#me: vapors is recent right?

[mylovesstuffs]

The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu

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

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

Pairing: Mingyu × fem!reader

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

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

Word count: 20,620 words

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

"What investigation?"

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

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

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

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

The silence that follows is deafening.

"WHAT?!"

"NO WAY."

"Wait, wait, WAIT—who sent this?!"

Mingyu chokes on his drink. "Huh?"

You yanked the letter back, heart hammering. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fair point.

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

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

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

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

"Maybe… Jeonghan?" Chan suggests.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re too busy strategizing.

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

-

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

“Hey!”

“And Seungkwan,” you add.

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

Two

February 8th.

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

“It reminded me of you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjoy finding your secret admirer.”

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

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

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

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

Seungkwan scoffs, arms crossed. “As if.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take care of it well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly! That’s the problem!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A letter. Slipped under the crack of the door.

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

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

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

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

Three

February 9th.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suspect Interrogations

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chan looks so betrayed.

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

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

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

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

But for the first time, Jeonghan is wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So you say," he mutters.

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

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

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

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

Seungkwan gasps. "What! Why not me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Step 1: Preparing the Wax

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

Step 2: Crafting the Heart Candle

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

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

Step 3: Crafting the Rubik's Cube Candle

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

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

Step 4: Setting Them to Cool

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

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

Four

February 10th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That catches his attention. “How noisy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except he was the one who completely blew the mission.

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

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

Your heart stopped. Seungkwan was calling you.

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

Mingyu sighs deeply.

“What if it’s a professor?”

Mingyu groans.

“What if it’s—”

“Stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, his mind flashes back to earlier.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

Five

February 11th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somewhere out there, Mingyu was definitely laughing.

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

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

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

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

-

The note says:

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

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

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

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

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

Six

February 12th.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The room goes silent. Mingyu barely breathes.

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

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

"Jeonghan?" Seungkwan echoes, stunned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mingyu?”

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Jeonghan remains quiet, just listening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seven

February 13th

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

See you soon.”

-

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

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

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

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

You had stiffened at that. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes!"

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me, dummy.”

The world stills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

Eight

February 14th

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"An arcade? Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You made all this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

Yours, always.

— Mingyu”

Lee Y/N @y/nisnot_sleeping · 1h  

Been mine for a while now…

♡ 4        🔁 -      🗨️ 4

Boo @americano_.boo · 57m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

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

♡ 2        🔁 -      🗨️ 1

yoon ★ @yjh1004 · 49m  

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

Finally!!!!

♡ 3        🔁 -      🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 45m  

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

🫢🫢🫢

♡ 2        🔁 -      🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 44m  

Replying to @americano_.boo  

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

♡ -        🔁 -      🗨️ -

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

[suratan-zir]

I'm not calling any names and not getting into a personal confrontation. But with this comment under one of my recent posts I wanted to show you what a rare "normal" "good" russian looks like.

Ukrainians online and offline mostly get called slurs by russians, but the stereotypical "you knokhol pigs have no right to exist" shit doesn't evoke any feelings anymore. In me, at least. It's rare comments like this that truly get to me.

Let's set things straight: do I think it's easy being russian now? Do I think all russian people are bloodthirsty monsters who want to kill us all? Do I think all of them are doing absolutely nothing to oppose the regime? No. To all of the above.

But it's with the russian "liberal opposition" that you most often get the "we're sorry and ashamed, but…" You know how in relationships with abusive, manipulative, self-involved people you never get to hear a sincere apology? It's always "sorry but" – either "but I suffer too", "I am not to blame", "I had no bad intentions" etc. That's the same thing with most of the "good" russians.

Do I think it's fair that some of them had to leave their homes and their country behind, when they never voted for putin and didn't "want the war"? No. Things are rarely fair in this world. But you can just say you're ashamed by your nation, or you're devastated by the fact that your countrymen recently killed 20 innocent people, including 9 children, with a ballistic missile, in the middle of the day. You don't have to add your personal struggles commenting on such news, to show that you are also a victim.

Especially when you're commenting on a blog run by a Ukrainian living in Ukraine. You have no idea what most of us have been or are going through, what or who we have lost because of your country. I lost not only my home, but my city, and some other cities near and dear to me, like my grandma's town where I spent all my summer breaks - lie in ruins. Uninhabitable. Nothing but a pile of rubble. Because your country destroyed it.

We don't need to hear how sorry and ashamed you are, when it doesn't come from a place of sincerity and accountability. You can make this about yourself under the posts about russian struggles, or in your own space. Don't come to us with this shit. Our ability to empathise with you gets crippled by each day our people die and our cities get vaporized.

[outofrealms]

Isekai’d as the Demon King’s Therapist

Synopsis: I accidentally became the Demon King’s therapist, and now I’m stuck in his castle, coaching a fire-breathing tyrant on emotional regulation. His go-to coping method is vaporizing things, but I’m trying to sell him on deep breathing instead.

Chapter 2: “Explain This… Therapy of Yours Before I Smite You.”

Sitting across from the Demon King on his ridiculously large obsidian couch which was about as comfortable as sitting on a slab of polished rock. I plastered on my best smile. Not a genuine one. More like the “please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-just-trying-my-best” kind of smile.

Zarvath leaned forward, his fiery crown flickering ominously, eyes glowing with mild suspicion. “Before we begin, mortal… I must know. What exactly is this… therapy?”

He said the word “therapy” like it was something foul he’d found floating in his soup.

“Oh! Therapy is simple!” I said with a little too much forced enthusiasm. “It’s a conversation where you talk about your feelings, and I help you manage stress and improve your well-being!”

He stared at me like I’d just suggested we dance naked under a blood moon.

“Feelings,” he repeated, his voice flat.

“Yes! Feelings. Emotions. You know… happiness, sadness, anger—”

“Anger I understand,” he interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. “But happiness and sadness are for the weak.”

Oh boy. This was going to be harder than I thought. “Well, emotions aren’t exactly about weakness or strength. They’re just part of being… alive?” I offered weakly.

Zarvath raised an eyebrow. “Why would a king such as I waste time discussing trivialities like ‘feelings’?”

I took a deep breath, trying to channel every ounce of patience I had left. If I messed this up, I’d probably end up as a tiny pile of ashes on this very couch. “Because when you bottled up emotions like anger, it can lead to impulsive decisions you might regret later. Like, say… burning down a village just because someone insulted your crown.”

His eyes narrowed. “It was a very serious insult. He called my crown ‘gaudy.’”

I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from laughing. “Okay, sure, but wouldn’t it be better to calmly address the situation instead of… levelling an entire town?”

“Calmly?” Zarvath repeated, as if the word was a personal offense. He made air quotes with his claws, which was way more unsettling than it had any right to be. “You expect me to ‘calmly’ deal with such disrespect? What nonsense is this?”

I swallowed hard. Stay cool, stay cool. “Not nonsense! Emotional regulation is a real thing. It helps prevent those, uh… heat-of-the-moment choices.”

“Heat-of-the-moment?” His lips curled into a dangerous smile. “A fitting phrase, given the context.”

Okay, bad word choice. Moving on. “Right! What I mean is, imagine how powerful you’d be if you mastered your emotions. Nobody could manipulate or control you because you’d always be one step ahead.”

For a moment, Zarvath paused. His eyes gleamed with sudden interest. “So, you’re saying this… therapy… could make me even more powerful?”

I nodded quickly. “Exactly! Therapy is like… strength training for your mind. Emotional weightlifting.”

He tapped his chin thoughtfully, his claws glinting in the dim light. “Hmm. Strength training for the mind. Fascinating.”

Then he pointed at me, his claw uncomfortably close to my face. “Continue. But be warned if this turns out to be a trick, I shall feed you to the lava serpents.”

“Got it,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up while trying not to visibly sweat. “Let’s start with something simple. How has your week been? Any recent… stressors?”

Zarvath leaned back, his massive shoulders tensing slightly. “Yesterday, my court sorcerer accidentally summoned a flaming chicken demon. It set fire to my drapes and screamed insults at me in Infernal for six hours.”

I blinked. “… Right. That sounds… challenging.” I made a note in the notebook I’d conjured out of pure panic. “And how did you respond?”

“I vaporized it,” Zarvath said, looking very pleased with himself.

I froze for a second. “Okaaaay. Um, next time, maybe we can explore a… less destructive solution?”

His eyes glowed brighter. “Less destructive? You would have me negotiate with a flaming chicken?”

“Not exactly,” I said, holding up my hands. “More like… deep breathing exercises to manage your frustration. Then you can decide the best way to handle it without instantly vaporizing things.”

“Deep… breathing?” Zarvath repeated suspiciously.

I nodded. “It’s a technique to calm your mind. Watch: inhale for four counts… hold… and exhale for four counts. Like this!” I demonstrated, breathing deeply.

Zarvath watched, unimpressed at first. Then, very reluctantly, he took a breath. The room instantly smelled like brimstone and burning wood.

He exhaled slowly. “Hmm. That wasn’t… terrible.”

I grinned. “See? Do that next time you’re about to vaporize something, and you’ll make more rational decisions.”

He nodded, clearly deep in thought. “Very well. But if deep breathing fails me, I shall return to vaporizing.”

“Deal,” I said, wiping my forehead. “Baby steps.”

As the session wrapped up, Zarvath leaned back on his throne, looking surprisingly relaxed. He still radiated doom and destruction, but it felt more like calm menace instead of raging inferno.

“You have given me much to consider,” Zarvath mused. “I feel… slightly less inclined to vaporize my enemies. Slightly.”

“That’s progress!” I said, forcing a smile. “Same time next week?”

I was halfway to the door, ready to bolt for my safety, when Zarvath raised a clawed hand. “Wait.”

I froze. “… Yes?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve decided you shall remain here. Permanently.”

“… Permanently?”

“Yes. You are now my official Mind Healer. You will reside within my castle and ensure that I do not succumb to reckless rage. If you succeed, you will be treated as a guest. Fail, and… well, let’s just say the lava serpents haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”

I swallowed hard. “Ah. Good to know. Love a job with clear expectations.”

The demons escorted me to my “room” after my session with Zarvath. I use the term room loosely because it looked more like a medieval dungeon redesigned by someone who listened to too much death metal. The walls were made of black stone, the bed was an ominous slab that could double as a sacrificial altar, and the only source of light came from a chandelier made of… bones. Actual bones.

“Enjoy your stay!” the demon guard said with a toothy grin before slamming the door shut behind me.

I stood there for a solid minute, staring at my new accommodations, my brain short-circuiting like a Wi-Fi router trying to reconnect. Then, it hit me all at once:

I AM A HUMAN. IN A DEMON REALM.

How am I supposed to survive here?! What do demons even eat? What if they eat me?! How do I pay for stuff? Do they have a demon Venmo? I’m just a therapist, not Frodo Baggins—no one trained me for this!

I started pacing. “Okay, think. You’re resourceful. You’ve binged three apocalypse survival shows. You’ve talked at least four people out of having public breakdowns at Trader Joe’s. You can do this.”

Then I noticed the giant spider on the ceiling, watching me like it was considering charging rent. I sprinted to the farthest corner of the room, hyperventilating.

“This is fine. Everything’s fine,” I whispered, trying to convince myself. But my brain was having none of it. Instead, it spiralled into worst-case scenarios:

I starve because there’s no DoorDash in the underworld.

I accidentally offend the Demon King and get sacrificed.

I survive but end up in some demonic multi-level marketing scheme.

Finally, I remembered something important: I have a degree in psychology. If I could help a client work through their fear of pigeons, I could talk myself through this. I dropped onto the suspiciously hard bed-slab and started using every coping mechanism I could think of.

Step One: Grounding Technique.

“Five things I can see,” I muttered, scanning the room. “Bones, skulls, creepy spider, weird glowing rune… and oh my god, is that a cursed doll?! Okay. Let’s skip that one.”

Step Two: Breathing Exercises.

“Inhale for four… hold for four… exhale for four,” I whispered, trying to ignore the fact that the glowing rune seemed to pulse in time with my breath. Is it breathing with me?! Weird but comforting.

Step Three: Positive Self-Talk.

“You’ve got this. You are smart, capable, and only slightly emotionally unstable. Demons respect confidence. Fake it till you make it.”

A knock on the door made me jump. A small, scaly demon poked his head in. “Your dinner, human,” he said, sliding a tray toward me. It contained a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like purple mashed potatoes and a side of… glowing green mystery meat.

“Thanks!” I said, my voice cracking slightly. After he left, I stared at the food. “Okay, new goal: survive, find coffee, and absolutely do not die.”

I took a deep breath and picked up a fork.

“This is fine,” I said again. “Totally fine.”

And for the first time all day, I almost believed it.

[yuanist]

kuroo, you think, has been out here for quite a while now. 

when you left to go meet with your study group—sometime between six-thirty and seven—the snow was just beginning to pile up. it hadn't started sticking to the roads yet, but you could see the vapor slip from the few leaves left on the trees; a symptom of early winter, you suppose. 

now, though, there must be four or five inches out here. the old oak tree that hangs over your building is starting to sag, and the moon seems heavier than it did before, hanging lowly along the glow of street light. 

kuroo is sitting on the steps up to your apartment, looking down at his phone. he has more than a few flakes in his hair, and if it wasn't for the ridge in the snow where he'd pushed it aside to sit, you'd think he'd been out here the whole time. 

"cold?" you ask, shuffling towards him. you can hear the crunch of your feet under you. 

"me? never."

he looks up at you then and, you'll admit, you like seeing him like this. lately, he's been against the whole 'text me before you come over' thing, and you know it's mostly because you don't reply, but, in part, that's so you can see him here. 

his hands are half-tucked under the sleeves of his coat, and there's a stretch of pink from the tops of his cheeks to the tip of his nose. his lips are chapped (you can only assume from being out here so often) and there's a little smile tugging at the sides of his mouth, his tongue poking out from behind his teeth. 

"oh, you want me to leave you out here then? give you a little more time?" you're smug—or, at least you're trying to be, anyway. the more time you spend with kuroo, the worse you are at pretending you don't like him. recently, you've been failing at that more than you'd care to admit. 

"hey, i didn't say that." he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. "plus, what's the point of coming all the way over here if i can't see my favorite girl?" 

you shake your head at him, aiming your chin towards the ground. in a strange way, you feel like you're suffocating.

"you mean the cat?" you ask.

and he chuckles, "sure." 

a beat of silence hangs in the air for a second, before you plod your way up the steps, pulling your keys out of your pocket. you can hear kuroo rise behind you, attempting to brush some of the moisture out of his sleeves. 

