#that first shot is so so so important to me

[kashverse]

Can we get some lore on Toji and mamaguro?

megumi, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tilts his head and asks the question of the century.

“how did you and papa meet?”

you pause. toji’s eyes immediately gleam with something absolutely devious. and you know—before he even opens his mouth—that he’s about to ruin it. “ahhh, great question, kid,” toji sighs, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to tell the most important story of all time. “see, once upon a time, i was young. reckless. sexy. a lone wolf prowlin’ the streets—”

your head snaps toward him. “what.”

“—and then,” he continues, ignoring you completely, “i met this woman.” he jerks his chin toward you. “absolutely feral. scary as hell. deadly, too. had this whole mysterious cat burglar thing goin’ on.” megumi’s eyes widen. 

“like catwoman?”

“exactly!” toji claps his hands. “but hotter.”

you squint. “i took one look at her,” toji sighs dramatically, clutching his chest like a man struck by fate. “and bam!” he slaps the floor for emphasis, making megumi jump. “love at first sight.”

“…you were on the floor at first sight,” you correct. “because i threw you there.” toji grins. “same thing.”

megumi’s eyebrows furrow. “why’d you throw him?”

toji hums, tapping his chin like he’s recalling some grand tale. “well, kid, your mama wasn’t always the sweet, loving lady she is now. back in the day, she was a real menace. sharp, deadly, no-nonsense.” you roll your eyes. “and you were an idiot.”

“a charming idiot,” toji corrects, leaning back with a smirk. “but hey, you wanna hear the real story?” he gestures for megumi to sit closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “lemme tell you how it really happened…”

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

toji should’ve known better than to touch you. but in his defense, he had really just wanted your attention. it wasn’t every day you saw someone move like that—fast, sharp, deadly, with the kind of ease that made seasoned killers look sloppy. you had just wiped the floor with half a dozen guys and hadn’t even broken a sweat. so, naturally, toji thought it would be real cute to tap your shoulder. 

“yo, sweetheart, what’s your—”

before he could finish, his back slammed against the pavement, skull bouncing off the concrete. you stood over him, eyes sharp, unimpressed, like you were deciding whether or not to finish the job. “touch me again and i’ll break your arm,” you said. toji, lying there with a grin stretching across his face, thought, damn.

toji was relentless. “shiuuuu,” he whined, draping himself over the back of shiu’s chair like a dead weight. “c’mon, man, just once. put me on a job with her. please.” shiu didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “for the last time, no.”

“why not?” toji huffed. “we’d be great together.” shiu sighed. “no, you’d be a menace. i don’t have time to deal with you getting distracted and showing off for your crush mid-mission.” toji crossed his arms. “what? i would not.”

shiu finally glanced at him. toji looked away. shiu raised an eyebrow. toji grumbled, “okay, maybe a little.”

shiu shook his head. “go away.” but did that stop toji? absolutely not.

the man campaigned like his life depended on it. followed you around whenever he saw you, made a damn fool of himself trying to impress you—sparring without a shirt (useless, you didn’t even blink), dramatically taking down targets in the most unnecessarily flashy ways, dropping the occasional sweetheart or princess just to see if he could get a rise out of you. nothing. you remained cool, detached, frustratingly uninterested. 

until one day, when you finally looked at him and said, “if i agree to work with you, will you shut up?” toji lit up like a kid on christmas. “yes.”

“fine.”

“wait, really?”

you shrugged. “shiu thinks you’re useful enough to keep around, so i’ll give it a shot. but if you slow me down, i’m leaving you behind.” toji grinned. “babe, you’re gonna love working with me.”

(you did not love working with him. at first.)

the first mission together was a disaster. not because it went wrong—oh no, everything was executed perfectly. but because toji spent the entire time trying to get you to laugh. he was muttering jokes over the comms, making faces when no one was looking, even tossing out ridiculous one-liners mid-fight just to see if he could crack your composure. nothing. you were focused, professional, as if you didn’t even register his antics. 

until the job was done, and he caught you, just for a split second, hiding the smallest smirk. toji nearly died on the spot. "i knew you had a sense of humor," he said, triumphant. you rolled your eyes. “if you mess around too much, you'll get yourself killed.” toji grinned. "nah. gotta stick around. haven’t won you over yet.”

(he did. eventually.)

 /\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊°.. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊

megumi listened like it’s a live-action soap opera. “and guess what?” toji smirks, elbowing your side. “it worked.”

“against my better judgment,” you mutter, crossing your arms. megumi tilts his head. “but you like him now.”

toji grins, looking smug. “yeah, mama. you like me.”

you stare at him. then, with a perfectly measured swing, you whack the back of his head so fast that he blinks in shock. then, suddenly, something in his face changes. the slow grin. the slight daze in his eyes. “damn,” he breathes. “that’s exactly why i fell for you in the first place.”

megumi makes a disgusted face. but toji, still caught in whatever lovestruck spiral he’s in, just stretches and leans back against the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “it’s true, y’know,” he hums, reminiscing. “with other people, i was a cold bastard. with your mama? blubbering puppy.”

megumi looks at you for confirmation. you sigh. “unfortunately, yes.”

megumi squints. “prove it.”

toji’s grin widens.

somewhere, in an alternate flashback—

“alright, asshole, you got three seconds to start beggin’ before i blow your damn face off,” toji growls, pointing his gun at some poor soul tied to a chair. the guy trembles. “p-please, i—”

“not you, dumbass, him,” toji grunts, jerking his thumb toward his colleague—shiu, who is standing off to the side, looking like he has an unfortunate headache. “toji,” shiu sighs. “just finish the job.”

“nah, nah, lemme enjoy this.” toji cracks his neck. “c’mon, big guy, scream f'me.”

footsteps. and before the victim can even register what’s happening, toji suddenly changes. in half a second, he goes from “demonic assassin ready to pull the trigger” to—

“BABE!!”

his voice shoots up an octave. the victim stares. and then he watches—in real time—as the fearsome assassin fushiguro toji throws his loaded gun on the table and immediately goes soft. “babe,” toji beams, turning toward the door. “didja eat yet? you sleep okay? what’s up? what’s goin’ on?”

the victim blinks. you walk into the room like nothing is out of the ordinary, sipping a bottle of water, giving the scene a quick glance before meeting toji’s gaze.

“you forgot your lunch.”

you hold up a neatly wrapped bento box. toji gasps. "awww, babe, you love me.”

the victim gapes as toji practically skips over to you, completely forgetting he was in the middle of a goddamn interrogation. the target, still bound to his chair, is on the verge of tears. “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING—”

back to the present—

megumi, jaw slightly dropped, slowly turns to his father.

“…you are pathetic.”

toji grins. “nah. i’m in love.” you sigh, rubbing your temples. “you were in love. now you’re just embarrassing.”

megumi nods in agreement. toji scoffs. “y’know, if this is the kinda disrespect i get in my own house—”

“—you can leave,” you and megumi say in unison. toji groans, flopping dramatically onto the floor. but secretly? he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[jiminomenon]

assistant! reader gets jealous

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 893

tag(s): winrina lore revealed, y/n gets jealous, rina being confused abt the entire thing, giselle’s a snitch, the first time y/n gets jealous

from my series: the devil wears prada

y/n should not be upset. she knew that.

jimin had friends. jimin had history. that was just the kind of person she was—someone who attracted attention effortlessly, someone who had people wrapped around her finger, past and present. y/n knew all this. she had always known it.

but somehow, none of that made it easier to watch minjeong lean in close, whispering something in jimin’s ear that made the supermodel laugh, the sound soft and sweet in a way that was reserved for people she actually liked.

y/n hadn’t thought much of minjeong at first. she knew she was one of jimin’s closest friends, another model who had built a name for herself in the industry. they had worked together plenty of times, and from what y/n had seen, they got along very well.

but that was all she had thought—until she overheard aeri teasing jimin about her past with minjeong, and suddenly everything made sense.

“still can’t believe you two never made it official,” aeri had said, laughing as she clinked her wine glass against jimin’s.

“please,” jimin scoffed, lips curling into a smirk. “it was fun, but minjeong and i both knew what it was. no hard feelings.”

“none at all,” minjeong had added, grinning. “but it was a good time, wasn’t it?”

y/n had gripped her drink a little too tightly then.

and now, as she watched them from across the room, she was gripping her tablet in the same way, her fingers tightening every time minjeong so much as brushed against jimin’s arm.

she should not be upset.

but she was.

y/n’s mood did not improve by the time they got back to jimin’s penthouse.

she knew she was being ridiculous, knew that her cold silence was both immature and completely unnecessary, but she could not bring herself to act normal. she hadn’t spoken a word since they left the event, and she had no plans to start now.

but, of course, jimin had other plans.

“okay, what is your problem?”

y/n didn’t even look up from her tablet. “i don’t have a problem.”

jimin let out a sharp laugh, placing her hands on her hips. “oh, so you’ve just suddenly decided to stop talking to me for no reason?”

“mhm.”

jimin narrowed her eyes. “y/n.”

silence.

“y/n.”

still nothing.

“you’re seriously acting like a child right now.”

y/n finally exhaled, closing her tablet with a thud. “i just don’t have anything to say to you.”

“oh, please,” jimin scoffed. “you always have something to say. so what is it?”

y/n crossed her arms, leaning back against the couch. “it’s nothing.”

jimin stared at her, expression unreadable, before something flickered in her eyes. “wait.” she smirked, slow and knowing. “you’re jealous.”

y/n’s jaw clenched. “i’m not jealous.”

“you’re totally jealous,” jimin said, grinning like she had just won something.

“i—” y/n inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay calm. “i just think it’s interesting how you didn’t tell me that you and minjeong used to—” she gestured vaguely, ”—do whatever you did.”

jimin rolled her eyes. “because it wasn’t important.”

“wasn’t it?” y/n shot back, tilting her head. “you two sure looked important to each other tonight.”

jimin groaned, running a hand through her hair. “oh my god, y/n.”

“what?” y/n challenged.

“we’re just friends,” jimin stressed. “it was never serious. it’s not like we were in love or something. it was just fun.”

“oh, so i’m supposed to be okay with watching you flirt with your ex-fling all night?”

“i wasn’t flirting,” jimin defended.

“right,” y/n deadpanned.

jimin exhaled sharply, her patience clearly wearing thin. “you are being so—” she cut herself off, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “you’re mad over nothing.”

y/n scoffed, shaking her head. “whatever. it doesn’t matter.”

“it does matter,” jimin argued. “because you’re mad, and i don’t like it when you’re mad at me.”

y/n faltered at that, lips pressing together.

jimin sighed, stepping closer. “for the record,” she said, voice softer now, “minjeong and i are just friends. i don’t care about her like that anymore.”

y/n looked up at her, hesitant. “you sure act close.”

jimin raised a brow. “and? you and i are closer.”

y/n swallowed, warmth creeping up her neck. “yeah?”

“yeah.” jimin flicked her forehead lightly. “obviously. you’re the one i keep around, aren’t you?”

y/n rubbed her forehead with a pout. “that hurt.”

“you’ll live.”

a beat of silence passed between them before jimin shifted on her feet, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “listen, i…” she exhaled sharply, clearly struggling with her next words. “i guess i should have told you about minjeong before tonight. i didn’t think it mattered, but…” she hesitated before finally sighing. “i’m sorry, okay?”

y/n blinked. “that’s… not really an apology.”

jimin scowled. “ugh, fine. i’m sorry for not telling you and for talking to minjeong in a way that made you upset. there. happy?”

y/n studied her for a moment before a slow smirk curled her lips. “that was painful for you, wasn’t it?”

jimin scoffed, flipping her hair dramatically. “whatever. are you coming or not?”

y/n chuckled, finally following after her. “yeah, yeah. lead the way, supermodel.”

“you’re never letting this go, are you?”

“nope.”

[arliaeien]

This makes me think about my evolution as a writer.

My first long fic, as a new writer, I used to consider a chapter done around 2k~2,5k words. That's around 10 pages in Word.

Rewriting this same story one year later, it grew between 3,5k~5k. At the same time, as a reader, I was enjoying more and more the longer chapters (between 5k~10k).

There had been a long time while I only was writing one-shots, then engaging as a beta reader, making translations... To sum up: not writing stories, and even less, ones needing me to arrange a new story in different chapters.

Some years ago, I dedicated myself to the rewriting of my first story (the last I've done) and had those quite big chapters (around 7k), I was happy with, and that didn't make me think, except that one time, I had to cut one too big in two smaller ones. Those chapters were in no way a 'one idea, one chapter' thing like. The cuts were rather happening when there was a change about the place, and/or time passing.

And when I started writing the sequel of this 80k story, about the characters meeting monthly, I just wrote a one-shot for every month. Whatever it was 10k, 20k or even 30k.

It's not written in English and the fandom was almost dead for the last ten years. There were no readers (think like 30 hits in five years on AO3). So why should I have cared? The big one-shot was what I personally prefer.

Came year 2021. New fandom, existing fan base in English, no one in my mother tongue. And I've gotten this idea of post-canon story. One, nobody had done before me. Or rather, nobody had done it, the way I wanted it to be. It's this that has triggered me trying to write in English. ...probably succeeding, at some point. It is a 70k, in the end.

First long story in a while, whatever the language was different, I've kept the same tastes and methods, reflecting over the construction of the story, and ended up having chapter between 5k~7,5k. My goal was quite easy : three main ideas / scenes making one chapter. Providing long chapters to readers was what's important to me, because that's what I love myself.

