle of the night to meet a complete stranger? Now good Ol’ Deano knew who you were, but you didn’t know who he was, did he now? So didn’t you lie to your husband about your secret rendezvous with a man?” He sighed dramatically. “What they say is true after all. Once a slut… always a slut.”

“Don’t you…”

“Dare?” He mocked, hands in air. “Does Sammy even know everything you did with me? Did to me? That you’ve gone down on your knees for me and–

The clatter of a briefcase had you jumping out of your skin.

Sam stood over the threshold, face white as a board. 

“Sammy!” Nick greeted with glee. “My man! You look ready to drop. Bad trip?”

He placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and Sam shirked it away in disdain.

“I was just telling Y/N how wonderful it is to catch up with her after all these years. Did you know we used to date in college? Well, she was in college anyway. I never had time for that shit.”

Nick turned to face you with a grin. “I was telling her how… great she still looks. Doesn’t she?”

At long last Sam’s gaze slid from Nick to you, absolute disbelief etched in his expression. 

You stared back helplessly.

When Nick turned back around, Sam had gathered his expression and settled into a perfectly blank face.

“Nick,” said Sam, voice composed. “I had a long flight back and I’m in no mood to see your face when I could have a much better view. I’d much rather be in bed, having dinner with my wife than stand around listening to you reminiscing about things that don’t matter anymore.”

“You knew?” Nick challenged, doubtful.

Sam picked up his briefcase and briskly crossed the distance, surpassing Nick. “I sure remember gagging when Y/N mentioned it in passing. I find it hard to believe she had such terrible taste.” He picked up your fallen book and handed it to you, beginning to take the steps. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do.”

At the top step, he turned and said, “Y/N, come on up. Find Abby and get her to send the dinner up for us. I’m starving.” With that, he disappeared into the corridor.

Shock held you in place for a few moments, but eventually, you turned your back on that grinning bastard and followed Sam up the steps. The door to his room was already closed and when you tried to push it open, the door held. 

“Damn it,” you cursed, crossing to the next door and getting into your own room. Things were already as fucked as they could get and this was not how you had wanted Sam to find out about Nick.

Horrifyingly, Sam and Dean now had one-half of the story. Dean knew your boyfriend had sold you to the boss and now Sam knew Nick had been the boyfriend. Only you knew the whole truth and had known it for a while. The mole on the estate that the brothers were searching for had to be none other than Nick. After all how many such assholes could be around? And it made perfect sense now. Nick was part of the Estate Trust, someone who could have easily offered Rosalie a new job, and lured all these women associated with the estate into the flesh trade. Even Jo, who might have just stopped the car to acknowledge Dean’s cousin had paid for that mistake with her life.

The true horror of the situation was how you could tell neither brother the truth because if Dean found out that Nick was the reason his fiance was dead, he would kill Nick and the boss would know. And if Sam found out what your Ex-boyfriend had done… you still remembered the murderous rage in his eyes when he’d found out about Michael inserting hot pins in your heels. If he confronted Nick, the boss would still know. Then what would happen to Jamie and Danny? You’d never see them again.

The sheer helplessness of holding the Ace that Sam and Dean so desperately sought in your hand, and yet unable to hand it to them.

Now, Sam knew and you felt ashamed of what he must be thinking.

Rushing inside the bedroom vestibule, you pushed at the connecting door, but for the first time, found it locked… from the other side.

“Sam!” you banged on the wood. “Open the door.”

Nothing.

“Open the damn door! Let me explain.”

Oh, how the tables had turned. What a wretched feeling to be on the other side, locked out. The medicine did not taste sweet.

“Open the door,” you tried again. “P-L-E-A-S-E”

Except the last word came out as knocks and pats on the wood.

You were about to give up when the door opened and you were only a couple feet away from Sam. Being away from him for an extended amount of time always made you forget just how tall he was and right now the buttons of his shirt appeared more appealing than meeting his eyes. 

“What?” Sam asked, point blank, his voice without inflection.

All you wanted to do was close the little distance and hug him, but the two steps in between felt like miles.

“Won’t you invite me in?”

A second passed, and then Sam moved aside. “It’s your house as much as mine. You’re welcome to any part of it.”

Tears pricked your eyes. Sam’s words and tone were polite, but each detached syllable stung like a pin in your heel.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” You remained resolutely at the threshold. 

“How?” 

Something about Sam’s quiet rage rankled you from the inside. Despite his absence, you felt like you had uncovered more of Sam from Dean’s words and then his letter. Sam had always seemed like an ocean on the verge of breaking into a cyclone, that something always simmered under it, barely restrained, but dangerous all the same. Seeing him now, face cast out of stone, you finally understood how he could have fooled all the staff into thinking of him as a cold man. The truth was that whatever darkness he restrained within him, whether it was anger, fear or hatred, all of that was at its thinnest now. If you pushed, that unhinged darkness, for better or for worse, would come unleashed.

You decided to push it.

Crossing into the room you walked past Sam and took a seat at the edge of the bed. He stared at you. Sam had gone from bad to worse… his skin was shallow and his eyes sunken, looking nearly black in their intensity.

“What do you want, Y/N?���He asked once more, not moving an inch.

“I want to talk.”

“Yeah?” He walked to the bed, towering over you. “Now you want to talk?”

You ignored the question and countered with your own.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

“How much, Sam?”

“Nick’s your college boyfriend.” He took a deep breath and let it out. Calming the sea, keeping the cyclone at bay. “It’s alright. You don’t owe me answers.”

But you weren’t having any of it. “Yeah, he’s the one I told you about on our walk into the forest. My boyfriend from back home. We used to go on long rides on his Harley, cruising through the streets of California on hot nights. He was shacking up in a friend’s place in LA and he’d take me there on Friday evenings all the way to Sunday morning. Just the two of us–”

“That’s.. That’s enough. I don’t want to hear it.” His fists were clenched, tendons standing out white against his skin.

“Why?” You shouted, getting to your feet. “You’re my friend and you told me I can share anything with you. So why not?”

He twisted his body and grasped your shoulder with both his hands, fingers digging into your skin. “You know why!” His sunken eyes were watery, the white tinged with red. “You know why, Y/N. Don’t do this to me, don’t break me like this.”

You finally closed the distance, snaking your arms around his thin waist. “He is nothing but a person from my past. Nothing. Do you understand?”

“Why didn’t you tell me then? You locked yourself for days when you saw him at the inauguration. It’s been a month since and you never said a word.”

Stepping back, you looked up at Sam and admitted part of the truth. “I was ashamed. Seeing him reminded me of my past in the most jarring way, and you’ve been so kind to me, I suppose I needed time to wrap my head around it all.”

Sam peered into your face, scrutinising.

“Believe me, please.”

He deflated just a little, then nodded.

“But him? Really?” His incredulity nearly broke you, but you held your own. “Of all people, Nick?”

Oh, if only Sam knew.

“I was naive and daddy issues are a thing.” You shrugged. “C’mon, let's go to our room. All your clothes are there and you need a shower.”

Taking his hand in yours, you led Sam back over the threshold into your bedroom and closed the connecting door behind you. 

He took the room in for a minute then dragged his feet to the walk-in-wardrobe. “I’m not hungry,” he said passing you. “Just call for some coffee.”

You still had Abby bring in some fruits along with the coffee. She sat by you, nibbling on a piece of apple as Sam finished in the shower, then waited long enough to wish Sam a good night when he returned. Sam had stepped out in a thin wet tshirt, hair dripping water into the neckline, and a towel wrapped around his waist. The way Abby averted her gaze, face flaming, gave you an idea.

She left quickly after and you watched Sam put on his drawstring pants and then remove the towel from around his waist. He got on his side of the bed, pulled the covers over his legs and reached for the cup of coffee.

“How do you expect to sleep if you drink coffee right before?” You asked, but then couldn’t help adding. “Not that the thing in the cup is remotely close to coffee. Stop doing business in Bali if this is what they give you in return.”

Sam rolled his eyes while taking a sip. “Enough with the coffee already.”

“It’s such a shame that you came out of the bathroom wearing the t-shirt today. Remember that time you came out with just the towel wrapped around your waist? Short towel, too.”

He drained his cup, put it back on the side table and faced you, brow furrowed. “When?”

“Last time you were here. Great abs. Guess all that working out helps, huh?” You put your fingers on his arm. “And that time we were all wet in the shed? I slipped and fell on you, I could feel the bulk of your muscles. Made my throat go dry.”

Sam gulped. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Very slowly, holding his gaze, you moved to straddle his hips and Sam flattened himself against the headboard, a deer caught in headlight. 

“The first time I saw you, Sam Winchester, even through the veil, I knew you were an attractive man and I can’t count the number of times I have found myself staring at your body— the shoulders, the chest, arms, all of it. If you want me to go into details about what seeing you shirtless does to me, you are welcome to be my guest, but the point is, I don’t feel ashamed about it. I don’t feel ashamed about a natural reaction.”

“You read the letter…”

Raising your hand, you gently skimmed the side of his face with the back of it and he closed his eyes at the touch. 

“I did, and now you know how I feel. What are you going to do now?”

“It’s different,” he said finally. “You didn’t pay money–”

“You said yourself that you paid the price for my freedom, for a chance to know the truth about Jo and not for my body.”

“You don’t understand–”

“Don’t complicate emotions to the point of no return, Sam. I’ve wanted to kiss you, and I took both of those chances.” You leaned it, face inches away from his now, lips only a whisper away from his. “But you didn’t answer my question. What are you going to do now?”

He opened his eyes, and they smouldered. Sam’s fingers found your hair and fisted in them. He crushed his lips to yours, devouring your mouth. His other hand slid from the base of your throat, down your body, decidedly feeling the shape of you. You followed his lead, rejoicing in it… in the following. His self-control had cracked at last and he was finally staking the claim, he should have staked a long time ago… making the first move, claiming what was his… you.

Maybe it was seeing you with Nick, knowing about your past, or hearing your admission, that had caused the careful wall of self-control that Sam always held around you to crumble. Some of that self-control must have survived because he broke off, breathing hard. 

“I’m not going to apologise,” he said.

“You better not.”

Sam smiled, skin stretching over his cheekbones, but it still lit his eyes. “Yes, Ma’am.”

When he slid into the bed, he grabbed your hand and pulled you against his side instead of restricting himself to his end of the bed. “Sleep, Y/N. We have to be up early tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Humour me,” he said. “I have the day planned.”

“Okay,” you agreed readily, then wound your hand around his waist, snuggling as close as you could. Between the two of you much had been said, and even more implied, yet a lot was yet to to be put into words. But Sam was here now and you had all of tomorrow. Right now you simply wanted to savour the feeling of holding the man you loved in your arms and being held by him.

*****************************

A/N 2: I LOVED writing this chapter! The nuances of Sam’s admission and the delicate nature of his emotions were just so damn satisfying to put into words! What did you think?

Oh, I can’t wait to share what’s coming with you!

Please do let me know what you think of this part. Reblogs and comments are what keep me going!

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[tikosblogg]

Meet n Greet… Noah Drabble..

Warning: none just pure cuteness.

A/N: This has been rotting in my drafts forever. I decided to post it while I’m working on Ch 2 of who am I? It should be up by one day this week!

Bad omens. My favorite band. Here I was watching them live, along with my four year old lily.

A questionable parenting choice, perhaps, taking a small child to a metal concert. But Lily loved them. I’d played their music constantly since she was born. “There Is A Hell, Believe Me I’ve Seen It. There Is A Heaven, Let’s Keep It A Secret” was practically her lullaby. Okay, maybe not the best lullaby, but she seemed to like it.

And now, here we were, waiting in line for the meet and greet. Lily, perched on my hip, was a whirlwind of excited energy. Her tiny hands were clapping, her bright blue eyes darting around the room, soaking in the sights and sounds.

Then she saw him.

Noah. The man whose voice had carried me through so many tough times. He was standing with the rest of the band, posing for pictures with a fan.

“NOAH!” Lily’s voice, surprisingly loud for such a small person, sliced through the din. She started waving her hand, her little face alight with pure, unadulterated joy. “Noah! Noah!”

He looked up. His dark eyes, that I’d only ever seen in photos or on a screen, locked onto Lily. A genuine, warm smile spread across his face, transforming his usual brooding expression. He waved back.

Lily squealed, wriggling in my arms, as I sat her down beside me. The line inched forward, each step feeling like an eternity. Finally, it was our turn.

As soon as our feet hit the designated photo area, Lily launched herself forward. She bypassed the rest of the band entirely and barreled straight into Noah, wrapping her arms around his leg in a tight hug.

He laughed, a deep, resonant sound that sent shivers down my spine. He reached down, effortlessly scooping her up into his arms. Lily, now face-to-face with her idol, hugged him around the neck.

“If I’m there’ is me and Mommy’s favorite song!” she declared, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

Noah’s laugh was warm against my ears this time. “Really? I love that song too.”

“Yeah,” Lily continued, her volume increasing with each word, “but Mommy cries when she hears it!”

My cheeks flushed crimson. Mortification washed over me in waves. "Lily, shhh," I hissed, trying to silence her from completely exposing me. It was true. That song always got to me.

Noah looked at me, that sweet smile still playing on his lips. Then, turning back to Lily, and looking around us, as if expecting someone else to be with us, he asked, “Does your daddy not like our music too?”

Lily shook her head vehemently. “I don’t have a daddy.”

The laughter in Noah’s eyes vanished. His expression softened, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher crossing his features. He gave Lily another squeeze, his gaze shifting to me. He mouthed a silent “sorry,” his eyes conveying genuine sympathy.

I shrugged it off, offering a weak smile. It was fine. We were fine.

“I have a mommy,” Lily declared, puffing out her chest with pride. “I don’t need a daddy.”

Noah nodded, his gaze lingering on me just a beat too long. “That’s right. You got your mommy. That’s all you need.”

He looked at me again, his eyes searching mine. Before I could formulate a response, Lily piped up again. “Mommy says she wish you were my daddy, cuz you’re handsome!”

I gasped, instinctively covering my face with my hands. This couldn't be happening. The earth should just open up and swallow me whole. Humiliation pricked at my skin.

Noah and the rest of the band erupted in laughter. It was good natured laughter, but still. I wanted to disappear.