"y'know," you say, pushing the key into the door. "if you like coming over when i'm not home so much, i could tell the neighbor to let you in." 

his hood rustles; he's shaking his head. 

"where's the fun in that? kinda ruins my whole 'mysterious stranger' act." 

"also kinda ruins the 'guy stalking the apartment complex' act." you swing the door open and make your way up the stairs. "i'm sure everyone is so enthused by the guy sitting on the stairs every friday." 

a laugh, "oh i'm sure. if they report me for loitering promise you'll come bail me out?" 

"depends on how much i like you that day." you can feel the heat of your apartment as you approach the end of the hall. 

"really," he says. "if they took me in right now?" 

"i would think about it." you pause. "maybe." 

"wow." you can hear the rasp in his voice as he drags out the 'o.' "tough crowd." 

your apartment smells like pine and vanilla—the workings of two little wax melters on opposite sides of the rooms. you turned them off before you left (you double and triple-checked), but the scent lingers, itching at your nose as you cross through the door. 

kuroo follows close behind, scaping his shoes off on the mat before slipping them onto the little shoe rack in the corner. his jacket squeaks as he shrugs it off—a sound so distinctly made from the shifting of wet nylon that you barely have to turn around to identify it. 

every time he follows you up here, you find yourself glancing around your apartment—looking for something that could possibly be out of place. something incriminating: three-day-old dishes that you know you already washed; your vibrator, forgotten on the nightstand, even though you remember putting it back in its designated drawer. 

for some reason, you have a tendency to think that the things around your home that make you distinctly human are also the things that would make you distinctly unappealing. you're aware of how silly the thought is, but there you are, quickly looking over at your nightstand as you stick your coat back in the closet. 

"so," you hum, rubbing a bit of the warmth back into your hands. "to what do i owe the pleasure tonight? you here to eat all of my leftovers again?" 

"depends," he says. "you have leftovers to be eaten?" 

"not this time." you make your way to the couch, and he pouts, following behind you. "but if i did, they'd be all yours." 

"aw, you mean it?" you eye him. "i'm honored." 

as much as you hate to admit it, this has sort of become habit. you come home a little later than expected and you find kuroo sitting on your front stoop. you're not exactly sure how any of it started—or, really, how the two of you became friends in the first place—but you ran in the same circles for a while and, eventually, you ended up here. 

"well," he begins, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. "study group?" 

"boring." you nudge your way beneath his shoulder. "practice?"

"thrilling, obviously. greatest two hours of my life, even. i think you could go as far as to—" you eye him again. "same thing as yesterday." 

you chuckle, swatting a hand into his chest. 

there's silence for a moment, something warm pulling through the air of the room. quiet breaths spill from kuroo's lips, and you resign yourself to listening to each one—in, and out. 

he still smells cold; like the heavy, wet snow you have to shovel off of the porch the morning after a blizzard. for every breath, it lessens, bleeding into the heat of the room, but you let the scent linger at the base of your nose. 

you're not sure how much time you've spent taking in pieces of kuroo, but you know it's more than you ever plan to tell. you know his hands take longer to warm up than the rest of him—he chalks it up to bad circulation most of the time, you know that too; he rarely spends a night at home because he doesn't like sitting in silence; he twitches sometimes, when he's nervous, a little flick of his hands; his favorite color is red but sometimes he's drawn to deep blues because he likes the sky better when it's absent of stars—he says there's something enchanting about the abyss. 

he's too dense to know you're in love with him but too smart to think you're not. sometimes you catch him looking at you after you say something in a tone a little too far beyond friendly and you swear that he knows what you mean. sometimes, you think he's going to break the silence, and, sometimes, you think he never will. 

tonight, he swings his head back, eyes lightly shut, slowly sinking into the back of the couch. you can hear the sputter of your vents and the sound of the wind against the windows—snow still trying to fight its way through the glass.  

you're going to ask him to stay the night tonight—you already know it. you're going to wake up to him on the couch tomorrow, with his hair messed up, and his eyes half-lidded, and that stupid look on his face that makes you want to slip your tongue into his mouth. 

you're going to think about that time you slept together last year—once, after a halloween party—and you're going to think about the way the inside of his mouth tasted; you're going to sink your teeth into your lips so hard that you're going to bleed. 

you're going to consider telling him that you love him, that you always have and you think you always will, and then you're going to ask him if he wants coffee instead—hoping the smell of the pot is enough to make your head feel less fuzzy. 

you're going to wait, and hope he says something, even though you'll know he never does. and then, next friday, when you come home to him sitting on your front steps, you're going to do it all again. 

reblogs are always appreciated! ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[cod-imagines]

imagine #1

character: Keegan P. Russ words: 5601 cw: 18+, drinking description: AU in which Keegan is an F1 pilot (requested anonymously). (part 2) a/n: my first cod fic on tumblr!! I tried to incorporate the recent 2025 results for the race in Montreal, but I know nothing about F1 lol but please let me know what you think! :))))

This was, without a doubt, the best terrible decision you’d ever made. Or maybe the worst brilliant one. Either way, the wheels were already in motion — both figuratively and literally — as your Uber crept through downtown Montreal traffic, each turn ushering you deeper into a city you’d never been to.

It all started when your best friend called you two weeks ago, her voice almost vibrating through the phone with excitement. She’d landed a summer job working concierge at the Ritz-Carlton — the Ritz, the marble-mouthed, chandelier-draped fantasy lodged deep in the heart of the Golden Square Mile.

You were on your couch nursing the bruised ego and scalded pride of a breakup that hadn’t even earned you the dignity of a phone call. Just a text. Four words: this isn’t working anymore. Delivered casually at 2:16 a.m., right before he blocked you. No reason. No chance to ask why. And just like that, the person you’d planned to spend the summer with vanished into digital vapor. You didn’t even cry.

Instead, you booked a flight.

One week. That’s all you let yourself take. Enough time to see your friend, to lose yourself in a city you didn’t know, and maybe — just maybe — pretend to be someone else entirely. Someone with no missed calls or half-drunk wine bottles littering their nightstand. Someone who stayed in five-star hotels like it was second nature. Someone who didn’t feel cracked down the middle.

But nothing — absolutely nothing — could’ve prepared you for the scene outside the Ritz when your car finally pulled up.

The sidewalk was chaos. Branded banners rippled in the summer breeze. Girls in crop tops and oversized sunglasses leaned against metal barricades, iPhones tilted at perfect angles, searching for someone. Security guards in sleek black suits moved with controlled urgency, redirecting guests and herding back the crowd. There were flashes of cameras, glimpses of men with lanyards and cameras, murmurs of he’s here, I saw the car.

It hit you slowly — this was Grand Prix weekend.

You’d vaguely heard of the Canadian Grand Prix before — maybe in the way you’d hear about Coachella or New York Fashion Week. Background noise for rich people and influencers. But this? This felt like something bigger. The air itself was buzzing, electric. You stepped out of the Uber and immediately felt underdressed and overwhelmed.

The lobby was worse. A museum of marble and gold, instantly swallowed by a sea of people. Branded team gear was everywhere — Mercedes hats, Ferrari polos, Red Bull puffer vests. You ducked around a man holding a camera on a gimbal and nearly collided with a group of guys in matching polos speaking rapid-fire Italian. You clutched your papers like a lifeline, holding onto your printed email confirmation like it was a golden ticket.

The receptionist didn’t even flinch. “Reservation under…?”

You gave your name, trying to smile, trying to appear like this wasn’t the most absurd situation you’d ever walked into. You were painfully aware of how long it took to locate your booking — just long enough to convince yourself they’d lost it, or worse, that it had never existed at all.

But then you saw her.

Your friend emerged from the side hallway like some kind of celestial body, perfectly poised in her Ritz uniform. Her smile split wide the moment she spotted you.

“Finally,” she said, wrapping you in a hug that smelled like hotel soap and citrus. “I’ve been counting down the hours.”

You exhaled, tension easing from your shoulders all at once. “I didn’t realize half the city was going to be here. What the hell did I just walk into?”

She pulled back and beamed. “Oh, babe. This is the biggest weekend of the year. F1 royalty. The teams, the drivers, the media — everyone is staying here. You’re lucky I snagged you a room.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, the drivers? Like the guys everyone on TikTok is obsessed with right now?”

She laughed, clearly enjoying your naivety. “Yes. That exact breed of demigod. Don’t worry though — they’re used to girls swooning.”

You snorted, hoisting your duffel over your shoulder. “Good thing I’m emotionally immune right now.”

“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not immune, you’re just temporarily disillusioned. Big difference.”

You gave her a look but accepted the room key she handed over. It was heavier than expected, like it belonged to a different world. A better one.

“I get off at eight,” she said with a wink. “We’re going out after.”

You smiled, for real this time. “Remind me to buy you several drinks.”

The elevator opened behind you with a soft ding, and you stepped in, suddenly aware of how tired you were from the flight — and how wired you felt despite it. Your reflection in the gold-trimmed mirror stared back at you: a little sun-flushed from the Uber ride, a little windswept, but something else too. Something more awake than you’d felt in weeks.

Outside, the city pulsed.

You pressed the elevator button for the ninth floor with a tired but satisfied little sigh, your luggage at your side and the soft ping of the doors closing offering a fleeting moment of calm. Ninth floor. Your friend had promised a city view, and you clung to that detail like a talisman — somewhere up there, behind a pane of glass, was the skyline of a city that didn’t know your name. It felt like freedom.

But the moment the doors began to slide shut, a hand shot between them — broad and tan, with long fingers and short, clean nails — halting the motion with a mechanical groan. The doors stuttered open again.

He stepped inside without a word.

Brown hair, a little messy at the edges. Thick brows set low over eyes so blue they almost startled you, cool and sharp beneath the fluorescent lighting. The kind of blue that wasn't soft but cutting, like ice under pressure. The lower half of his face was hidden by a simple black surgical mask, but somehow that only made him more enigmatic. He didn’t look at you — just thumbed through something on his phone, seemingly unfazed.

You shifted your stance subtly, keeping to your corner as he claimed his own on the opposite side. There was a quiet to him. Not just in sound, but in presence. Like he could fold himself into the background without really disappearing.

His black duffel bag thumped softly against the elevator wall. That was the only sound.

He pressed the button for the tenth floor. You tried not to notice the way his broad shoulders moved beneath his fitted t-shirt when he did.

You stared at the little LCD floor indicator above the door instead, willing your heart to slow. You weren’t looking for anything. Not tonight. Not after your stupid breakup.

Still, something in you stirred. Some leftover ache of confidence trying to reanimate itself.

If not now, then when?

You cleared your throat gently. “You here for the racing stuff?”

Your voice sounded a little smaller than you'd intended — throaty from travel and disuse — but at least it wasn’t shaking.

He let out a low sound, something halfway between a laugh and a hum of amusement. When he answered, his voice was deep. Not forced-deep, not affected, but naturally resonant in a way that caught you off guard. It lingered, smooth as bourbon.

“You’re not?”

You blinked. “God, no.” A soft laugh tumbled from your lips. “My friend works here. She booked me in for a vacation and kind of left out the part where the entire hotel would be under siege.”

You gestured vaguely upward, as though the paparazzi were currently scaling the building like a horde of glamorous zombies.

His eyes — sharp and glinting — crinkled slightly at the corners. You were pretty sure he smiled beneath the mask.

“Good to know,” he said simply, and tucked his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

You weren’t sure what you were doing. This wasn’t flirting — at least, not technically. But the elevator was small, and he was magnetic in the way people often are when they know exactly who they are and don't care if anyone else does. He had that grounded stillness that made you feel like he could say more but chose not to.

You didn’t want the silence to swallow the moment just yet.

“So,” you ventured again, “you’re into cars, then?”

“Something like that.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider him as if he were just some guy you might have met in line at a café. You weren’t that naïve, though. His body language, the soft authority of his presence, the way he barely had to speak to be heard — something told you this wasn’t just a mechanic with good bone structure.

“Cool,” you said instead, casual. “Must be nice, I guess.”

He shifted slightly, one hand resting on the duffel. “I take it you’re not a fan.”

You smiled wryly. “Not past the occasional thirst edits I scroll past online. Y’know, the kind that make you wonder if the helmets are compensating for something?”

He let out a quiet breath that was definitely a laugh. You weren’t sure if it was the way you said it or the way you didn’t say more, but suddenly he was watching you more directly now. Not intensely — just aware. Like he’d noticed you in a new way. Like you were no longer just background noise to his evening.

The elevator slowed with a chime.

“This is your stop,” he said, his voice lower this time, like he’d let it dip a little just for you.

“Yeah.” You hesitated a beat longer than necessary. “See you around, I guess. Enjoy the racing.”

He looked at you, and you could feel the smile behind his mask again. “Sure will.”

The doors opened.

You stepped out into the hallway, the carpet plush beneath your boots, and forced yourself to keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t look too interested. This wasn’t that kind of trip.

And yet—

As you turned the corner toward your room, you caught the briefest glimpse of the bag he’d been carrying.

Black canvas. Worn leather strap.

And stitched neatly along the side in silver and teal:

MERCEDES-AMG PETRONAS.

⟡

“I swear to God, he was a driver,” you said for the third time, leaning across the scratched, varnish-worn table as your friend laughed into the lip of her pint glass, unconvinced but entertained.

“You think he was a driver,” she corrected, mock-serious. “Or maybe he was just some tall dude with a cool duffel bag and a good skincare routine.”

You narrowed your eyes, a playful glare settling on your face. “No. No way. The way he carried himself — like he’s used to walking into rooms and immediately being the centre of attention. And the duffel said Mercedes. Mercedes, babe.”

She snorted and leaned back in the cracked leather booth, crossing her arms over her chest. “Then you should’ve asked for his number.”

You groaned dramatically, dropping your head back against the wall behind you. “Yeah, right. Me, ask him? The guy who probably has a million unread DMs from girls who look like models and talk like PR reps? No way.”

She rolled her eyes. “Simple logic. Those girls didn’t end up alone with him in an elevator.”

You blinked. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re literally the devil.”

“Imagine,” she went on, grin devilish now, “just making out with him in that elevator. Like full-on, movie scene shit. You pin him to the wall, the duffel slides down his arm — very dramatic. Hot.”

You choked on your beer, nearly spilling some on your shirt. “Jesus. Yeah, I’ll totally just stalk the lobby for hours until he comes back, throw myself into the elevator with him, and be like, ‘Hey, do you mind if I assault you with affection?’”

She raised her glass. “That’s the spirit.”

You clinked your pint gently against hers, still laughing as you took another sip. The pub was warm and dim, low amber lighting casting soft shadows on the scuffed wooden floors and aging Union Jack flags tucked into corners like lazy afterthoughts. The air smelled like beer, malt vinegar, and nostalgia. And for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, you felt okay. Not perfect, not fixed — but looser somehow. Softer around the edges.