Up to these last years. I'm working on a monster story (156k ongoing \o/). I didn't have any plan, starting writing it. My first chapter was a two-big-scenes, around 3K words, which I consider cool enough. Second chapter... was happening later, somewhere else. And I ended up having four-big-scenes, 7k words. Yeah, could cut this in two parts. Except number 3 was 3-big-scenes and 5k words. Go tear your own hair out. This was difficult to me. I couldn't work with chapters with sizes so different. It wasn't me. It didn't feel good. I couldn't see how anyone could actually enjoy such variations. How could it be considered otherwise than "Oh yeah, one long/short chapter!" / "Oh no, one long/short chapter!" depending on the reader's taste.

How long is not the point. REGULARITY was the point.

So my badly proportionate 'chapters' became 'arcs'. And every arc, was cut around 1,5k words. One idea, two maximum, and cut! I loved this. Writing fanfictions about one manga whose chapters were arranged to form arcs, it felt like respecting the canon better. Felt great!

...well, I was still myself. My goal of going between 1,2k~2k words for one chapter become 1,5k~2k. Then 2,5k. Today, I'm a little annoyed proofreading, having to fight against myself for some of them not going over 3k. Not too bad, but not what I wanted.

This to say: I'm living a paradox. The way I publish this story wouldn't suit me as a reader. 1,5k or even 2k a week is to me desperately slow.

I just can't. Re-reading some moments of the story for pleasure, or working on it, I usually go with 3 of them. Sometimes 4. All by instinct, not caring whether it's an arc or crossing two or more of them. Because the 5k~10k is what work for me as a reader :P

So, what's my point?

The ideal length doesn't exist. It's a matter of skill, and of feelings, but not only. My ideal length as a new writer was different from 2-years experience me, 5-years, 10-years, and now 18-years experience me. Sometimes I've cared about reader-experience, sometimes I haven't. I have loved the years producing the fattest one-shots. It's unrivaled freedom writing something. But even without arranging chapters, there were breaks, cutting scenes, the reader was able to breathe. And nowadays, publishing weekly for one year and a half, I use a format I wouldn't like myself but readers seems to enjoy (and that's strangely the same as the one I once used as a beginner : 2,5k per chapter).

...perhaps all this is a circle. ⚪

While looking for something else, I found an old ask I answered about "ideal chapter length" in terms of word count.

I've been asked this probably a dozen or more times, and each time I need to take a moment and adjust my thinking to take the asker's point of view into account. Because the thing is? The only time I ever try to factor the word count into how I write a story is when I'm aiming for a true drabble.

For whatever reason, this difference in thinking stuck with me today and I actually considered why that might be. And I think it's because I'm in my 40s and the first 25-30 years of my life, any stories I was reading were printed on paper and bound into physical books.

When I imagine a novel, I still think of a mass market paperback on my bookshelf. An average one would be maybe an inch thick, probably in the neighbourhood of 300 pages. A long one would be maybe as much as two inches thick and 500 or more pages long. A short one was always nice to have because it filled in the gaps in the shelf because 200 page books were so much narrower. Or so it seemed.

When I started posting my fic online, I still thought in terms of pages. I'd type them out in whatever word processing software I was using at the time, and I'd usually get a chapter's worth of ideas into 3 or 4 pages. Turns out that's about 1000 words, which makes sense with the number of 1000 word essays I wrote in high school. I'd been trained to encapsulate an idea into approximately that length.

And that's what it comes down to. The thing that always made that question seem weird to me. A chapter isn't about how many words there are in it, just like a cake isn't about how many cups of flour exist in each slice. A chapter is a an idea that helps make up a bigger idea called a story, and it needs to be however many words that idea needs to be to get it out.

[i-am-countess-olivia]

This isn't some novel thought, but for me Fitzier begins in ep2, when Silna's father is brought onto Erebus

(a long-ish, GIF-heavy scene breakdown follows)

I won't cover the violations of Silna's beliefs, feelings and bodily autonomy which happen in these moments - they are of course terrible and very important. Instead, I want to focus on how the scene kicks off a new dynamic between Francis and James, how it lays a foundation for their subsequent closeness and how it changes our view of who James might be as a person.

Let’s begin.

Sir John and James arrive in the sick bay to join Stanley and Goodsir. Stanley says: "nope, not touching this one". Goodsir asks for leave to save the shaman's life. Franklin, already looking deeply disturbed by what's happening, hesitantly agrees.

Francis arrives. The operating table divides him from Franklin, Stanley and James — he is literally not on their side. All three men glare up at him as one: How is this maudlin MF going to make this horrible situation worse for us?

But while the three of them just stand there, Francis puts himself in charge. With a bit of help from McDonald, he takes hold of a distraught Silna and tries to explain what is happening, who they are, that they're not trying to do harm. It is in this moment that James becomes the only one on the opposite side of the table to step forward (to help Francis control the situation or at least to do something). He looks compelled to action but cannot act.

Okay... so here we see that maybe this guy isn't just Franklin's poodle (we saw a bit of that earlier in the episode - more on that later).

Meanwhile Franklin, as soon as Francis takes control, BUGGERS OFF. Of course this can be justified by him already having given his orders and no longer needing to be involved, but we know that a) he sneaks off when the situation is clearly fraught and Francis is clearly better suited to handle it, knowing Inuktitut among other things and b) he actually ends up hiding out in his cabin, freaking out while listening to the howls of the dying man. This is too strange, too awful for him. Not to mention: oh god, I'm stuck in the ice, I've just lost a lieutenant, I keep losing men, what are they going to think of me?

While Sir John is off having a lil meltdown.... James' eyes are firmly on Francis.

We don't even see him acknowledge his captain's departure.

But why is James there? The obvious answer is: to report back to Sir John, to make sure things don't get weird and that Francis doesn't do anything stupid on THEIR ship. After all, let's remember the last scene before this one where James is focused on Francis:

Here he was describing Francis as if he's got him pegged: he's a disappointed man, Sir John, he was no one's first choice etc etc.

I know what he is. Do you now, James?

(interesting framing the above scene, btw - James standing, active, Sir John focused on his creature comfort, the pipe, and questioning himself. James speaking in firm tones to his commander: "I will not allow..." — James is literally being reframed as a leader.)

Anyway, back to where we were.

While Goodsir sets about trying to remove the shot, we get a little glimpse of James: he looks frozen, uneasy, swaying in to stare at the wound (Oh Tobias, the actor that you are). Can we say flashbacks to the Chinese sniper? This must be seriously triggering for him. Something is shifting.

(Another aside: James is standing next to Stanley, the man who dug out the shot when he was hit by the sniper. That same man is now refusing to help. Hm.)

Next, Goodsir says: I can't save this man. Here something important happens: James and Francis share a look.

This is Francis, for the first time, acknowledging not just James still being in the bay at all — but that the two of them are in this moment together! Francis' eyes saying to James: I'm about to tell this woman her father is going to die and James acknowledging in return how awful that is. He presses his mouth, drops his eyes.

The little flash of connection doesn't last. When Silna starts to plead with her dying father, James once again reaches out across the table to Francis: what is she saying? But it's maybe too pushy, too "I need to be told what's going on" so Francis ignores him and it's McDonald who answers.

Next, Silna launches herself at her dying father. Here, once again, James tries to take an active role, to "help" by following Francis' cues on what to do.

James has been watching, learning, asking questions and now looks desperate to be part of the solution to this awful situation: to be in this with Francis. Look how similar their gestures are, how James looks to Francis for direction.

---

STOP - DOOM HAMMER TIME

The VERY first scene in which Francis and James become partners, take action together to keep something from happening, they effectively set in motion one of the biggest causes of their doom: Silna's father doesn't die as he should, Tuunbaq is not bound to anyone. Oh man. That's a whole other essay.

---

(Back to the scene....)

While they're wrestling with Silna, James, clearly emotional and upset by what is taking place, reaches out again, perhaps this time more sincerely: Look at me, Francis, I'm trying to help, at least tell me what's happening? This time Francis acknowledges him — actually SPEAKS to him for the first time.

In response, James looks particularly vulnerable and distraught.

Silna's father dies. We see how different James' reaction is to Francis'. Poor James. Maybe he wants a little bit more from Francis in that moment, one more shared look. Francis doesn't give it to him.

Aaaaaand here we are, it's almost over. Franklin swans in, the really bad, bloody stuff having already been dealt with. He re-asserts his command by giving an order to James to escort Silna off the ship. James… doesn't exactly spring into action. In fact, he doesn't even acknowledge the order verbally, unlike Stanley. What's going on in his head? What does he think about Francis in that moment?

Anyway, let's wrap up.

So much of this scene is about the shift in James’ perception of Francis. He suddenly sees a man who is hands-on, who can take charge, who doesn't walk away from a terrible and unusual situation, even when it's clear there's no good outcome. And of course he knows Sir John skipped off at first opportunity.

Francis, meanwhile, only briefly appears to acknowledge James —but only as far as we can see. Francis of course knows that James was there, that he stayed behind, that he tried to help, that he tried to understand.

This knowledge and this changed dynamic become apparent immediately, in the very next scene.

LOOK HOW THEY ARE FRAMED!!!

Sir John is already receding into the background. James and Francis sit — still opposite sides of a table but in essentially the same pose. They are partners, mirrors, leaning into each other. The few glances here, small as they are, are NOT at Sir John, but between James and Francis.

Anyway, here you go, that's me done. I fucking love this show.

[boybandbaby]

Start Over (Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader)

word count: 2233

warnings/tags: exes to lovers, alcohol, being half naked, flirting, tears, as always if i missed anything let me know

note: do yall prefer when writers add summaries or without?

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You’re stood outside Buck’s apartment in a warm colored dress, heels in your hand and jacket lost somewhere at the reception.

It’s been four months since the breakup and you haven't been to his apartment since you came by to collect your things three months ago.

You’ve knocked twice already and a third time would only make you feel more sad and pathetic. Your cousin’s beautiful but extravagant wedding had only added to the months of heartbreak.

Buck was supposed to be there at your side tonight. Instead of dancing with your family and having a good time, you answered too many questions about where Buck was or how he was doing. You lied to everyone stating that he just couldn’t make it due to work.

Only your close family knew that you weren’t together anymore. You wanted to keep it that way. But what you really wanted was to be with Buck, back in his beefy arms and kissing his pretty lips.

After your third drink and no luck warming up in crisp the fall air, you’d made the slightly drunken decision to see him. Though you lost your jacket, you still had the important items in your purse including your phone. With sloppy thumbs, you’d called an Uber and landed at Buck’s apartment.

It’s two am and you’re not sure why you thought he would be up or even home. He’d either be at work or out with friends and family or worse, on a date.

You shake the thought from your head and take a deep breath. Pulling out your phone and opening the Uber app again, you feel tears in your eyes. You should’ve called him first instead of showing up. Would he have even answered or wanted to see you?

Your bare feet stick to the hallway floor, grounding you as you sway. You’re able to use this as an excuse as to why you haven’t left his doorstep yet.

You hear two noises at the same time, the sound of the Uber app notifying you that a driver has accepted your ride request and another chime signaling someone has exited the elevator on your current floor.

You’re already embarrassed and don’t want one of Buck’s neighbors seeing you camped outside his apartment. You finally find the strength to pull yourself away from his door, telling yourself you don’t get a second chance with him.

“Y/n?” His voice is slurred and his cheeks are flushed. He’s stumbling as quietly as he can towards you and his door. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” You point to his shirt. It’s wet around the neck line and chest. You’re not sure if it’s sweat, alcohol or both.

He looks down, laughs, one of your favorite things about him, and runs his hands over his wet shirt. “Yeah, too many shots, I think.” He hiccups and burps.

“I was just leaving, I’m s-sorry for showing up like this.” You apologetically smile and wave bye as you begin to pass him.

“Hey, don’t go.” His fingers brush your bare arms. “You look really pretty. How was the wedding?”

“You remember?” Your hand covers his as he holds onto your bicep.

“Yeah, of course. I still had it in my calendar. I kind of spiraled when I got the notification this morning.” He shrugs. “Do you want to come in? Sober up, warm up? Are you hungry?”

“Yes please, to all three.” You nod and let your hand fall.

Buck's hand caresses your arm, down to your fingers and grabs the heels from your hands like he always used to on date nights. He searches his pockets for his keys and jingles them around his pointer finger when he does.

“Please excuse the mess.” He fumbles to open the door and ushers you in.

“Wow, so messy Buckley.” You laugh, looking around the familiar apartment.

“I think I still have a shirt or two of yours if you want to get changed. You know where everything’s at.” He sets your heels down by the door and locks it behind him.

“I thought you returned everything back to me?” You turn to him, rubbing your arms up and down as he flicks the kitchen light on.

“Did you? I seem to be missing the bracelet I got you for Valentine’s Day last year.” He raises a brow before pulling out a pot and filling it with water.

“That was a gift! That was not going to be returned to you and please don’t tell me you have the black shirt with the embroidered frog on it from that one trip to the zoo." You defend.

“I do.” He smirks.

“I’ve been looking for that everywhere!” You gasp, laughing as you approach him in the kitchen.

“I figured once you couldn’t find it you’d come back and we’d work things out.” He reveals.