Noah, regaining his composure, looked at me with amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, I think your mommy is very pretty too."

My heart skipped a beat. Heat bloomed in my chest, chasing away some, but not all, of the embarrassment.

He reached out his hand. Hesitantly, I took it. His fingers closed around mine, his grip warm and surprisingly firm. He gently tugged me closer, pulling me into his side.

“Come on, let’s get a picture,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

The rest of the band gathered around us, their laughter subsiding into playful grins. I felt a hand on my back, guiding me into place. I was acutely aware of his arm around my waist, the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

Someone snapped a photo. Then another. And another. Each flash of the camera a stark reminder of the surreal situation I found myself in.

Finally, the impromptu photoshoot was over. I fumbled in my bag, pulling out a CD insert of their album. It was a picture of the whole band. “Would you mind signing this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

They happily obliged, passing the insert around for each member to add their signature. Noah was last. He took the marker, his dark eyes meeting mine. He held my gaze for a long moment, something unreadable swirling within their depths.

He scribbled something on the insert, then handed it back to me with a wink. “Was nice meeting you two,” he said, his voice a soft murmur.

Flustered, I thanked them and quickly ushered Lily out of the room. The cool night air felt like a welcome relief against my burning skin.

Back in the car, strapped into Lily's carseat, she chattered excitedly about meeting Noah. I managed a weak smile and started the engine.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced down at the signed CD insert, which was lying on the passenger seat. I picked it up, my fingers tracing the signatures. Then, my eyes landed on something else.

Beneath his signature, Noah had written a phone number. A real, legitimate phone number.

My breath hitched. My heart pounded in my chest. My mind reeled. Was this really happening?

I stared at the number, my fingers trembling. It was a bold move. A completely unexpected move. A move that had the potential to change everything.

I glanced in the rearview mirror at Lily, fast asleep in her car seat, her face peaceful and serene. I looked back at the number.

[dsireland86]

Can we get some more best friend/roommate Noah?? Pleaseeee <333

More Than Just A Roommate But Still My Best Friend

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It's warm in the hoodie and under the blanket, snuggled up on the couch watching TV. The weather said the snow would start around three, so trusting your better judgment, you chose to stay home from work. There was no chance you were risking your neck for a job that you hated.

"Guess who?" You sigh but smile and play along anyway. "Mmm, Santa?" "Nope. Guess again." "Mmm, the Grinch?" "Seriously? You and your Christmas obsession."

Yanking the hands away that are covering your eyes, you turn and look at the face behind you.

"I knew it was you the whole time, Noah." Noah smirks, bopping you on the nose. "Sure you did." "Dude! You're the only one here!" Noah cocks an eyebrow. "Am I? Are you sure about that?" You pause and look around the living room, skeptical of your assumption. "I'm just messing with you, babe, relax."

You slump your shoulders and sit back against the couch, pulling the blanket up to your chest, warmed by the familiar nickname. You've known Noah for most of your life and has been your brother's best friend since early high school until dropping out and forcing Nick to finish on his own. But that's where you came in. Noah stayed relevant in your family's life because the two of you grew a friendship that blossomed into a relationship that was pretty much unbreakable. 

But as the years went by and your brother's little metal garage band got successfully big, Noah hit a massive growth spurt, and before you knew it, he was cutting his long brown hair that he used to let you braid, taking up jujitsu, and working out. Overnight, Noah went from skinny ass white boy to "Oh my god, look at him!" You pretended not to notice, acting like you weren't turned on every time Noah was shirtless or would casually change in front of you in a hurry during shows (thankful only stripping down to his underwear). He'd look at you looking at him and give you that smile that would send the butterflies in your tummy fluttering like crazy. But you'd always look away quickly, scared that he'd notice the way he was making you feel. But it was just Noah. He shouldn't have been making you feel any certain way.

"Wait. Is that my favorite hoodie?" Noah pulls the blanket down, breaking your train of thought and revealing his "Hereditary" hoodie you’ve confiscated. "You little thief," Noah chides. "I've been looking for that hoodie for weeks." "Lier! It is not your favorite!" "It's one of them." "Whatever. But it has not been weeks! I've only had it for... for..." you stop to think. "Shit. Okay, fine! I've had it for weeks. Shut up." You pull the hood up over your head and sink into its deep pocket of comfort.

"It's fine. Looks better on you anyway," Noah smiles, taking the spot next to you on the couch. You stretch your legs out over his lap, and he loops his long, noodle arms around them and begins to rub your sock covered feet.

"You really need new socks." "What's wrong with my "Demon Slayer" socks?" straining your neck to look at your feet. Noah pokes his finger through a hole on the bottom of your sock, tickling your foot. You giggle, squeezing your eyes closed and laughing hard. "Stop! Okay! I'll get a new pair." Noah's laugh fades, but his eyes stay on you, lingering a few seconds too long. You notice, and the way he shyly looks away "Don't bother. I already ordered you some." Your smile turns tight-lipped. "Awe, how sweet. You really do care!" Noah rolls his eyes and hits you in the face with the pillow next to him.

For the next few minutes, the two of you sit in silence, watching Frodo and Sam cross The Dead Marshes when you get a message from Folio telling you that their flight has been canceled because of the snowstorm.

"Matt says their flight's been canceled and has no idea when the next one is." "Yeah, I just got a message from Folio saying the same thing. This freaking sucks." "Yeah, it sure does," Noah agrees, tapping your legs. "Let me up." You slide your legs off his lap, and he gets up, walking over to the window and looking out. "Anything?"Noah shakes his head. "Nothing yet." He turns back and looks at you. "Think maybe we should head out now while it's still clear and grab some extra stuff?"

"Like what?" dreading the idea of having to face the god awful cold. "Water. Batteries. Flashlights." "Noah, we have like five flashlights already." He pauses to think. "More flash lights couldn't hurt," he states, lifting his eyebrows and shrugging. You groan. "Awe, Pretty Princess just doesn't want to go out in the cold, does she?" Noah walks back over to the couch and stands over you, looking down. Over the years, you've caught him staring at you, but not like this. The look in his eyes that you're seeing right now is different. He reaches his hands out to you and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around your waist, picking you up, and throwing you over his shoulder. "What the.... Noah!" Lightly smacking your butt, Noah carries you into the kitchen and sits you on the countertop. "Stay," he orders, walking away. You huff, folding your arms over your chest in frustration. Noah comes back a moment later with your shoes.

"Awe, no! I don't wanna go, Noah!" "Shush. Put your shoes on." "No." "What do you mean no?" "No. I'm not putting my shoes on because I don't want to go and you can't make me." Noah's scowls, irritated that you're not cooperating with him. "I can't make you, huh? Is that what you think?" You turn your nose up at him, hearing his quiet, huffed laugh. "Is that what you think? That I can't make you?" Glancing at him, you see the serious look on his face. "Noah, it was a joke. Relax."

You hear the soft hum that leaves him as his eyes find yours, switching between them and your thighs that he suddenly pulls apart. "What are you doing?" you ask nervously, shifting slightly as he positions himself comfortably between your legs. He's so close to you now, closer than he's been in a long time. You can feel his body heat and smell the faint scent of his cologne and deodorant that make you lightheaded as you stare at the picture of a hand holding a gun painted on the front of Noah's band merch hoodie. The complete silence surrounding you makes the tension thick and has your heart racing. It's just Noah. Your roommate. Your best friend. What's wrong with you? Why now, of all times, is your body, your mind reacting to him like this? You take a slow, deep breath as Noah leans in and whispers, "Put your shoes on, now" into your ear as his cheek brushes against yours. It sends a hard shiver rippling throughout your entire body.

Pushing on his chest, you force Noah back a few steps. "Fine," you reluctantly agree, refusing to look him in the eyes now. You hop down and grab the shoes out of his hand. "See, I told you I could make you," he smiles coyly as you hold on to his arm for support. "Shut-up," you scold, slapping him in the stomach and hearing the faint chuckle leave him. 

The snow is beautiful, reminding you of back home in Virginia. The weather has changed drastically since you and Noah came back from braving the madness of supply hunting, which, thankful, was successful. As you wait for Noah to finish his shower, you stay planted in your spot on the couch, still wrapped up in his hoodie and your warm blanket. The house is so empty without your family here, and suddenly, you find yourself feeling pretty miserable to the point that you start to cry. You want your brother's warm hugs and Matt's scowl that he gives on just about everything. You want Jolly's loud guitar playing and Folio constantly drumming his fingers on everything, annoying the shit out of you. You want your family, but you can have them right now. Burying your head in your blanket, you let the tears fall as you cry hard. It feels like forever that you stay this way until you feel the arms around you that were destined to be yours before you even existed.

"Hey, come here," Noah coos. Abandoning the blanket, you climb into Noah’s lap, escaping into the warmth and safety of him and burying your face against his chest. Though the tears are still falling, your heart feels less painful. You know that here in the safety of your best friend, everything will be alright. Noah doesn't ask questions or makes you feel stupid. He makes no snarky comment or is irritated. He just holds you, keeping his long arms locked lovingly tight around you, and making you feel like the safest girl in the world. Pulling your hood back, he kisses the top of your head before resting his cheek against it.

"It's okay to cry. You don't have to act so tough all the time." "I don't," you whine, making Noah chuckle. "Okay. Whatever you say, pretty princess." "Why do you keep calling me that!" you yell," shooting up like a bullet. Noah just stares at you wide-eyed. "And what the hell was earlier about?" Noah scowls at you, confused. "What do you mean?" "Earlier, with my shoes and how you got so close to me. You've never done that before." Noah scoffs, trying to hide the fact that you've suddenly made him nervous. "What, I can't be that close to you anymore? All I was asking was for you to put your shoes on. I didn't mean to upset you." You look away, suddenly feeling a little awkward for lashing out like you did. "Did it feel like something more to you?" he hesitantly asks. You don't want to answer out of fear that you probably read the whole thing completely wrong. "No," you lie, getting up to avoid any more questions. You dry your eyes and turn to leave. "Hey, wait," Noah calls out, but you ignore him. "I'm going to go call Nick. Goodnight, Noah."

You sit up in your room, talking to your brother, really wishing he was home with you instead of a million miles away. Nick tells you about how pissed and irritated everyone is and how they should have listened to you and Noah and came when you did. “Me and Jolly are sharing a room and Folio and Matt are sharing the other. Hopefully by morning it’ll be better and we can come home.” Nick throws out a little more small talk then hits you with a curveball you weren’t expecting about this girl that's been driving Noah crazy and how Noah won't stop asking him questions about how to know if the girl likes him or not. "Do you know anything about her?" Nick asks, but you don't answer. Your mind is too far gone thinking about Noah like another girl; a girl that's not you. Someone else for him to spend time with, to hold him, to tell his secrets to and watch anime with. Someone else for Noah to kiss. You think about those lips and how they always form into your favorite smile or how they've kissed your cheeks and forehead sweetly over all the years, and just the thought alone of those kisses and things that have been shared just between the two of you belonging to another girl scares the life out of you. Suddenly, you want to run back downstairs and throw yourself into Noah, locking your arms around him, and never let him go, but instead, you settle for pulling his hoodie closer to you even though you're still wearing it.

"Hey, sis are you listening to me?" Nick's loud voice on the other end calls to you "What? No. I mean, yes, I am. I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know of any girl Noah's talking to." "Damn, okay, easy. I was just asking." You sigh, heavily. A knock on your door interrupts the conversation with Nick, and you tell him you've got to go, yet on the second knock you’re hesitant to open the door. 

"I'm sorry." Noah's voice is soft and low. "Please don't be mad at me. I didn't mean to make you... um... well, whatever you were, I didn't mean to make that happen." You can't resist smiling at Noah's poor choice of words."You wanna come outside and look at the snow with me? It's really pretty... like you... pretty princess."

That feeling in your belly hits you again and you think about that girl your brother was talking about. The one who's stolen your Noah from you. The feeling it gives you makes you jump up off the bed and rush to the door, throwing it open. Noah takes a step back the moment the door swings open and he sees you looking freaked out and panicked.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay, babe? Is Nick okay?" "Um, yeah. He's good. I'm fine. You said something about going outside to look at the snow?"

Noah isn't convinced. As your best friend, he shouldn't be. He knows you too well. But he doesn't press the matter further, only offers you his hand. Looking up at his beenie, you smile. It's the one you got him for Christmas two years ago as a joke, the white one with the cute little mice circling the outside of it; the one that had become one of his favorites. You take his hand and let him pull you into his embrace as you inhale the scent of him. It's your favorite scent in the world. The one that reminds you of home. You tear up at the thought of the other girl again and what she has or has done that made Noah fall for her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." You look up at him and smile. "I'm sorry, too. You didn't hurt me, Noah. I overreacted." Noah's shoulders relax and he gives a light, huffed laugh. "Let's go," he says, leading you down the stairs and out the front door.

The night is dead quiet. Nothing can be heard except the faint barking of some dogs and a siren miles away. Street lights light up the street, casting a yellow glow over the freshly fallen snow. You can see your breath, proof of just how cold it is. Noah was right. This is beautiful. Your own private winter wonderland. "What do you think?" he asks quietly, still holding your hand. You shiver from a cold chill, and Noah notices. "Hang on," he says, letting go of your hand and walking back inside the house. He emerges quickly with your big, soft blanket and wraps it around you comfortably, leaving his arms locked around you. The cold immediately goes away, being replaced by the warmth of the arms around you as you relax into Noah's embrace. You stay this way for a little while, neither one of you feeling the need to say anything.

"So?" "So." "It's kind of pretty, right?" You shrug. “Come on," he says, taking you by the hand and walking you out into the cold, soft snow. You haven’t seen snow in so long and just have to touch it, but draw back instantly over how cold it is. "Hell, no!" Noah laughs. "What? You don't like it?" He picks up a little bit and forms it into a ball. "Not at all," you grimace, causing Noah to laugh some more. "It is pretty, though." "Yeah, it is. It's beautiful," you agree. "Just like you." Your body stiffens. That's the third time he's made a comment about your looks. If he's talking to another girl, you can't allow him to continue to say these things, no matter how much you want him to.