You missed this. You missed her.

You dipped a fry in ketchup, savoring the salt. “I can’t thank you enough for this,” you said. “Really. Inviting me here, letting me crash in your universe for a little while. I know you’re working like crazy, but all of this means a lot.”

Her expression softened instantly, the sarcasm momentarily fading. “Babe, don’t get sentimental on me. You’re the one who needed this. And I’m glad you came.”

Then, without missing a beat: “But if you really want to thank me, hook up with mystery driver man. Do it for both of us.”

You groaned again. “I don’t even know who he was.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say his bag had a Mercedes logo?”

You nodded, half-laughing. “Yeah. All black, silver and teal stitching. Big duffel. Designer-looking.”

Immediately, she reached for her phone, thumbs already flying across the screen. “Dark hair?”

“Yep.”

“Blue eyes? Like – Cillian Murphy blue? Serial killer sexy blue?”

You paused. “I guess so? I didn’t stare into his soul or anything.”

She turned her phone around with a wicked grin.

“Was it him?”

The photo hit you like a punch.

You hadn’t expected to recognize him — at least, not like that. Not with his helmet halfway off and his eyes locked on something beyond the camera, mouth curled in a smirk like he knew exactly how dangerous he looked. But it was him. Or close enough to make your breath falter.

Same tousled hair. Same thick eyebrows. Same bone structure that bordered on unfair.

Your fingers curled around her phone before you realized what you were doing. You stared at the screen like it might blink back.

“What the fuck?” The words came out quiet. Dry. Stuck in your throat.

“That’s Keegan Russ,” she said, her voice smug with glee. “You just met the Keegan Russ.”

“Is he, like—”

“A big fucking deal?” She barked out a laugh. “Girl. He’s massive. He’s one of the top drivers on the grid right now. Drives for Mercedes, obviously. Crazy fast. Calm under pressure. Doesn’t really do social media so he’s even hotter. You, my love, literally ran into an F1 unicorn.”

You stared down at his photo, heartbeat skipping like a scratched record.

There was no way a guy like that could ever—

“Mind if I join you?”

You dropped her phone like it had burned you.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you looked up — and there he was.

Keegan.

Dressed in head-to-toe black, clean and casual, surgical mask still tugged over his face but unmistakable. His eyes — those fucking eyes — were already creased with amusement, like he’d caught the whole conversation from across the room.

Which, horrifyingly, he probably had.

Your friend immediately sprang to her feet, all false innocence and theatrical urgency. “Oh my God — yeah — actually, I was just leaving!”

You stared at her, betrayal in your eyes.

“Early day tomorrow,” she said, grabbing her bag. “You know how it is!” She mouthed something on her way out — call me later — and then she was gone, the door of the pub clinking shut behind her with a gust of warm summer air.

Keegan moved with quiet confidence, sliding smoothly into the booth like he belonged there. As if this wasn’t strange at all. As if he hadn’t just caught you thirsting over a photo of him two seconds ago.

He tugged down his mask and rested his hands on the table.

You stopped breathing.

His jaw was sharp, almost unreal under the warm light, and his mouth — those lips — soft, plush, the kind of mouth that made stupid thoughts short-circuit in your brain. The photos hadn’t done him justice. He wasn’t just hot. He was composed, statuesque, dangerous in that subtle way men are when they don’t need to try.

“You following me now?” you asked, managing a light tone even as your cheeks burned.

He met your eyes, steady and unreadable.

“I’m not the one with pictures of you on my phone.”

Your face went up in flames.

“Oh my God — I’m so sorry, that wasn’t — she pulled up the picture, I didn’t—”

“Relax.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “It’s cute.”

You blinked. Cute?

“So,” he continued, voice smooth and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be. “You’re really not into the whole racing thing, huh?”

He leaned back in the booth, one arm stretched along the top of the cracked leather seat, casual and confident in a way that made it hard to tell where the performance ended and the real Keegan began. The lighting in the pub flickered softly above his head, catching in the faint flecks of gold in his dark hair. The longer you looked at him, the more it felt like staring into the sun.

You shook your head, smiling guiltily. “No, sorry. I find it kind of boring, honestly. Just a bunch of cars going in circles, right?”

He let out a sharp, mock-injured tsk, his expression exaggerated. “Pity. And here I was—” He placed a hand dramatically over his heart “—ready to offer you and your friend paddock passes for the weekend. Exclusive. VIP. All-access.”

You blinked. “Wait. Passes? You’re joking.”

“Nope.” He sighed the way one might when recounting a great, tragic loss. “But since you’re not into cars, and you think it’s all terribly dull—”

“Well, now,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter, suddenly very interested. “I didn’t say that. I just meant I haven’t really given it a fair shot. Yet.”

His gaze sharpened like a spotlight narrowing its beam. “Mm. That’s what I thought.”

He reached forward and — without asking — plucked a lone fry off your plate. Cold. Limp. You watched him eat it anyway.

“You think you could try for me?” he asked around a lazy smile, like he already knew the answer. His tone was low and quiet and dangerous in the way it slipped under your skin, that velvety softness wrapped around something heavier.

“For you?” you asked, fighting the flutter in your chest. “You don’t even know my name.”

He tilted his head, those pale blue eyes catching yours and holding them like they were something he’d claimed already.

“[Name],” he said.

Your blood ran warm in your ears. “Okay — what? How the hell did you know that?”

He just blinked, calm and unbothered. “It was on your reservation,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You were holding the printout in the elevator. Real tight. Big bold letters.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“In the elevator,” he added, too innocently. “Where your friend was telling you to kiss me.”

“Alright,” you groaned, putting your face in your hands. “Shut up.”

He laughed — a real one this time. Warm and low and real enough to tug something loose in your stomach.

He leaned forward again, close enough that you could smell the faint trace of cologne on his jacket — something sharp and clean with a hint of smoke. You hated how good it smelled. You hated how your pulse responded before your brain caught up.

“Passes still on the table,” he said, popping another cold fry between his lips. “But only if you promise not to fall asleep at the track.”

You looked at him, deadpan. “No promises. I might bring a pillow.”

“Ruthless.”

“But I will take the passes.”

He raised his glass toward you, just water, but the gesture made it feel like something ceremonial.

“To corrupting the uninitiated,” he said, voice dry with amusement.

You clinked your beer glass against his water, smiling despite yourself. “To being corrupted.”

⟡

You didn’t know what to expect — not really. You’d tried to imagine it in the days leading up to this, but nothing could have prepared you for the visceral reality of race day. You knew there would be crowds, yes. Screaming, of course. That kind of electrified chaos was baked into the very idea of Formula 1, wasn’t it? But even so, as you stepped into the paddock and took your place at the railing, just a few breaths away from the pit lane, it struck you like a thunderclap.

The sound was the first thing that hit you — low, guttural, and omnipresent, like a heartbeat rumbling beneath the surface of the earth. Engines revved in the distance with the rawness of beasts being roused. Voices barked commands through headsets and radios, mechanics in their matching jumpsuits swarming around the cars like precise, restless insects. Everything shimmered with tension: the smell of hot tarmac, the sharp bite of gasoline in the air, the flash of sun against chrome. Heat rose from the track in wavering mirages, warping the world around you just enough to make it feel like a dream.

But nothing — nothing — was more surreal than the sight of Keegan Russ, standing twenty feet away.

Your body went still the moment you saw him, as if every muscle in your frame had seized in reverence. There he was, wearing a sleek black racing suit that molded to his form like armor, every movement purposeful, fluid, controlled. His brown hair was pushed back from his face in soft, errant waves, slightly tousled, holding his helmet under one arm. A few dark strands fell into his brow, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was focused, locked into a conversation with one of his engineers, nodding as he listened. The way he stood — weight slightly shifted to one side, arms relaxed but never careless — was so inherently magnetic that you felt yourself tip forward without meaning to, hands gripping the railing to steady yourself as something hot and unfamiliar bloomed low in your stomach.

Around him, the world spun on. Cameras flashed. Other drivers strutted by, their suits adorned in rival colors — brilliant red and white, deep blue, sharp neon yellow. You recognized some of the names now, thanks to the rabbit hole of race recaps and YouTube videos you’d fallen into the past few nights: Leclerc, Hamilton, Verstappen. Faces that made the internet melt every Sunday afternoon.

But you didn’t care. None of them registered. They could have been cardboard cutouts for all they mattered.

Your eyes found only him.

Keegan didn’t look up. Didn’t glance toward the paddock or wave at the grandstands or acknowledge the girls in the crowd below waving banners with his name on them — black and silver flags caught in the wind, their screams slicing through the roar of the engines. Girls wearing cropped Mercedes merch and liquid eyeliner sharp enough to wound. Girls who knew what he looked like at every angle, who knew his stats, his wins, his rumored exes. Girls who would kill to be where you were.

And still — he didn’t look up.

He was somewhere else now, mentally, you could tell. Locked in. Already racing.

You reached for your phone before remembering he wouldn’t have his on him — not here, not now. You didn’t want to break his focus anyway. Still, the last message you’d sent him that morning was burned into your mind: Good luck today. Simple. Honest.

His reply had come minutes later.

Don’t fall asleep when I win.

You hadn’t known what to make of it at the time — too confident, too cheeky. But now, watching him like this—his composure, his stillness, the precision in every movement — it didn’t feel cocky anymore. It felt inevitable.

Your friend was off in the bathroom, likely practicing her smile in the mirror or fixing her lip gloss, still high on the thrill of the paddock passes. She’d practically burst into tears when you told her. “You can have Keegan,” she’d said, grinning like a menace, “but don’t think for one second I’m not going to seduce a Ferrari driver for the plot. It’s summer, bitch. You owe it to the narrative.”

You’d laughed, then. It felt light. Now everything felt heavier. Realer.

You let your gaze settle on Keegan again, heart pounding a little too hard for your own comfort.

And then — right before he climbed into the car — he looked up.

The contact was immediate. Direct.

His eyes found yours with unnerving ease, like he'd known where you were all along. His mouth twitched beneath the edge of his helmet, not quite a smile, but close. And then he winked.

A single wink that sent your body into full-blown meltdown.

You were gone.

Your knees went jelly-soft. The noise of the paddock blurred. The crowd dissolved. The heat was unbearable now — not from the weather, but from within. You were flushed and breathless, heart thudding in your throat. You had never, in your life, wanted someone so much in so little time.

The race began minutes later, but the next hour and a half felt eternal.

Not boring, not in the slightest. It was gripping — every sound, every lap, every shiver of rubber against asphalt — but you weren’t watching the race. You were watching him.

The first lap was chaos. You could barely follow what was happening. Cars zipped by in flashes of light and color. The announcer’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers, naming positions you didn’t understand fast enough to care. All you knew was when Keegan slipped back a place, your body reacted like he’d been stabbed.

He was third. Then fourth. Back to third. Time crawled.

Your friend returned, thrusting a bottle of water into your hand like you’d just emerged from the desert.

“You need to breathe, girl,” she said, laughing. “It’s just a race.”

“It’s not just anything,” you muttered, watching the black car disappear down the straight again. “It’s him. What if he loses? Look, he’s not in the lead.”

She rolled her eyes, affectionately. “He’s a closer. He’s not flashy early on. But once those last ten laps hit? Baby, just watch.”

And she was right.

At lap sixty, Keegan was still in third, and you were gripping her arm like a lifeline.

By lap sixty-five, he was second.

By lap sixty-eight, he made a move that caused the entire grandstand to scream as one — cutting inside, braking late, diving ahead.

Lap seventy was a blur of speed and color and deafening sound — and then he crossed the line.

First.

The stadium erupted like thunder. Applause. Cheers. Flags waved; champagne flew somewhere behind the barricades. You barely registered it. You turned to your friend, both of you screaming incoherently, arms flung around each other. Your water bottle was crushed between your bodies, forgotten.

⟡

It was late by the time you returned to the hotel — late enough that the lobby had emptied out, the chaos of the day finally fading into memory, leaving only hushed conversations and the distant hum of the city beyond the glass doors. The buzz of the race still clung to your skin, like leftover static, something residual and unshakable. Your shoes clicked quietly against the marble floor as you stepped into the elevator, a little unsteady from the cocktails you and your friend had downed at the bar two blocks away. Sweet drinks, sticky with syrup and lime and some sharp liquor that tasted like fire going down. You felt light-headed and warm all over, pleasantly untethered, the kind of weightless that only came from too much excitement and just enough alcohol.

All you wanted now was to shower — peel off your sweat-slicked clothes, let hot water sluice over your skin, rinse away the tang of alcohol and sun and the trace amounts of emotional chaos you hadn’t fully admitted to yet. The thought of sliding between cool, expensive hotel sheets made your body ache with anticipation. You closed your eyes for just a moment, swaying gently as the elevator doors began to close—

—and then a hand shot through the gap.

The doors jolted open with a polite chime, and Keegan slipped inside. A strong feeling of déjà-vu crept up in your throat like nausea.

He was slightly out of breath, as if he’d just sprinted through the hallways to catch you, his chest rising and falling beneath a tight black t-shirt that clung to him in a way that was very unfair. A racing jacket hung from one arm, slung casually over his shoulder, and his hair — already messy from the helmet earlier — was now worse, disheveled and perfect. There was a flush in his cheeks, high and rosy from exertion or excitement or maybe both. His lips were parted slightly. His eyes — God, those eyes — were half-lidded and heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“God,” he exhaled, bracing one hand against the wall of the elevator. “You’re fucking hard to find.”

You looked at him, tried to keep your smile contained, your voice casual, but it betrayed you — warm at the edges, fond, a little too amused. “Jesus,” you said softly. “You look like shit.”

That was a lie, of course. If anything, he looked unfairly good. Radiant, even, in that flushed, windblown way that comes after something momentous. His shirt clung to his back in places. His arms — heavens help you, those arms — flexed faintly as he adjusted the jacket slung over his shoulder.

“Mm.” He grinned, tilting his head to the side. “I don’t think so.”

You turned your face away just slightly, eyes on the slow climb of the floor numbers — three, four — trying not to let your expression betray you. But you felt the heat rise in your cheeks anyway. Your whole body was pulsing now, nerves alive beneath your skin.

“Not gonna congratulate me?” he asked, after a short pause, voice thick with teasing. “Seems like the least you could do.”

“I’m sure you’ve had enough smoke blown up your ass today,” you said, dryly.

He barked out a laugh. “Ouch. True. But that’s not the same.”