“You always could’ve dropped it off at my apartment if you wanted to see me so bad.” You nudge his shoulder.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” His tone is not joking anymore and he quiets down. The apartment is quiet save for the traffic outside and the slow rising boil of the water on the stove.

“I would’ve.” You admit.

“You could have it back?" He says, voice lifting at the end.

You can tell he doesn't want you to have it back by the way he offers it. “No, no. You keep it.”

“What are you going to wear then?”

“This.” You look down at your dress.

“As pretty as you look in that it’s not practical to sleep in.”

“When have I ever been practical.” You both laugh.

“I miss this, I miss us.” He admits.

“Me too.” You sigh. You're not ready to dive into your breakup. At least not yet. “Hey, can I use your shower?”

“Yeah, of course. You need any help in there or?”

“Real cute, Buckley. You can help me up the stairs to get my shirt.”

Buck nods and sets the box of pasta down on the counter. His hands find your hips as he helps you up the steps. “You sit.”

He rummages through his drawer before tossing the shirt to you and a pair of sock. “Do you want a pair of sweats or something?”

“No, this is good. Thanks, Buck.” You’re not moving to head back down stairs so he sits beside you. “New bed set?”

“Yeah. Story is too long and gross to discuss.” He shrugs. It’s too embarrassing he thinks. He made himself so sick the first couple of weeks apart, he had no choice but to throw away the bed set. It was one you’d bought him anyway and it hurt to much to sleep in.

“It’s okay if I stay the night, right?” You hope he says yes. Cuddling with him would make everything okay again even just for the night.

Buck normally would be a gentleman and offer you the bed while he took the couch but he misses you too much. He does turn his back as you strip out of your dress and stays that way when you're ready to head downstairs.

Buck stands two steps below you as you hold onto his shoulders. You guys guide each other back downstairs and he helps you start the shower. “Food should be done by the time you get out. We’ll eat then sleep?” You nod and smile up at him as you sit on the toilet seat. “Call me if you need anything okay?”

You nod and wait for him to exit before peeling the towel off of your body and then your undergarments. You step into the warm water and rinse everything from the night and past 4 months away.

Buck settles in the kitchen, stirring the noodles as the water boils. He hopes this isn’t a one night event and that you’ll leave his life after this. He sees it in your eyes though. You long for him the way he does for you. He feels it in the way you're still comfortable around him and the way you don't hold any malice after your rough breakup.

You’d both ended things as they just got too hard. Busy schedules, too many fights, not enough time spent together creating good memories. He thinks that things can be different this time. He knows the mistakes and how he can try to help prevent them this time.

You’re out before he realizes, padding towards him. He can’t keep his eyes off your bare legs as you approach the kitchen and sit at the counter.

He begins to drain the noodles. “Do you want something to drink?” He calls out.

“Can we share?” You answer his question with a question. He laughs and nods.

“You gonna come and help me carry these up?"

“I’m half naked.” You point out.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” He smiles.

“Fine but no peeking.” You hop off the stool and attempt to pull your shirt down.

Buck has already served two bowls of pasta and the biggest cup of water he could find. He stabs the pasta with forks and hands you a bowl. “You go up first mister. I don’t need you looking at my butt.”

“How am I going to make sure you don’t fall?” He cheekily states.

“I’ll hold onto you with my free hand.”

“Okay, fine, that works.” He grumbles, you having bested him.

You hold onto his waistband as you follow him up the steps. He turns around as you run under the covers to cover your legs. He really is a gentleman.

You both sit in silence as you eat, sharing small glances and giggling when you meet each other’s eyes. It’s almost as if you’d never broken up.

You yawn and place your half eaten bowl onto the nightstand. Buck holds the cup of water to your lips and watches the way you gulp the liquid down. You wipe your chin with the back of your hand. “Can we cuddle?”

“Of course.” He smiles and sets the bowl and cup on the nightstand, quickly. He's just as eager to be in your arms as you are his.

You shuffle under the covers as he stands to undress. The damp shirt is pulled from his body and he shuffles out of his jeans. It’s not long before he’s under the covers with you.

His heart is pounding the more he realizes he’s going to be this close to you again. You’re already turned to face his side and watching his every move.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He whispers.

“Night Buck, thank you for letting me in.” You whisper back.

“Thank you for coming by.” He smiles.

Your hands find his under the covers and you give them a quick squeeze.

His eyes squeeze shut as he can feel your breath on his face. It's a mix of alcohol and pasta sauce, matching his. He's straining himself so he doesn’t try to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you the moment he saw you at his doorstep. Your eyes are open and you watch to see if he’s sleeping. He’s not and you can tell by the way his eyelids twitch.

“Buck?” You mumble.

“Mhm?” He hums back.

“I miss you.” You confess. “A lot.”

He opens one eye, “yeah? I miss you too.”

“Do you even think we could be together again?” Your voice is small and it breaks his heart but your words give him hope.

“I do.”

“What do I need to do to make things work again?” You bring his knuckles to your lips.

“I think we need to work together to make things work this time." He emphasizes the we. He doesn't want you blaming yourself for the fallout.

“I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.” You sigh, words coming out wobbly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better.” He supplies.

“I know I made a lot of mistakes. I don’t want to do that again.” You cry.

“We both made a lot of mistakes but if we’re both willing to not make them again, I think we could work.”

“I think so too." He wipes the tear from your cheek and traces his finger down to your lips.

"Can I kiss you now?" He shyly asks. You laugh all watery and snotty while nodding. Buck pulls you into him. You're both hot under the covers as your bodies mold together. The kiss is hard and desperate but it's perfect. You lay quietly in each other's arm until you both fall asleep. By then it's nearly 4 in the morning and you're knocked out cold.

You're both so slumped that you don't hear the key in the lock downstairs. “Buck, you forgot your damn phone in my car.” Eddie calls out, closing the door behind him. The apartment is quiet as he enters and he shoves his key in his pocket.

He trudges up the stairs to bother a sleeping Buck but freezes in his tracks when he sees you two curled up with each other. His eyes widen and he wonders how this came about considering Buck didn’t have his phone.

He settles on the idea that you’d come to see Buck on your own. His worries from last night of his broken hearted best friend are gone as he sees that he’s right where he’s supposed to be. With you.

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

[sound-of-scoups]

How Did We End Up Here? | LC | Oneshot

Pairing: Lee Chan x Female!Reader  Genre|tags: Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad Chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.  Word count: 18.9k+ Rating: Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI). Warnings: Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, there's a Gilmore Girls reference and several 5sos song lyrics referenced as well (if you know, you know), reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex (you know it’s bad), creampie. If there’s more please let me know. A/N: Happy birthday to my baby (even though he's older than me lol)! I wrote this story in a complete state of mania—the idea hit me, and in less than four days, it was finished. I thought posting it today, for his birthday, would be a good idea. I accidentally posted it earlier while scheduling, but I'm ignoring that little mishap hehe. Please read my final notes!! Enjoy reading, and let me know what you think! <3 🎧 Now listening to: end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino. Read on AO3

Summary: Lee Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he'd have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league, but it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.

He knew the exact moment you walked into the house. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence—like a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.

Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Their expressions made it clear: they were dying to find out.

There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself, though that certainly played a part. It was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something. 

And he—well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.

Tonight, when you walked through the doors of the frat house he was part of, wearing a tight black corset-style top, a short skirt that did little to cover your legs, and black thigh-high boots that made your legs appear even longer than they already were, looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin.

It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t. That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you—orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.

Of course he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.

“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan's voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.

Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.

And him? He was no better than the rest of them.

He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan, who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist, a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three. 

“What?”

Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”

It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it. 

Not that he was openly hitting on you when he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn't even know he had. 

It was a mess. He was a mess. 

Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway. 

Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”

Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a background vocalist for Beyoncé.”

“You do,” Vernon said, deadpanned. “Minho just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”

Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?” 

His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.

Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”

Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips if only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.

“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”

Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate. 

Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program—linguistics—meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.

You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.

Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times. 

Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”

“Hyung—” Chan groaned. 

“I mean, come on,” Seungkwan interrupted, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”

Chan glared at him. “That is not the same thing.”

“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, smirking.

By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though. 

Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him. 

A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care. 

Not only was he the most lucky dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan without warning if he could peek into his mind and see all the dreams he had about you. 

And the guy irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height, and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.

Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else—someone like him—made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.

“She has a boyfriend,” Chan said out loud, feeling a bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did. 

“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”

He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”

Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.

“Look, man,” Seungkwan said, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”

“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.

Vernon chimed in, “Seriously, dude. You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”

Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”

“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”

Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.

Chan froze.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.

And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips, marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen, curved into a smile. 

For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred around the edges, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then, just as quickly as it happened, you turned back to your friend, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand as if nothing had transpired.

He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the red cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.

Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” Vernon said, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.

He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”

Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”

He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip on his cup tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.

Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.

“Act normal,” Chan whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so. 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled. 

Chan shot him a sharp look, but before he could tell him to shut up, you were there—standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something that made his breath catch. 

Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the red cup in his hand as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.

“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.

Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix—Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show. 

Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan. 

“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their house. “Full house, I’ve been told.”

It was the first party the three of them had organized since the older members graduated, making them the hosts tonight. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in the house, it seemed they had been wrong.

“Thanks,” The three of them said in unison again and you let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity. 

“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking? I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as the Namsan Tower.” 

He knew you weren't just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body.

It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house; and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.  

Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.

Your laugh—soft, amused, and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face. “What’s your name?”

His world seemed to stop for a second. 

Even though the two of you weren’t close—or even friends—he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was his best friend. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?

This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn't know his name?

Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.

This couldn’t be happening.

“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging looks—surprised, amused, and definitely holding back laughter.

“Oh, I know your name, Channie,” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”

Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.

“Oh,” was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”

You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.” 

Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go upstairs and sleep.

He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long. 

“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.

“He's fine,” Seungkwan said for him. “We're all fine.”

You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”

Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh,” he started, clearly trying to fill the silence. “Are you having fun?”

“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway, as if just finding out. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”

The four of you glanced around the packed house, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable—dismantled, with couches pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in the corner, where a barman served specialty drinks, and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things. 

Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over. 

The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming parties were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.

The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you came alone?”

“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”

Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed Don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”

Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.

Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We're great company.”

You grinned. “Exactly.”

“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.

“Not here.”

The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory. 

He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.

Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really?” He smirked. “No boyfriend? That’s new.”

You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by their teasing. “He’s busy with something, I guess.” 

You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat. 

“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”

You let out a soft hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”

Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile a minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.

“You seem awfully interested in that drink,” you suddenly pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”

Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it—he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.

“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, as if that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”

Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”

Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name—so casually, so effortlessly—made his brain short-circuit again. 

Everything he wished for—right after you, of course—was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him. 

I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus, hell, he was a member of one of the most exclusive fraternities at university, was the current best dancer on the program since Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.

So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?

It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.

Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”

At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.

“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”

Chan blinked. 

“Oh, you know,” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”

It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.

You laughed softly, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”

Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words. 

“So…” you said, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”

Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”

Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. It’s fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically, as if trying to convince both of you.

You hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?

But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams—just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.

Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer. 

“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up as you turned your head to them with a grin so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet. 

Two seconds later, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”

You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.

 “I have to go,” you said, pointing with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend. “See you guys around.”

Chan's heart sank a little at the sudden shift, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.

But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan—just him. 

“I love your shirt, by the way.”

And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.

Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”

Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”

You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the few rooms upstairs with an unlocked door.

To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for a party, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them at Sigma Vita Tau’s annual homecoming party.

So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.

That person was currently downstairs, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone under the staircase, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.

With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name. 

That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much. 

You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances. 

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

It was almost two in the morning when Chan decided he’d had enough of the party. You had already disappeared minutes ago to God knows where, and even though your friends were still downstairs playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home. Your boyfriend had probably come by to pick you up at some point, like he always did, and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.

All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten. You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much... out of reach.

Now, he was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed up to his room.

After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head. 

He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right; this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every move. 

He was such a big fool. 

A fool for you, apparently. 

For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.

His heart skipped a beat as his eyes landed on the figure. The silhouette was unmistakable, even in the dim light—your figure, perched on the balcony railing, legs dangling, one hand resting on your knee. He wasn’t sure how long you’d been there, but the sight of you, calm and seemingly lost in thought, made him hesitate. Again. 

The cool night air swept in, ruffling the curtains and causing them to dance with the wind again, almost as if they were beckoning him. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But then the thought of you sitting out there alone made his chest tighten, as if the universe was giving him a second chance to do things right, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was standing up and crossing the room.

He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The cool breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party downstairs still faintly echoing in the distance. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close.

You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.

Chan never liked people invading his space, especially his room, and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But it was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes, as if the hoodie had been made for you to wear too.

“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”

You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance.

“Chan?” You said his name like you couldn’t quite believe it, like maybe you were the one dreaming and not him. He smiled.

“Hey,” he managed to say, his voice gentle, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “You okay there?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, offering a small smile, grateful for the concern in his eyes. “Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”

Chan hesitated for a moment before leaning against the railing next to you, his posture a little stiff but his presence somehow calming. “I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”

You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dancer major?”

He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends' advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, like it belonged to you just as much as it did to him. 

Still, he forced himself to get the words out.

“Yeah, well… dancing is different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense. It’s the kind of noise I can control.”

You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”

“Not so much.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling of the trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet, here you were, in his hoodie, in his bedroom’s balcony. 

Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that's happening. 

You were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action.

You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the cool breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.