"Stop saying that." "What? That you're beautiful?" "Yeah." "Why?" "Because." "Because isn't an answer. It's a statement. Why don't you want me to say you're beautiful?" Huffing with irritation that you have to spell it out for him, you tell Noah what you already know. "Because it's not fair to the girl you're talking to." The silence around you is deafening. Noah doesn't move and judging by his silence, you know there really is someone else. But his response surprises you. "What are you talking about? What girl?" "You know, the one you keep driving Nick crazy with. The one you won't stop asking him for help with.” You hear Noah groan, but he doesn't let you go. "I'm going to fucking wring his damn neck when he gets home," he vows through clenched teeth. "Who? Nick?" You try to turn and face Noah, but he still has his arms locked tightly around you. "Yeah, Nick." "Why? He was just asking if I'd met her or not." There was an awkward silence. "You already know her," Noah finally confesses, quietly. He loosens his grip and you're able to turn and look at him. "What? What do you mean I already know her? I've barely seen you with any girls. Just me. I'm starting to think if the rumors are true and you are actually gay." Noah's face breaks into a wide smile as he laughs, making you giggle too, breaking the tension. "I'm not fucking, gay, you ass. Far from it." "Then how do I already know this girl you've been talking to?" Noah's eyes dart between yours as they soften and fill with a look you're sure you've never seen before. It's a look you've only ever dreamed about, a look you'd give anything for if the right guy would look at you the same way. It's the look of love. "Because, Princess, it's you," Noah confesses quietly. "It's always been you."

Your entire head spins out of control, trying to comprehend what Noah is telling you. Is he saying that you're the girl who's been driving you to the brink of insanity with jealousy and fear for the last hour? "What do you mean it's me?" "It's you. You're the one I want. You're the one I want to come home to after a long ass tour and take out on cute little dates that make you happy, the one I always get to go on adventures and have fun with." Noah pulls your blanket off and caresses your face, cupping it and running his thumbs across your cheek bones. His touch feels different, and it's a really good different. "You're the one I want to stay in with for the night, watching movies and eating our favorite food before we end up making out and forgetting about all of it. You're the one I want to make happy and to love; to hold on to when times get tough. You're the one I want to be there for when everything in your world comes crashing down. All my good days, all my days, you're the one I want to share them with. It's you, baby. You're it. You're the one."

You're crying now. They're happy tears, but tears nonetheless. Noah smiles, brushing your tears away with his thumbs and pulls you close as he leans down and kisses you sweetly yet with enough passion and want that you whimper. "And I swear to you, I have never been so sure about someone or something in my entire life. It's you, and I say this without a single doubt in my mind."

You're utterly speechless. Nothing is turning out the way you thought it would, and it's left you with so many questions for Noah. Your insides are buzzing around like a hive if bees that's been stired up and don't know which way is in or out. But the way Noah is looking at you, waiting for you to answer, it sends a calmness through you, telling you that things are going to be okay. This man holding you knows you better than anyone. He's been your constant rock since the day you met, and if there's anyone you can think of doing life with, it's Noah.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull him down and kiss him hungrily, wanting each and every part of his long, toned, lanky body all over you. Noah grips your waist, squeezing you and tugging you towards him until your bodies are pressed tightly together. "I've wanted you for so long, Noah, you have no idea," confessing through a choked up sob. "And when Nick told me you were talking to him about a girl, I got so jealous it was almost unholy." Noah's eyes widen, and he gives you a tight-lipped smile. "I knew something was wrong. I always know." Noah leans in and kisses your nose, feeling how cold it is. "Yes you do. Because you're my best friend." "Well, can a best friend become a boyfriend and still be a best friend?" You take Noah's hand and lace your fingers through his, admiring the contrast of skin color as you play with his fingers. Noah hums in approval. "I could get used to that." "What? Me playing with your hands?" "Among other things," he smirks, raising an eyebrow. "Oh my gosh, Noah!" you cry, playfully shoving him in the shoulder. "I'm kidding. We'll take it slow. There's no rush, is there?" You turn with him and begin walking back towards the door, ready for the warmth of the inside. "No, there isn't," you agree. "Noah?" "Yeah?" "Where does this leave us as roommates?" Noah opens the door for you, ushering you in with his hand on the lower part of you back. "What do you mean?" "Well, I always wanted to know what it would be like waking up to your cute face in the morning, and now that I can, I'm not sure if I'll ever want to sleep on my own again." "Are you saying you want to move in with me?" The grin that spreads wide over Noah's face makes your heart race. "I don't know. Am I?" "I think," Noah begins, leaning in and leaving a trail of kisses along your jawline, "that maybe we should go upstairs and see whose room would work best, hmm?" Quicker than a heartbeat, Noah moves away from you, leaving you to contemplate his suggestion. "Hey! Wh... that's not fair!" you yell after him. "Then come and get me and make me pay for my crime, Roomie!" he yells back, heading for the stairs. "If you catch me before I reach the top, there might be a reward. Better hurry, Roomie. I have long legs!" Growling in frustration, you take off running through the house with the intention of never catching him.

[sweetbans29]

Back to You (3) - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: Things are different now...

Warnings: more little pains, also for the sake of this story we are going to say the other player mentioned is 28 🙂‍↕️ also because I may or may not have a new W love, and maybe a big pain...I promise the pains will go away eventually!

Word Count: 2k

Previous Part

Back to You Masterlist & Sweetbans Masterlist

"No," you say as you walk from your bedroom to the kitchen.

"Why not?" Kate asks following you with her hands outstretched, over exaggerating per usual.

"Just no," you say feeling around your left ear lobe, putting your second earring in when you find the opening.

"I came all this way," Kate says as she is staring you down from across the island. You look back at her and know she is right.

You take a second to think through the decision you are about to make.

"Fine," you say, causing Kate to jump up and down then pulling you in for a hug. You don't hug her back.

"We are going to have the best time! There are going to be so many players there and I know for a fact there is a certain Lynx player who has had an eye on you for a while now," Kate rambles and you just laugh.

"Kate, absolutely not!" You yell while laughing.

She gives you the most serious looks she can muster.

Before you know it you are surrounded by people in a dimly lit room for another big Nike launch. You are attached to Kate's hip and have no intention of leaving it. And you have been doing a pretty good job of that until someone is pulling her away while you are waiting for your drink and you find yourself left alone.

The bartender hands over your drink and you thank him, nodding at the fact that you are now alone in a room full of people who you know but have no idea who you are.

You walk around looking for a place to sit but find yourself wandering and looking at all the decor they have chosen.

"You may be the only person here more interested in the brand than the company it keeps," a voice says as someone joins you in a less crowded part of the room.

"And what does that say about you for noticing such a thing?" You ask, not bothering to turn to face the one who approached you.

"Well...," she begins and steps a little side step closer to you. "I may or may not have had an eye on you for a little longer than your appearance tonight."

That is enough to get a little more of your attention. You turn your head and look up to see Kayla McBride, her eyes on the mural you were just engrossed in.

"Well I am flattered," you say with a smile.

"Kayla," she says as she extends her hand out to introduce herself.

You find the smile on your face widens just a little.

"I know who you are," you say and shake her hand.

"And I know who you are," Kayla says with a wide smile, seeming reluctant to let your hand go.

"You said that already," you say with a little laugh. "And if I wasn't flattered, I would be slightly creeped out right now."

"Well I'm off to a great start," she says as she rubs the back of her neck.

"You are," you say, bumping her arm with your shoulder and you notice her body ease slightly. "So, where did I first catch your eye?"

Even in the dimly lit room, you can see a blush run up Kayla's neck into her cheeks.

"If you must know," she starts.

"Oh, I must," you say. She chuckles.

"All-Star weekend last year," she says and you think back to how Kate invited you to join and you did but did everything in your power to avoid any of the players. You were there to watch Kate in the 3-point competition and you didn't even stay for the All-Star game since Caitlin was one of the team captains. And the only reason you agreed to go was because Kate made sure Claire was with you the whole time.

"All-Star weekend?" You ask. "I was only there for half a day."

She nods, pretty rapidly.

"I know," she says, still nodding. "I was hoping to introduce myself then but you were gone before I had the chance and when I started asking around, Kate was kind enough to tell me who you were."

You shake your head, "That was almost a year ago."

"I know," Kayla says. "One long year."

You are both laughing as Kate comes over.

"There you are!" Kate says.

"You are the one that left me," you say and give her a little push. "Kayla here came and kept me company."

"I see that!" Kate says then looks over at Kayla. "Glad you finally got around to meeting this one."

"Me too," Kayla says. "Although, I may or may not be tanking it."

You shake your head no. "Not tanking it," you say with a smile.

Just as you are feeling comfortable and feel like your walls have finally been put down, you are left in a field of regret.

Just past Kate you see Caitlin walk in and look around. Her eyes fall on you and you can see her begin to make her way towards where you are.

Your hand comes up to grip Kate's arm and she looks at you. Her eyes follow yours and she immediately excuses herself and intercepts Caitlin on her way over. She slows Cait down but her eyes are still on you.

"Everything okay?" Kayla asks as she looks between you and where Kate excused herself to. When she sees Caitlin she looks back to you.

You don't know when but the grip you had on Kate is now Kayla as she moves to stand in between you and Caitlin.

"Ya, everything is fine," you say but the hand you have on her continues to grip her forearm.

Kayla looks at you with soft eyes.

"Why don't we get some fresh air?" Kayla suggests and you nod, following her out onto the balcony.

The two of you stand looking out at the city. She leaves space between the two of you which you appreciate but after standing there for a few moments, you take a step to be just a little closer.

"I'm sorry," you say after some time. "I'm a little bit of a mess."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Kayla says. "And you are not a mess."

"No, I am a mess," you say with a little laugh.

"If you are a mess, then we are all a mess," Kayla says and it comforts you more than you realized she could.

"Thank you," you whisper.

Before she has time to say anything, you hear your name come from behind you and you know immediately it is not Kate.

"Hey CC, I don't know if now is a great time," Kayla says as she moves to stand between you and Caitlin.

"Respectfully, you are not a part of this," Caitlin says to Kayla and you had already heard enough.

You turn around and put a hand on Kayla's shoulder which Caitlin immediately notices and takes a step forward.

"I got this," you say to Kayla who keeps her eye on Caitlin.

"She's got this," Caitlin says with a little smirk and you want to slap it right off of her.

You can feel Kayla tense and for just meeting her are grateful for her support.

"I'll come find you after," you say and she turns to look at you. You offer the best smile you can and she nods, making her way back inside but not before glancing back at you once more.

When it is just the two of you, you wrap your arms around you as if they are a shield against what is in front of you or are a way to hold yourself together.

"I have been trying to talk to you since that game," Cait says as she walks closer to you.

"That's close enough," you say, taking a step back.

"C'mon," she says.

"Caitlin, please," you say and close your eyes. Opening them shortly after once you remember what happened the last time you closed your eyes in her presence.

"I've tried to come by your office but was always met by your assistant saying you were busy or in a meeting or some other excuse. I haven't seen you at any other game since then and know for a fact that you have met with every other player on the team weeks ago. You have been avoiding me," Caitlin says.

"Can you blame me?" You ask, looking her dead in the eye. Your eyes are hard and when she sees them, hers soften.

"Things are different now," she says again.

"How? How are things 'different now' Caitlin? I have spent the past 3 years trying to crawl out of the hole you threw me into and you expect me to stand here and listen to how you have changed and times have changed. Of course there has been change, it's been 3 years. You are not the only one who has changed," you say.

You have changed. You were broken, you healed and you're still healing. You are proud of how you have grown over the past few years and seeing Caitlin is only a reminder of why you have needed that growth. Maybe someday you'll appreciate it, but right now you don't see it that way.

"The way I ended things was not my choice and ever since then I see how cowardly I had been to accept that was the only option I had. It was not fair to you, not fair to me," she says and takes a little step forward. You give her a look and she stops moving. "But things are not what they were and-"

Caitlin is cut off by someone else walking out.

"There you are babe," a girl says as she walks up to Caitlin and hooks her arm around Cait's waist. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

The girl fits into Caitlin's side almost as perfectly as you did.

You try not to look phased but the way your heart drops into your stomach as you see a girl walk up and have everything you so desperately wanted is hard not to show. And Caitlin knows how to read your eyes like she knows how to read the court.

"Is this person bothering you?" She asks, a hint of annoyance in her tone.

"No," Caitlin says at the exact same time as you say 'Yes'.

Caitlin's head whips to you.

"Please let me explain," Caitlin says as she watches you break in front of her for the second time. None of this is how she wanted it to go.

"There's nothing to explain, I'll stop being a bother. No need to worry about me," you say as your arms wrap around you tighter and you begin to walk back into the party.

Caitlin reaches out and grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

"Please,' she begs but you don't have it in you to listen. If anything you should be the one begging for her to stop torturing you like this. You can see it all crystal clear now.

You pull your arm back and keep on walking.

It was never you. She never wanted you. It was why she kept you a secret. All the good, all the beautiful that you remember from your relationship is ripped away when you see her out in the open with another girl. Something you wanted so badly but respected because it was what she wanted. The love you thought you had wasn't love at all.

As you step inside, the room is spinning and you are overwhelmed.

Someone calls your name and before you can respond, you are grabbing the nearest trashcan and emptying the contents of your stomach into it.

AN: Well well well, what do we have here? How are feeling? Everyone okay? Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

[nervousdiythesimspsychic]

The fox and the treasure hunters

part 8: building trust

pairing: ateez x fox fm reader

genre: mystery, thriller, adventure

warnings: violence, dark themes, Psychological Trauma, Psychological Stress, blood and gore, Physical Danger, Suffering, Emotional Growth, Trauma,

summary: (y/n) has been on the run her whole life. She is accompanied by the spirit of a fox, which was placed in her mind by a witch. Over the years, she has learned to work alongside the fox, but the trauma of her youth runs deep. Because of this, she is wary and trusts no one. One day, eight men walk toward the village; her instincts tell her that they are here for her. Can these men earn (y/n)'s trust and pull her out of the darkness while they search for the treasure, where (y/n) turns out to be a key player in ways they never expected?

xxx Ziezo

previous - masterlist - next

chapter 8: building trust

The stew was finally ready. The scent of spices, braised meat, and freshly baked bread filled the hut, creating a homely feeling—something they all hadn’t felt in a long time.

