#the question hidden in plain sight

[reality-detective]

Revealed on Barney Miller in 1981

Predictive programing hidden in plain sight, as per usual. Front running the truth with the "conspiracy theory" labels, a script that was greenlit on a comedy show and they knew they could flaunt it and nobody would believe it. 🤔

[avelera]

Where the heck is Satan in Good Omens S2?

And could we perhaps find evidence of him in the places where the furniture used to be?

For reference:

Hastur & Ligur, 1.1: "All Hail Satan." "All Hail Satan."

Crowley, 1.5: "I never asked to be a demon. I was just minding my own business one day and then… oh, lookie here, it's Lucifer and the guys."

Adam Young 1.6: "You're not my dad and you never were."

Satan, 1.6: "No, no, no!" (He promptly dissolves into black ash and vanishes. Immediately after, Aziraphale and Crowley look at their no-longer-flaming sword and tire iron as if not entirely sure why they're there.)

Crowley, 2.1: "Do you ever think, what's the point? ... Heaven, Hell, Demons, Angels?"

Crowley 2.2 (circa ~2000 BCE): "Satan and his diabolical ministers..."

Gabriel 2.3: "I remember when the morning stars sang together and all the angels of god shouted for joy.” (emphasis mine. Lucifer/Satan was the Morning Star. Why the heck is morning stars plural??)

Edit: Shax 2.6: “I demand that you hand over both Gabriel and Beelzebub as gifts for Satan, our master.” (Could debunk the whole theory, might not only because she seems pretty low-ranked and could be going through the motions even though he's gone, but we'll see. Including to get all the evidence down.)

... And I think there's some other S2 references to higher ups and "Our Lord" by Shax supposedly, but I'm too sleep-deprived to go combing through for them (I'd be much obliged if anyone else could grab any other exact quotes that mention Satan by name or seem to refer to him in Season 2.)

Let's first get the Doylist explanation for why Satan might not be around out of the way: Satan was the Big Bad of Season 1. He's been dispatched. Furthermore, he's played by the most likely very expensive Benedict Cumberbatch, so he's not likely to be back in a hurry if it at all can be avoided, and alluding to him at all might just create confusion with viewers who will then expect to see Satan.

(Below the cut: but what if there's more to it than that?)

But as others may have seen with the, "Metatron is actively editing the Book of Life in S2 and that's why things are weird," meta, there's quite a bit of speculation going around that something fucky is going on in S2.

However, while I agree that some points in S2 are certainly fucky I'm not convinced on all or even most of the supporting evidence. Most of the explanations have a Doylist counterpoint like "It's just bad writing," or "They just wanted to bring back some actors they enjoyed working with," or, "The film crew just made a mistake," or "They just forgot that bit of continuity." After all, half of the original writing duo is tragically no longer with us, so there's going to be some level of story drift regardless.

While in general I find the, "It's not that deep," explanation more plausible in most instances, I'd be a very poor disgruntled English Major indeed if I made sweeping claims that the wallpaper being blue is always a coincidence. It's muddier with TV because there's so many proverbial cooks in the kitchen and plenty of human error to go around, but I'd equally never claim that I think Good Omens S2 wasn't a labor of love by those who worked on it, and certainly there's evidence that care was taken in its production, so everything that's off being a mistake is also not a sweeping generalization I'd want to make either.

Which is my way of saying that I'm not convinced by the Metatron meta but I think some of the ideas there are on to something. I don't think it's plausible that a writer would in S3 reveal that in S2, the heretofore largely off-screen character of the Metatron was actively editing the story as we went with the heretofore only mentioned once, never seen, and immediately denounced as a joke Book of Life. BUT, there is some fucky stuff happening that I won't say was the result of some Genius Mastermind Writer deciding it was a good idea to actively write badly and provide stories with no payoff, but I will consider that some of the apparent continuity errors might not be so accidental as they seem, because this was a labor of love and at least on this count, I don't think that Neil was necessarily that careless. Or at least, I'm more inclined to look for clues in places where I can see logistical choices being made, rather than in more subjective claims like "This bad writing is meant to be Bad Writing and therefore a Clue." Because writing is hard even under the best of circumstances, especially in TV and having lost the aforementioned half of a beloved writing duo.

Moving on! Thing is, if we're to believe that there's some sort of mystery hidden in plain sight that was introduced in Season 2, then it did not pay off yet. This makes me a little suspicious of the overall claims that there was a hidden Season 2 mystery, because a good mystery really should pay off within the text, and expecting the reader to keep their unsatisfied suspicions in their heads for 3-4 years for a later satisfying conclusion is... optimistic at best and downright sloppy at worst.

Unless, the mystery spans the entire show. If the clues we're seeing are meant to pay off in S3, and we assume some level of competence, then more likely these are series spanning mysteries that will be satisfying when one is able to watch all three installments. And that means, if there is a mystery in S2, we should be checking back with Season 1 to look for the roots of it.

Which is what brings me to Satan.

What on Earth happened to Satan?

Is Satan still around?

Now, my theory would be much more satisfying to me, personally, if Satan's name was never spoken in S2 but alas, there is the Book of Job episode and I believe some other mentions by name, mostly by Shax? I'd love some backup on that. But I very deliberately don't count demons just saying things like, "Our lord" or making vague referrals to the powers that be to be references to Satan because if he's vanished, someone could have easily filled the power vacuum or there could be an empty throne room somewhere and everyone is just going through the motions (or he's become the Sandman Lucifer who fucked off to lie on a beach, which would be delightful. Anyway).