You’d known the SVT boys for a while now, and they always carried this… chaotic energy, like one was constantly balancing and matching out the other’s freaks without the slightest trace of embarrassment or shame. That, in fact, was the reason why you liked being around them so much; they were different from the guys in the other fraternities at this university. Not to mention their parties were the best on campus and probably the most female-friendly and safe.

Every now and then, you found yourself in the company of one of them. Whether it was Vernon, who was already your friend and classmate, or Joshua, who once served as the english literature tutor for your study group back in freshman year, or even Seungkwan, in the one ancient studies class you share this semester.

Sometimes, it seemed like they were everywhere on campus, as if, whenever you needed one, they would magically appear—like when Abby blew out a candle in that Disney Channel movie 16 Wishes, except in this case, there were only 13. 

Lee Chan, however, was the member you hardly ever heard the voice of. You just couldn’t tell if he was always like that or if the problem was you, specifically. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” you asked, your tone light, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.

Chan chuckled at your question, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He forced himself to say something, anything, before he made even more of a fool of himself. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”

Brilliant. Just brilliant. 

For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, he hoped you wouldn't notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.

Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.

He couldn’t help but smile, feeling a bit more at ease despite the awkwardness that lingered. You weren’t making him feel self-conscious about his words, just... making him feel seen by you in a way that made his chest tighten, because that never happened before. 

“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he added, his voice lighter this time, trying to steer the awkwardness away. “Just... not always the best at small talk.” 

He gave a shrug, hoping you would take it as more of a self-aware joke than anything else.

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway. It’s the big stuff that matters.”

Chan tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. 

“What kind of big stuff are we talking about here?” He was trying to sound nonchalant, but inside, he was celebrating wildly; not just because he was managing to talk to you, but because you were talking to him too.

Perched on the railing, you shifted slightly to face him fully, your hands gripping the edge as you met his gaze. 

“Like... real conversations. The kind where you actually get to know someone,” you said, your voice softer now, almost a little serious. 

Suddenly, Chan felt like the air between you two shifted, and he couldn’t decide whether it was the wind or something else making him feel more aware of every movement you made and every word you said. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the rush of thoughts flooding his mind. “I guess... I guess you're right.”

You smiled, pleased with his answer, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd downstairs faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like you’re both in another world entirely. 

Up here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something that Chan didn’t even know what. 

He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room.

The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.

Instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind since the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”

Chan watched as you froze, your eyes slowly widening while your brain processed his question. Your gaze followed his, and the moment you registered what you were wearing, a soft laugh escaped your lips—one that sent his pulse into overdrive. 

“Oh, shit,” you said, blinking, voice showing your very obvious surprise. 

You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. 

“Wait, no—” you started, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear.” Your hands gripped the hem of the hoodie as if it might disappear if you didn’t hold onto it. “I—I didn’t know this was your room. I promise I wasn’t—I mean, I just—”

“You just… what?” he managed to ask, still amazed that you were standing in front of him, in his hoodie—did he stress this enough?—after a night of him avoiding you because he was convinced he had lost every chance he had after your interaction earlier. 

You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. Found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and, uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”

Chan stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”

A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”

It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.

He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all.

You were still seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.

Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he said, forcing a small smirk. “Guess it looks better on you anyway.”

He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.

Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”

Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his hoodie, looking at him like that…

Yeah. He was completely screwed.

“No, stay,” he said, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”

You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Unless you want to go back?”

You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”

Chan tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.

“Okay,” you said after a beat. Then, with a teasing smile, you added, “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”

Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. You can keep it.”

You grinned. “Thanks.”

“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”

“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.

And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.

There was a comfortable silence between you after that, the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges. 

You tilted your head slightly, as if studying him, and Chan felt his pulse quicken again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way he wanted you to look at him the way you looked at your boyfriend.

At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.

Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them.

“So where's your boyfriend?”

If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose. 

The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.

And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He's...not my boyfriend anymore.”

Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words. 

Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.

“Not your boyfriend anymore?” He repeated after you. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn't want to be.”

That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with your step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already. 

Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?

“He’s an idiot then.” Chan spoke, bringing you out of your thoughts. When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion.

Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”

You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”

The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it. 

He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”

You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was sharp when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”

Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him—a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.

“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”

“And what finally made you leave? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Channie”

“Yeah?”

Chan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even if he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative and more responsive. 

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”

His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment. Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head? 

Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him—the asshole who never let you breathe.

“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk,” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them. 

“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?” 

Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. 

“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly, the weight of your response settling in the space between you. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.

“Yeah,” you continued, voice soft but steady, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”

Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.

Something you truly deserved.

“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”

He hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.

You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled. 

“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”

Chan’s heart beats faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before. It felt real.

“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment. But your expression softened in a way that made his heart skip another beat.

“Maybe,” you said, voice low but deliberate, eyes never leaving his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”

Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility. 

Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing and sitting on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable against his skin, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air. 

Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you—not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart. 

He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the rain before it returned to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, his voice low, almost hesitant, like he was giving you an escape from the moment, if you needed it.

You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”

Chan turned to face you, his expression softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, the hesitation that lingered in your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience, that he wanted you there more than anything. 

“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.” 

“Never,” you said, your voice light, but there was something else in it, something he couldn’t quite put a finger on. Especially when you said, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”

Chan froze, his heart giving a sharp, involuntary lurch at your words. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.

He cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.

As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips. 

What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went upstairs and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends? 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said simply, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs. 

Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric. 

So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care. 

He couldn't help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.

The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life. 

There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance unit with the frat’s past members, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.

Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely. 

“Lee Jung Chan?” you asked, curious as you read the name on one of the trophies from a children's dance competition. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time. 

Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It's my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”

“You went by your full name back then?”

He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”

“It's cute,” you said, looking at him over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”

“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”

You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you'd only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation. 

“What? Jimmy Neutron?”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn't help.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips. 

“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.

He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”

“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it's adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it perfectly.”

Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look perfect now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”

He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”

You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you've probably never seen anything so lovely before.

“Well, I think you were adorable,” you murmured, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”

He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”

Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”

“She is,” he said, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”

Something about the way he said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but intense. The soft glow of the streetlights made his features sharper, casting shadows along his well-defined jawline.

If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.

Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure—he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.

“You still are, you know,” you said, voice quieter now. “A star.”

His lips parted slightly, but for a moment, he didn't say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out.

And then, with a small, almost shy smile, he said, “I like it better when you call me cute.”

You laughed, the sudden tension between you easing just a little. “Noted.”

He exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”

You didn't have to say his name like that, or move your lips like that. His eyes traveled to your mouth for a moment, and for a second, something flickered in his expression, something unspoken, but not entirely hidden. 

His eyes met yours as he said, “Yeah,” he murmured. “You are.”

To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”

As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued your exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he standed between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly. 

“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture. 

“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”

“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”

Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”

You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?” 

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”

“That’s love.”

He looked at you then, his gaze steady. “Yeah, it is.”

Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.

He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.

Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.

“I was there that day, you know?” you said, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to. 

Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.

“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo—and then at him.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.” 

He felt a warmth spread through him at your words, the kind of warmth that made his chest tighten. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you. 

“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn't see you?”

“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”

He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”

There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”

He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”

Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.

There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter. You noticed him. Not just that night, but every time after. 

He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had—every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do. 

How did you end up here?

Chan felt lightheaded.

He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.

“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.

You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you murmured, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”

Chan swallowed. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different? 

But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”

Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night—to scan every face in the crowd, to find you standing by the side stage, watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time. 

Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken. 

The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, something that made his head spin in the best way.

“Can I ask you something?” You sank your hands on the mattress and stared at the wall in front of you, like you were avoiding his gaze for some reason. 

“Mhmm.”

You wet your lips, hesitating for a moment before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”

Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.

You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. “That’s what I thought.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He hesitated, his eyes flickering over to you. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”

You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious. “I make you nervous?” you echoed, tilting your head slightly. “That’s a first.”

Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”

“That is just an act,” he admitted. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you then, meeting your gaze fully. “You’re real. You’re right here.”

And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.

Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew the way your stomach flipped at the way he was looking at you, like you were something impossible and undeniable all at once. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words. 

“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie” you said, your voice softer now, more careful.

“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan murmured, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”

Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things. 

And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.

Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you'd heard him right.

Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, his voice lighter, trying to sound nonchalant.

Something inside you fluttered at the thought. You hadn't expected this at all—not from him, not tonight. And definitely not in this way.

“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”

“But you never said anything,” you pointed out.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested,” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.” 

You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. 

Didn’t think you’d be interested?

It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. 

What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around. 

Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.

So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. It was now or never.

“Is it just in the past?” 

Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”

“Your crush.”

“Uhh..”

“Because it would be so sad if it was,” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his. 

His voice was softer when he spoke again. “Really?”

You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”

He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting again at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what he had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.

“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”

Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t—because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous in the best way.

“Would it?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

Your smile again, nodding. 

He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”

“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”

“I am?”

“Yes.”

You didn't say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real. 

He was messing with your head? Well, that’s a first. 

“Noted,” he simply murmured.

“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.

Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed. 

He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this charged, uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.

Chan swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. His instinct was to deflect, to joke, to brush it off like it was nothing. To play nonchalant. But the way you were looking at him—with quiet anticipation, with something that felt dangerously like hope—made it impossible to lie.

And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him. You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips.

“Good.” 

Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash. “Good?”

You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing impossibly small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”

A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe.

“Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.

You tilted your head, eyes glinting with something warm, something teasing. “What do you think?”

“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”

You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”

“Noted,” he replied again, huffing a quiet laugh and shaking his head. But this time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful. 

You bit your lip for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.

Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.

“Chan.”

“Yes, noona?”

“Do you wanna kiss me?”

He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.

Did he hear you right?

Did you—did you really just ask him that?

But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.

His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, because suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.

He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”

“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, your voice softer now. “And if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”

Chan let out a shaky breath. He was absolutely, utterly doomed.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”

“Why not?” You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping just enough to make his pulse go haywire. 

Chan let out another nervous laugh, shaking his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”

You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning. 

Yeah, he was probably overthinking this—scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this—but the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him. 

He didn’t want to screw this up.

But at the same time…

God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again. 

So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.

“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”

Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His heart pounded as he closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. The moment was slow, tentative at first, like he was memorizing the feel of you, engraving it to his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped. 

Chan exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it. 

If the party outside still carried on, now it felt distant, muted. The only thing that existed in this moment was your lips and the way they mold together, the way your fingers slid up into his hair, the soft sound you made when he nipped at your bottom lip.

Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed. 

And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else. 

Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side—and that was it. You were lost too.

When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs. 

Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him. A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter—if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.

One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.

Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time. 

Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hops to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.

His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by the heat of the moment, consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from. 

As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him: you looked like a goddess on top of him.  

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he said, voice was low, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you. 

Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling the full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him. 

Chan’s breath came in sharp, uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.

“Fuck,” he rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His voice was raw, thick with desire, and it sent a pulse of heat through you.

You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.

Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away. 

His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours. 

“You,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just want you.”

The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. Your fingers splayed over his abdomen, feeling the way his stomach tensed beneath your touch, the way his breathing hitched with every slow, deliberate movement of your hands.

“Then take me, baby” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.

Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.

“You’re really trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”

He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.

The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.

His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to remember this, just in case he never got the chance to do it again.

Your hips rolled instinctively, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.

You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.

Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”

His hands roamed higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.

“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”

You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you. 

“I want you to sit on my face,” he says with certainty, eyes darkened with something you’ve never seen before, but you love it. The sheer existence of it sends a whimper tumbling from your lips. 

Still, you can't help but think about his safety.

“Are you sure” you asked, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt. 

“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please” 

“Fuck. Okay.”

You get off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you step out of the bed. You pull off your skirt and panties, while Chan gets up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returns to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burn with desire as he watches you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset—on purpose.

When your breasts finally spill free, his mouth parts slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world. 

“Come here, baby.”

You slowly crawl across the bed toward where he’s lying close to the headboard, and Chan helps you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settles on either side of his head as you both adjust, ensuring the position is comfortable for both of you.

“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against your pussy, followed by a groan, and you feel his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.

You knew that you’re so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you’re sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill runned through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you’re the last and most delicious meal he's ever going to have in his life. 

“You smell delicious, noona,” The way he speaks makes you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”

Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat is right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips find your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate. 

When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him. 

The gasp that left your lips is a sound you’ve never done before, completely immersed in the pleasure he is giving you. His nose nudges against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moves over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who has been starving for far too long.

“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”

The way Chan’s mouth moves on you is pure, unrestrained hunger, and it feels so good that, only for a moment, you entertain your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cup your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that make you shiver around him. 

His tongue circles your entrance, sliding in as more of you slick spills into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wants this to end. All day, every day, Chan is sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wants is to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that is you with your pussy right in his face.

Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans was the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty fucking sure this is the soundtrack of paradise and he can’t wait to get there. 

When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sessions. 

“Oh my god, Chan,” you choke out, closing your eyes shut. 

“Hmm.” His hum sended vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would fall forward on the bed. 

Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.

He was done. Gone. 

There was no one else for him in this world. 

Only you.

You.

You.

You. 

You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.

“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low. 

That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.

Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.

When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn't resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.

Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.

He could only be dreaming.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your lips.

Normally, words like that spoken so close would make you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants—aching, neglected, and probably leaking.

Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing seconds. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.