"Alright, everyone, dig in before Seonghwa eats everything," Yunho joked as he scooped himself a bowl.

"Hey!" Seonghwa protested indignantly. "Why am I always the one being accused?"

San, who was dipping a piece of bread into his stew, shook his head. "Maybe because you literally eat everything that’s put in front of you."

Jongho, taking a hearty bite of his bread, spoke with his mouth full. "If you guys don’t hurry up, I’ll eat everything myself."

Yeosang grinned and shrugged. "Well, we definitely can’t compete with that. Enjoy your meal, Jongho."

Laughter filled the hut as the men filled their bowls and enjoyed the warm meal. It had been a long time since they had eaten so peacefully. The cold outside was forgotten, the threat of hunters and their mission pushed to the back of their minds. For now, they were just a group of men sharing a meal.

Wooyoung stirred his spoon in the stew, stealing a quick glance at San, who ate slowly, his exhaustion still visible in his eyes. A playful smirk tugged at Wooyoung’s lips as he scooped up a piece of tender meat with his spoon.

"Hey, San," he said casually, holding up the spoon. "You better eat faster, or there’ll be nothing left."

San glanced at him from the corner of his eye and sighed. "Wooyoung, I’m not a child. I can feed myself."

"You say that," Wooyoung grinned, "but you’re looking at that food like it’s your last hope in life. Come on, here—" He slowly moved the spoon toward San as if feeding a child. "Open up. It’s good stuff, personally selected and served by yours truly."

San rolled his eyes, but instead of swatting the spoon away, he let out a deep sigh and leaned in slightly. His lips briefly brushed against the wooden spoon as he took the piece of meat and began chewing.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, not expecting San to actually go along with it, but soon a triumphant grin spread across his face. "See? That wasn’t so bad."

San gave him a sleepy look and swallowed his bite slowly. "Shut up, Wooyoung."

The others burst into laughter, filling the hut with warmth. Yeosang shook his head. "Well, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is."

Mingi grinned widely. "Woo, do you want to feed me too? Or is San the only one getting special treatment?"

Wooyoung scrunched up his nose dramatically and waved a hand. "You don’t have the charm, Mingi. At least San is cute when he’s stubborn."

San muttered something unintelligible as he focused on his food again, but the warmth on his cheeks gave him away.

Every now and then, one of them would glance at (y/n), who was still lying motionless. Her breathing was steady, her face relaxed as if she were deep in sleep.

"Shouldn’t we wake her up?" Yeosang asked, looking up from his meal.

Hongjoong shook his head. "Let her sleep. Maybe she’ll wake up on her own from the smell or from our chatter."

Mingi sniffed the air. "If she has a nose as sharp as a fox, she should have been awake by now."

Wooyoung glanced at (y/n) and smirked. "Maybe she’s just stubborn and refusing to wake up because we’re having fun without her."

San chuckled. "Wouldn’t surprise me. She seems like the type to make a dramatic entrance."

The conversation drifted to all sorts of topics—memories from past missions, jokes about each other’s bad habits, and even a short discussion on who had the most annoying sleeping habits.

"Hongjoong snores like an old man," Mingi stated seriously.

"I do not snore!" Hongjoong protested.

Yunho took a sip of his drink and looked at him dryly. "Bro… you snore so loud, I thought there was a bear in our tent."

Hongjoong looked offended as the rest of them laughed.

Meanwhile, Jongho continued eating silently until he casually reached out and, almost unnoticed, snatched a piece of bread from Yunho’s plate.

"Hey!" Yunho cried out indignantly, his fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

Jongho looked at him with an innocent expression and slowly chewed on the stolen bread. "What?"

Yunho stared at his plate in frustration, then back at Jongho, who simply shrugged and took another bite. "You… You already have a whole bowl of food!"

Seonghwa shook his head with a laugh and patted Yunho’s shoulder. "You need to keep a better eye on your food, Yunho. Apparently, you’re not sharp enough."

"I thought you were the responsible one, Seonghwa. Why are you letting this happen?" Yunho grumbled, pointing accusingly at Jongho.

Hongjoong took a sip of water, watching the scene unfold with amusement. "It’s a jungle out here, Yunho. Food stealing is just part of survival."

Laughter filled the hut again as they continued their meal. The relaxed atmosphere felt almost surreal.

=====

The remnants of their meal still lay on the wooden table. Despite the warmth of their gathering, they all knew they couldn’t stay idle for too long.

"We can’t stay here for too long," Hongjoong began, running his fingers over his chin. "(y/n) needs to rest, but we also need to figure out our next steps."

"The hunters know she’s alive," Seonghwa added. "And if they really suspect what she is… there’s a good chance they’ll come back."

A tense silence lingered in the air. They all knew they were in a difficult situation.

Yunho leaned against the wall and looked at Hongjoong. "We need to map out our route. We can’t just leave without a plan once (y/n) is able to walk."

"Alright," Hongjoong nodded. "Here’s what we’ll do: San, Mingi, and I will scout the possible routes. We need to find the fastest but also the safest one."

Mingi nodded and stood up, already calculating in his head how long it would take before they could move again.

"What about us?" Wooyoung asked, tapping his spoon against the edge of his bowl.

Yeosang stretched briefly and glanced at Wooyoung. "I made an herbal salve last night for (y/n’s) wounds. She needs to be rebandaged. Luckily, her fever hasn’t gotten worse, but she still needs care."

Seonghwa nodded. "Alright. Wooyoung, Yeosang, and I will stay here. Jongho and Yunho, maybe you two can do something useful, like gathering more firewood or keeping watch outside?"

Jongho rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. We get the boring tasks."

Yunho grinned and playfully nudged his shoulder. "Who knows? Maybe we’ll find something interesting."

As part of the group left the hut, Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung remained behind. The air inside was warm but not stifling. The fire crackled softly in the background. (y/n) still lay motionless in her spot, her breathing steady but her face exhausted. Her skin was still a bit pale, and her hair clung to her forehead.

Seonghwa knelt beside her and sighed. "We need to wake her up. It’s time for her to eat."

Yeosang nodded and pulled out the herbal salve he had prepared earlier. "I’ll clean her wounds first."

Wooyoung crouched on the other side and gently tapped (y/n)’s cheek with his fingers. "Hey, sleepyhead, time to wake up."

No response.

He raised an eyebrow and tapped a little harder. "(y/n), wake up. We have food."

She stirred slightly, a faint frown appearing on her face. Her breathing shifted, and her eyebrows drew together. A soft mumble escaped her lips, but her eyes remained closed.

Seonghwa looked up. "Try harder?"

Wooyoung smirked. "I have another tactic."

He leaned in a little closer and whispered in a playful tone, "If you don’t wake up now, I’m eating everything. And trust me, I won’t leave a single crumb."

Slowly, (y/n)’s eyes fluttered open. At first, they were unfocused, still clouded by sleep, but when her gaze landed on Wooyoung, she suddenly seemed to realize where she was.

She blinked a few times and let out a soft groan. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke. "Do you even know how annoying you are?"

Wooyoung laughed. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Seonghwa held out a bowl of water for her. "Drink this first."

(y/n) turned her head away. "Not thirsty."

She wasn’t used to this—this feeling of helplessness. Normally, she was the one in control of her own situation, the one who could deceive or keep others at a distance. But now? Now she was lying here, completely at the mercy of these men who both irritated and intrigued her.

And the worst part was that she had no way out.

"Alright," Yeosang said calmly, rolling up his sleeves and loosening the bandages around her leg. "I’m going to treat your wounds again. It might sting, but it has to be done."

(y/n) bit down on her lip as the rough fabric came away, her skin pulling painfully with the movement. Her breathing quickened slightly, and she had to force herself not to flinch away from him.

"Stay still," Yeosang muttered without looking at her. His tone was professional, almost distant, as if he were working on an injured bird rather than her.

"Easy for you to say," she bit out, her voice tense.

Before Yeosang could respond, Wooyoung let out a low whistle and rested his elbow on his knee. "What’s this? The great, fearless (y/n) scared of a little medicine?"

(y/n) shot him a deadly glare. "I’m not scared."

"No?" Wooyoung’s grin widened. "You’re practically shaking."

She hated that he had noticed. Wooyoung had a sharp eye for weaknesses, and now that he was back to his usual self after his earlier anger, he was clearly enjoying the chance to tease her.

Seonghwa, who was casually leaning against one of the wooden beams, observed her closely. His keen gaze moved over her face, down to her tense posture, and finally to her fingers, which were gripping the thin blanket beneath her.

She was nervous.

Seonghwa glanced at Wooyoung sideways and sighed. "Enough. You’re not helping."

Wooyoung shrugged indifferently. "I’m just saying what I see."

(y/n) scoffed and looked away, her jaw tight with restrained frustration. Wooyoung was just as irritating as ever, despite being less hostile than before.

When Yeosang finally removed the old bandage completely, she could no longer control her breathing. Her stomach twisted at the sight of the wound. The dark scar, still red and raw from the burn, was a painful reminder of how close she had been to death.

And of how these men had made the decision for her.

She felt her throat go dry, her fingers clenching the sheets again.

Yeosang dipped a cloth in water and carefully wiped around the wound to clean it. The cool touch made her shiver, but she tried to keep her face neutral.

"It’ll take a while before it really starts healing," Yeosang said, more to himself than to her. "But the herbs should help against infection and aid recovery."

(y/n) gave a short nod, but the fear kept gnawing at her.

What if they were deliberately keeping her weak? What if this was a way to make her dependent on them?

Her gaze slid to Seonghwa, who was still watching her. She knew he was analyzing her. He saw it. He saw how weak she was now.

"Do you really think we want to hurt you?"

His voice cut straight through her thoughts.

She looked up and saw Wooyoung gazing at her with a questioning yet playful look.

"Because that’s exactly how you’re acting," he continued, tilting his head. "Like we could betray you at any moment."

(y/n) opened her mouth to snap back, but for the first time… she had no words.

Wooyoung grinned. "Ah. So you don’t even know yourself?"

Seonghwa rolled his eyes again. "Enough, Wooyoung."

(y/n) shut her mouth and looked away. She hated even more that he saw it.

Yeosang applied the ointment, his movements still methodical and patient. When he was done, he began wrapping the wound again.

"Almost finished," he said calmly.

(y/n) nodded slowly and tried to steady her breathing.

"See?" Wooyoung said lightly. "That wasn’t so bad, right?"

(y/n) shot him a deadly glare. "If you don’t shut up, you’ll be the one sitting here next time."

Wooyoung laughed loudly. "I’d like to see that."

Seonghwa let out a deep sigh, shaking his head. "I swear, you two are more exhausting than fighting those hunters."

Yeosang tied the bandage securely and checked his work one last time. His fingers rested on the knot for a moment, as if debating whether to say something, but in the end, he just sighed softly and stood up.

"That should do for now," he said, tidying up the leftover bandages. "I’m going to help Yunho and Jongho outside."

Yeosang cast one last glance at her. His expression was hard to read, as cool as always, but there was a hint of hesitation in his eyes. As if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her.

"Get some rest," was all he said before gathering his things and leaving the cabin.

The moment the door shut behind him, a tense silence lingered.

(y/n) held her breath. Now, she was alone with Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

"Alright," Seonghwa finally said, his tone lighter than his expression. "Now that that’s done, it’s time for the next thing."

(y/n) raised an eyebrow. "Next?"

Wooyoung leaned casually against one of the wooden beams, holding a small bowl of food in his hand. "Eating and drinking."

She tensed.

Seonghwa noticed her reaction immediately. She clenched her jaw, her fingers instinctively gripping the sheets like she was bracing herself for something.

"You need to eat something," he said patiently, but with an undertone that made it clear this wasn’t a debate. "You lost blood, and your body needs energy."

She looked at the bowl in Wooyoung’s hand, already feeling her stomach twist at the thought. Her mouth was dry—she knew that—but something in her refused to simply accept what they were giving her.

"I’m not hungry," she muttered.

Wooyoung scoffed and sat on the bed, a little too close for her liking. "Yeah, that’s cute, but no one asked if you were hungry."

The girl shot him a deadly glare. "If I say I don’t want—"

Wooyoung suddenly shoved the bowl into her hands. "Eat."

(y/n) looked at the liquid as if it were poison. Her muscles were tight with tension, her gaze flickering briefly to Seonghwa, who was watching her calmly.

Wooyoung tilted his head slightly. "You don’t seriously think we’re trying to poison you, do you?"

She didn’t answer.

Wooyoung smirked mockingly. "Oh my god, you actually do, don’t you?"

He had leaned closer to her now, resting his elbow on his knee, watching her with an amused smirk. "Listen, princess, if we wanted you dead, we would’ve done it already." Wooyoung shook his head briefly, letting out a dramatic sigh.

(y/n) remained silent, her lips pressed tightly together. She didn’t look up, her fingers still rigidly gripping the bowl.

Seonghwa noticed the tension in her jaw, the subtle way her breathing had become just a fraction faster.

She doesn’t trust us, he realized. Not even a little.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes. "You know what?" he said finally, and before anyone could react, he snatched the bowl from her hands and took a big bite.

(y/n) froze.

Seonghwa watched as Wooyoung chewed obnoxiously slowly, his gaze locked on her. "Mmm, delicious," he said mockingly. "Unbelievable how we survive our own poison."

(y/n) stared at him, waiting for any sign that he was feeling unwell.

Wooyoung, enjoying the dramatic effect, turned to Seonghwa and held out a spoonful of food. "Here, you have some poison too."

Seonghwa sighed but opened his mouth and ate without hesitation. He knew this was their only chance to reassure her.

A few seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

They weren’t poisoned.

Wooyoung swallowed dramatically and patted his chest. "Wow, still alive. Incredible."

(y/n) frowned at them, and while she didn’t immediately give in, the panic in her eyes seemed to lessen slightly.

Wooyoung held the bowl out to her again. "You’re smart, we all know that. So let’s look at this rationally: If you want to escape, if you really think you and your fox don’t belong here, then you need to be strong enough to do that. And for that, you need food."

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “Wooyoung is right. No one is forcing you to trust us, but you have two options. Either you eat, or you stay weak and vulnerable.”

(y/n) looked between them.