You met his gaze again then, and something in his eyes made your stomach flip. You laughed, and he grinned wider at the sound. You didn’t notice how close he’d stepped until the space between you felt barely manageable — like a live wire buzzing between your shoulders, brushing down your spine.

“You eaten yet?” he asked.

“No. Just drinks.”

He tsked, gently. “Christ. Well. Let me take you to dinner then. Properly this time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to hang out with your little… racer friends? Bask in your victory or whatever it is that F1 gods do after winning?”

“Not one bit.” His voice was serious now. Quieter.

And then, to your absolute disbelief, he reached out — calmly, with purpose — and pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt.

You blinked. “Keegan — what are you doing?”

He turned to face you fully now, shoulders square, body radiating warmth in the suddenly too-small space. His tone was lazy, but that same heat simmered just below the surface.

“Just making sure you keep your word.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What word?”

He tilted his head, mock-offended. “Something about making out with me in an elevator? Ring a bell?”

Your face went nuclear.

“Oh, fuck off,” you said, laughing, your voice caught somewhere between embarrassment and disbelief.

But he didn’t laugh.

He moved closer.

You could feel the heat of his body now, just inches from yours. You were aware of everything: the low thrum of the halted elevator, the soft buzz of electricity behind the panels, the warmth of the air, the slight sway of the space beneath your feet.

He reached up and cupped your cheek gently with one hand — his palm broad and warm, his touch so gentle it nearly made you gasp. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone, grazing the heat there.

“Something like this?” he murmured.

And then he kissed you.

It started slow — his mouth brushing yours like a promise, like he was asking a question and already knew the answer. The first touch was almost reverent, a whisper of lips that made your knees tremble. Then he deepened it — pressing forward, hand still cradling your cheek, the other finding your waist, steadying you as if he felt the shift in your balance before you did. His mouth was warm, insistent, tasting faintly like mint and the faintest trace of champagne.

You melted.

There was no other word for it.

Your hands found his chest first, fingers splayed over the hard plane of muscle beneath his shirt, and then you were pulling him closer, wanting more — needing more. He kissed you like he’d been waiting for this all day. Maybe longer. Like he had something to prove, and he was proving it with every slow drag of his lips against yours, every tilt of his head, every brush of his thumb over your jaw.

When he finally pulled back, it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath came hot and unsteady, mouth still parted, lips slick from the kiss.

“Been thinking about doing that,” he murmured, voice rasped.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Since when?”

He smirked, pressing another quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Since the elevator. The first time.”

You leaned into him, laughing, breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he said, lips brushing your cheek. “But you’re into it.”

And God help you — he was right.

[visibleclosedeyes]

Glory Gap (hole)

She came back from a long day at work, her hands are still somewhat bloody from her recent victim as well. In the innocent and cute little Kuromi bag, hides away a rancid secret in the form of a human heart and a pair of hands. A little souvenir for her very own ghost boyfriend who has no actual full body. He always complains and makes a judgmental face whenever she gives him her recent harvest–still, he always takes it afterward regardless. What a loveable shithead. 

Putting the bag right next to the sink, she begins to unpack the contents that were wrapped carefully in another two layers of plastic bag. Blood drips down the curve of the steel sink–leaving a fainted red tint before dissipating and diluting down by the clean water. The scene is so cozy and peaceful as if the woman is preparing to cook dinner after a long day of hard work.

It isn’t wrong to think that way since she is also preparing food for Mr. Gap as well. He is judgy and very picky, he has no problem letting her know just what exactly he likes and what he doesn’t like–so she makes a mental note for when cooking. ‘Mr. Gap is a resident so he could only eat humans and other residents, he preferred his meals not too bloody but also not too dry, human meat preferred to be harvested fresh that day. He wouldn’t touch anything that has visited the fridge even for a few seconds. Heart is his favorite but almost all body parts are fine with him.’  While she is preparing meals for both of them, a familiar face appears between the crack in the wall right above the counter she is working on

“Hello,” Mr. Gap greets. Like clockwork, he greets you like this every day. It’s kinda endearing–accompanied by that shit-eating grin he always has on his face whenever they meet. Seriously, he is adorable.

“Hello,” She replies in the same manner that he did which caused his smile to grow wider and his eyes more narrow. Mr. Gap likes it when she speaks to him in ghost language–In his opinion, it is a far better language than the one she is using with other humans

                “Work fun?” her ghostly boyfriend asks but there seems to be no genuine curiosity in that statement—he knows it is hell for her but simply just wants to rub it in for her for the fun of it. Again, what a loveable shithead. 

                 “Really? I got you your food and you are making fun of me? unbelievable,” you said in a mocking exasperated tone. Although, Mr. Gap has no idea what you are just saying he can sense that his teasing went through and that fact got him grinning wider than a Cheshire cat.   To her surprise, a lanky gray arm reached out from the darkness making a grabbing motion. 

                   “Give your heart?” 

                   “No.”

                   “Disappointed,” his arm immediately goes limp, and his eyes narrow in disappointment. The audacity of this ghost man to demand her heart yet again, even after she was out there hunting for food for him, never ceases to amaze her. 

        “Damn, you are judgy, aren’t you? Come get your food–it's ready,” She said, handing him a bowl of human hearts and hands. Mr.Gap takes a quick look at it and narrows his eyes again. 

        “Literally the same as what you like to eat before, same food. Heart, hands” She rolls her eyes–this man is truly going to be the death of her if she isn’t careful. Can’t believe she finds this attractive but then again–she kills people in her free time, being normal isn’t exactly something that is part of herself in any way. He still narrows his eyes but then decides to take the bowl in–in mere minutes he returns the bowl from the dark that he occupied to me, not a single part or a drop of blood was left. 

After finishing her meal and cleaning the dishes for both of them, she excused herself to bathe. The warm water splashes against her body as she slowly lets herself sink into the tub–bathing after work is god-sent, she can feel the tension in her muscles melt away as if it vaporizes into the steam. A pair of eyes appears again in one of the cracks on the wall at the opposite position. She needs to patch some holes up. 

“Chest,” Mr.Gap smirks with a shit-eating grin. His hand reaches from the dark, and without any decorum, grabs a handful of one of her tits. Any person should be mortified by this (if they weren’t already because Mr.Gap isn’t even a human,) but she can’t say she really minds–yeah, she is already gone mentally since the time she came back from that mirror world

“Come, here,”

He said, and in the crack of the wall behind her–a large member sticking out from the shadow. Mr.Gap’s cock or at least that is what she thinks it is, is large–the largest she has ever seen in any man. The looks of it are rather–fascinating, it has an unnatural grey hue to it and gets darker at the tip of his cock. It is twitching a bit–with a wet residue of pre-cum dripping from the tip. This is insane–she thinks but then realizes that there has been no single sane person in this room since the beginning. Only one serial killer and her ghost boyfriend who has a thing or two with body parts. 

So, she goes closer. She drops to her knees so quickly that she winces at the impact of her knees against the wooden floor. She draws her lips closer to it–and feels the temporary contact as it twitches on and out of her lips’ range. Her plump lips grace along the shaft of her ghastly, always-in-a-hole lover. She couldn’t smell his scent and surprisingly, he wasn’t dead cold. He smells…clean? His skin is only a little colder than usual, like how a person feels after a long exposure to a strong air-con wind. 

(not finish)

As the tip of his digit presses against her lips trying to push it into her throat, in another crack in the wall just right behind her–another cocks emerges from the dark, looking the same. Her shower is as small as a test tube so she can service both simultaneously. Thrill creep creeps from her brain through her spine right to her sex at the idea of being spit-roasted by her ghost boyfriend. She is not a virgin, no but she also never was adventurous enough to try anything new like this–so in a way, this is her first time.

“So…so large,”

“You like?

“Yes…”

“Big good,” He said, again, with his signature shit-eating grin

“Please…take it slo–Ah! Wait!” Before she can even finish, the cock that sheathed in her pussy moves without warning. The movement is rather inconsiderate–each thrust attacks deep within her core, he somehow figured out her sweet spot and thrust onto them repeatedly earning a loud pathetic moan from her. 

“You loud, like?” He asks sounding rather unsure but his pace has never stopped. She whimpers–unable to form any intelligible sentence as waves after waves of pleasure crash through her 

“Close! I’m gonna–” Without warning, her body was rushed by a surge of orgasms as her ghost lover still fucking her without mercy. She screams as her body was fucked roughly through orgasm. Suddenly, the pace became uneven and reckless, he was close. With a last forceful thrust, a strangely warm seed was pumped into her womb

“Good human,” Mr. Gap said after retracting his member and then disappearing for the night. Something tells her this is not going to be the last time.

[paper-mario-wiki]

It only recently occurred to me that the Garden of Eden Creation Kits, or G.E.C.K. devices in Fallout, stand as a karmic opposite to the symbol of the nuclear bomb.

The nuclear bomb is effective as a weapon is a two stage attack. First there's the boom. An invention the size of a small car, in a flash so short you wouldn't even be able to think about it before being vaporized if you were anywhere within 2 miles of where it was, and you'd be lucky to live longer than 10 minutes if you weren't at least 10 miles away. An unstoppable, unhaltable fire that burns hot enough to vaporize anything even remotely alive instantly, and it's the size of a city before you have enough time to say "oh my god look at that". And then, after this devastating, all consuming flame goes out, the decay left over from that little drop of metal leaves the earth, the water, the sky, and all other physical domains completely uninhabitable for YEARS. It instantly creates a domain so remarkably dangerous that it becomes a global landmark. I'd say that it is only slightly hyperbolic in a cheesey poetic way that what a nuclear bomb does is create the closest thing to literal hell on earth that humans are currently capable (whether by scientific limitation, or by moral unwillingness) of creating.

On the other hand, the G.E.C.K., a sleek silver briefcase the size of a 2005 laptop, acts as a compact seed to create a stable, healthy environment, with enough power in a hyper-dense coal fusion battery to power a city. A succinct utopia in a box. In early depictions this was described as hyper resilient seeds, chemical mixtures to create viable soil, instructions for how to disassemble and reuse shelters to become extremely resilient and powerful new world places of safety, as well as vast documents on the details and assembly of advanced and highly efficient technologies like force fields. In later games, it was increased to something of a mythical item, capable of literally terraforming miles of earth down to the molecular level to be safe for habitation, as well as the ability to replicate anything you might need in terms of rations or supplies. In its own way, it is mankind's best attempt (at least in the Fallout universe) to create a massive-scale utopia in as small of a box, that creates as close to a heaven on earth, as possible. And it's even got a biblical tie-in right in the name. I think that's very fitting.

[fabbyf1]

*taps microphone* is this thing on?

oh, hello.

it's me, yah girl.

you'll never guess what grandma's been up to.

after avoiding my google docs for weeks months, i have finally dusted them off and started writing again. i'll be honest with you guys: i've gone through a lot of ups and downs with writing recently, where i loved it one day and hated it the next, which is why i took such a massive break. i don't like to post things i'm not proud of, and don't fully believe in, so i'm glad i took some time away to do other things and not let writing fanfiction ruin my mental health.

but now? WE'RE BACK BABY. i followed troy bolton's advice and got my head in the game and thought to myself, what would bring you joy to write? and there was really only one answer to that question.

lestappen.

so that's what i've done.

i set out to make this a one-shot pwp, and if that's what i decide it's going to be, then it's pretty much complete right now and just needs an edit. but i think i'm gonna try to add more onto it over the next couple days and make it a short story instead.

it won't be anything massive like long live or vapor, but maybe a little more than a one-shot.

happy charles on pole day, besties. thank you for sticking by me while i got my life together.

snippet under the cut.

context: friend-charles has a bad hook-up and asks friend-max to give him an honest blow job review

Charles stretched his neck to the left and right as if he was about to hop into his car. 

“Do you always stretch before giving someone a blow job?” Max asked, ignoring the sweat that was forming around his hairline. 

“Fuck off,” Charles said lightheartedly. He brought his hands up and hesitated for just a moment before resting them gently on Max’s knees. Don’t be weird, don’t be weird, don’t be weird. Max was proud when the muscles of his thighs didn’t twitch or anything at the contact. “Now move your hand out of the way,” Charles instructed, looking down at where Max was covering himself.

“You’re bossier than I thought you’d be,” Max said, trying to sound as normal as possible. 

“Is that right?” Charles asked, hands still gripping Max’s knees. “Do you think about me often, Max Verstappen?” 

“I—” Max squeaked, which was somehow more embarrassing than sitting with his cock out. He glared at him as he said, “Fuck you.” Charles looked delighted by his words, which only made Max narrow his eyes further. “Don’t make me regret this,” Max warned, finally letting his hand fall to his side. 

Charles looked at where Max was lying soft against his thigh. “Do you need me to flirt with you or something?” 

Max scoffed. “No, asshole, I don’t need—” 

“Ohhh, Max, you’re so handsome,” Charles cooed in a high-pitched tone anyway. Max’s jaw dropped open in shock. “You’re so big and strong and fast,” Charles continued, batting his eyes at him in an exaggerated way that would be comical if he wasn’t on his knees. “Mister three-time world champion with a big dick and a—”  

Max’s cock twitched, and they both saw it happen. 

“Oh my god,” Charles said, gasping loudly before cackling. “Oh my god, that actually did it for you?” 

“No!” Max snapped, covering himself again with his hands. “Fuck you! It was a coincidence!” But he wasn’t even sure if Charles could hear him over his roaring laughter.

This might be the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to him.

He always knew that Charles Leclerc would be his downfall, but he never expected it to be over a blow job.

[jazeswhbhaven]

The Encounter of Two Flames | React | Spoilers

HOW WE DOIN' LOVELIES? We've got ourselves a Gehenna eventtttt<3 Why not have one during the anniversary of WHB launching? Satan was our first and he's here to tell us his story.

I for one feel like it's nice getting know "young" Satan and seeing this new sprite of his.

I waited for compile the first four days together because making a post for each damn day was becoming tedious lol. Sure it's good for spreading out screenshots but my adhd is k i l l i n g me.

Let's get started tho yeah?

"As they always do"....

Like good fucking lord Gehenna is always being attacked. I've said this once and I'll say it again like the angels really have fucking beef with Satan it seems. They barely touch the other parts of Hell.

Cameo from the bae, thank you for letting us know your thoughts boo. ʃƪ˘ﻬ˘) ♡´

So anyways Gehenna is under fire for a different reason today, it is none other than Sitri that's burning up the entire place and even his sprite is just nothing but blue fire.

In science class ya'll, we remember that blue flames are actually hotter than the orange ones. So I can imagine it's a good thing that Solomon or MC weren't here cause yeah they would of been instantly vaporized.

But all the devils are trying to put the fire out, can't cause water ofc won't help here.