The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and and you arched into him, desperate to feel more—to press him even more against you, to take him in.

“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm. 

Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.

“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”

“I want it,” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.” 

“Okay, noona.”

Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips. 

“You're driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you. 

You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”

Chan didn't argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his tights in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you. 

You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.

After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake. 

“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said,“There's a condom on the nightstand.”

He didn't move, didn't break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive. 

“Don't you wanna take me raw, Channie?” you pouted, sliding forward again. “I'm on birth control, and I'm clean.”

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.

The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn't sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint. 

“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze. 

“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender. 

Then, with another soft moan, you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance, before lowering yourself onto him, the fit perfect, as if you were made for each other.

Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support. 

“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”

You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan's hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don't stop. Please, don't stop.”

Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn't planning on it.”

You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you intensified, a primal dance of pleasure and need.  

You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan's eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him, the pressure mounting with each thrust.  

You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.

A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.

He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”

One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.

“Chan!” you cried, your voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and desperation.  

The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.

The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison. 

The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you'd run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together. 

Still inside you, Chan almost couldn't believe it at this moment. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment. 

He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.

Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it. 

He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”

Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Mmm," you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.” 

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Certainly, he hadn't expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him. 

You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I've been wanting this...for longer than I care to admit.” 

He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper.  “I...I didn't think…”

“Didn't think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn't think you felt the same way. I thought...I thought I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”

Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on. 

Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.

His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he'd been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.

You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”

He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”

“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something...that made me want to get to know you better.”

Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren't scared off by my…awkwardness around you?”

You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”

He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”

You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you'll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I'm willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”

“Mhmm.”

“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”

You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.

“Honestly, Channie?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn't think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was…persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed…distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”

He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He'd been so afraid of rejection that he'd inadvertently pushed you away. “I…I was an idiot.” 

You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we're not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”

Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”

“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“For giving me a second chance.”

You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”

A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.

“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…” 

You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest. 

“Don't get any ideas, Mr. Lee” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I'm a tough negotiator. You'll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”

“Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'm a very hard worker. And, I'm more than happy to put in the overtime.”

“We'll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You're incredible, Lee Chan. Don't ever forget that.”

He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won't,” he promised. “Not anymore.” 

©sound-of-scoups

If you liked this feel free to let me know with a like, reblog, comment, whatever you prefer! ❤️

A/N: The next morning + Vernon and Seungkwan's reactions to finding out about them were in my plans for the story, but in the end, I thought this ending was perfect and decided not to include. If you'd like to read about it, please let me know here.

[byhawthorne]

Nightmares.

– Grayson Hawthorne x fem!xreader : she always seeks comfort in Grayson when she has nightmares.

an : hi!! finally i stopped fighting the fact that i want to write Gray one shots, so here i am. i wanted to write something cute and comforting, i'm not the best writer but i promise to improve and i will write other things where i include the other characters. important: i still don't know if i should use (Y/N) so sometimes i won't mention any name but in other one shots I'll add (Y/N) enjoy! 🫶🏻

She opened the door somewhat hesitantly. Everything was dark and it was clear that he was sleeping, maybe she should turn around and... No, Grayson wasn't going to bite her. Besides, it wasn't the first time she'd been there.

She closed the door behind her and walked over to Grayson's bed. The Hawthornes had offered her a room for a few days and by the Hawthornes she meant Grayson had insisted. It wasn't that bad, Xander had actually talked to her a lot and shown her his experiments. It helped distract her and it was actually much better to be there than in her own house.

"Gray..." she murmured but he didn't move. She was nervous, why was she more nervous than other days?

Well, Grayson wasn't her boyfriend. She wasn't entirely sure if they were a thing but she knew they weren't just friends either, she was too scared to ask. By the way, Xander had said it was stupid and that everything would be fixed by asking, he almost opened his mouth for a second.

The last few nights she had been having nightmares, too many nightmares and so horrible that it was difficult for her to get back to sleep. He had helped, he let her get into his bed and hugged her. She was pretty sure she'd never seen Grayson hug people all the time, but she wasn't just anyone. She had a different side to him.

"Gray..." She muttered one last time and decided that if she didn't get an answer she was just going to leave and get something to drink in the kitchen.

"What's wrong?" He opened his eyes and for a second he was scared to notice that it was still nighttime. But then he saw her there, next to his bed and immediately knew what was happening. "Another nightmare?"

She nodded embarrassedly. She liked seeing him like that, sleepy and with his hair disheveled. It was almost unusual to see him without his suit, she never said it out loud but seeing him like that was her favorite thing.

"I'm sorry..." She sighed and regretted being there in the middle of the night, but she felt calmer when she saw Grayson shake his head and make room for her on the bed.

She slid into bed next to him and immediately her arms went around him. She sighed clinging to him, she could feel how warm he was.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she heard him murmur. He always asked her if she wanted to talk about it and she always said no... For Grayson it was just a nightmare, for her were memories. Saying it was just a nightmare sounded much better, at least until she was ready.

"No... just hold me." She sighed. She didn't want to lie to him but there were things she wasn't ready to say yet, especially since they were only fragments of her memories.

Minutes passed and she began to hear Grayson's heavy breathing again. "Gray?" She lifted her face only to notice that he had already fallen asleep again. She smiled, she loved seeing him so peaceful every time he slept, she could spend hours watching him just sleeping.

She pressed her lips against his cheek and snuggled back into his side feeling calmer. He always made her feel calm.

[cakerybakery]

Dinner was going well. Charlie was a bit surprised. Since Lucifer came to live at the hotel and Adam revived almost six months ago, nearly every meal had been a battlefield.

Alastor picking a fight with Lucifer. Lucifer and Adam at each other’s throats. And that was on top of various dramas involving overlords and sinners.

But things were settling down.

Even when Alastor was trying to get under Lucifer’s skin, Adam seemed to have taken over calming things down. If calming things down meant, telling Alastor to quiet his ass up and for Lucifer to sit his ass back down, then interrupting Alastor every time he tried to make an excuse with a, “kid, I told you to shut up.” Alastor usually vanished after that.

Alastor had left for the night when Adam asked for someone to please pass the salt.

Lucifer handed it to Charlie, “please pass this to your mother, would you, darling?”

“Sure— what did you say?” Charlie blinked as several people started to choke on their drinks or food.

“ADAM!” Lucifer gave a hysterical fake laugh. “Slip of the tongue! I forgot for a moment, we— that. It’s I— Adam! Help me out here.”

“Fuck, no!” Adam wheezed between laughs. “You’re on your own, daddy.” He teased.

Lucifer shot Adam a dirty look as Husk tried to dislodge a piece of chicken from Angel’s throat.

“You might as well tell her.” Adam said still trying to get his breath back.

“Tell me what?” Charlie asked, glaring accusingly at Lucifer, who still fumbled over his words.

“It’s— well. Uhhh. Charlie, darling.”

Charlie pulled away as Lucifer reach for her hand. “Don’t tell me you two are dating.” She wanted to be supportive but that set Adam off again and the colour drained from Lucifer’s cheek marks.

“NO!” Lucifer glared at Adam. “I was going to tell her when I was ready! Asshole.”

“Seriously. Tell me what?”

Lucifer reached for her again but pulled away and fiddled with his cuffs instead. “The divorce is finalized. We signed the paperwork this morning. I’ve been a little distracted, thinking about your mother. Adam had been helping me the last few weeks to get up the nerve to sign everything.”

Adam winked and shot her a finger gun. “Not my first divorce. Been married and divorced six times now. Figured helping him rip the bandage off would net me some of those good karma points or whatever.”

“Oh.” That was all? She knew this was coming. Lilith took off all those years ago and Charlie often told herself Lilith was doing something important, but there had been all the fights, and her mom stormed out, and the divorce papers in the mail.

She knew. But her heart kind of hurt anyway. Things were never going back to normal. To how they had been when she was a kid.

“That’s good news!” She did her best to put on a happy face. “You guys weren’t happy anymore. It’s better than being miserable together.” She tried to remember some of the “So your parents are getting divorced, Champ” pamphlets she’d read when the divorce papers first showed up.

Stuff like, ‘It’s not your fault mommy and daddy aren’t together,’ didn’t seem applicable right now, but, “Sometimes people just grow apart, Dad. And it’s better if you two can move on and find happiness again.”

“You’re taking this better than I thought.” Lucifer smiled softly at her.

“Told you.” Adam had settled back in the eat his food. “She a tough kid. You did a good job with her.”

Lucifer flushed gold. “I—uh, thank you?”

“No problem.”

Dinner settled back down and Adam got his salt, getting plenty of ribbing about Lucifer slip of the tongue in.

Charlie started to clear the table, it was her turn that night, and Adam and Lucifer gave her thanks before leaving and looking closer than they used to be.

“Daddy up for a movie?” Adam teased, jostling Lucifer’s shoulder as they left.

Lucifer snorted. “You’re not going to let that go are you?”

“Never.”

“Turn about is fairplay, mommy.”

She could hear them as they went down the hall.

“Bitch, you think that bothers me? I’m too awesome to care. Now answer the question.”

“Depends on if mommy wants to watch that crappy Titanic movie again or something good.” Lucifer teased.

Adam faked a gasp. “That movie is a classic! It’s cinematic perfection!”

They wandered too far for Charlie to hear anymore of their conversation. But it left her wondering. She shouldn’t assume, but it seemed funny to her that it took someone new in her father’s life for him to move past the divorce at last. Maybe they were just friends.

…

But the mommy/daddy thing was weird, right?

[vldunchartedregions]

Voltron Season 8 Meta - The Ground Work

Before we start our episode-by-episode deep dive & broader analysis of Voltron Season 8...

I wanted to address our main philosophy and themes we will be touching on our journey together.

Firstly, every frame, expression, shot, angle, storyboard, character placement, dialogue? It is all intentionally chosen to cater to the story. Animation is expensive and Dreamworks banked on this show being the success. It was greenlit for 78 episodes off the bat, sectioned into 3 parts (26 episodes each).

MM: Okay. So at that time did you know it was a 78-episode contract?

JDS: Yes.

LM: Yes we did. That was probably one of our biggest lies. You know, sadly. We try not to lie too much, but I’ll tell you, I’m gonna blow-blow the whole industry up right now: if an animated show tells you they don’t know if they have a second season, they probably know they have a second season.

Let's Voltron - Episode 175 - Transcript by Team Purple Lion

---

Oh yes, Dreamworks & Netflix were banking on this project. Budget comes into play and the show would've had an overall budget set in stone for animation, voice actors, writers, background artists, the showrunners, directors, marketing, events, etc. the works.

Moving forward, we must keep this philosophy in mind - every decision reflected within an episode - the title, all frames, shots, character placements, and dialogue choices within an episode that we'll be dissecting always has the following:

Intentions - The What?

Motivation & Purpose - The Why?

In a great audiobook I listened to from Reggie Fils-Aimé, called Disrupting the Game (highly encourage you to listen to it if you're curious about his time as President of Nintendo), he goes through his career journey chapter-by-chapter, tells important stories that helped shape him into who he is, and then ends each chapter with "The Why."

Why am I saying this? ADHD, but I do also have a point; walk with me here.

We will be looking at each episode with the lens of dissecting the double meaning of the episode titles - including the what and the why; identifying the layers in each episode that reflect the title's original intention and purpose. Neil Kaplan explains this notion well with "Launch Date" in his interview with Afterbuzz TV (Season 8, Episode 1 & 2 Recap)

[Timestamped: 3:07] 2. We will be dissecting scenes with the notion of the "What & "Why?" - from character expressions, to placement, to how the edits in post-production that were requested disrupts all of the original intentions of the episode and/or shots.

3. We will be looking towards my secret source (apologies to you all, but I'm NOT revealing who it is - sit down with some popcorn instead and enjoy the ride) with the information they have provided + other sources of information we've uncovered or have been informed of, to make informed conclusions with evidentiary support. Every step we take will be an informed conclusion.

In short, everything has a purpose and we will be walking through all of this with some lovely nuggets of (alleged) truth to feed our conclusions from my sources.

We also must keep in mind: explanations, intentions, and motivations can change throughout this meta. Our conclusions now might not be the ones we decipher later on. Not everything we know may be the truth, and even if we are to assume that what I've been told is all facts (allegedly; for entertainment purposes only), some facts even from my source may shift our current knowledge into a new truth.

When I tell you we have been binge watching these episodes again, and again, and tearing them apart limb from limb with the information we have, we are not exaggerating. We keep uncovering more with each rewatch and my friends, it is fascinating.

With ALL of this in mind, let's dive into some of the broader themes of Season 8:

In the first half of Season 8, we are shown that the paladins have not always made the correct decisions in their time defending the universe. Their actions DO have consequences, and their decision making from the past bites them in the ass.

...Case in point. 2. In the second half of Season 8, we unlock a few new themes: Love, Rebellion, & Redemption.

We will also address the Macross Theory™ Love Triangle.

Religious themes that go much deeper into the show than we initially thought. Further influence from many mecha shows (oh yes, this includes Evangelion here, friends - get in the robot, Lance).

Please see a screenshot from a DM from my valuable source from New Year's Day:

I was going to censor this message a little... however, I think it's a bit more fun to give you a teaser for what's to come. It's probably not what you're expecting.

Again, I must implore to you all - these changes were asked for last minute, hence why Season 8 is such a hard watch to old fans and new:

It was DONE. COMPLETE. FINISHED.