A long silence followed.

Her fingers gradually relaxed, her breathing steadied.

Reluctantly, she took the bowl back.

And took a small bite.

Wooyoung grinned in satisfaction. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Seonghwa noticed the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. She was still wary, but this was a step in the right direction.

Maybe they hadn’t broken down her walls.

But they had won something.

A tiny bit of trust.

(y/n) ate in silence, her movements small and cautious. Every bite was taken with care, as if she still wasn’t entirely convinced the food was safe. The stew was warm and hearty, and the taste surprised her.

This was… good.

Too good.

She tried to tell herself it didn’t matter, that she was only eating because she needed to get stronger, but something about it felt strange.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung didn’t even seem to be paying much attention to her as she ate. She could feel their watchful eyes on her, but they weren’t treating her like a prisoner.

“You think Yunho and Jongho caught anything decent?” Wooyoung asked Seonghwa with a playful grin. “If it’s anything like a few weeks ago, we’ll be stuck with just some tiny fish again.”

Seonghwa chuckled softly. “Well, Yeosang knows his way around herbs. He can make anything taste good.”

Wooyoung pulled a dramatic face. “Yeah, but I want meat.”

“You always want meat.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “Maybe you should learn to appreciate what you get.”

“Oh, I do.” Wooyoung smirked. “More than some people here.” His gaze flickered briefly to the girl, but his tone wasn’t sharp.

(y/n) frowned.

Why were they suddenly not treating her like an enemy?

Was it because she was weak now? Because the fox was nowhere to be seen? Or… were they trying to confuse her on purpose?

She had cursed them, insulted them, made it clear she hated them—and yet, they were here.

As if none of that had happened.

She didn’t understand.

Lost in thought, she barely noticed Wooyoung reaching for her bowl and scooping another large spoonful of stew into it.

She stared at him, surprised.

“You eat slow, but at least you’re eating,” Wooyoung said casually. “So here, have some more.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung didn’t give her time to feel uncomfortable in the silence. They simply continued their conversation while gathering the dishes and utensils, their tone light, their posture relaxed.

(y/n) observed them for a moment—how they cleaned up together without tension, as if this was just part of their daily routine. As if she wasn’t a prisoner they needed to guard.

Wooyoung placed a bowl of water in front of her and took a large sip himself before sliding it toward her. “Drink,” he said simply. “You look like you need it.”

She hesitated.

He had just shown it was safe. Still, something in the back of her mind whispered that she should stay alert.

Seonghwa noticed her hesitation but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he turned slightly toward Wooyoung, a playful glint in his eyes. In a low voice, just soft enough that (y/n) wouldn’t hear, he murmured, “Where is this gentle approach coming from? Wooyoung, are you getting motherly instincts?”

Wooyoung made a face and lightly punched his arm. “Piss off.”

Seonghwa smirked. “Well, I’ve seen you be meaner.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and leaned against the counter. “Mingi said something…”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“He said I let my pride get wounded.” Wooyoung shrugged. “And you know what? Maybe he was right.”

Seonghwa regarded him in silence, as if letting the words sink in.

Wooyoung sighed. “I’ve decided to befriend her.”

Seonghwa paused, frowning. “You?”

“Yes, me.” Wooyoung grinned. “The (y/n) without the fox needs friends.”

Seonghwa glanced briefly at the young woman, who was still sipping her water slowly. Her eyes were distant, lost in thought, but he could see the way her shoulders were just slightly less tense than before.

“And the (y/n) with the fox?” he asked finally.

Wooyoung’s grin faded slightly. “That… I’m not so sure about.”

Seonghwa nodded in understanding, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Well, good luck with that.”

Wooyoung laughed. “I know, I’m amazing.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning up.

As they finished washing the dishes, their earlier conversation lingered in the air, like smoke that slowly faded but left a faint scent behind.

Seonghwa rinsed the last bowl and let the water run over it in silence. His gaze was fixed on the wood, but his thoughts drifted back to the young woman sitting behind them. He knew she was watching them, even if she tried not to show it.

“You might be right,” he said eventually, without looking up. “About the (y/n) without the fox.”

Wooyoung glanced at him, one eyebrow raised.

Seonghwa set the clean bowl aside and dried his hands with a cloth. “That girl needs friends.” His voice was thoughtful, as if he wasn’t just speaking to Wooyoung, but to himself. “And I’d really like to know why someone is so afraid to accept food and water.”

Wooyoung frowned, turning fully toward him. “Now that you mention it…” He cast a glance over his shoulder at (y/n), who was holding her empty bowl quietly, her fingers lightly gripping the rim.

His gaze swept over her. She still looked wary, even after eating. Even after he and Seonghwa had made it clear there was no danger.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That is worrying.”

He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “But you know what might be even more concerning?” His tone shifted, becoming more serious. Seonghwa looked at him questioningly.

Wooyoung tilted his head, speaking in a hushed voice, as if he didn’t want to say it too loudly. “There’s no sign of the fox in her.”

Seonghwa’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Nothing,” Wooyoung continued. “No light in her eyes, no posture that suggests the beast is lurking in the background… It’s like it’s gone.”

Seonghwa was silent for a moment before turning back to the bowls. He picked one up and slowly began to dry it, but his mind remained on Wooyoung’s words.

If the fox was truly gone… what did that mean?

Was it temporary? A result of her injuries?

Or was something else going on?

He cast a brief glance at (y/n). Her head rested against the wall, her eyes half-closed, her breathing still a little too heavy.

(y/n)’s breathing slowly evened out, her body relaxing bit by bit. With her stomach full and her thirst quenched, she slipped into the darkness of sleep, as if her exhausted body had finally decided it was safe enough to let go.

But the way she fell asleep… was anything but comfortable.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung observed her for a moment, both wearing the same mix of mild annoyance and amusement. Her head hung forward slightly, her arms loosely folded over her stomach, and her legs were positioned at an awkward angle.

“Seriously?” Wooyoung sighed dramatically, placing his hands on his hips. “Why are you sleeping like this?”

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly. “Are you seriously asking that to someone who’s unconscious?”

“Maybe she’ll answer,” Wooyoung muttered before kneeling beside her. He slowly shook his head. “She’s going to wake up with a stiff neck, and then we’ll get blamed for it.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “As if we don’t already get blamed for enough.”

Still, he knelt down as well, and together they carefully repositioned her. Seonghwa placed a hand on her shoulder while Wooyoung adjusted her legs so they weren’t bent at such an odd angle.

(y/n) stirred slightly in her sleep, mumbling something incomprehensible. Wooyoung held his breath and glanced at her face.

Nothing.

She remained asleep.

Seonghwa watched as Wooyoung carefully brushed a strand of hair from her face and adjusted the thin blanket over her. A small grin appeared on Seonghwa’s lips.

“I think this is supposed to be my job, Wooyoung.” He shook his head and slid a pillow closer to (y/n)’s head so she would lean against it if she moved.

Wooyoung frowned. “Huh?”

Seonghwa gestured briefly toward the girl. “I’m the one who’s usually the caring one. You…” He raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “Not so much.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “I don’t have motherly instincts, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Seonghwa chuckled. “No? Then what is this?”

“I’m making friends.” Wooyoung sat up straight and flashed a triumphant grin. “I’m good at that. Look at how I charmed all of you.”

Seonghwa gave him a dry look. “You didn’t charm us. You were just a persistent nuisance we eventually couldn’t ignore.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “That sounds like love to me.”

Seonghwa sighed, laughing, and patted him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get some rest before the others come back.”

Wooyoung cast one last glance at (y/n), who was now sleeping deeply and peacefully, then nodded.

Making friends, he reminded himself.

That was all.

For now.

=================

The door of the hut swung open, and a fresh gust of cold air filled the room as Yeosang, Yunho, and Jongho stepped inside, their arms full of the day's hunt and a stack of firewood.

“We’re back,” Yunho announced as he carefully set his catch aside.

Yeosang scanned the hut, his gaze briefly settling on (y/n)’s sleeping figure before shifting to Seonghwa. “How did things go here after I left?”

Seonghwa leaned against the table, looking at the three men who regarded him with curiosity. He glanced at (y/n) before exhaling a weary sigh. “Well, it wasn’t exactly easy.”

Yunho raised an eyebrow and settled in more comfortably. “What do you mean?”

Seonghwa crossed his arms and shook his head. “I’ve seen people be stubborn about food before, but this was different. She didn’t refuse because she didn’t want it. She refused because she was terrified.”

Yeosang, Yunho, and Jongho stared at him in surprise.

“Terrified?” Jongho repeated in disbelief.

Wooyoung nodded, immediately jumping in. “She thought we were trying to poison her.” He threw his hands up and turned to Seonghwa with an exaggerated expression. “And you thought I was difficult about food.”

Seonghwa ignored his comment and continued, “She barely moved, kept her body tense, and held the bowl like it was a trap. Every time we urged her to eat, she had that same look… like she expected it to be her last meal.”

Yunho frowned, slowly shaking his head. “That’s… really concerning.”

Yeosang remained silent, deep in thought. Jongho scratched the back of his head. “But in the end, she ate, right?”

Wooyoung immediately beamed and puffed out his chest. “Of course! Thanks to me, obviously.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes and shot him a brief, amused glance. “The best news of the day is that Wooyoung has found a new passion.”

“Oh no.” Yunho instantly looked wary. “What is it this time? Acrobatics? Poetry? Or are you planning to open a restaurant in the middle of the forest?”

“Very funny.” Wooyoung crossed his arms, pretending to be offended. “Listen,” he began enthusiastically, “I saw that she would never take a bite if we kept just encouraging her. So I did the only logical thing. I grabbed a spoon, took a bite myself, swallowed it, and showed her that I wasn’t dropping dead. Then I gave Seonghwa a bite too, just to prove he wasn’t dropping dead either—”

“As if I were some kind of test subject,” Seonghwa commented dryly.

“Doesn’t matter, it worked,” Wooyoung said triumphantly. “Then she had no excuse left and started eating.”

Yunho raised his eyebrows at Wooyoung and slowly grinned. “Wait… you literally showed her the food wasn’t poisoned, like some kind of servant drinking from the king’s goblet first?”

Yeosang smirked and shook his head. “That must have looked ridiculous.”

Wooyoung waved a hand dismissively. “Who cares how it looked? It worked! She ate, and guess what? She’s still alive. So if you ask me, I’m a genius.”

Seonghwa shook his head with a small smile. “If this is your definition of genius, we need to lower our standards.”

Jongho chuckled. “I have to admit, I wish I had seen how you pulled that off.”

Yeosang turned back to Seonghwa. “And how was she once she started eating?”

Seonghwa glanced at (y/n). “Calm. But… confused. Like she didn’t understand why we weren’t being hostile anymore. Like she wasn’t used to people acting normal around her.”

His words left a brief silence between them.

Yunho was the one to break it. “Well,” he said, “I don’t know what happened to her, but if you and Wooyoung are now her personal trust-builders, then good luck.”

“But what’s this new mission of yours?” Jongho asked dryly.

Wooyoung crossed his arms and answered seriously. “I’m making friends.”

A brief silence.

Then, all at once, Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho burst into laughter.

“Wait, wait,” Jongho gasped, leaning against the wall for support. “With her?” He nodded toward (y/n).

Yeosang wiped an imaginary tear from his eye, feigning seriousness. “The girl who hates us and tried to escape? Wooyoung, how hard did she hit your head against San?”

Wooyoung huffed and shot Seonghwa a glare. “This is why I never tell you guys anything.”

“Because I tell the truth?” Seonghwa asked with an innocent smile.

“Well, now you have to explain,” Yunho said, crossing his arms. “Because I believe this about as much as I believe that Jongho would ever share his food.”

Jongho raised his eyebrows in offense. “Hey! I—” He stopped when Wooyoung shot him a knowing look. “… Okay, fair point.”

Wooyoung took a deep breath and turned to the group. “Look, I thought about it… and maybe Mingi has a point. The (y/n) without the fox—” he nodded at the sleeping figure, “—she’s different. She needs friends.”

Yeosang studied him sharply. “And the fox?”

Wooyoung was silent for a few seconds, glancing at the floor before meeting Yeosang’s gaze. “I’m not sure yet.”

The laughter slowly faded from the group. Jongho and Yunho exchanged a brief glance, while Yeosang looked at (y/n) thoughtfully.

Seonghwa finally broke the silence. “We need to stay alert. But…” he turned to Wooyoung, “if you want to be friends with her, go ahead. As long as it doesn’t get us into trouble.”

Wooyoung grinned and casually threw an arm around Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Come on, I’m great at making friends.”

“Or at forcing yourself onto people,” Yeosang remarked dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“Same thing.”

Jongho shook his head and started organizing the pile of firewood. “I just hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Wooyoung.”

“Don’t worry.” Wooyoung glanced briefly at (y/n), who was still fast asleep. “I’ve got everything under control.”

The day passed in a slow, relaxed rhythm. Outside, the sky was clear, and a soft breeze drifted in through the half-open windows, mixing the stale scent of wood and herbs with the fresh outdoor air. The hut was filled with the quiet murmur of conversation, the scrape of knives against wood, and the occasional crackling of the fireplace.

Yeosang had settled on the other side of the room with a bundle of herbs and fabrics, working intently on grinding and mixing different medicinal plants—something he always did when he had the chance. Yunho and Jongho had rekindled the fire and were preparing a pot of soup, a dish that would be easy to reheat over the next few days.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa and Wooyoung kept an eye on the girl. She lay still, her breathing steady, her face less tense than it had been that morning. Occasionally, she shifted slightly in her sleep, her brows briefly furrowing as if she were dreaming, but she remained deeply asleep.

Wooyoung tapped a spoon against a bowl and looked at Seonghwa. “Your turn.”

Seonghwa sighed, took the bowl of water, and sat beside (y/n). “She’s asleep,” he pointed out.

“She’ll wake up if you say her name,” Wooyoung replied, leaning against the table with a playful grin. “You’ve got that serious, authoritative voice—like you’re interrogating her.”

Seonghwa shot him an amused look and shook his head. “Maybe you should call her, since you’re the one who wants to be friends.”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Good point, but I’m lazy.”