I imagine Sitri's fire is more of a energy/essence sourced fire though so ofc it can't be extinguished by "normal" methods.

AND THEN HERE COMES THE BOO BEAR.

Young Satan is peak I swear. He's spunky, full of life, catty, I feel he's easily annoyed more, and just got that "it" factor. Not to say the older him is drained and used up, but definitely more mature.

So he goes to his demonic monster form, which as far as we've seen he's the only one that has a form like that. I'd like to assume the others do too but don't have to use it as often or at all.

cough we should have a h-scene with monster demon satan cough

So....why did Sitri burn up Gehenna??

Well it turns out that Sitri wasn't necessarily doing this on purpose.

Normally, our blue haired mr perfect shoes has everything together. Here he doesn't. Phew....Sitri I know something ain't right when your room is as messy as Paimon's (canon stuff that Paimon doesn't keep his room clean lmao)

Like? even Sitri's appearance is all kinds of fucked. Dry cracked lips, fucked up hair, like our baby is not doing well ya'll.

Andddd Belialllllll the bae <3 comes to visit. Jjyu and his loud mouthed self..

What kills me is that Sitri literally was like "I didn't hear you."

WHAT?

And then we find out through Belial writing it down because he didn't want Jjyu making shit worse (good call) that it wasn't Sitri's fault that the recent battle went all wrong and a lot of devils were killed in the process.

Sitri feels responsible for their deaths and is spiraling right now overthinking the past and thinking how it could have been better.

I feel sorry for him, because there was a time in my life where I would do the same and basically be so deep in my regret and guilt I neglected my health, my surroundings, my friendships...pretty much everything. It wasn't a good time so I know what Sitri is going through.

We even hear him mention that Zagan was badly injured (Astaroth too)

Jjyu shut the hell up omg lmaooooo

(him in response to Sitri explaining that Zagan could barely speak he was hurt so badly) Belial glares at him for that btw lmao

Satan also got injured it seems so it sounds like this battle went really bad.

Sitri even asks to be alone, and well Belial gets it and leaves promptly. I really like seeing Belial be more interactive this go around because we barely get that from the Gehenna devils in the main story and the last event in Gehenna was mostly just Minhyeok and Ppyong.

This gives me an insight as to how Belial is in personality, and really aside from Jjyu, he's really just chill and seems very pleasant to be around in general. I wish we could see what his eyes look like. It would change me forever.

So we're at the meeting that happens a few days later and well Sitri is still in a sullen mood. Since Zagan and Astaroth are out of commission, Amy was invited to come.

Oh so it seems Amy is going to be popping up since we got introduced. That's pretty nifty.

And Leraye is definitely worried about Sitri, wondering if he's sleeping, eating, and his condition has gotten worse. I imagine Sitri hasn't sleep in days since the event.

Paimon tries to lighten the mood but bless his heart it doesn't work when...

Amy starts going off about Sitri ordering him and his men to go east, and well that was the wrong call this time. I see it as a simple miscalculation but in the heat of war...perhaps things like this can't just be mistakes. lives are at stake, and devils aren't being re-produced anymore. Their extinction is literally inevitable during these battles.

Even if it weren't, lives were still lost and Amy takes this personally because it was HIS men who were affected the most.

I guess this seemed like the "best" time to bring up why Amy hates Sitri so much but it's like???? "because he looks like a girl?"

I'm just going to take this as Amy just not liking how elegant Sitri is with everything and how it compares to his rough and rash behavior. I don't think he truly would care if anyone looks more feminine.

And well because Amy started some shit, Sitri took a piece of paper, spat in it and threw it at Amy. So naturally...here we are.

Now a couple things about this scene...Zagan is present...and then there's a random devil there which this a private meeting for the nobles so why????

idk....let's just keep going lol

So Amy goes on to further berate Sitri and saying that he's aware that him and his subordinates have to follow orders once they get them from the center, so if the orders were better thought out his men wouldn't of died.

Sitri tells him why doesn't he kill him then since it was as if he did it himself and Amy is all like ????

And here we see more of their banter dynamic and it's almost as if Amy literally just holds back and only fights with words. Sitri physically maims and does things to him just as we saw in the previous event.

He even broke his wrist here like damn. And came in like-

Like good lord Sitri chill

And then Sitri starts to smack the shit out of him and cuss him out some more and Paimon stops the fight because Amy is literally about to give him a concussion at this point. Paimon invited Amy because he felt it would be good to go over the battle with him there but he realizes all it did was make things worse.

Leraye goes to even try and talk with Sitri to see if he's taking care of himself and well, obviously he's not. He's still focused on the battle and his mistakes.

A few days later happens and Sitri is front and center because Amy pretty much said he isn't listening to him anymore and doing what he thinks is best.

And Sitri isn't doing so hot in battle either. He's shooting without a plan or strategy, other devils are just standing around. Yes angel's are dying but he's just...doing whatever and hasn't had proper sleep or anything.

He's such a mess Satan had to come in and kick his ass in the middle of battle and set him straight.

So it's safe to say that Satan doesn't like tasteless and useless anger. There has to be a purpose for your anger and for him to thrive on it and he just ain't diggin' it from Sitri at the moment.

Oh boy...I don't have a good feeling about that.

So we go back to the time when Gehenna was up in flames. We have Leraye snippin' and doin' his thing and Ppyong helping with bringing over bullets. They then notice Sitri on the battlefield and he seems to be killing every single angel accurately but....our boy Leraye knows best.

He tells Ppyong to STOP Sitri because this isn't a planned attack, he is literally killing everyone that gets in his range. Doesn't matter if it's angel or devil.

Sitri is literally so damn tired he can't even notice or care anymore and is just going at it.

And that's when everyone notices the flames at the same time. They are erupting from Sitri's body.

Belial even uses his hoarse voice to call out to Sitri and we know that's serious.

And sorry like I know that Sitri is in a bad place and bad spot rn but he looks so pretty here. The blue and pink contrasts are definitely a Sitri signature look.

But yeah that fire is way too hot for anyone to do anything. Even Leraye is told that he can't help. So Ppyong runs off to find Amy to help.

Leraye does attempt though, but it's no use, and Paimon had to come and save him. (they're so cute I love them)

And ya'll it was THREE damn days that fires were going and THREE days that Sitri was like that just in the middle of the square. Also...damn why did it take three days for Ppyong to go find Amy? (he explains later that the teleportation talisman just couldn't keep up with Amy)

But the Gehenna bois are all going over how they don't blame Sitri, they blame themselves for letting him hold that weight of being responsible for everything that happens. It's that weight that led to his current state and now things were worse off for everyone but they feared most for Sitri's life and well-being.

But Amy finally shows up and well his attempts to help the situation were hopeful at first...but sadly...

Amy gets stabbed in the stomach with one of the iron maiden spikes...which at this point are surrounding Sitri like vines to protect him. This raw power is actually quite impressive if it weren't ya know killing everyone around him in a blind haze.

I wonder if he was able to tap into that while training in Hades?

But...yeah I was rooting for Amy to bring him back here because you know frenemies and stuff like that (or for those who ship them only Amy can bring him back)

BUT Satan comes to the rescue!

Poor Amy, I swear he's always gettin' tossed around and shit lol

Also as many times Amy has been slashed and punctured in the stomach you would assume he'd never recover from that.

But we have something important here that I'd like to talk about for a minute that Satan reveals...

He mentions that Sitri is dealing with depression and that he must have gotten it from him. If we remember from his info card he is the embodiment of depression in Hell. He is depression. So his right hand devil that's always around him? Yeah eventually he's gonna get bit by the bug.

And I like that Satan isn't the typical representation of depression either. He always seems upbeat, active, and doing everything and anything. But as we have seen in the main story he has emotional wounds that haven't healed and he wonders if they will. He was speaking of the loss of Solomon, but I'm sure there's more to it than that which existed way before he even met him.

Now we see that Sitri is literally not taking care of himself, wallowing, self destructing, that's what most folks usually see and demonize when folks are going through IRL depression. They never seem to pay attention to the person who has it all together because why would they have depression? they're doing fine right?

n o p e.

So here we are...knowing the source. And why Satan has decided to be the one to save Sitri. And well since he can't do that as himself he has to transform to his monster form to do it.

I'd just like to bring up that he's so damn cute here. The jokester.

But it seems that Satan doesn't take his monster form often. We've seen it first when he met Solomon to test him, we see it when he fights Mammon that one time in one of the comics iirc, and we see it now.

I wonder when was the first time he ever had to use his monster form?

But either way, he carries Sitri out of the flames, and even though Sitri is still on fucking fire burning on his back Satan can handle it. Even Astaroth is concerned and comes to see if Satan is okay.

Satan starts traveling somewhere..."where memories flicker" to go put out the fire though, and everyone is following him.

Satan keeps mentioning that Sitri kept a promise to him that he wouldn't die. And I think we will get to the root of that soon.

And that's when we go to a F L A S H B A C K

ALRIGHT TIMELINE SHIT TAHNK

So...with this bit of info this is what I've gathered-

-Satan, Belphie, Mammon, and Leviathan all were already here before Lucifer was

-Gehenna was not in existence yet, but Tartaros and Hades were

-This possibly happened around the same time that Mammon was trapped (or after)

S T O P fueling my damn SHIP (and by stop I mean keep doing it.)

So apparently in a land assuming early Gehenna there were rumors of a beautiful beast, and Satan was like "oh levi??? :D" but clearly not him lol

I just think it's funny that his first thought was Leviathan. (he'd be like yeah think of me first you idiot)

AND WE SEE EARLY RED LUMPLINGSSSSSSSSSSS

the babiessssssssssss

They must have been before Ppyong because I don't see him here. So hopefully we get to see when Ppyong arrived!!

So what Satan is doing right now is traveling with these three going to find what this beast is and if he can find his right hand devil in order to help him build his kingdom.

Coming of age story it seems...lol

Now this background made me be like oh....it's a pond literally full of rank ass blood.

Now i'm gonna gross ya'll out, but every time I see things like this I think of how period blood smells when it's been sitting on a pad for too long or in the trashcan with other bloody pads and it just smells really bad like tissue and blood because that's what it is....

But yeah I scrunched my nose because I'm like Hell is not the place for me and my nose I'd literally wish for sense of smell to vanish.

one of the red lumps throws up and well I don't blame him...lol

nice to know that he says that to basically everyone and everything even in his past lol

BUT it seems tomorrow we're going to see who it is he's calling out to, my guess is it's probably Sitri because well...the story IS about them meeting after all.

There we have it ya'll, day one through four! I think for the rest of the days I'm just going to do two days at a time for each post I make instead of waiting four days because phew this was lot of catching up and writing lol

I'm realllyyyy feelin' Satan's look here btw. I've mentioned that already but Imma do it again lol

But overall so far I think I'm learning a lot about Sitri in a way I'd like to know more about Bael or Foras tbh since they are the right hand devils. I know we had a Niflheim event that showed Beleth, but I want to know what it is he did to fall to Hell and what that scar around his neck is about. And for those who didn't get Beel's bathcard we do get some of Bael's lore in there but only a crumb.

But alas...possibly may or may not get this but we'll see...

ANYWAYS thanks for reading and see ya'll on the next react ^^

[hunxi-after-hours]

Ooh, do you have any director's commentary/⭐ notes for "space, skin, muscle, bone"?

“Wei Ying.” It’s raining. Wei Wuxian is watching curls of water vapor twist and spiral into the air over the lights, embedded in the smooth stone tiles outside the Columbus Circle subway station. The lights are dim in the great glass façade where luxury stores usually glitter and glitz during the day; even the Whole Foods in the basement is quiet for once. The city itself is quiet for once, except the rain, and the slick of car tires over asphalt.

“Wei Ying.” “Look at the mist coming off the lights, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says, still crouching by the lamps. They’re protected from the elements and pedestrians by a sheet of glass and a frame of steel, screwed tightly down. “When I was walking over, I thought they were burning.” “Mn.” He can hear Lan Wangji slow to a stop just behind him. “It’s late.” Wei Wuxian sighs, stands, stretches. His entire body groans in protest. “I know. The next A train isn’t for another twenty minutes, and it’s going to take over an hour for me to get home anyway, so I might as well appreciate the little things, you know?” Lan Wangji, in that white Harrington jacket, positively glows in the ambient streetlight. The rain is beading in his dark hair, and as Wei Wuxian glances at him, a droplet slides loose, falls on his lower lip. It’s saying something about how tired Wei Wuxian is that he doesn’t even have the energy to find that sexy—just beautiful and distant, like everything else about Lan Wangji. “Do you want…” Wei Wuxian might have been drifting off just a bit, but he snaps awake again when he hears Lan Wangji hesitate. He can count the number of times Lan Wangji has hesitated in the past few months of rehearsal on one hand. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Wei Wuxian blinks, and Lan Wangji obligingly explains further. “I have been staying in my brother’s apartment, which is only three stops uptown on the one. He is away tonight, so there is an empty room. If you would rather go home, I understand, I just—” if Wei Wuxian had a little more brain juice to spare, he would be trying to read the hell out of Lan Wangji’s body language, because something is going on there, “—thought I would offer.” It takes just about the rest of Wei Wuxian’s limited processing capacity to comprehend the parameters of Lan Wangji’s offer, and frankly, it’s very appealing. “That would actually be wonderful,” he says, and there’s an unparalleled opportunity to tease his co-star right now if only Wei Wuxian were awake enough to be flirty. Right now, his attraction to the concept of a bed that’s closer than two hours away is superseding any other attraction he might be feeling at the prospect of staying with Lan Wangji for the night. “You sure your brother’s okay with this?” “I would not have offered if I was unsure,” Lan Wangji says. “All right then,” Wei Wuxian says. “Take me home, Lan Zhan.”

(space, skin, muscle, bone)

this is not so much commentary but I was going through some of my old photos/videos recently and found the exact video that inspired this moment in the fic. I, too, had been at Columbus Circle on a rainy winter midnight, knowing that I had a solid twenty minutes to wait for the next uptown A train that would take me home after a long day of teching the show(s) I had been working on for at least a month at that point. for once, I had time to kill, so I spent a solid few minutes crouched by these ground fixtures, watching the steam spiral over the lights while the rain drizzled down, feeling the deep exhaustion from the consecutive late nights and the resignation that there was no speeding up the process of getting home. in many ways, Lan Wangji/Lan Xichen's Upper West Side apartment in this scene was a manifestation of my envy for one of my coworkers, who lived just off the 96th St stop (meanwhile, I was trying to make it up to 168th)

also, I was envisioning Lan Wangji in a very specific white windbreaker/jacket in this scene that I could not, for the life of me, track down. I think I described it to one of my friends and the closest we could get at the time was Harrington jacket, which is a term I have never used since. I still don't think it's quite the right cut (and I truly cannot imagine Lan Wangji in plaid, even if the plaid is the inside lining), but sometimes you just gotta hit post on the fic

(thank you for asking for a director's cut!)