BEFORE Season 7 dropped.

They were ready to take a grand ol' break before Season 8 was meant to drop. Walk the dogs, paint some walls, eat some food. Y'know, they were on holiday mode - ready to book flights, job well done team!!

There was an incredible story awaiting us that unfortunately ended up on the cutting-room floor. This was even mentioned by LM at the NYCC panel in 2018, but for this purpose, I'll use a quote from the Afterbuzz TV podcast - February 25th, 2019:

LM: It was–there’s a ton of stuff that just hit the-hit the, kinda, cutting room floor, storyboard-wise, just because we didn’t have the time and so we’re looking like, it’s a kids’ show technically still, even though we’re trying to make it more than that. You have a-a scene that’s basically an act long that’s just in a white floaty space with people talking about, like, you know–

JDS: Bigger emotional stuff-

LM: Yeah. And, uh, you know, letting that go any longer than that is just like, “You can’t do it!”

ABTV Voltron February 25 Season Review with Showrunners in Studio - Transcript by Team Purple Lion

---

Now that's all addressed, I do want to lay some ground rules as we proceed through this meta. I'm going to sound like a broken record, but I want to make this clear to the fandom:

It was NEVER the crew, cast, or showrunners intention for Season 8 to pan out this way. They had an entirely different vision as to where the show was heading + they were probably confident it wouldn't be changed by the time they finished it. There was direct, last minute, executive intervention here. Do not hunt down all parties for this as it has been several years.

We implore you to approach this meta with empathy and kindness. How heartbreaking would it be to be the crew, let alone the showrunners, to be asked to amend and revise all of Season 8 after painstaking, hard work and having the season done already? With NO budget left? You can agree to disagree with me here, but this is how we will be approaching this meta. Be kind.

Your feelings are valid - abusive, unwarranted behaviours and opinions are not. We were not there and we don't know the full story and how it unfolded, no matter how much context and bits of information we were given. We DO have evidentiary support to fuel this meta and piece together a look at what may have been the original ending (allegedly; don't get me wrong) but I wanted to make this clear - no sending hate to anyone.

In light of all of this, let us begin with a teaser: I'll share one confirmation I had from my source...

Lotor was meant to be brought back to life from the rift.

Check out my Twitter page for any and all updates in regards to this insanely detailed meta; including teasers and screenshots! Please and thank you.

---

Disclaimer: The one thing I humbly request is PLEASE... No hate towards the showrunners, cast, crew, or the official Voltron IP holders. There's a lot that has changed culturally and intrinsically within the industry over the years and this outcome was not something they could simply control. Let's be adults, look at this open conversation with empathy and love, and respectfully, let's indulge in this topic with grace - your feelings, however, are incredibly valid when it comes to this meta and what we uncover, as there's many alleged finds that may shock the fandom.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Valentine's Day Pt. 2 (MFLs)

See also: Valentine's Day 2024

Hey all!

Well, haven't been asked this year for a new Valentine's list, and since I didn't have a list ready this weekend, I decided to take it upon myself to throw together this list of fics from my Marked for Later offline list and post it for today!

As always, if you have a Valentine's fic you're writing or have read, PLEASE suggest it for the reblog! Enjoy!

Conversation Hearts by rsong912 (M, 1,382 w., 1 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Developing Relationship, Valentine's Day, One Shot, Bed Sharing, Fluff Without Plot, First Kiss) – This little one-shot is in honor of Valentine's Day and the boys. I got the idea by reading about the origin of those little conversation heart candies, once manufactured by Necco and now by Spangler Candy Co, which have apparently been in production with only a few years of a break since 1902. They usually have a theme every year, in addition to the classic hearts. I've used the prompt of the classic hearts to come up with the theme for this little fic: Will U B Mine?

Hope is sweet by Lock_John_Silver (T, 2,977 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Parentlock with Rosie, Valentine’s Day, Developing Relationship, Pet Names, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Classical Music, Idiots in Love, Endearments, POV Sherlock) - Sherlock wants to be more than John’s best friend. Has wanted it for ages, truth be told. So, when Molly comes up with an idea, that to some extent involves three year old Rosie, Sherlock doesn’t hesitate.

Worth Its Weight by philalethia (E, 2,986 w., 1 Ch. || Sugar Daddy AU || PWP, Daddy Sherlock, Daddy Kink, Service Domination, Gift Giving, Unsafe Sex, Sex Toys) – “Remember,” John said, “when we talked about you not buying me extravagant things?” Basically: a little bit of Valentine's Day daddy kink. Part 2 of All the Rest 'Verse

The Importance of February 14th by cypress_tree (T, 3,156 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Humour, Valentine’s Day) – Sherlock was born on Valentine's Day. John doesn't know this and invites him out on a date. Sherlock assumes it's a birthday celebration and believes so right up until the moment John kisses him.

Dinner and a Murder by vintagelilacs (T, 4,210 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting || Valentine’s Day, Online Dating, Mutual Pining, Confessions, Getting Together, POV John, Oblivious John) – Reluctant to spend Valentine’s Day alone, John joins a dating app only to realize he’s already living with the closest thing to a soulmate he’s ever going to get.

Love, In Five Acts by unicornpoe (T, 4,443 w. 1 Ch. || Teenlock AU || Valentine's Day, Ballet, Romance, Pining, Wooing, Gifts) – Somebody is wooing Sherlock Holmes—only he doesn't think it's the person he wants it to be.

The Best Idea by SatanDrankMyCoffee (T, 7,252 w.,  5 Ch. || Valentine's Day, Bubble Bath, Hair Washing, People-Watching, Anxiety, Domestic Fluff/Bliss, Texting) – Gift giving is something Sherlock is usually quite good at but when the parameters change, he becomes unsure of himself. Which gift idea is the best idea? Part 3 of A Year in Occasions

Daddy's Darling by distantstarlight (E, 7,747 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Daddy Kink, Valentine’s Day, Smut, First Time) – Disguises are part of the package when you work as detectives, there was nothing new about that but one day Sherlock goes undercover with his best friend and they discover more than the answer to the crime.

Valentine’s Night Out by CarmillaCarmine (E, 10,120 w., 5 Ch. || ASiB Canon Divergence, Valentine’s Day, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Breath Play, Butt Plugs, Deep Throating, Humour, Orgasm Delay / Denial, Anal Sex) – John and Sherlock have been invited to join their friends at a pub for Valentine's Day. Sherlock has plans to spice the evening up a bit. Part 4 of the The Johnlock Holidays and Celebrations Series

The Heart of the Matter by prettysailorsoldier (T, 13,427 w., 1 Ch. || Teenager AU || Secret Admirer, Secret Crush, Texting, Valentine’s Day, Fluff) – It's the annual Valentine's Week fundraiser, carnations, conversation hearts, and singing telegrams (oh my!) making their way around the school corridors, and Sherlock Holmes has quite happily never received any of them. So, when he gets a box of conversation hearts containing a message from a secret admirer, his first instinct is that it's an elaborate practical joke, but, as he and his mystery suitor begin texting, he starts to wonder if there might be something to this Valentine's Day lark after all. There is, however, the entirely unrelated problem of one John Watson to contend with before he can be sure. Part 3 of 221B Mine

Not this year by Imjohnlocked87 (E, 16,293 w., 4 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting ||  Friends to Lovers, Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Smut, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Food Sex, Wall Sex, Angst with Happy Ending) – One month after leaving the rehabilitation centre, when Donovan asks Sherlock if he will be alone on Valentine's Day this year too, he replies he will be spending it with someone special.The only problem is that this someone doesn't exist.Because who would want to have Valentine's date with Sherlock Holmes? 

Quo Fata Vocant by prettysailorsoldier (E, 18,115 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock / Teenlock ||  Librarians, Bisexual John, Flirting, First Time, Tattoos, Valentine’s Day, Secret Admirer, Matchmaker) – Sherlock is enamored with one of the employees at the university library, wiling away hours of his days just to catch a glimpse of the dynamic John Watson: captain of the rugby team, event manager for the LGBT society, and third-year medical student. Of course, being only a first-year, it's unlikely John will ever notice him. At least, until fate (and a little well-intentioned meddling) intervenes.

[ravennaortiz]

2/9: pictures with Chibs requested by @youngadult9016 As always 18+

“Hey Boss. Got a letter for ya” called Tig as he strolled into the clubs meeting room waving an envelope in the air.

“Set it to the side” sighed Chibs as he kept his eyes on the ledger in front of him. He had been going over the clubs finances for the last hour and this was the third interruption.

Tig frowned as he noted the three other envelopes next to Chibs whiskey glass. Rat wasn’t kidding when he said Chibs had know idea about the gold mine laying on the table in front of him. “Think you should open these in this order immediately Chibs” he stated as he took a seat and arranged the envelopes and set them on top of the ledger. “Trust me brother” he added as Chibs eyes him over his glasses.

“Fine. After this no more interruptions” stated Chibs firmly as he picked up the stack of envelopes and sat back.

Tig watched in amusement as Chibs frowned at the first one. It was a photo of you on his bike, not sure what was so important about that. Opening the second he swallowed hard as he saw you had ditched the dress and was just in heels and a lingerie set. You looked gorgeous as you posed for the camera.

“Told you” muttered Tig as Chibs frantically opened the next one that showed you without the top and playing with your hardened nipples. Chibs could hear the little sounds coming from your pretty opened mouth just looking at the photo. He had always been amazed at your photography skills and how you captured so much in one moment.

“Fuck” muttered Chibs as he opened the envelope Tig had brought in. You had only just the heels on, sun glistening off your slick center as your fingers slipped into one of his favorite spots on your body. Without a further word he slammed his chair back as he tucked the photos in his kutte and sprinted for the door fumbling for his bike keys.

“Have a good valentines fuck” called Tig as he chuckled to himself. Gathering up all of chibs paperwork he moved it back to the safe and pulled his phone out and shot you a text.

-Old man enroute doll. Don’t ride him to hard-

You chuckled to yourself as you read the message from Tig. Glancing around your busy gallery you figured you only had a couple minutes to clear everyone out before they all got a show.

You were flipping the open sign as Chibs burst through the door. Without a word he had you pushed into the front window of your studio as he ground himself against you and bunched up your dress. The sound of ripping fabric as he tore your panties from your body was the only sound aside from his pants hitting the floor.

You moaned as he thrusted into you in one powerful motion that shoved your face up against the glass of the window.

“So wet Lassie” murmured Chibs as he slowly fucked you and his mouth sucked and nipped at your neck. “Been waiting for Daddy to come fuck you hmm” he added as people passed by on the sidewalk a couple feet away. “Sending naughty photos with my men” he continued as you clamped around him making him groan.

“All for you Daddy” you moaned as he hit that sweet spot that had you seeing stars and your toes curling.

You whined as Chibs pulled from you panting. “Knees” he ordered as he spun you around before pushing you to the ground. “Smile pretty Lassie” he stated as he snapped a photo once your lips were around his cock. “We are going to make a photo album today love” he added before putting his hands on your head and starting to thrust in and out of your mouth.

[zipzapfrogboy]

BYLER DOUBT BE DAMNED (An analysis on blocking and it’s significance)

Read this if you’re having doubt because I promise it will help at least a little.

(This might be sort of long and a bit unorganized because it’s my first analysis of sorts but just stick with me.)

The main thing that confirms Byler for me (and helps with doubt) is the final shots of season 4.

You know. Those.

I’m definitely not the first person to point it out but I want to talk about it a little more in depth. Specifically the blocking. It is so clearly a deliberate choice to place Mike and Will between two other canon couples (Joyce and Hopper and Nancy and Jonathan respectively). It’s most definitely foreshadowing both to romance and possibly s5 teams.

I’m a theatre kid, I’ve been acting since I was seven, I have experience and know some stuff. If directors don’t like what you’re doing or don’t think it works then they’ll tell you stop. The improv you see in shows and movies are things that were approved and stayed in because the directors wanted it to (in like 90% of cases). Same goes with blocking. Actors can’t just stand where they want unless explicitly told to do so.

Placement has purpose and meaning. It is so unbelievably specific and thought out. I have a director/theatre teacher who gave us at least a 30 minute explanation about how important stage placement is and the what it can convey. On numerous occasions she’s made us take two small steps forward, a large step back, stand a bit further from xyz, etc.

I was in a show that started rehearsing in June and the director had been planning and working on it since March or maybe even before then. Blocking (and choreography in the context of musicals) is planned for weeks to months ahead of time. Directors have visions and the reasons behind how they set scenes is to execute that vision perfectly and convey the right message and emotions.

I’m sorry if that all seemed random I’m just trying to emphasize my point.

Obviously it’s a bit different for filmed content but I don’t doubt that the same logic is applicable. You don’t place two characters who hate each other together because it doesn’t make sense story wise or character wise.

It’s thought out, planned, and so purposeful. It’s not just random placement and it’s certainly not foreshadowing just team pairings. Two characters who are a part of a complex love triangle standing between two already existing couples? Right…

And so now my question is, why?

Why else would they set it up and block it like that? Give me an answer that explains the reasoning behind that choice; the choice of having El stand alone in front of them and having her boyfriend stand next to the person who’s in love with him. What else would that mean? That’s simply not how you do blocking.

When you as a director look at something from the outsider/audience perspective you need to see it with their eyes. What else could that convey? I’m being genuine when I say I don’t see anything else. If there is another way to interpret it (that makes sense and isn’t plagued by bias) then please tell me.