Just then, (y/n) shifted slightly and opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, her gaze hazy and drowsy. Seonghwa gently tapped the rim of the bowl. “Here, drink some.”

(y/n) stared at him for a moment, not quite awake yet, but when she saw the water, she slowly took the bowl and sipped cautiously. Seonghwa watched her closely, while Wooyoung observed with satisfaction.

“So obedient,” Wooyoung teased with a lopsided grin. “You’d almost think you’re starting to trust us.”

(y/n) shot him a tired, narrow-eyed glare but said nothing, handing the bowl back to Seonghwa. She turned her head away and drifted back to sleep.

Wooyoung glanced at Seonghwa and grinned. “See? Friendship in progress.”

Seonghwa sighed and stood up. “Call it whatever you want.”

The rest of the day passed in a calm atmosphere. Jongho and Yunho had begun cutting meat, while Yeosang occasionally moved between them, adding herbs and spices. The hut smelled amazing, and even Wooyoung seemed content as he leaned back lazily, munching on some fruit.

Every now and then, Seonghwa or Yeosang would check (y/n)’s forehead to make sure her fever hadn’t returned, but her temperature remained stable. Wooyoung had unofficially become the designated water carrier, making sure she drank something each time she woke up.

By evening, as the sun hung low and the shadows stretched long, the men had just finished their own meal when footsteps sounded outside. The door creaked open, and Hongjoong, Mingi, and San stepped inside, their clothes dusty, their faces sweaty from the long day.

“We’re back,” Hongjoong announced, dropping the sacks and rolled-up maps they had gathered onto the floor beside him.

San stretched and grinned at the others. “Smells good in here. Did you guys have a day off or something?”

Yunho chuckled and patted one of the pots. “You have no idea what an amazing meal you just missed.”

Mingi glanced from the pot to Wooyoung’s unusually relaxed posture and frowned. “And? How did things go here?”

Seonghwa looked at (y/n), who was still sleeping, then turned back to the group. “Quiet. She ate, drank, and slept all day. No fever. No fox.”

Wooyoung grinned and leaned against the table. “Oh, and I have a new mission.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“Becoming friends with (y/n),” Wooyoung declared proudly.

A brief silence followed.

San, Mingi, and Hongjoong stared at him in disbelief.

“…What?” Mingi was the first to speak.

“You heard him,” Yeosang said dryly. “He’s officially on a friendship mission.”

San broke into a wide grin and clapped Wooyoung on the back. “Well, good luck with that. Hope you don’t get your heart broken.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “I’m charismatic. She won’t be able to resist.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head as he sank into a chair. “I don’t know if I want to place a bet on this.”

Jongho and Yeosang began filling bowls with the steaming soup and handed them to Hongjoong, Mingi, and San. The three men, clearly hungry after their long day, accepted them gratefully and started eating as they discussed their findings. The atmosphere was relaxed, filled with conversation and teasing remarks about their exhausting journey.

On the other side of the hut, Wooyoung and Yunho were focused on (y/n). Wooyoung filled a bowl with stew and let his spoon rest inside, glancing at (y/n), who sat against the wall, her shoulders tense. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning the men who had now all returned.

She had eaten and drunk all day without much resistance, but now that the hut was full, the voices of the men surrounding her, she had slipped back into that hyper-aware state. Her breathing was shallower, her gaze restless, as if she was ready to spring up at any moment.

Wooyoung noticed it immediately.

He lightly tapped his spoon against the rim of the bowl and held it up. “Hey, it’s mealtime again. You did well today, let’s keep that going.”

(y/n) didn’t react. Her eyes remained sharp, her shoulders tense.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow and tried again. “(y/n), come on. You know it’s not poisoned, I showed you this morning. You trusted me then, right?”

Still no response. Her gaze stayed wary, as if she hadn’t even heard him.

Yunho, standing beside Wooyoung, glanced between them and cleared his throat. “Maybe we should try something different?”

Wooyoung sighed and pulled a chair closer. “Yeah, I guess my tricks don’t work when there’s too much of an audience.” He turned halfway toward the rest of the group and called over his shoulder, “Can you guys do something else for a moment? She won’t eat if she feels watched.”

Hongjoong, Mingi, and San, who had been silently observing (y/n), exchanged glances.

San let out a short chuckle and leaned back. “I’m not even looking at her, but fine.”

Hongjoong, noticing how (y/n) only tensed more under their attention, set his spoon down and nodded at the others. “Alright, let’s stop staring at her like we’re about to eat her. Go on with your mission, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes and focused on (y/n) again. He leaned in slightly and gave Yunho a light tap on the arm. “Your turn. She doesn’t trust me enough yet, so now we’re bringing in Yunho.”

Yunho blinked in surprise. “Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re big, warm, and non-threatening,” Wooyoung said without hesitation. “You’re the only one who automatically makes people feel safe. If anyone can get her to eat, it’s you.”

Hongjoong, Mingi, and San, pretending not to watch, couldn’t suppress their grins. San even let out a short laugh. “Now he’s dragging others into his friendship mission. This keeps getting better.”

“You’re my assistant now,” Wooyoung declared, handing the bowl to Yunho. “We’re going for the gentle approach.”

Yunho sighed, took the bowl, and looked at (y/n). Her eyes were now on him, still wary, but he also saw confusion.

He smiled warmly and moved a little closer—but not too close. “I know this might be hard, but you need to keep eating, (y/n). Your body needs it. And don’t worry, we’re not watching. We just want you to regain your strength.”

He lifted the bowl slightly and waited patiently.

(y/n)’s eyes flickered to Wooyoung, then back to Yunho. She was clearly nervous, but something about Yunho’s calm demeanor didn’t put her completely on edge.

“I’ll try it first,” Yunho said softly. He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it lightly, and took a bite himself. Then, he held the spoon out to her again.

A long silence.

(y/n) stared warily at the spoon Yunho was holding out. Even though she had just seen him eat, her body remained tense, as if her instincts were warning her against it. Yunho noticed her hesitation and smiled gently.

“It’s really okay,” he said softly. “Take your time. I know it’s overwhelming with everyone here, but it’s just food. Nothing more.”

(y/n)’s fingers clenched briefly around her blanket before she slowly reached out and took the spoon. She took a small bite, her eyes still alert, but Yunho kept his expression warm and relaxed.

“That’s good,” he encouraged. “You don’t have to eat everything at once, but every bite helps.”

She chewed slowly, her gaze drifting to the others in the room. They were still talking among themselves, but no one was openly watching her anymore.

Wooyoung, who had just been confidently orchestrating the situation, turned back to them. “Look at that, teamwork! This is exactly why I picked Yunho.”

“Picked?” Yunho asked, offering (y/n) another spoonful.

Wooyoung held up a finger. “Yes, because you’re the ultimate gentle giant. No one trusts me right away, but you? Everyone trusts you. Even (y/n) is giving in.”

(y/n) swallowed her bite and raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung. “That probably just means you have a bad reputation.”

It slipped out before she could stop herself.

For a few seconds, there was silence. Yunho raised his eyebrows at her, and Wooyoung blinked in surprise.

Then, suddenly, Wooyoung burst into laughter. “Well, well, look who’s talking.” He patted his chest proudly.

Then, hesitantly, (y/n) finally took the spoon and started eating on her own.

Wooyoung triumphantly threw his hands in the air. “Ha! See? I’m a genius.”

Yunho shook his head, laughing, and glanced at Seonghwa. “This is a really weird day.”

Seonghwa, who had been watching quietly, smirked and took a sip of his tea. “I have to admit, this is the most creative I’ve ever seen Wooyoung.”

Meanwhile, Mingi couldn’t resist whispering to San, “Wanna bet how long this lasts before we lose her trust again?”

San chuckled. “I’d say at least a week.”

But as the group exchanged amused glances, (y/n) kept eating—still visibly tense, but compliant with the way Yunho and Wooyoung handled things.

And even though no one said it out loud, everyone in the hut knew it was a victory.

Wooyoung, still grinning, took the empty bowl from her hands and tapped it playfully. “Anyway, mission accomplished. And I hear it already—time for bed, Little Fox. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

“Little Fox?” (y/n) repeated, confused.

“Yep,” Wooyoung said cheerfully. “You’re officially under my care now, so I’m giving you a nickname. You can thank me later.”

The rest of the men laughed again, and (y/n) wasn’t sure if she should be irritated or just confused. She was so used to hostility that she didn’t know how to react to this playful atmosphere.

With one last glance at Yunho, who still had a calm smile, and Wooyoung, who looked at her like he had already won, she decided that maybe—just maybe—these two could be trusted.

The hut was quiet. Outside, the occasional bark of a night creature echoed, and the wind rustled softly through the trees. Inside, the men were scattered around, some on bedding, others just using their jackets as pillows. The fire had died down to a small smoldering glow, just enough to keep the night’s chill at bay.

Seonghwa sat leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching (y/n)’s sleeping form. Her breathing was steady, her face more relaxed than it had been all day. But still, he had the feeling that even in sleep, she was alert, as if she could wake at any moment.

On the other side of the room, Hongjoong moved soundlessly until he settled next to Seonghwa. “You’re still awake.”

“So are you,” Seonghwa replied dryly.

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “San, Mingi, and I mapped out the route through the swamp today. If we want to reach the treasure, we have to go through it. There’s no other option.”

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “And? How bad is it?”

Hongjoong glanced at the sleeping men around them before continuing. “Bad. The swamp is deep and unpredictable. The ground beneath your feet can disappear in an instant, and some areas are nothing but pure quicksand. San discovered that in certain parts, toxic gases linger. Birds flying over those areas just drop from the sky.”

Seonghwa frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a shortcut I’d recommend.”

“It’s either that or spending days circling the mountains and taking a route that’s even more dangerous because of bandits and wild animals,” Hongjoong said, resting his chin on his hand. “We’ll have to be careful. But I think we can do it—if we prepare properly.”

Seonghwa considered this for a moment before slowly nodding. “If anyone can do it, it’s us.”

A brief silence fell between them.

“And (y/n)?” Hongjoong asked eventually. “How was she today?”

Seonghwa ran a hand through his hair and glanced at her again. “Different,” he finally said. “The fox is gone.”

Hongjoong turned to him, eyes narrowing. “Gone?”

Seonghwa nodded. “Not hiding. Not lurking. Just… gone. Everything about her—her posture, the way she speaks, even how she defends herself—it’s like we’re not even looking at the same person we met at the inn.”

Hongjoong studied (y/n) thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s temporary?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know that this girl—” he nodded toward (y/n), “is different from the fox we knew. And I’m starting to believe she needs more protection than we thought.”

Hongjoong hummed softly. “Then we need to be careful with how we handle her. And we need to see if the fox comes back… because if she does, we need to be ready for it.”

Seonghwa nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

A cold gust of wind slipped through a crack in the hut, and both men stared silently into the darkness. The dangers of the swamp ahead were great. But perhaps the most unpredictable factor wasn’t the swamp, nor the treasure—but the girl lying in their midst.

next chapter

[hana-recs]

user ylangelegy we need to have words.

kae. KAE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i have never been normal abt vernon and i have been incredibly more not normal about him recently and this has only made it WORSE. i’m sitting here clutching my heart in physical Pain.

about halfway through i realised that i am in fact an idiot and this is part of a series and so i went back and read it all in one go (again. wha the fuck. what the FUCK!!!!!!!!) and literally could not even pause long enough to formulate coherent thoughts. i still can’t!!!!! i’m going to throw myself off a cliff!!!!!!!!! this is so quintessentially vernon and their relationship is so EVERYTHING and i will be thinking about them forever and then some. they have my whole entire heart 😭😭😭😭

“You kept writing,” you say, your voice small and disbelieving, “even when we weren’t together.” His teasing edge fades, replaced by something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.  “Why?”  “Why not?” The answer is so quintessentially him that you can’t help the half-laugh, half-groan that escapes you. His easy grin only widens a bit at your amusement— like your happiness is the only reason he does any of this.  Something in your chest tightens all over again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s warmth, pooling in your ribcage, spreading through every inch of you. You roll over until you can rest your chin on his chest. Instinctively, Vernon wraps an arm around your waist, bracing you against him. He stares down at you with the smile of a man who has found reason after reason after reason to adore you, across the five years of this whole thing.  

^ THIS PART???? u might as well just rip my heart out of my chest like i think i would feel less. “like your happiness is the only reason he does any of this” “the smile of a man who has found reason after reason after reason to adore you” RAHHHDHHEHDHDGE i love ur writing so much i genuinely can’t take this. every little word creates such a beautiful atmosphere and i can just feel how much they feel for each other and it’s so tender and warm. (+ the same goes for the previous parts of the series???? i’m just in love and in awe of ur writing forever. i rarely read smaus but this couple has stolen my heart.)

anyway. current state of being —

because/despite 🎸 vernon x reader.

one fine day, you find a list.

★ vernon x rockstar!reader, a.k.a the catch you when i can couple ★ word count: 1.5k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, romance, fluff. set after the events of part five; based on a headcanon from part four. ★ footnotes: happy 0218 day. couldn't let it pass without an ode to my darling couple. 🎸🐻‍❄️

It’s a lazy kind of day. The kind where neither of you have anywhere to be, no pressing schedules or urgent obligations. Just you, Vernon, and the sun filtering through the curtains, painting golden stripes over tangled limbs and soft sheets.

You can’t help the sound of protest that rises out from the back of your throat when Vernon tries to disentangle from you. 

“No need to be so clingy,” he huffs, ruffling your hair as he rises from the bed. “I’m not going anywhere you can’t reach.”

“We were so comfortable,” you whine in protest. 

You’re momentarily distracted by the sight of his bare back as he crosses the room, but even that is ripped away from you too soon. He pulls his shirt back on, and you grumble something under your breath. It sounds suspiciously like selfish bastard. 

Your boyfriend pays you no heed. Go figure. 

“Getting us snacks,” he announces. “Want anything?” 

“You’re the only snack—” 

Your shirt hits you squarely in the face. 

“Hey!” you sputter in between laughter, ready to retaliate with a pitch of your own. 

Vernon is already slipping out, though, leaving the door open a crack behind him. The sound of his chuckles carries over from the next room. It’s the type of moment you used to pray for, isn’t it? 