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

I'm obsessed with your boog. Can I request more apple seed fluff and something funny??

Hi, Anon!

I'm sorry this has taken so long to get to. So many people have asked for Apple Seed blurbs, that I needed to take a break so I could focus on the "canon" story hahaha! I can definitely write you up a little funny Apple Seed piece.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Apple Seed (Bonus): Bun in the Inferno

Angel: (enters the kitchen in the middle of the night and pauses)

Vaggie: (tearing through the cabinets, scouring recipes, flipping and stirring various pots and pans) Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Angel: ........Hey, uh, whatcha doing, Vags?

Vaggie: Charlie. Midnight craving. (puts on a pair of goggles, opens a bottle of Infernal Ghost Pepper oil and blasts the skillet with a healthy dosage before dropping in black peppercorns, making them pop like popcorn kernels)

Angel: (coughs profusely as tears stream down his face) FUCKING HELL, VAGGIE!!!! WHAT IS SHE CRAVING?!?!?! I'M PRETTY SURE THAT RECIPE GOES AGAINST THE GENEVA CONVENTION!!! (closes his eyes and covers his nose and mouth with his robe)

Vaggie: (wipes the lenses of her goggles before she checks her list of Charlie's recent cravings) Brimstone Flavored Pickles, Spicy Jalapeño Ice Cream, Pepper Popcorn, Lava Cake with lava from Wrath, Scorched S'mores, and Blazing Burgers.

Angel: (stomach rolls as he gets secondhand heartburn) That crazy bitch tryin' ta get that baby killed or somethin???

Vaggie: No. She's just pregnant. (uses a pair of blacksmith tongs to plate up all the food on heavy duty, industrial grade, angelic steel tray) Very pregnant, and very much a demon princess.

Food: (pulsing in a red aura as spicy vapors rise from the midnight meal)

Angel: ......Vags?

Vaggie: ....Yes?

Angel: (pats Vaggie's shoulder) You're a good husband and father-to-be.

Vaggie: .....I'm a wife.... but thank you, Angel. That means a lot to me right now. (takes a deep breath and picks up the tray, carefully walking out of the kitchen) Wish me luck!

Angel: (salutes) Godspeed, Captain.

-A few minutes later-

Vaggie: (opens the door to her and Charlie's bedroom) Charlie, I have your food-

Charlie: (demon tail swipes out, steals the tray, and brings it into the deep, dark, recesses of the bedroom)

CHOMP!!! GRRRR!!! SNARL!!! RIP!!! TEAR!!! SNORRRF!!! CHOMP!!! CHEW-CHEW-CHEW!!!! GULP!!!

Vaggie: (slowly opens the door further once the sound of food being devoured stops)

Charlie: (sweet as a puppy, face and pajamas covered in food crumbs and sauces, and a broad smile on her face that makes her eyes sparkle) That was DELICIOUS, Vaggie! (tears up and sniffs back tears of joy) Y-You're too good to me!!!

Vaggie: (sighs and goes to the bathroom before coming back with a wet towel to help clean Charlie up) I'm doing the bare minimum, babe.

Charlie: (pouts) Then Kiss?

Vaggie: (chuckles and wipes off Charlie's face) Maybe after you brush your teeth. I'm afraid your mouth will melt my face off.

[cerealmonster15]

The Perfect Birthday Treat [Jamil/Azul]

Summary: Azul's birthday is coming up, and Jamil enlists Riddle and Ruggie to help him find a suitable gift. It has to be good enough to repay Azul for the spices he bought for Jamil's last birthday, after all. That, and perhaps another, not-so-secret reason…

Word count: 3361

[Ao3 Link] [See Ao3 for more tags and notes]

Jamil stood in front of the shelf, arms crossed, scowl cemented onto his face. His eyes scanned the array of trinkets before him, but no matter how long he glared at the items, his look of displeasure did not soften. 

“You look like you’re trying to vaporize that plush octopus,” Ruggie said, coming up from behind to stand next to Jamil. “Is that what you’re gonna get him?”

Jamil shook his head. “There’s no way Azul would accept that as an equal exchange for what he gave me last year.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you asked him for those.” Ruggie shrugged, folding his hands behind his head as he spoke. “That’s kinda on Azul if he went to all the trouble to find fancy spices himself."

“You know how Azul is, Ruggie,” Riddle said as he approached from Jamil’s other side. “It doesn’t matter if Jamil asked for it; the fact of  the matter is that he’s already given Jamil the nice gift, and he will be incredibly insufferable about it if Jamil’s next gift to him isn’t up to his standards.”

As Riddle spoke, a scowl akin to the one Jamil wore on his face formed on Riddle’s, as well. Such was the effect that thoughts of Azul Ashengrotto tended to have on people around him. 

Ruggie, however, only smirked. “Yeah, well, I bet Jamil wouldn’t be giving half as much thought to this if he didn’t have a big old CRUSH on the guy, shishisi…”

Jamil directed his scowl at the snickering Ruggie, his cheeks growing warm. “Shut the hell up. You agreed to come help me, so help me.”

“I really don’t understand your taste, Jamil…” Riddle shook his head. “But, Azul’s ulterior motives and your own feelings aside, a gift must be repaid nonetheless. Have you considered buying him something practical? Such as a new tie pin, or a desk organizer?”

Ruggie scrunched his nose at Riddle’s suggestions. “Yeah, because we really want Azul thinking about office supplies when he looks at Jamil.”

“Wh- Practical gifts are perfectly suitable to give to your peers!” Riddle sputtered. “What better way to show that you care for someone than to get them something that they can and will use on a day to day basis, and has meaningful functionality, so that you know it won’t burden them by just taking up space and collecting dust?!”

Ruggie shrugged. “I dunno, something fun? Or something expensive. Jamil, what’s your budget for winning over Azul’s affections?”

Jamil shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m leaving you at school next time.”

“It’s a valid question!” Ruggie protested, trailing after Jamil and Riddle as they moved further down the shopping stalls. “I bet if you handed him a fancy schmancy ring, his heart would stop.”

“Octopus have three hearts,” Riddle corrected. 

“Who’s to say he still has three when he’s on land? If those tentacles of his disappear, maybe he’s down two hearts.” Ruggie scratched the back of his head, looking to seriously consider this train of thought. “You think he’s still got blue blood when he’s on land?”

“None of that matters right now, and I’m not buying Azul a ring,” Jamil snapped. “We need to focus. Practical suggestions only.”

“I gave you two practical suggestions already,” Riddle huffed, “but, fine. Why not follow Azul’s own example and purchase him something consumable? There is a tea shop nearby that I visited with Trey and Cater recently. You can purchase from their selection of tea to take home, and I would say it is rather excellent quality. 

Jamil paused to consider this option.

As did Ruggie, who turned to Riddle with a grin. “Tea shops usually have good desserts, right?”

Riddle turned away, his cheeks dusting a light read. “...Y-yes, this one is no exception… But Azul holds a strict diet with himself, from what I recall, so I’m not sure how relevant those options would be.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Ruggie put a hand on both his companions’ shoulders. “Everyone likes a sweet treat, deep down. Let’s go check it out!”

“Th-that’s hardly the case with everyone, Ruggie!” Riddle protested, thoughts of Cater flashing in his mind. He turned to Jamil with a questioning look. “However, I do think it would be worth visiting, at the very least to check out the tea they have to offer. Are you interested, Jamil?”

For someone who outwardly and openly claimed to follow a perfectly curated meal plan, Azul’s lingering glances on the dessert displays in the cafeteria did not go unnoticed by Jamil. Really, that was something he felt that Azul and Riddle had in common. If the flustered look on Riddle’s face at the mere mention of this tea shop’s forbidden delicacies was any indication of the quality of said desserts, then perhaps even Azul wouldn’t be able to feign indifference when presented with a hand-selected snack. At the very least, he could pick out a few tea bags to go with it, so if Azul really insisted on denying his sweet tooth, he wouldn’t end up empty handed.

“Alright,” Jamil decided, “lead the way, Riddle.”

-

“So, we definitely have to sample everything before we can make the perfect decision on what to pick out for Azul, right?” Ruggie said, his eyes growing wide at the vast array of desserts and teas on display for purchase. “I mean, it would just be irresponsible if we didn’t take our time to really make sure we’re finding the absolute best possible choice, right?”

“Ruggie,” Riddle chided, “while there are no rules posted about a limit on how many samples you can try, there is still an unspoken expectation of etiquette to not overindulge yourself or waste the store’s supply!”

“Aw, c’mon,” Ruggie nudged Jamil beside him with his elbow, “how else is Jamil supposed to show Azul how dedicated he really is, huh? We’re talking about the fate of our friend’s love life, here!”

Jamil pointedly turned away from Ruggie and faced Riddle instead. “You’ve been here before, and your dorm serves a lot of tea and desserts for parties, right? Can I count on you for some recommendations?”

Riddle smiled. “Yes, absolutely. Come with me,” he said, leading Jamil over to the side of the shop where various tea bags and jars of loose leaf tea were displayed. “Perhaps we should start with selecting a tea first, and then I can help you pick out a dessert that pairs well with it. You drink quite a bit of tea as well, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jamil nodded, “that part won’t be too difficult, but I’ll just have to decide on a flavor profile, and if I want to give him something more herbal and relaxing, or a more energizing, caffeinated tea…”

“I suppose I can see the benefits of either in terms of Azul. A black or green tea may be more suited for his busy days, but then an herbal blend would be a nice respite when winding down after a long week…”

The two pondered silently over the selection before them, carefully picking up each choice to examine the ingredients, description, and packaging. One could never be too careful, especially when dealing with as fickle a recipient as Azul Ashengrotto.

“Some cake oughta help you think clearer, shishishi…”

Jamil and Riddle turned around, and Ruggie handed them each a toothpick with a cube of glazed lemon cake samples stuck on the tips. 

Riddle narrowed his eyes, but he and Jamil accepted the treats regardless. “Ruggie… You had better be pacing yourself.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it!” Ruggie grinned. “I told the nice granny at the counter the total truth, and she said she’d be happy to help us out with as many samples as we wanted!”

Jamil, chewing on the lemon cake cube he was offered, narrowed his eyes at Ruggie. “...What exactly did you-?”

“Oh, so these are your little friends!”

The little old lady that Ruggie mentioned walked up beside the group, holding out a platter of miniature samples of various desserts that were on display at the counter, alongside small sample-sized cups of teas they had in stock, as well. “You all can call me Granny Marigold. Your friend here told me all about your situation, so please don’t hesitate to try anything here that you’d like.”

“Thank you, Granny Marigold,” Riddle said, eyeing the plate with a barely concealed look of intense desire. “I hope Ruggie didn’t pester you too much for free samples.”

Granny only laughed. “No, not at all! …Oh, I recognize your face, sweetheart,” she said, smiling down at Riddle. “You were here just last week with a few other friends, weren’t you? Riddle, was it?”

Riddle blinked up at her in surprise, eyes wide. “Yes, I-I was… I thought the service and quality was excellent, and recommended we try looking here for the gift. I, er, did not expect to be recognized from my last visit.”

“I always remember my customers,” Granny smiled, then turned to Jamil. “Your friend Ruggie here says you’re looking for a gift for a special someone, hm?”

Jamil averted his gaze away from the knowing look that both Granny and Ruggie were giving him,and instead focused on the plate of samples in front of him. “...Yes,” he mumbled. “A classmate. His birthday’s soon, and he got me a really nice gift for mine a few months ago.”

“Oh, well, isn’t that sweet,” Granny cooed, much to the embarrassment of Jamil and the delight of Ruggie. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. They say the way to a man’s heart - or anyone’s, for that matter- is through the stomach. Do take your time with choosing, and let me know if you need any help. But, if you want my advice,” she said, leaning over with a whisper. “You can’t go wrong with a slice of dark chocolate cake.”

Jamil, picking up a sample cup with a piece of strawberry shortcake and handing it to Riddle, nodded. “Thank you, I’ll try that out.”

Riddle, flustered yet again that his silent desires had been so easily clocked, quietly accepted the snack. He offered Jamil a trade, selecting one of the sample cups of tea and handing it over. “...The black tea selections often go well with dark chocolate. ”

And he was right, Jamil thought. The tea’s strong flavor complimented the strong, bittersweet taste of the dark chocolate alongside it, and made for a flavorful combination. Still, the cake itself tasted rather rich. Perhaps Azul would be more willing to accept the cake if he got some fresh fruit to go with it…

“Mmm, hey, Riddle, what’s this one?” Ruggie asked, shoving his sample cup into Riddle’s hand next.

Riddle frowned at how nonchalant Ruggie was being, and chose to give it a sniff instead of tasting from someone else’s cup. “...It’s hibiscus,” he said, handing it back to Ruggie and turning to Jamil. “If you wanted something more herbal to go with the cake, that would be a good choice, as well.”

“Hey, why not get him a mix?” Ruggie suggested. “No rules say you can only get one option. Get him one of those tester boxes of tea and call it a day!”

“That’s not as thoughtful as something hand picked,” Jamil mumbled. 

“Aw, right, I keep forgetting you’re doing this for LOVE.”

“If we weren’t in the middle of a tea shop, I’d kick you.”

Ruggie only snickered again.

“...Ruggie may have a point,” Riddle said. “Perhaps you could pick out a small handful of choices? That was you would have the benefit of a selection with thought put behind in terms of flavor combination and recipient preferences, but also a bit of variety, so that Azul cannot complain that you got him something unsuitable.” 

Jamil couldn’t help but smile at that comment. Azul was fussy, but the three of them had dealt with him long enough that his mannerisms were becoming all too predictable. “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.”

-

Azul snapped out of his dozing state when he heard a knock at the door to his office. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his watch, wondering who on earth would be coming to see him at nearly 10pm on a school night. He thought for a moment about sending whoever it was away, but if they were coming here at such a time, then they surely must be desperate for his assistance…

“Come in,” he said after debating for a few more seconds in his head. He was surprised, however, when he looked up and found not a generic and desperate looking student entering the room, but instead, Jamil Viper. 

“Oh, good, so you haven’t already gone to sleep.” Jamil said, walking over to Azul’s desk and placing a nicely wrapped box in front of him.

“Well, well, what a surprise…” Azul eyed the box, and then glanced back up at Jamil. “And here I thought you’d forgotten to get me anything for my birthday, what with how many times we’d seen each other today.”