It’s a perfect example of foreshadowing. El standing alone symbolizes her arc of becoming an independent person outside of romance and Hopper. Her whole story has been about learning how to be a person and be herself. Her standing out alone in the field in front of her burning hometown isn’t supposed to mean nothing.

Just like Mike and Will standing together isn’t supposed to mean nothing.

We know Jopper is endgame, I can’t see why they wouldn’t be, and I’m 90% sure that Jancy will be endgame (or if they break up it will be on good terms). So, again, why would they place Mike and Will between those people. If it was supposed to be showing how close they are and how wonderfully strong their friendship is then why did they choose those other characters? MAKE IT MAKE SENSE. IT’S THE DEFINITION OF A PARALLEL.

If I end up being wrong then idk.

Thank you for reading :)

Also there’s this so like

[sexlapis]

one shot. angst & fluff.

“Don’t even look at me!” You spit at Nanami. “You don’t even fucking love me anymore.”

Nanami sighs. “Baby, that’s not-“”

“No, no,” you storm away from, going back to furiously washing the dishes like you were doing before he arrived home from work, “seriously. Just go back to your coworkers and have fun with them instead of me. Go have drinks with them or something. Since that’s clearly what you want.”

Nanami gulps. He watches you angrily scrub at a dish, fireing away at an annoying stain.

He takes off his suit jacket.

“Sweetheart.” He walks up behind you, like you’re a skittish, feral cat about to pounce. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, an act which you surprisingly accept. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t give you your kisses.” Nanami kisses your temple. “I was just in a hurry.”

You and Nanami had a routine - he gives you one kiss in the morning, your voice croaky and the crust still caked in the corners of your eyes and one kiss before he leaves for work.

He seems to have forgotten this, much to your dismay.

You huff, not facing him. “…I’m not being ‘sensitive’ or ‘crazy’. They’re important things and you forgot.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.”

You turn your head to face him this time. “Just sensitive?”

“Well…yes.”

Rolling your eyes, you whip back around to continue washing the dishes.

“Wait. Wait.” Nanami prevents you from turning away from him again. He asks his next question softly. “Is it really just two kisses you’re upset about?”

“Because it’s not fair, Kento!” You shout. The sudden outburst stuns him a little, his heart jumping. “You can’t just leave without saying goodbye!”

Your last word is choked out in a sob and Nanami is quick to pull you to his chest.

He thought you were only joking, being light-hearted and would go back to your usual self after a few kisses, but now? He doesn’t think so.

How long have you been feeling like this? Carrying all of these feelings of worry and distress inside of you, keeping them all stored inside of you until, inevitably, all would be revealed anyway.

It pains him that you didn’t tell him almost as much as the fact that you’re feeling like this in the first place.

It makes him even more resolute in his decision.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?”

You sniffle. “Because of your stupid job and your stupid long hours and your stupid-“”

“Okay, okay.” He shushes you, cupping the base of your head. “Alright”.

You groan. You’ve seemingly come to the realisation that you’ve been acting unreasonably.

“Kenny, I-“”

“I’m going to quit.”

You pause. You look at him, teary eyes wide. “What?”

“I’m going to quit. Do something else. Something…safe.”

“But…but what about when you said-“”

“Forget about what I said. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I can’t do this forever. And…I want you to…I don’t want you to always be worrying about me. Especially if it makes you so stressed out.”

“Kenny…”

A few seconds later, your face is being cradled in big, rough hands. Nanami makes sure you’re looking at him. “You’re my number one priority, okay? Not my coworkers. Not my job.”

Waters ripples in your eyes once more. “Kento…”

“Don’t cry.” He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. His eyes are soft. The weight of the job is already being lifted off of his shoulders. “I love you. I love you.”

You hiccup. “I love you too.”

Nanami can’t help but smile at your wet face, red nose and runny nostrils. He cradles the back of your head with his hand. “You’re so silly, angel.”

You whine into his chest and he knows everything will be alright.

[pagannatural]

2.20 What Is and What Should Never Be

- the djinn episode. much to think about

-Dean makes a comment on the phone with Sam about a hot actress and Sam says “are you even listening to me?” in this very effeminate way, it’s adorable.

- Dean says he’s going to check out a possible lair and Sam says “wait no no no come pick me up first” all little brother wanting to go along, but Dean hangs up on him. The next shot of Sam holding the disconnected phone and turning his head is taken from above which makes him seem small, indicating that he’s probably feeling worried or left out. He’s afraid what will happen to Dean and he wants to be a part of the hunt.

- Dean gets got by the djinn.

Okay, so in order to analyze any of the characters and events in Dean’s djinn-dream we need to understand what exactly is going on. My interpretation is that, as Dean explains toward the end of the episode, it’s not a perfect fantasy or a representation of Dean’s truest desires. It’s just the djinn picking up on his strongest wish and what he thinks his life would be like were it fulfilled. His wish is that his mom never died in a fire. The whole dream is a product of this wish and what Dean assumes would’ve happened/where the djinn’s magic takes him.

However, this wish-world is flawed because it’s limited by the things Dean is limited by. He can imagine having many of the things he wants, like a girlfriend and a regular job, but his wish isn’t that he could be happy, his wish is that the defining tragedy of his life had never happened and therefore the people he loves the most could be happy. So although he and his mom and Sam are alive and well, there are also a lot of things wrong in the dream. The things that are wrong are therefore very telling:

I think he has an alcohol problem in the dream because he figures that even if things were different he would screw up or not be good enough in some very important ways. Again, it’s just a wish- his beliefs about himself haven’t changed.

John doesn’t make an appearance because Dean can’t really imagine a healthy relationship with him or any version of him at all that doesn’t revolve around hunting.

He and Sam aren’t on good terms because they never hunted together. Dean fears that the only thing that binds Sam to him is their fucked up history. He thinks that if their mom hadn’t died, Sam would’ve had the things that he’s said he wanted: graduated from Stanford, studying law, engaged to a beautiful woman. This is what Dean assumes Sam would’ve become. He assumes they would not be close and that he himself would lowkey be a fuck-up, albeit a fuck-up in a more common way.

So what is the significance? This suggests that Dean believes his relationship with Sam and his place in Sam’s life was only earned through raising him and taking care of him, which he wouldn’t have done if their lives were normal. His self-worth stems from his relationship with Sam and his ability to care for him and love him, so in the dream Dean has the outline of the normal life he wants to want, but he’s also not a person he would respect. Even his djinn-girlfriend tells him (jokingly) she’s with him because she has low standards. He doesn’t have the job he said in s1 that he always wanted, which is being a firefighter. He works in a garage just like his dad did. He doesn’t save people. And most damning of all, he’s ruined his relationship with Sam by letting him down over and over. He’s completely lost himself. So yeah, this is far from a reflection of Dean’s deepest desires.

- Another element that needs unpacking in terms of what exactly is going on in the dream is that Sam has a point of view. Djinn-Sam is still his own character, he’s shown to have thoughts and reactions even when Dean isn’t around or isn’t looking. He has his own point of view even though he exists in Dean’s head. So how is it possible for the version of Sam that exists in Dean’s subconscious to act independently of Dean?

My interpretation is that the characters in the dream are animated by the Djinn’s magic, which has a purpose. Its purpose is to make the dream appealing so that the victim will remain unconscious and happy rather than trying to wake up. This is why, when Dean realizes that he is actually unconscious, the other characters from the dream appear to him to try and convince him not to wake up and to stay with them forever. They have a directive. The characters follow this directive by behaving in ways that Dean both expects and wishes for. I really don’t think they’re the djinn or that they’re nefarious, I think they’re just Dean’s conceptions of the people they represent. They don’t really act out of character, aside from the fact that their purpose is to fulfill Dean’s wish and keep him from waking.

So basically, djinn-Sam is his own character because he’s animated by the djinn’s magic, but all of his thoughts and feelings and behaviors are both what Dean wishes for and what he would expect under the circumstances.

So. Keeping that in mind as we take a look at Djinn-Sam.

-Sam’s response to Dean calling him late at night is to giggle and say “you’re drunk dialing me.” Drunk dialing is very much a trope used to link romantic interests. Also he picks up after the first ring. Sam is eager to hear from Dean and flirts with him even though they’re on the outs -> Dean wants and expects Sam to answer his calls immediately and flirtatiously

- Dean asks his mom where Sam is and says “I’m dying to see him.”

Dean is literally dying, hanging by his wrists with his blood slowly draining out of him, so that he can see a version of Sam who is happy. He’s thrilled to see his mom, but a huge part of this wish is seeing Sam happy and educated and successful and loved. Dean seems truly, glowingly happy and proud of Sam. It’s this part of him that wishes Sam had everything Dean couldn’t give him and that wishes they could both not only be normal but be fulfilled by anything besides one another.

- From the conversation Dean has with himself at his dad’s grave, it’s clear that he doesn’t believe his dad cared much about his personal happiness. He’s sacrificed himself in so many ways for his entire life at the altar of his dad’s mission, but now that Sam’s humanity is on the line it’s too much. He increasingly just doesn’t want to do this any more.

- When Dean decides to go after the djinn and reenacts the break-in scene from the pilot, it cues a reset in his relationship with Sam in this world. From this point Sam has to change his behavior if there’s any hope of Dean staying, so he starts to act a lot more like the version of Sam that Dean knows and loves in real life. This Sam is still saying and doing things that Dean wants and acting how Dean would expect him to act, but now the context has changed. He’s doing more of what Dean wants and breaking from the version Dean assumes would exist if their mom were alive.

-> Dean’s wish for Sam to be happy and normal is not as strong as his need to be close to Sam, for Sam to choose him and follow him and leave everything else behind to be together. Ostensibly Dean doesn’t ask Sam to come with him, but it’s his head and Sam is doing whatever will convince Dean to stay, so ultimately this is Dean. He needs Sam.

- Dean apologizes to Sam and Sam gives him this incredibly guarded look

and then this deeply worried and scared look

and then he decides to go with Dean “because you’re still my brother” which is the affirmation Dean needs. “Because we’re brothers” for these two is a deeper and holier connection than any other. And the way Sam is now more vulnerable and scared for Dean is exactly what Dean is used to from his little brother.

- Sam is trying to help and Dean says “what, you protect me? That’s hilarious.” It’s probably hilarious because this version of Sam is a pansy by their usual standards, but in reality Sam is on his way to find Dean and protect him. Dean keeps accidentally saying things that are true in real time.

- when she’s trying to convince Dean to stay in the dream, Mary promises no pain or fear, just love and comfort and safety, and specifically not worrying about Sam any more and watching him live a full life. So we have the bones of Dean’s deepest wish: love, comfort, safety, and to see Sam happy and safe.

In reality, Sam can only be any important kind of happy and safe when he’s with Dean. And the love that Dean wants can only come from Sam.

- Dean says “I’m sorry” to Sam, and only Sam, before plunging the knife into his heart and waking up. Mary and his dream-girlfriend are right there. His dead mom who he wished back to life is right there. But he looks at this version of Sam to say he’s sorry before waking up. This feels like another thing that he wants to tell Sam in real life but can’t.

- Dean has been tied up bleeding and on drugs for probably not that long but long enough that he lost consciousness and yet he snaps the remaining bits of rope with brute strength and kills the djinn when Sam is threatened. So he not only gets himself out of the djinn’s spell, but also saves Sam. And then he goes straight to help the other victim. It’s such a stark contrast to the man he thinks he would have been.

- Dean tells Sam that the dream wasn’t a perfect fantasy, it was just a wish, and that since he and Sam never became hunters they “never…” and Sam says “I’m glad we do.”

Never what? And is Sam saying he’s glad they hunt together or he’s glad that they became what they are to each other? This phrasing is purposefully vague. But it highlights Sam’s resolve this season in actually choosing to hunt, he’s not just doing it because he feels obligated. Even in the opening scene to this episode, remember how Sam asked to come along with Dean and went out looking for him right away when he hung up.

Dean looks at him so sadly, one eyebrow raised, like he doesn’t believe him that he’s glad, or doesn’t want to. He’s skeptical that Sam is really choosing this, or him.

- Sam tells Dean “I’m glad you dug yourself out, most people wouldn’t have had the strength” and Sam is the researcher so he probably knows this is true of djinn victims. It’s one of so many things that Sam admires and looks up to about Dean.

But Dean doesn’t want to be strong any more. He wants to stop worrying about Sam. Dean says all he can think about is how much this job’s cost them, and it’s Sam who argues that saving people’s lives hurts and isn’t fair but is worth it.

Dean’s eyes flick to Sam in this vulnerable, fearful way. I think he’s thinking about Sam here, about how nothing could be worth losing him. Not all the lives they’ve saved, not getting his mom back, nothing. He had to dig deep to find the will to wake up and his reason is Sam. Dean knows he’s in love with Sam and would do anything for him, but he believes he’s only as good as his ability to care for him, and those two things are at constant war. I think he thinks that if they could walk away from this life and be normal maybe Sam could be safe, even though he knows that’s not true.

[tavolgisvist]

Two Virgins and Why Don't We Do It In The Road?