You flop back down onto the bed. You should get up, but you realize there’s something you want— nay, need— to do. When you reach around the sheets, you’re less than pleased to not have your phone within reach. 

Charging in the living room. Right. 

Your fingers catch on Vernon’s phone, though, and you figure that’ll have to do. 

“Borrowing your phone for a sec,” you holler out to your boyfriend. 

It’s more of a cursory thing; there were no secrets between you and Vernon. His sound of approval from the kitchen is to be expected. Your mind supplies you with the image of what he must look like— barefoot, leaning into your refrigerator, rummaging through all the cans of soda in search for something somewhat substantial. 

Man, the things you’d give up to have this forever. 

You punch in his password and pull up Instagram. Your private, joint couple account has chronicled your relationship since day one, and this is a moment you want immortalized. The sun hitting the bed post just right. The mess of your hair; a product of his restless fingers. The domestic bliss of it all. 

There’s a specific caption you want. Something about laundry and taxes. You let out a low ‘tsk’ as you try to recall it verbatim. It’s a good thing your boyfriend keeps a meticulous note of all his favorite movie quotes. 

Later, you will swear up and down to Vernon that it was looking up at you. You hadn’t gravitated to his Notes app with the intention to pry! You just wanted to be sweet, to be cute. A girlfriend who could accurately quote Everything Everywhere All at Once. 

It tempted you. A locked note, the title nothing but a rock guitar emoji.

You tilt your head. Interesting.

Of course, you try to open it.

It asks for a passcode, and you roll your eyes. Vernon is predictable, so you type in your birthday. Wrong. His birthday. Wrong. 

The name of your secret couple’s Instagram account? 11203km. Bingo. 

The note unlocks, and immediately, the screen floods with words. It takes a bit to load, like the note is bogged down by the sheer amount of content in it. That might be the case, really. After all— as you find out later— the note has been sitting snugly in his phone for years now. 

It’s fairly straightforward. Bullet point after bullet point, all starting with the same four words. I love you because. 

I love you because you hum when you’re tuning your guitar.

I love you because you let me steal your fries even though you pretend to complain.

I love you because my shirts are all a little bit big on you, and it makes you look cute. 

You let out a stuttering breath. The entries are specific enough for you to know they’re about you, but general in a way that you wouldn’t know when or where they were written. It could’ve been on his plane ride here, could’ve been weeks ago, could’ve been just this morning. 

You can’t help it. You keep scrolling, your eyes flitting over the big and small moments that your boyfriend has masterfully kept from you. A dragon hoarding its treasure. And then— 

I love you because even when you said goodbye, I couldn’t stop loving you.

Your stomach drops. Suddenly, you’re taken back to the headlines, the time apart, the brief stint at being shitty exes. PLEDIS Confirms SEVENTEEN’s Vernon Has Broken Up With Rockstar Girlfriend. The whole breakup lasted only a couple of months, but it’d felt like the longest few months of your life.

If Vernon’s entries are anything to go by, then he felt the same. 

I love you because I know you thought leaving was the best thing for me. But I wish you’d stayed.

I love you because you perform like you went through a wholeass divorce. Hot. 

I love you. I don’t know how not to. 

You swallow, the lump in your throat thick, threatening to spill over into something heavier— until a voice cuts through the silence.

“You fuckin’ snoop.” 

Vernon stands over the side of your bed, watching you over your shoulder. Damn him and his uncanny ability to move in silence. He sets aside the plate of fruit he’d prepared before plucking the phone from your fingers.

Thankfully, he doesn’t look particularly displeased. The guilty-as-charged expression on your face must be enough for him, because your boyfriend only looks vaguely exasperated. 

“First of all,” he says, “you cracked my passcode?” 

You sit up, propping yourself up by your elbows. “You should really be more unpredictable.” 

“Noted.” Vernon falls back into bed, one of his eyebrows quirking upward inquisitively. “How much did you read?” 

You press your lips together, and instead of answering, you just look at him. Really look at him. He’s teasing, sure, but there’s something soft in his expression. Something open and raw, like he’s challenging you to be as honest as he’s been. You take him up on it. 

“You kept writing,” you say, your voice small and disbelieving, “even when we weren’t together.” 

His teasing edge fades, replaced by something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Why?” 

“Why not?” 

The answer is so quintessentially him that you can’t help the half-laugh, half-groan that escapes you. His easy grin only widens a bit at your amusement— like your happiness is the only reason he does any of this. 

Something in your chest tightens all over again, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s warmth, pooling in your ribcage, spreading through every inch of you. 

You roll over until you can rest your chin on his chest. Instinctively, Vernon wraps an arm around your waist, bracing you against him. He stares down at you with the smile of a man who has found reason after reason after reason to adore you, across the five years of this whole thing.  

That’s what makes it easy for you, too, to blurt out, “I love you, even though you’re shit at peeling oranges.” 

Vernon barks out a startled laugh. “What?” 

It’s the first thing that came to mind; the fruit is peeled haphazardly and plated messily at your bedside, after all. You ignore his confusion, barrelling on. “I love you despite the fact you pet all stray cats, rabies be damned,” you say. “I love you even though it’s absolute hell to take photos of you because you have the same pose for everything.” 

Realization seems to dawn on Vernon. He attempts to pinch your side, but the playful move only has you burrowing further into him. 

“I love you despite your resting bitch fa— hey— ce!” Your words are punctuated by a squeal as Vernon ups his ante, his fingers skating over your sides. 

“Don’t go stealing my gig,” he complains. 

You thrash underneath his tickling, trying, still, to keep going in between breathless giggles. “I love— love’y— even though— even— Hansol!”

He laughs, unrelenting. 

The fruit lays forgotten at your bedside. The sheets are crumpled, twisted between the two of you. The sun sinks; the world goes on without the two of you, just for today.

Vernon loves you because— you love him despite— 

[witchy667]

TDLR- My first awakening with my wolf when I was about 9 years old.

(TW for mentions of intense Christianity and some swearing)

So I don’t know when exactly I started feeling so connected to wolves. I partially think that it’s because I’ve always been animalistic/wolfish. So there wasn’t much of a “separation” when I was young cause that’s just who I was if that makes sense. I never thought my behavior to be odd cause I just did it. I had a lack of self control with impulses and instincts as a child. That plus my wolf tendencies and natural chemical imbalance made me seem a bit concerning I guess. I started collecting stuff and making art for wolves starting at age 6. I actually taught myself how to draw because I loved wolves so much. Learned just so I could draw wolves. So by age 9, I had a good collection of wolf affiliated items. I kept them in my windowsill. Had a mask I made by hand, a tail, snowglobes, stuffed animals: you name it. Around the age of 8 to 9 I was also looking into witchcraft to figure out a spell to change me physically into a werewolf. I would memorize different spells so I didn’t even have to read it off the paper while under the moonlight of the full moon at 12 AM. So I could focus fully and send my energy. I tried this multiple times. Being a kid, not knowing that the Internet had history my dad and stepmom found out. They thought that I was possibly possessed and was worshiping the wolves as a false God or idol.

They first forced me so sit down and watch quite a few possessions along with exorcisms after they “found out”. After that semi traumatic experience they forced me to get rid of all of my wolf stuff. Legit sold everything then made me physically destroy and rip up my art. I remember vividly ripping up a mask I worked on for months that got me attention in an art show. I was bawling and so angry but I’d rather me destroy it than them. I still regret that to this day, but what choice did I have? After that my dad and step mom no longer allowed me to behave “wolfish”. No more walking on my tiptoes, no more wearing a tail, no more rough housing, no more running on all fours in any regard, no more wolf books, somehow I was blessed they didn’t take my forest privileges away completely. They deadass even took my door OFF its hinges. For like a year straight. 🥲🙏 So it’s started being a huge fight to be my full self. But I never gave up regardless of their restrictions.

(Now to the awakening, lol. Sorry it’s so long, context was just needed to understand fully this next part)

One day my dad and step mom when on an out of town trip for a few days. (I was 9 at this time) So they hired our baby sitter Jenna to watch us. She decided to take us to the zoo to do something fun. (This was in upstate NY so it was a big zoo with lots of people, NOT NYC though!! lol) We got to the zoo and walked around for a while, obviously I only cared about the wolves. But I think Jenna knew that so she wanted to look at the wolves last. We make it through a majority of the zoo and I see the wolf cage. I’m immediately excited, I noticed right away as we were approaching that there was hella people and kids around the cage howling to get the wolves attention and to come close. I also noticed the wolves on the side of their enclosure eating, I don’t remember what it was expect it being red meat. So I knew that the wolves didn’t care as they were being fed the one or two times they could be in the day. Lastly, I somehow knew in my soul; in my bones; that if I stepped up to the cage it wouldn’t matter. They would come.

Then the world kind of drowned out. I didn’t really comprehend or see all the humans around me or even notice/care about my babysitter or brother’s presence. It was like I moved without thinking and just did what my instincts told me without thinking about it as I do it. I walked up to the cage and tilted my head back and just howled with my whole being. I shit you not both wolves stop eating and came over and sat right in front of me and stared at me. I opened my eyes and see them and I almost started crying. I noticed all of the strangers staring at me in disbelief along with my brother and Jenna. I felt in that moment that I am a wolf and no matter what they take from me they can never take me from me. They can never take the wolf away because I am a wolf.

So when my parents came back from their trip and my babysitter told them about the experience, it was so validating because after everything that they tried to do to break the connection it still didn’t work. And it just helped me know that no one can take it away. And it was the biggest fuck you and the wolves are with me. And I’ll cherish that memory forever.

Sorry for the super long wall of text I just really wanted to express this here because I thought it could potentially be relatable in some aspects. Along with this is definitely a part of my wolf journey.

[dufferpuffer]

Claiming it was disrespectful to call off the werewolf essay might be stretch…

A substitute teacher should not deviate from what the regular teacher planned. It’s not disrespectful for Lupin to call off the assignment, it’s disrespectful for Snape to deliver it in the first place. Not because of the subject matter, but because it’s undermining what Lupin planned and deems appropriate for his students to spend their time on. If Lupin is planning to get them to work on an essay or project about anything he has been teaching, it’s distracting and detrimental to his schedule for the kids to be worried about Snape’s spin-off rogue homework. It should have been proposed as optional extra credit at best, but as the main teacher Remus has every right to call it off.

It’s true, in an ideal world maybe Remus would have prepared something (both class and homework) for Snape to deliver, but it’s very obvious by their relationship that Snape was merely trying to gratuitously criticise Lupin in front of his class.

It’s also a stretch to say Snape is a good teacher. As a teacher myself, I see your appreciation for the admin side and for the high standards for results that Snape clearly values, but there’s also an obvious contempt for anyone who cannot keep up with his methodology, which is unfair, discouraging, and results in cases like Neville and Ron, who become completely disengaged and disinterested in learning potions. Harry himself saw immediate progress when Snape’s oppressive presence was no longer in the room - brewing a potion for his OWL examiners in OotP, and seemed to count a lot on Hermione’s help to study. Of the entire Gryffindor year, only Harry, Ron and Hermione made it to NEWT level, and Harry himself was dreading to continue his studies, had it not been for his desire to pursue a career as an auror. He’s not a good teacher that “some people simply don’t mesh with” if he has no patience or plans to bring the students who are struggling up to speed with the rest of the cohort, not to mention his blatant favouritism towards Slytherin and Draco, which only encouraged bullying and rivalry in his class.

Snape as a DADA teacher is surprisingly more reasonable, but still appalling in his relationships with students.

You can write an essay on a 10ft long parchment about how bad of a teacher Lupin is if you want - I am perpetually baffled by the incredibly arbitrary takes people have on pedagogy and learning when it comes to discussing Hogwarts teachers, but you can’t seriously suggest Snape is a good one.

Professor Binns has been teaching for centuries. He is also by no means a good teacher. Snape’s years of experience over Lupin, or Hagrid, have somehow only made him more bitter and dissatisfied with his job.

Remus' disrespect - and Severus as a teacher:

I don't think Remus is a bad teacher. I think he is a good teacher. And for his first year - EXCEPTIONALLY good. Raw talent. I just don't think Snapes observations were wrong. Overly judgemental for a man in his first year? Sure. But not wrong.

I see what you mean about Snapes rogue essay being disrespectful to Remus' lesson structure. He wanted to teach Hinkeypunks next - he's caught one and everything.

...Except this wasn't a rogue substitute lesson. Remus Lupin knows when every single Full Moon will be for his whole life. Fun fact: on his 79th Birthday, 2039, there will be a Full Moon. From the moment he got his schedule he knew when he would have days off and yet he prepared absolutely nothing for Severus to do.

Not only that - he knows why Severus takes Lycanthropy so seriously. He knows Severus is holding himself back under the flimsiest trust that Remus might not be wanting to kill kids. He knows that Severus is brewing him Wolfsbane perfectly to keep him safer - though there's a high risk of error. It's difficult.

Yet all Remus does all year, rather than giving Severus any sign that he is working WITH him, that he ALSO wants to keep the kids safe, that he is being RESPONSIBLE about his condition and his job as an educator... is grind his heel into Severus' toe.

Severus is thinking "If I mess up even one dose of the potion there will be a XXXXX ranked Magical Beast out for student blood. Could be this month, could be next month - I need to be ready and I need the kids to have a fighting chance at defending themselves."

Remus could have been spending the year trying to prove he is working to the same goal. Instead he gives Severus no reason to trust him. He manipulates, blatantly lies, makes Severus play maid with his medicine... he should have been teaching about werewolves early, in case something went wrong. He poses real danger but does nothing to mitigate it and throws away Severus' attempt to fill the hole.

THAT is pretty disrespectful. Severus is doing so much for him and putting far more faith in him than he is earning.

As far as Severus being a good teacher:

He's an ass. His brusque manner doesn't work for everyone and he fails to help sensitive souls, unable to offer anything but 'tough love'. But... I dunno, 3 Griffindors in 6th year seems pretty good...?

Year 6 and 7 are optional. People only pick the classes that might help them get into a career. Others graduate at 5th year. There's <10 kids in every house while Harry was there. <40 kids. Outside Potions 6th year there were a dozen students. 3 Griffindors, 1 Hufflepuff, 4 Slytherins and 4 Ravenclaws.