Jamil rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yeah, well, I had to keep most of it in the refrigerator. It would’ve been no good to give it to you at the start of classes, and then I had basketball right after. I wasn’t about to let you chide me for being a day late, so I made sure I got over here once Vargas let us go.”

He chose to glance around Azul’s office, focusing on looking at anything that WASN’T AZUL as Azul began unpeeling the wrapping paper,

“Oh, in the refrigerator? Something homemade, I presume?” Azul mused, sliding his nail carefully under the tape.

“Not this time,” Jamil responded, and then immediately, mentally kicked himself for such word choice as he noticed Azul glance back up at him out of the corner of his eye. “...I was out shopping with Riddle and Ruggie yesterday, that’s all.”

“I see…” Azul finished removing the wrapping paper - An agonizingly slow process, in Jamil’s opinion - And his eyebrows rose with recognition at the tea shop’s logo on the box. “Oh, I’ve heard of this shop. It just opened recently, no? Some of my staff mentioned it the other day, and I had been meaning to go see it for myself - For market research, of course. It’s always good to stay up to date on what the competition is offering, you know.”

Jamil was on one hand, relieved to hear that he seemed to be on the right track with his gift, but on the other hand, really wished that Azul would shut the hell up and just open the damn box. Perhaps he should’ve made a run for it after handing over the box, but it was too late for that now.

Finally, Azul did in fact open the box, and his eyes widened with surprise when he saw what was inside.

“Is this…  A slice of chocolate cake?”

“And some tea,” Jamil said, pointing to the tin containers in the box alongside it. “We picked a few kinds. Black tea, green tea, and an herbal blend… Riddle said the place is really good, and we sampled all of these before picking them.”

A wry smile spread across Azul’s face. “Oh? You went to all that trouble, just for me? Why, I’m honored, truly.”

Jamil only grit his teeth and crossed his arms in response.

“Well,” Azul continued, glancing down at the cake. “I suppose it would be a waste not to try something you spent so much time picking out for me, and I did say I wanted to do a  little market research…”

“Can you not talk about this like I just handed you some sort of inconvenience?” Jamil huffed, turning to leave. “Eat it, or don’t. It’s not my problem anymore.”

“Now, hold on, a moment!” Azul called out, stopping Jamil in his tracks. “I haven’t even tried it yet. We have to see if it’s really as good as you and Riddle claim, yes?”

Jamil slowly turned back around. “...Hurry up, then. I should be getting back to my dorm.”

“Mmhm, always in such a rush, aren’t you?” Azul said, his smile unfaltering. He picked up the fork that conveniently lay in the box beside the cake, and gave it a few pokes. “The raspberries are a nice touch.”

“Do you always talk so much before you eat?”

Azul only laughed, and then FINALLY took a bite of the cake… And then immediately covered his mouth and turned his face away from Jamil, going quiet.

Jamil felt his body tense. Was it that bad? Did Azul secretly hate chocolate, or something? Maybe Granny Marigold had accidentally given him a slice of an old, stale cake that she’d meant to throw in the trash? Or maybe-

“It’s delicious…” Azul mumbled. “I, ahem, imagine it would taste even better alongside the tea you selected to go with it.”

Jamil exhaled a sigh of relief. Really, why did Azul have to make everything so complicated?

“...Yeah,” he answered, “that’s the idea. I guess you could save the rest for tomorrow, or whatever. Uh…” Jamil tugged at the hood of his sweatshirt, resisting the urge to tug it completely over his face. “...Glad you like it. See ya.”

“Ah, yes... Well, thank you,” Azul said, reaching for the top of the box to close it up. “Good night, then-”

“Actually,” Jamil suddenly stepped forward, putting a hand on top of Azul’s before he could fully close the box. “...Are you busy right now?”

Azul looked startled at the sudden contact, glancing at where Jamil’s hand clutched his. “I… Um…” His gaze shifted to the papers he was looking over before Jamil arrived - and before he started nodding off - and then back up at Jamil. “…Well, I was just going to finish looking over today’s sales, so I planned to be awake for a bit longer…”

Jamil removed his hand from Azul’s, and instead reached into the box to pick up the tin of herbal tea. “Would you… Like some company? This one is good for helping you relax and wind down for the day. I, uh, can go boil some water for you.”

Azul’s look of bewilderment slowly melted into a warm smile. “And it looks like there are enough leaves for at least two cups worth, no?”

He stood, reaching for the tin. “You’re my guest. Allow me-“

“It’s your birthday,” Jamil took a step back, holding the tin to his chest. “Sit down and just tell me where to go. I’ll do it.”

“Must you be so stubborn?” Azul sighed, but neither of them could hide the smiles on their faces. 

“Well, if you’re going to insist on it,” Azul continued, “then at least allow me to show you the way. Perhaps if you start getting used to Octavinelle’s layout, you might reconsider that dorm transfer offer?”

Jamil sighed, about to throw another eye- roll Azul’s way, but couldn’t quite muster it when he instead felt the sensation of a gloved hand reaching for his, their fingers slowly, gently intertwining. He glanced down, making sure he wasn’t imagining such a  feeling. When he glanced back up, Azul was smiling back at him with what might have been the softest, warmest expression anyone had ever looked at him with before.

“...Yeah,” Jamil found himself saying, voice barely a whisper, caught in the moment, “maybe I would.”

Maybe it was a joke, or maybe there was some truthful longing to the statement. Either way, they both knew the unlikelihood of such a drastic change happening… But, sometimes, it was nice to pretend, if only for a moment.

Jamil tucked the tin into his hoodie pocket and then reached over to Azul,  plucking the hat from atop his head and placing it upon his own. 

“Well?” He asked, grinning at Azul’s once again startled expression. “How do I look? Does it suit me?”

“...Yes,” Azul breathed out. “You look right at home.”

“Come on, then,” Jamil gently tugged on Azul’s hand, leading them out of the room. “Let’s go make that tea.”

[kalolasfantasyworld]

My recent Zobra arts got very popular on twitter and I received many questions about them so I decided to make a thread explaining the appeal this ship has for me.

Since I already wrote it, I want to share it here as well.

Zora x Nebra - ship appeal

A thread about why I am personally a big fan of Zora x Nebra and how it's more than just a silly crack ship

@f-oighear with who I'm co writing a Zobra fanfiction helped with this

Let's start with the basics

Zora - a peasant who hates royalty

Nebra - a royal who hates peasant

This ship would go against class barriers, but even more as these two would have to overcome their own prejudice which they've had since they were little.

They have (kind of) a canon interaction!

During the elf attack Zora saved Solid and Nebra's lives. It's a point where both siblings were humbled and I'd say a point where their redemption can slowly start.

Enemies to lovers

I personally love this trope and Zobra have great potential for it. I don't think I need to expand here.

Their magic

Both of them have "vaporous" kind of magic and rely on tricks to overcome their opponent. It's a game of thought and preparation.

Ash and mist are also more subtle versions of primal elements (fire and water).

They could be really compatible if they worked together.

Aesthetic

Black & white, that's a classic

Edgy & princess

You can't say they don't look good

And now probably the most important (and long) part of the thread their characters and later surprisingly many similarities

Zora wouldn't be afraid to call Nebra out and she NEEDS it. Nebra doesn't see people as her equals, she's used to being looked up to which Zora wouldn't do.

He would do it right, point out her flaws, harshly. Nebra would hear how she really is.

Hopefully reflect

It would also annoy her and a chain of (sometimes hilarious) interactions would start.

They're both very smart so their comebacks would be intelligent and snarky. None of them would hold back and I think at some point they would start enjoying the game of trying to one up the other.

"The smirk"

Zora snickers, Nebra giggles. They can both be very mean.

See if you put them as enemies it's fun, but imagine having them both against one person. I'd feel sorry for them. (we have a scene like that in our fic and it's perfect)

Prejudice

Both of them are greatly prejudiced against the other’s class. And isn't it BC's thing to break those class differences?

It would require work, effort and time but just like other Royal/Peasant ships they could bring an example of the world Asta dreams of.

Now to issues

A dead parent who they used to idolise and passing of that parent messed them up in... many ways

We use that similarity to have them bond on a deeper level

After Zara's death Zora goes on a vendetta

While Nebra feels inadequate and takes it out on innocent Noelle

Neither of them copes well and it just pushes them to extremes.

Zora luckily gets better with his found family (the Bulls we love them), while Nebra... I won't defend her, it's a long way to go even after the last manga chapters.

However these two could help each other grow.

Noelle is Nebra's sister and Zora's squadmate

This topic would need to be brought up at some point. Zora cares about his squadmates.

Nebra was awful, toxic and simply terrible. I think that talking about it with someone who won't beat around the bush could help her redemption.

I think Nebra could start seeking out that honesty at some point.

Zora had crossed out all of the nobility, but seeing himself an actual example of someone as rotten (yes I said it) as Nebra changing could help him too.

It's about seeing a different perspective.

"They wouldn't interact if not made to"

True, thus in fics @f-oighear and I put them in situations where they have to interact such as a mission together, or in our Formula 1 AU they're both drivers on the grid, or we send them to the same resort for summer break.

Things we like to do in fics

- they call each other names, starting of offensive (Princess and peasant are classics)

- making them work together -> they hate it -> miraculously it works out

- hair and clothes comments

- personal development

Taking into account all of the above, they would need specific circumstances to work out, thus I understand why they don't have to be everyone's cup of tea (I need at least a 100k slowburn), but I hope I brought to you closer this ship and why I personally find it appealing.

[insipid-drivel]

Toxins, Venom, and Poisons in Historical Western Medicine: How Are We Not Extinct From Doing Some Of This To Ourselves?

This piece is an involuntary piece inspired by @writing-with-sophia's awesome post "Poison list", which is an accurate and succinct list of commonly known (and ancient!) poisons, venoms, and toxins that have been and were used for causing poisoning in ancient and recent history. I wanted to write this because what struck me by their post crossing my dash was, the sheer number of poisons listed that were - and even still are - used as mainstays for healthcare around the world throughout the ages!

OBLIGATORY DON'T BE A DUMBASS PSA: If you're planning on incorporating these poisons into your HISTORICAL-era writing, it's also important to remember that many of them were used for medicinal purposes at one time, too, and it's great you're interested in learning about the subject! And also, you shouldn't try ANY of these! I will not tell you how to do it at home if you DM me, so don't! You are not appropriately trained to do it! You will harm or kill yourself and possibly your loved ones if you fuck around with any of these and it will be 100% your fault and you absolutely should feel bad bout it! I've seen some of you idiots believe 4chan posts about making home-grown crystals using recipes for actual mustard gas and seen you being wheeled into the ER on the news! I will not feel bad if you get yourself hurt if you screw around with any of these plants, elements, or animals!

Resource blog plugs and PSA over, now for the Hilariously Poisonous Medicines:

If you're writing something that's meant to take place prior to the advent of our more modern understanding of poisons, venoms, and toxins, factoring in "this is toxic to me NOW, but what about 500 years ago?" can add a lot of opportunities for interesting plot elements to your story.

These can include someone accidentally poisoning themselves with a toxic drug or substance that wouldn't have killed them if they'd handled it properly - like tansy? Grows all over the place in Europe and England? That'll kill you if you harvest it too late in the season, but it's good for intestinal parasites when it's harvested early in the year and processed right.

Did the lady's maid really kill her mistress with belladonna? Or was she trying to secretly help her mistress get rid of an unwanted pregnancy?

The protagonist's children can't survive to make it to weaning age! Is the wetnurse a poisoner, or does the milkman hide that he sells sour milk by pouring Borax into it so no one could taste it and has no idea he's killing his clients' babies?

Nuance and cultural mores regarding historical views about poisons and toxins can make writing even more fun, dynamic, and interesting! Explore 'em!

Just... please don't try any of this crap yourself. You will poison yourself, it will hurt, you will die, and you will hurt the entire time you're dying. Using OP's master list alone, here's the flip side of these lethal beasts through the eyes of our distant ancestors who believed illness was caused by "vapors", "bad air", and "imbalanced humors":

Hemlock:

Used across multiple different cultures in history. When properly administered to treat a disease, poison hemlock was used to treat asthma, whooping cough, bronchitis, joint/bone pain, muscle cramps, and insomnia. Hemlock was most often used as a sedative and antispasmodic.

Arsenic:

Arsenic is a heavy metal, and so has been used in everything from making specialty dyes for wallpapers (Scheele's green is the most infamous arsenic-based paint; Queen Victoria once had a guestroom in her palace redone with Scheele's green wallpaper. The first dignitary to stay there had to be carried out and taken to emergency care after breathing astronomical amounts of arsenic dust from the wallpaper's paint), to medicine. Arsenic was especially commonly used in history to treat skin ailments ranging from acne, to psoriasis, to syphilis sores. It was also sometimes prescribed for menstrual cramps, upset stomachs, colic, and arthritis, among many, many other things.

Cyanide:

Uh... I have literally never found any evidence of cyanide in medicine, outside of its use in modern medicine as part of certain chemical lab tests for measuring urine ketone bodies that involve no contact with a patient whatsoever. Cyanide literally works in less than a few seconds to render your entire body incapable of absorbing OR using oxygen in your lungs or already existing in your blood. Cyanide is really only good at making things that breathe not breathe anymore.

Nightshade:

There are a lot of different "nightshades", so being specific is essential here. Potatoes are nightshades. Tomatoes are nightshades. Calling anything a "nightshade" does not inherently mean it's lethally toxic. Belladonna is probably the most notorious of the "deadly" nightshades, but to this day, is still used medicinally, and would actually be seen as a health and cosmetic mainstay in historical fiction, especially if your setting is in Italy!

Belladonna is an Italian portmanteau for "beautiful woman", because tinctures (water-based drops) of belladonna were commonly used by Italian women as eyedrops to dilate their eyes and appear more attractive, aroused, and desirable. Today, belladonna's eye-dilating effects are still used by optometrists to dilate the pupils! Belladonna has been, and still sometimes is used as an NSAID, general painkiller, motion sickness treatment, asthma medication, and even as a treatment for IBS.

Ricin:

As OP said, Ricin is derived from the toxin found in Castor Beans, and is surprisingly new as an official "the only reason this is made is to make someone dead" poison. Not only is ricin a popular "nobody would think to test for this!" choice in mystery/thriller writing, but it has been used for political assassinations in real life before. Georgi Markov, a Bulgarian anti-Communist dissenter and writer, was killed in 1978 with a 1.7mm diameter ricin-coated pellet shot into his thigh muscle by an unidentified assailant using a modified umbrella as a gun. He died 4 days later.