Two Virgins

recorded 3-4 (or 19–20) May 1968, released 29 Nov(UK), 11 Nov 1968 (US)

August 31 Private Eye announced that John and Yoko’s forthcoming album would have a full-frontal nude cover. September 15 Around this date, John and Yoko photographed themselves in the nude, from the front and rear, intending to use the shots as cover artwork for their rst collaborative album. November 11 John: “Originally, I was going to record Yoko, and I thought the best picture of her for an album would be naked. So after that, when we got together, it just seemed natural for us both to be naked. Of course, I’ve never seen my prick out on an album before.”

(The Beatles Diary. Volume1.The Beatles Years by Barry Miles, 2001)

Autumn 1968:

As the meeting was drawing to a weary close, John, not this day with Yoko, who hadn’t seemed particularly connected with what was going on, said he wanted to play us a tape he and Yoko had made. He got up and put the cassette into the tape machine and stood beside it as we listened. The soft murmuring voices did not at first signal their purpose. It was a man and a woman but hard to hear, the microphone having been at a distance. I wondered if the lack of clarity was the point. Were we even meant to understand what was going on, was it a kind of artwork where we would not be able to put the voices into a context, and was context important? I felt perhaps this was something John and Yoko were examining. But then, after a few minutes, it became clear. John and Yoko were making love, with endearments, giggles, heavy breathing, both real and satirical, and the occasional more direct sounds of pleasure reaching for climax, all recorded by the faraway microphone. But there was something innocent about it too, as though they were engaged in a sweet serious game. John clicked the off button and turned again to look toward the table, his eyebrows quizzical above his round glasses, seemingly genuinely curious about what reaction his little tape would elicit. However often they’d shared small rooms in Hamburg, whatever they knew of each other’s love and sex lives, this tape seemed to have stopped the other three cold. Perhaps it touched a reserve of residual Northern reticence. After a palpable silence, Paul said, “Well, that’s an interesting one.” The others muttered something and the meeting was over.

(Michael Lindsay-Hogg (filmmaker), Luck and Circumstance: A Coming of Age in Hollywood, New York, and Points Beyond, 2011)

Inevitably, many people bought Two Virgins for the cover alone: for some of the Beatles’ younger fans, it was to be their first ever glimpse of grown-ups in the nude.

(Craig Brown, 150 Glimpses of the Beatles, 2020)

Paul: So what’s the point behind Two Virgins? <…> Paul: Is there any need to do this in public, Mr. Lennon?*

(Get Back sessions, January 14th, 1969)

Why Don't We Do It In The Road?

recorded 9, 10 October 1968; released 22 Nov (UK), 25 Nov 1968 (US)

designing the White Album poster during Sept-Oct 1968

I was up on the flat roof [in Rishikesh] meditating and I’d seen a troupe of monkeys walking along in the jungle and a male just hopped on to the back of this female and gave her one, as they say in the vernacular. Within two or three seconds he hopped off again, and looked around as if to say, ‘It wasn’t me,’ and she looked around as if there had been some mild disturbance but thought, Huh, I must have imagined it, and she wandered off. And I thought, bloody hell, that puts it all into a cocked hat, that’s how simple the act of procreation is, this bloody monkey just hopping on and hopping off. There is an urge, they do it, and it’s done with. And it’s that simple. We have horrendous problems with it, and yet animals don’t. So that was basically it. Why Don’t We Do It In The Road? could have applied to either fucking or shitting, to put it roughly. Why don’t we do either of them in the road? Well, the answer is we’re civilised and we don’t. But the song was just to pose that question. Why Don’t We Do It In The Road? was a primitive statement to do with sex or to do with freedom really. I like it, it’d just so outrageous that I like it.

(Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles, 1997)

PLAYBOY: “Why Don’t We Do It in the Road?” LENNON: That’s Paul. He even recorded it by himself in another room. That’s how it was getting in those days. We came in and he’d made the whole record. Him drumming. Him playing the piano. Him singing. But he couldn’t—he couldn’t—maybe he couldn’t make the break from the Beatles. I don’t know what it was, you know. I enjoyed the track. Still, I can’t speak for George, but I was always hurt when Paul would knock something off without involving us. But that’s just the way it was then.

(John Lennon, 1980, All We Are Saying by David Sheff, 2020)

The song’s (very) slightly risqué lyric, all two lines of it, heightened the vague air of controversy surrounding the album. McCartney was already in trouble with the press for allowing a minuscule nude picture of himself to be included on the set’s free poster.

(The Beatles Diary. Volume1.The Beatles Years by Barry Miles, 2001)

“All this work, all this talent — and what [the press] fixate on is one small picture.”

(Derek Taylor)

from too long post

*thank you a lot, @i-am-the-oyster <3

[beef-brisket]

Adam leaned into the kiss for only a moment before he quickly moved away, and jumped off the bed.

Adam: Y-You know, out of all the shit you've said to me- that's the worst- most c-cruel thing-! The fuck, Lucifer?! I'm not hot- so the fuck?! The ACTUAL fuck?!

Lucifer was a bit taken aback, but he's not surprised by Adam's outburst. He's pretty much a giant, glorified child at this point.

But, he did find it a bit strange that what Adam was made about was pretty much being called "hot".

Lucifer thought that was his whole thing, calling himself hot, and fuckable. So, what was happening?

Lucifer: I... okay, hold up. Let's take a step back. What's happening?

Adam: W-What do you mean, "what's happening"?! I- you- you said I let myself go-! And I have-! So, how the fuck am I hot one minute- and f-fucking disgusting the next?!

Lucifer: I... A-Adam-.

Adam: So what, have you teamed up with Bambi or something?! Is this the worst fucking joke, Lucifer-! I know I. Fucking gross, alright?! I've delt with the angels- amd Sera- fucking Sera, say I'm a fuckimg embarrassment- just- I-I can't fucking deal with this.

Lucifer: Adam! Wait!

Lucifer reached out and grabbed Adam's arm, stopping him from leaving. He could feel how much the first man was shaking under his grip, and by the way he turned his head away, he was crying.

Lucifer: Adam, I swear, I'm not lying. I shouldn't have said those things to you, I was just... look, I was wrong, so wrong. You look amazing, really. You were made to be perfect, Adam-.

Adam: Lilith's perfect. I'm not... I'm a fucking dud. Even after everything, they still preferred her... n-no matter what I did, it wasn't enough... I-I'm not perfect, I never was... c-can you let go, please...?

Lucifer stared at Adam's back in shock, he's never heard him sound so quiet and weak. He didn't like it. He'd rather Adam yell and scream, instead of this.

Lucifer: No... I won't let go.

Standing, Lucifer went to move in front of Adam, but he turned away, covering his face.

Lucifer: I swear, I'm not lying, Adam. And you didn't deserve the shot you went through... I thought Heaven would have helped you or something. But that was just wishful thinking... they can't help but make things worse... and that goes for me, too. I hurt you, and I refuse to do it again.

Taking Adam's hands, Lucifer was finally able to see a part of Adam's face. He hasn't seen Adam cry since Eden. And it hurt to see as much now as it did then.

Lucifer: I... can't even imagine what Heaven has said or done to you. But you didn't deserve it, Adam.

Adam scoffed: ...You sound like her.

Lucifer: Who?

Adam: ...Charlie... how did you two assholes have such a sweet kid...?

Lucifer laughed: No idea... can I tell you a secret?

Adam: ...I guess. If you want.

Lucifer looked down at Adam's hands, smiling at the chipped black nail polish. He remembered laughing at the different ways Adam tried to disguise his new demonic features. His claws included.

Lucifer: She reminded me of you... she still does.

Adam: ...I'm not like her. She's... hopeful. I'm not that...

Lucifer: ...When she smiled, I saw you. She was so curious and wanted to see and touch everything. She sees the best in everything... it takes a lot to bring her down... and... I don't want her to get hurt and... end up-.

Adam: Like me?

Lucifer: What-?! I... y-yeah- but not for the reasons you think! I meant... I don't want her hurt. For people to use her- to take her for all she's worth, then to throw her away like she's nothing... I don't want her to end up closed off and ridiculed. And, when I see you... I hate that I was the cause of your pain. I couldn't get out of my own shit to see how I was affecting you or other people. When I see you, I feel shame. You're the only thing I regret about my actions. it is how I hurt you. You're... you're so important to me, and I just...

Adam: killed me...?

Lucifer: ...K-Killed you... and... I regret that so much.

Adam nods, looking away: It wasn't all your fault... I wasn't... you know, important enough, ans that was my fault- I should have tried harder-.

Lucifer: Hey, no. That's- that's not it, Adam, I swear.

Adam tilted his head: I wasn't... smart enough?

Lucifer: No-.

Adam: ...I'm not blonde?

Lucifer: What-?! No! Of course not!

Adam: Okay... can't give birth?

Lucifer: Uh-.

Adam: Ambitious? I didn't know... what else.

Lucifer: ...Is this what you've thought...? For all these years...?

Adam shrugged: I couldn't figure out what I did. Or what I didn't do... I just figured out it was me. I did everything wrong, nothing right, so why try? And... then you kiss me. Why now? I'm broken- why didn't you do this when I was perfect, when I was something important? Why now...? I was nothing when I was an angel, but I'm something when I'm a monster?

Lucifer: Adam. Stop. That's not it.

Adam laughed: Then what is it? How can you feel something for me when I'm at my lowest...? You don't even know me.

Lucifer: Of course, I know you, I've known you since the beginning.

Adam: I'm not the same person... I died. More than twice. I'm not the same. I'm worse. You can't like me, why would you like me? No one likes me- you of all people can't like me- you're lying to me.

Lucifer: Adam- enough. Breathe, okay. I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I... it... it wasn't your fault. In the garden.

Adam: Yes, it was. You told me to leave, remember? Said I was sick, wrong, a failed prototype-.

Lucifer was definitely panicking now. He forgot he said any of those things. Everything flooded back to him, hitting him like a brick to the face.

Lucifer: Please, Adam- I... shit, I don't know what to say... I can blame you for the exterminations all I want, but at the end of the day, it's my fault. All of it. I've made so many mistakes, Adam... and hurting you was the biggest. None of it was your fault, what I did... what Lilith did was wrong. We were so stuck I'm our ideals and our plan that we didn't see the bigger picture. I... I didn't want to hurt you... I really thought we were helping. I wanted to help both of you... but Lilith was focused on herself. Then Eve.

Lucifer ran his thumb over Adam's hands. He smiled at how long his fingers were, even though they looked so different, they were so perfect.

Lucifer: So much has changed since Eden, and... while not all for the best, there have been some good things- I think. I've had a lot of time to thing- a LOT. And I want to make it up to you. I really, really do. And I meant what I said before. You're fucking hot, Adam. Gorgeous. I know you think you're a monster- but I think you're stunning. And fuck Bambi, I don't talk to him, Adam, I'm nit working with him in some scheme, and I hate you think that. That you think everyone is against you, thinking those about you. I want to convince you that you deserve to be loved, that you're still perfect. Please, Adam. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but please let me try and earn your trust again.

Adam stared down at Lucifer. Everything is screaming at him to run and run far.

What if he leaves? Of course, he'll leave. It'll only be a matter of time. But, staring into Lucifer's eyes, he can't help but see his angel, even though he's so different.

Does he want his angel back or proof that he could be loved?

Adam glanced at the two photos on the bed. Did Lucifer mean what he said? That he looked hot?

Adam: ...O-Okay...

Lucifer smiled widely and kissed Adam's hands: Thank you, Adam. Thank you so much, Adam!

Adam smiled awkwardly as Lucifer beamed up at him. He was like a weird, little ball of sunshine. Or hellfire.

Lucifer: So~... can I keep your photo~?

Adam: W-What?!

Lucifer: You can keep mine!

Adam: ...F-Fine, just... don't show it to anyone, okay?

Lucifer: Oh, darling, I would destroy anyone who dares to try and lay eyes on it~.

Pin Me (To Your Bed)

@beef-brisket

Happy Valentine's Day Everyone! 💖

-

Charlie was so excited to help Angel set up his idea, it was a great way to help people with their body image and self confidence.

Adam was leaning against the wall as he watched the photo shoot area be set up. Angel wanted everyone to do a pin up photo shoot for Valentine's Day to help their self-esteem and feel sexy.

Angel: Hey mister pouty pants, come help me with the outfits.

Adam sighed and made his way over, the clothing rack held many linguire outfits, short shorts, and leather pieces of clothing.

Adam: Angel, I've seen tissues bigger than this thing.

He held up what looked like a G string and Angel laughed.

Angel: Oh relax! And it's all in fun big guy, besides if you wore something sexy who's to say short, pale, and hunky won't be all over you.~

Adam flushed, he knew it was a bad idea to tell Angel about his feelings for Lucifer. But as long as the short King doesn't hear he guessed it was fine.

Adam: Shut up.

Speaking of Lucifer, he was just done hanging the lights when he floated down smiling at the pair.

Lucifer: Those are umm.... Interesting outfits Angel.

Angel: Aren't they?~ You're dressing up too aren't ya short King?

Lucifer coughed into his fist: W-Well, maybe. I have an image to maintain I can't wear anything too scandalous. You understand.

Adam tried and failed to not picture Lucifer only wearing that G string that would barely cover his dick.

Angel smirked: Oh yeah of course.~ I'll make it all very tasteful for everyone, all within a comfort zone they like. But how about you show a little skin? Like right here.~

He pointed to his stomach area and Lucifer felt warm, he looked at Adam who was looking at him maybe zoned out. Would he like that?

Lucifer: Y-yeah I guess that's fine.