12 students, out of 40 or less. Over a quarter of the students in Harry's year were choosing to take Potions - thinking Snape was going to continue to be their teacher. To even get into Snapes' N.E.W.T. classes you need an OWL of the highest grade. Which means Snape successfully taught at least 10 students, maybe more, to achieve O's on their OWLs.

Only Harry and Ron didn't have their textbooks for the class - because they got Es and so didn't think they would get in. That means everyone else got Os.

Snape's students learn and they learn to a high standard. His issue is that he has some people fall through deep cracks. But 1/4 of a grade getting O's without any coddling...? When usually 10%, 15% of a class get an A - he has 25%. Maybe more, if they didn't pick to do Potions in N.E.W.T.s, or graduated after their OWLs.

I don't know what to call that other than good teaching. How Snape can be so abrasive and yet drag over 25% of his class into excellence is... it's hard to wrap my around tbh

Hermione specifically does worse without Snape at the blackboard, even though she's a Textbook Tina. His teaching worked for her better than her regular textbook and homework worship.

I haven't seen any examples of him showing favouritism to Slytherin. He might show some favouritsm to Draco, though I don't think in class. Draco is just kinda good at potions? Harry notices him complimenting Draco's work - like maybe he's just good? lol He doesn't actually show house bias as far as I have been able to find. There was certainly no bullying or rivalry in class, he was a no-nonsense teacher who didn't tolerate silly childishness.

So yeah, I struggle to see how Snape is a poor teacher? He is an excellent teacher with a rather deep flaw - he struggles to connect to his students, especially the annoying ones. As a man working three whole jobs though I'm not too surprised. Dumbledore's left hand, Voldemort's right hand, teacher of a core subject... and still drags students into his NEWTs class.

[transentiencestudios]

Just a couple of sketches of the alien shrimp bois I wanted to share—the Nar-Haan! They’re a peaceful, tribal-like civilization living deep within the caves of Blue Moon, a rogue planet orbiting a black hole. With Blue Moon, I wanted to emphasize the idea that life always finds a way—even in the most extreme and unexpected conditions.

The Nar-Haan never developed advanced technology, but they use bio-organic gadgets powered by natural biological processes to help them in their daily lives. While their intelligence is high enough that they could become a spacefaring species if someone uplifted them, nobody even knows they exist—until the crew randomly encounters one of them: Vek-Tor (the one with the purple face).

The only light source in the Nar-Haan’s caves comes from bioluminescent fungi growing along the ceilings. However, their environment is usually very dark, which is why their most important body regions can emit pulses of light to communicate over long distances.

When interacting up close, they use their feelers to physically connect, exchanging brain signals directly. This allows them to understand each other’s thoughts and even emotions without words. Their entire form of communication is based on electrical signals rather than spoken language.

I’ve already written some pages about their culture and other details, but I don’t have much time to fully develop them at the moment. I might, though—depending on how much people want to see more of these guys, lol. I’ve just been and still am extremely busy drawing art for our overall setting.

Hopefully, I’ll get the chance to develop Blue Moon in its entirety someday. It’s been my passion project for years—a way to explore a strange planetary environment in deep detail. Aside from my character (the Commander), it’s the only thing that truly reflects how emotionally connected and fascinated I feel to space and evolution as a whole.

- Eight

[myjjongie]

✶ PLAYING GIRLFRIEND ── l. heeseung

IN WHICH: your best friend heeseung, who also so happens to be a player. needs a girlfriend to ward off all the girls on valentine’s day. who better to help him? you of course!

PAIRING: bsf player!heeseung x bsf fem!reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lowercase intended !!, one shot, skinship, fake dating, best friends, pining, fluff, slight friends to lovers, slow burn (???) WORD COUNT: 1.4k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: another day another 10 am post cause i can't handle a decent sleep schedule... late vday one shot i never intended to make LOL. like the way i saw a love and deepspace fanart for caleb with this scenario and got inspired. my brain refuses to think on its own, but god forbid i see something good... my brain goes "yeah write that." man... but alas here's another heeseung one shot for the masterlist :3

it was valentine’s day. a holiday you didn’t dislike nor particularly cared for. it was just another day in february to you.

but for you, one person usually made the day eventful. the person in question? your best friend heeseung, well precisely your childhood best friend. he had always been known throughout your school years as a notorious player. which meant heeseung’s locker always happened to be filled to the brim with chocolates every valentine’s day.

by the end of the holiday there was no need to sulk over receiving nothing. after all, you’d always end up eating heeseung’s fair share of chocolates. even if he was a player of sorts. he showed true appreciation for what the girls gave him. due to that, a pile of chocolates would form on his desk at home every year.

even after becoming college students, the chocolate giving didn’t end. around this time last year, heeseung received almost 40 chocolates. along with 20 confessions... once heeseung and you arrived back at his place that year. the annoyance was evident on his face. it started to be too much for him. he realized denying every girl that confessed to him was more work than thanking them for a menial gift.

so here you both were, less than twenty four hours before valentine’s day. standing in front of heeseung’s bathroom mirror. matching shirts. matching rings. and quite possibly the stupidest plan conceived by him yet.

glancing up from your phone, you met heeseung’s gaze in the mirror. “hee there’s no way this is gonna work… i’m your best friend. almost everyone. no everyone on campus knows that.”

heeseung hummed out a response as he continued to style his hair nicely. a faint smirk on his lips as he enjoyed the moment. what you didn’t know was that heeseung developed the biggest crush on you after high school. heeseung was aware of the fact he would never be able to tell you his feelings. after all in your eyes he was your playboy best friend. nothing more than that.

but by some miracle he convinced you to be his girlfriend for valentine’s. even if the title was fake in it’s name. he still felt like it was a win win situation to him.

“come on, don’t say that yn. it’s believable! the player guy best friend, finally falls for his girl best friend. what’s there not to believe?” heeseung couldn’t help but let out a scoff while finishing up his hair.

“yeah okay. very believable…” your arms crossed at his horrible explanation. no one in their right mind would believe that the, lee heeseung had fallen for his best friend.

heeseung turned around from the mirror to face you. “alright come here.” his hand stretched out beckoning for you to come over.

you briefly rolled your eyes. still feeling the plan was idiotic. taking his hand, heeseung lightly tugged you forward in front of him. your frame now flushed against his wider body.

your body stiffened slightly. becoming hyper aware of how close heeseung was. he was your best friend. that’s how you viewed him your whole life. but that fact alone couldn’t change that, as frustrating it is to admit. heeseung is genuinely attractive.

“so the only way for this whole ordeal is to be as natural as possible. which is for me to wrap my arms around you.” once heeseung explained what needed to be done. his arm snaked around your waist. holding you firmly against himself.

your face softly heated up as the space between you both lessened. realizing now would be the time for the photo. you brought your phone up from your side. shaky fingers opening up the camera app. making sure to get a good angle before snapping a photo, heeseung stopped you.

“wait yn. you’re barely putting effort into this.” heeseung’s lips turned into a slight pout. you couldn’t help but eye him in the mirror. turning away the moment his eyes met with yours. his hold on your waist tightened at your reaction.

“well what else am i supposed to do? isn’t this fine?”

“not really. your arms look really awkward. here let me help. maybe if i do this it’ll look better.”

before you could protest, heeseung wrapped his arm across your chest. the pose with out a doubt looked possessive. as if he was silently declaring that you were his. no one else’s. your heart slightly fluttered at the feeling. yet you hated that it did. you knew heeseung wasn’t being serious in his actions. he just needed a cop out from all the girls that bothered him now.

heeseung continued on to explain taking the task seriously. “now like this you can put your hand on my forearm. i think my arm that’s across your chest would do.”

using your free hand, you placed it where heeseung instructed you too. taking another glance at the mirror. you both did look like a couple. the matching shirts to the matching rings, he managed to obtain. really sold the deal.

“oh yeah. we definitely look like a couple. told you we’d be pull it off.” a sly smirk was spread across his face. his smirk lingered. noticing the way you slightly jumped when his fingers grazed against your waist. he didn’t expect you to be so antsy in his grasp. not that he was complaining though.

heeseung then rested his chin on top of your head. putting on a cheeky smile, ready for the photo. “ok this is a good pose.”

“geez. i can’t believe this might actually work.” you hated to agree with him. but you and heeseung fit the picture of a couple. if this tricked everyone tomorrow you were bound to eat your own words. finally you snapped a couple photos. in between those few minutes heeseung suggested different poses as well.

there were ones where his back would face the mirror as he hugged your body. your frame being engulfed by his wide shoulders. another one he created with you, had him pose with his face in your neck. the illusion of it made it seem as if he was kissing your neck. once finished heeseung scrolled through all the photos. his face having satisfaction all over it.

“yeah. these are really good. we did a good job. if no girls bother me tomorrow, i have you to thank for the rest of my life yn.” heeseung lowered the phone, flashing you a bright smile.

“yeah yeah. i’m just surprised you put so much effort into this. even so far as to getting rings…”

“hey what can i say. i’m a stickler for perfection. also wear the ring tomorrow. just incase.”

“sure will do. well im going home now! hope your stupid post goes well!”

finally getting back home after heeseung’s did you really take a good look at the photos. you couldn’t help but continuously stare at the first photo you took. it was odd on how good you both fit with one another. even more odd how you somewhat missed his touch. missed the way his arm wrapped around your waist as if he was really your boyfriend.

realizing what you were thinking, you quickly dismissed it. heeseung is your best friend. nothing more nothing less. not to mention he’s a player. even if said player is genuinely nice to woman... but that didn’t matter. you had a set boundary and truly needed to stick to it.

soon valentine’s day came and went. during the day you checked heeseung’s post. the photos he chose were good, too good... not to mention the caption that was paired with the post. it read “spending the day with her”, accompanied with too many heart emojis to seem natural. were people really gonna buy this? finally finding heeseung on campus, you immediately noticed his empty arms.

“no way…” you stood infront of him utterly shocked. not believing what your eyes were seeing.

“told you they would believe it.” his arms opened out, showing off the movability of his empty arms. “this totally means you gotta act like my girlfriend for a bit.” heeseung teased as he rested his arm around your waist.

the post worked… for the first time in what felt like forever, heeseung was spending valentine’s alone. did this mean you’d have to keep up the act? are you really gonna have to play girlfriend for longer than one day? there was no way you agreed to something far more complicated right?

perm taglist ( open! send a ask to be added ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek @ijustwannareadstuff20

©myjjongie 2025

[lemotmo]

💛

Q. I'm sorry your inbox was such a mess yesterday. I understand the need to block people after a while, but please don't close your inbox. Your blog and others really do provide a service for those of us who sometimes just require a little more explanation.

A. Hi, anon. Yesterday was a lot for my inbox. I had over a hundred messages and the vast majority were freakouts over an interview that just simply did not do anything to cause that kind of chaos. There was just no need for people to have spiraled like that. It was a really lovely interview and I was shocked by the amount of people who flat out missed everything he was saying, and then had the nerve to get upset at those of us they were asking for help from to try and understand it.

It is a given that there are going to be people upset about the direction the storyline appears to be going, that's true of anything people watch. But I am stunned by the number of people who genuinely seem to believe that they can just say 'no that's not what's happening because that's not how I interpret the scenes' and then have the audacity to say that everyone who is allowing the actual text to lead their opinions are simply bullying them. I had several messages yesterday accusing me of trying to bully people into agreeing with me because I refused to accept that everything is open for individual interpretation. That is simply false. It has never been true. Yes, people see things differently. And people can have differing opinions but when one side of the conversation is supported by the actual text and canon facts then that side is allowed to tell you your interpretation is not supported by what we're actually seeing. That's not bullying people. Of course people can choose to ignore what they're not enjoying but not liking it and deciding to ignore it doesn't stop it from being true. It's absolutely bonkers to me how many people keep saying things like 'it's not happening because none of them are saying outright this is the direction we're going'. That has never been something television shows do and it is beyond wild to me that there's a group of people screaming that if they don't say it out loud then we're just lying because we want it so badly. I have never encountered anything like this in all my years of fandom. There's always been antis. They exist in every fandom. There's always been people who watch and engage simply to hate on things. None of that is new but the amount of people who have convinced themselves outright that as long as they don't see it that way, or refuse to acknowledge it, means it's not happening, and everyone else has to agree with them or we're the actual problem, is absolutely wild to me. Everyone can have an opinion. You can believe what you want. But the truth will always be that the argument most supported by the actual text of something is the 'opinion' that's most likely the correct one. That doesn't make us bullies. We're not going from inbox to inbox yelling at people for refusing to acknowledge what were actually seeing on screen. People can pretend they don't see or understand something all they want. No one can prevent that. But if you're coming to ask us to explain something or help you understand why we're saying something and we offer you canon proof to back up what we're saying and you come back immediately after and argue that none of that means anything because Ryan didn't say Eddie is gay in and in love with Buck in an interview is a whole other level of insane. That's never been how any of this works. And what's even more wild is that most of you supposedly want them together so the fact that there's all this canon evidence to suggest that it's going to happen and you still want to find ways to yell that it's actually not happening is an exercise in self infected misery and I'm simply not going to help people do that anymore. I'm more than happy to explain things if I can to people who just genuinely need a little bit more help, that happens and that's fine. I'm more than happy and willing to do that. But going forward I will not be engaging with anyone being intentionally irrational and deliberately obtuse. I'm not doing that to myself anymore. It's been almost a year and I'm exhausted. What we've been getting is genuinely exciting and I want to enjoy it, all of it. Most of us do and we've earned the right to enjoy this. Come be part of the excitement if you want, but no one is forcing you to be here. We've reached the good place. Let us enjoy it, and let yourself enjoy it. I have no plans to close my inbox. I'm just going to stop answering certain things. Thank you for the lovely message, anon. I'm always happy to talk about it and them, to anyone who genuinely wants to talk. 🩷

Thank you Nonny!

Now to be completely clear here, the interview Ali is talking about in her answer is the Ryan interview. I got this post Friday morning, so this was pre Oliver's NBA celebrity interview.

Yes yes yes to all of this! I cannot agree more.

I don't really have anything to add here. Everything that needed to be said was said. I'm also at the point where I just want to enjoy the story we are getting. Join us!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.