Historically, castor OIL has been used for medicinal purposes, especially for treating constipation, inducing labor in pregnancy, and as a topical skin moisturizer. If you've ever watched the opening scene in Disney's "Peter Pan", when the childrens' mother is trying to give them a spoonful of medicine each, she's actually giving them castor oil! Castor oil tastes really bad (so much so that flavorings like cinnamon were often added to try to muffle the taste), so the childrens' reluctance and disgust at their mom making them take their medicine is very realistic for the era the movie came out in!

Strychnine:

Another lethal poison that started life as a medicine/food additive. Strychnine is no longer used medicinally at all today, but historically, it was used to stimulate the heart, treat bladder and bowel incontinence, and limb palsy. Strychnine is a deadly-powerful muscle stimulant that, as a poison, causes horrifyingly painful full-body strictures (spasms) and destroys the cardiovascular system. (Fun fact: Strychnine and hydrochloric acid were historically mixed into cheap vodka to make knock-off gin, especially during the Georgian Era in England if the brewer didn't have or couldn't afford juniper berries!)

Snake Venom:

Seriously, do your research before you write an actual, real snake species using venom they don't produce! The Big 3 Forms Of Snake Venom are: Hemotoxic, Neurotoxic, and Cytotoxic. Specific snake species exclusively generate the same kind of venom (so a hemotoxic snake will ALWAYS produce baby snakes that also make hemotoxic venom). Aristotle himself wrote in 380 BC that certain snake venoms could be applied for treating fevers, smallpox, and leprosy, and there is even some evidence in the historical record prior to the 1800s that different cultures have experimented throughout the eons with using venom for converting into antivenom, but I've never found a source citing anyone making a successful form of antivenom until around the 1850s.

Digitalis:

OP really nailed the important thing about Digitalis, and that is it's cardiac benefits for certain people - particularly for treating congestive heart failure. Vincent van Gogh was actually prescribed epilepsy medication that likely contained Digitalis, aka Foxglove, and there are some prevailing theories about van Gogh's love of bright yellow paint as being either caused or exacerbated by the symptoms associated with digitalis use, which can cause an attraction to and increased visual sensitivity to the color yellow. In several portraits, including one of his own psychiatrist, van Gogh shows subjects presented alongside foxglove flowers. Digitalis is absolutely lethal if consumed or taken without expert guidance, however, because it's the mother ingredient of Digoxin. Digoxin isn't used as frequently as it used to be a few decades ago, but it's still used and prescribed today for certain forms of heart failure and heart disease. Digoxin was also, at one time, was also sometimes used to induce chemical abortions.

Lead:

Dear god, lead. Not only is it so slow to kill you that you'll think that the only way to manage your symptoms is with more lead, but lead poisoning can be a life-long crisis for a person who is regularly exposed to it. Humans have used lead for everything from plumbing, to paint, to our cutlery, to cosmetics, to medicine. While yes, it is very possible to ingest enough lead in a single sitting to die within hours or days, most sufferers of lead poisoning experience it for years or decades before the symptoms become obvious. Some archaeologists believe that the Romans used lead cutlery because lead has a unique reaction when we lick it: when you have lead coating your tongue, it makes EVERYTHING you eat suddenly taste 10x better. I learned this myself from going target-shooting with my mom at a gun rage as a teenager, inhaled gunsmoke (which contains lead), and went for lunch immediately after. Even though I was just eating a $5 meal from In-N-Out, my burger tasted so good I thought I was gonna have to change my pants. When I asked the rangemaster at the target place about it later, he literally said, "Oh yeah, lead makes the worst cooking taste like heaven."

The ancient Romans ate a lot of rotten, spoiled, and sour food, and so lead would've made it easier to eat it back then. But the neurological effects of lead poisoning are nightmarish. It's suspected that, in America, the #1 reason we had so many active serial killers in the country from the 1940s-2000s was because of leaded gasoline. Ever since leaded gasoline was banned? Serial and random violent crime rates have dramatically gone down, especially in metropolitan cities. Ancient Rome, too, gradually became an increasingly violent city as its population went up and its reliance on lead did. We're only just now starting to figure out how toxic lead actually is, so go nuts with using it as a plot element regarding subjects like "Why Are You Like This?"

Mercury:

Mercury is also known as quicksilver, because in spite of being a heavy metal, the temperature at which it melts into a liquid is very, very low compared to most other metals. The first Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, was rumored to be so obsessed with the notion of immortality that he would send his doctors on doomed voyages around the world searching for a legendary substance that would, indeed, make him immortal. Legend has it that some doctors who were tasked with the job found out about the last guys, and produced mercury before Emperor Qin Shi Huang and cried, "Here it is! I got it!" so they wouldn't end up doomed to drown at sea. Qin Shi Huang became so obsessed with ingesting and medicating himself with mercury that, when his legendary tomb was being constructed, he had a small-yet-accurate-to-scale map of China+the known world about the size of a football field with every body of water full of fountains of running mercury in his burial chamber. His tomb was rediscovered in the last couple of decades after archaeologists found suspiciously high levels of mercury in the soil on top of a "hill" that had been sitting in the countryside untouched for thousands of years. It turned out to be Qin Shi Huang's long-lost tomb.

Since those days, mercury has closely been associated in early medicine as a sort of cure-all, since it literally kills anything it touches (including people). Captain Blackbeard himself, the most notorious pirate in Western history (Western specifically; google who Zheng Yi Sao was), was known or widely believed to be a syphilis sufferer, and desperately sought infusions of mercury from ships he'd capture (and the doctors onboard) to treat it, believing like everyone did that mercury could cure syphilis. It can't. They just didn't understand back then that syphilis starts off surface-level, and then eats your brain years after the initial infection.

Aconite:

Again, ridiculously toxic outside of specific medicinal applications that still aren't safe today! Aconite, or wolfsbane, has historically been used as a heart sedative (for slowing the heart), diuretic, painkiller, and even used to induce sweating. Evidence of wolfsbane being used for medicinal purposes has been spotted here and there over thousands of years throughout the Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Empires, but its original use came about in Ancient Greece for hunting and culling wolves by poisoning bait-food with it. That form of hunting died out long before the European Middle Ages, but the name "wolfsbane" stuck. Mostly because in the Middle Ages, a lot of people believed werewolves were a huge problem, and kept wolfsbane handy to deter said werewolves.

Thallium:

Today, thallium is mostly used in the production of camera and eyeglass lenses. Before its toxicity was known about, it wasn't strange to hear of thallium being used topically to treat fungal infections like ringworm. Thallium was also sporadically used in treating typhus and tuberculosis, along with a wide array of sexually transmitted diseases.

This list doesn't even touch the tip of the toxic iceberg when it comes to the sheer quantity of hilariously dangerous toxins people have, or still continue, to use for medicinal purposes! In a Victorian-era English London middle-class townhouse setting alone, there were dozens and dozens of ways to poison or otherwise harm yourself just by going about your daily life. So, if you've got a period piece you're working on, or are just bored, you can pick an exact date and time in our history and learn just how terrifyingly comfortable our ancestors were with upsettingly dangerous substances and home remedies. You can also watch a massive docuseries, called "Hidden Killers" and hosted by historian Suzannah Lipscomb, among other historians and archaeologists, which deep-dives into the hidden and unknown dangers of living in eras from Tudor-Era England, to the Post-WWII Reconstruction Age.

As a final note: I am NOT bashing Chinese or Eastern medicinal practices here, and in fact deliberately have gone out of my way to not include any references toward culturally-sanctioned medicinal practices in Eastern and Southeastern Asia. This post is specifically related to the history of WESTERN medicines and their associated history. I am not, nor have I ever been, a doctor of any traditional Eastern medicinal practices, and do not pretend to know better. Sinophobes are unwelcome in my blog space.

[remyfire]

I'm not getting around to editing this tonight like I wanted, buuuuuut here is a sneak peek of my next robbylangdon fic!

"Something tells me you're about two seconds away from putting me on a leash."

Robby blinks. Purses his lips thoughtfully.

Something about it makes Langdon's heart flutter. "What?"

"You know, that's not the worst idea you've had," Robby breathes.

"Excuse me?" Langdon chuckles, but it dies out when Robby doesn't join in. "Damn, you're really speedrunning the dirty old pervert thing, aren't you?"

"Hey, it wasn't my idea," Robby reminds him.

"It was a joke." When Robby simply continues to watch him, Langdon gulps down half of his coffee, then pours the rest down the sink—he's a little shit, yes, but he's here for a reason, and Robby's right, he does need to get back out there, especially if Robby's going to look at him as though he's having notions.

Robby no longer seems to be in a hurry. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

He's unbelievable. "You really think I'd be into something like that? Have you been on PornHub too much recently? It's not good for your brain, old man, you know that. You should be—"

Robby wraps a hand around the back of his neck and yanks him forward, evaporating the words on Langdon's tongue and leaving their gasp of death behind. Suddenly they're only inches apart. That powerful hand kneads the muscles that he hadn't even realized were achingly stiff, and it's a miracle that he somehow stays on his feet. His knees wobble like a corseted woman who's caught a case of the vapors. 

Robby hums, lips quirking. "Interesting."

[mando-abs]

Okay - scattered thoughts about the new Phineas and Ferb episodes. Spoilers below the cut

(Also, I know this show is intended for children, but this blog is not for anyone under the age of 18. Nothing against minors and their spaces. I just don’t want any unwanted heat for engaging with minors. So if you’re under 18, please continue scrolling along and stay safe out there.)

The 2 Parter

I don’t remember title names and I’m too lazy to look them up

I love that Dan Doof ended the episode with a guitar, screaming “We’re back baby!” Bc, yeah Doof. We really are back

Love the HSM2 call back at the beginning of the episode. Wonder if it was intentional considering the Phineas and Ferb pilot aired after HSM2….(probably)

Phineas and Ferb’s teacher looks like a really nice teacher. I hope she gets a well needed summer break.

The family photos 🥲

The “family” photo of Perry, Major Monogram, and Carl lol

I love this show, because did Doof really need a chicken hot air balloon? No. But they went with the gag anyways.

I really hope the sourdough bread soup bowl hot tub becomes a running gag for these episodes, and I hope Buford gets his wish by the end.

Me and my sibling were sitting stunned at the Mom vaporization. My exact words, “ I gotta hand it to them….I wasn’t expecting that.”

I really hope some little kids got very mild trauma from that 😂 Ngl, that would be kinda funny. It’s okay! Sometimes kids need a little digestible uncertainty. Linda is fine anyways.

The Dad manning the pie station lol

Oh so all of the inventions have a purpose and are not like a lil gag. That’s nice.

Mom cloud……huh. All right then

Sibling: Why’d they give Candace the hard one? Me: Because she’s the one with the most unbridled rage.

Wind Con…of course

Candace using the power of love and family to bring her Mom back 🥲🥲🥲 I’m okay

Me and my sibling simultaneously upon seeing the unplugged extension cord: “THEYRE GONNA HAVE TO BACK TO THE FUTURE IT”

The genuine cheering when Perry fixed it for them.

OH I FORGOT FERB SAID WHERE’S PERRY FIRST THIS TIME AWWWWWW thats my boy

Also legit had no idea what Doof said when he was frozen, minus the curses at the end.

Love Handel. We love to see it.

Off to a great start

The Sub Submarine

I’m agreeing with them: why didn’t they make this sooner?

Also kinda disappointed we didn’t get to see Linda making big sub sandwiches of her own. Like why’d she need all that lettuce?

Candace is really good at making sandcastles.

Oh yeah, I know this change was already made in the most recent movie (it was a movie right?) but the switch to smartphones is so funny to me. Like imagine the technology shift that one school year made. Wild

I forget if it was this episode or the next where Major Monogram had the sock puppet filter on. That gag was pretty good. Like you’d think it would be like “oh these old guys and their Gen X (???boomer???) technology humor,” but I feel like it stuck the landing

Someone already mentioned this but Doof’s inators are getting a little concerning. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older and am looking out for public safety. That being said, I can relate to wanting other people’s better food.

Love that the repairman decided to go along with Phineas and Ferb’s shenanigans. And the little reveal that he was also Doof’s repairman. Also, didn’t catch what Doof needed repairing because my sibling and dad have a tendency of not shutting up while I’m watching my shows.

I laughed at Candace’s “and the repairman” when snitching to Mom. Nobody’s safe Candace.

I’m glad I wasn’t going crazy when I saw the baguette seal on the escape pod slowly disappearing in the background.

Sibling laughed at Baljeet’s little jab at the sub submarine slowly falling apart bc it’s “MADE ENTIRELY OUT OF FOOD.” Thanks for the reminder bud

Love Perry chilling like the king he is on the beach

Mom tried to hook Candace up with a scholarship for her sandcastle talents 🥹. Someone’s already mentioned this but I too am loving the mother-daughter love so far this season.

Oh I forgot about the new intro! The little “another” at the very beginning. Hilarious. Also glad they re-recorded Vincent for the intro considering the voice change. It’s a hard voice to do as you get older! He still got it though

Candace Gets Her License

The best one out of the bunch imo

Lawrence fixing up Candace’s bike….no other reason….lol

Wasn’t Candace parallel parking a gag they did before? Like, I’m pretty sure it was the Monster Truck episode. Otherwise, my watching Phineas and Ferb every morning at 5:30-6AM before school knowledge is failing me

The gecko invention looks really fun actually. The only downside was they having to reapply the sticky-ness. Sigh…I guess science can only go so far…

Me and my sibling dying over Ferb eating straight roof when testing out the springs.

I knew Candace was going to pass bc she wanted to bust her brothers. Clocked that shit early.

Oh I forgot about Candace saying “Aw biscuits” in the earlier episodes. Hope that becomes a new catchphrase for her lol. I also hope that Bandit Heeler’s voice actor makes an appearance. And bonus points if he gets to say “Are you a little young to be…”

Also forget which episode giant floating baby head made another appearance but I think it was this one. Good to see you again soldier.

Major Monogram saying something along the lines of “It’s like, ‘what mother raised him? But of course, if not for that, we wouldn’t have our jobs. So, good luck Agent P.” Damn. That’s cold Major M.

Doof’s “Yes! I return my shopping cart when I’m done! I’m evil, not a monster!” 👀👀👀👀👀 say it louder for the people in the back.

Also, isn’t using technology to change the light from red to green like super illegal for civilians?

Love that they switched the boy’s hair color. A gag I wasn’t anticipating despite it being right there

And Phineas’ “I don’t know, do you like it?😏”when asked what happened to their hair.

Ashley Tisdale still got it. The best song so far.

Also, are they doing songs every episode now? I mean, I’m not complaining. I just know how hard it was for them to come up with songs towards the end of the show’s original run.