When Hastur and Ligure showed up in 1.1 they specifically said, "All Hail Satan," and Crowley was shown to be an outsider that he did not return this familiar call-and-response. Yet no one in Hell in S2 uses the All Hail Satan greeting. The references to Satan are few, even in Hell. There doesn't seem to be a lot of fear of Satan either, but more around other higher-ups like Beelzebub, Duke of Hell, who appears to be the highest ranking person we see in Hell?

And also interestingly, Crowley and Beelzebub are both lamenting how pointless all of this seems. Kind of interesting for two individuals who still despise Heaven too and, presumably, took Satan's side once long ago when they all Fell. The political fire has definitely gone out of them, which can be plausibly attributed to the Apocalypse failing and/or the two of them falling in love with their Angelic counterparts, but it's also just kind of weird that suddenly they both really don't see the point in any of these conflicts that once defined their existence.

Perhaps, and this is where I go out on a limb or ten, because Satan isn't around anymore?

Is there no longer a hand at the wheel in Hell, reminding everyone of their loathing of Heaven?

Is there no longer someone actively above Beelzebub, telling them what to do, such that they have the freedom to sneak away and pursue a romance with an archangel and not have their boss show up to stop them the way Gabriel's did?

Did Adam, when he made Satan not his father but more importantly that Satan never was his father, undo more than we realize?

Because that's the kind of Gaiman mystery that I can wholly believe is lurking in plain sight, because Satan was a big deal in S1, he was the Big Bad! It's in the text! The damned book series is built on the idea of a satirical Antichrist take on The Omen. All Hail Satan is one of the first spoken lines of dialogue in the book. Satan is kind of central to any story that's going to revolve around a battle between Heaven and Hell!

And yet... he's barely mentioned this season. And demons suddenly don't remember what they're fighting for. How odd.

Maggie and Nina's actresses also played nuns of the Satanic Chattering Order of St. Beryl. If there was no Antichrist, isn't it possible that neither of those women would have become Satanic nuns and might, instead, own a coffee shop and a record store somewhere?

If there was no Antichrist, isn't it possible that through some convoluted series of events, Madame Tracy, a witch, fell afoul of a demon or managed to become one herself?

Isn't it possible that once you open the door to the ripple effects of a Satan who either never existed (though the Fall still happened) or who only existed up until at least Job, but who was never Adam's father, that some other fucky things could happen too, like Aziraphale suddenly not being fond of alcohol? This continuity detail is much more of a stretch but it is such a plot point in the book that Aziraphale loves to drink and S1 that I do find that particular continuity break particularly vexing and it's one I side-eye the most in terms of "not sure if sloppiness or a Clue".

Anyway, point is:

Satan is curiously absent this season and technically, he was unmade or at least unmade as Adam's father last season. If something is fucking with the timeline, I think that on-screen, very visible event deserves some scrutiny over and beyond vaguely alluded to, off-screen fuckery by the Metatron with no in-text confirmation at all.

There's a lot of weird and bad writing in S2, sure, but some of the continuity breaks do, admittedly, feel too big to be simple oversights and I don't think it's entirely conspiratorial to think something more might be going on and if such a mystery is going to span multiple seasons, we should look back to S1 for the seeds.

It is possible that the unmaking of Satan has had ripple effects that explain some of these continuity changes and some of the cheeky casting of S1 actors in new roles as perhaps not entirely without in-story justification.

So in my mind, the question I have no answer to, but that might deserve some scrutiny going into Season 3 is:

How much did Satan never being Adam's father alter the timeline?

Edit: And here's one last spooky quote to consider: “I remember when the morning stars sang together and all the angels of god shouted for joy." - Gabriel's weird prophecy / quoting of God

Why single out the reference to morning stars plural? Lucifer is very famously the Morning Star, you can't accidentally allude to morning stars in this context without referring to him, you just can't. So what the fuck is going on with this Biblically sourced quote that sort of alludes to Satan, but not by name, and makes the reference to the Morning Star plural?? And even though it is the original text, apparently, it's still a choice by the writers to really highlight the line about morning stars and give that line to Gabriel to say in the present too. Something is sus.

[wordsoftheheartandsoul]

There's a difference between being hidden in plain sight and people pretending they don't see you. So many of us question our abilities, talents, and impact because we feel we don't get the appreciation, acceptance, or opportunities we deserve. Understand this: people acknowledging your efforts and energy is not the goal. It's knowing, seeing, protecting, and thriving in your authenticity, abilities, and talents. That's going to always set you apart.

Morgan Richard Olivier - the strength that stays

[secattention]

The Wallace Tower in Scotland was said to have been founded in 1861 as a monument to a Scottish hero. However, it appears that its true purpose may have been to harness free energy from the Aether above. Like many old-world buildings with antennas and spires that have since been removed, Wallace Tower, for me, stands as a monument to what once was—a remnant of the past, much like a few surviving relics. They almost seem like trophies displayed on the mantle of the parasitic elite.

[elysian-fawn]

not shifting related in the slightest & SLIGHT CSM SPOILERS FOR PART 2 buuuuut ,,

csm 198 . . . fujimoto you actual fucking goat ૮꒰ྀི ́ඉ .̫ ඉ ꒱ྀིა literally have never ever ever seen one ( 1 ) person even post a crack theory in the almost three years of fami's existence in pt2 ugggghhhgghghghg i love you chainsaw man

currently on phase three of the cycle ,,,, literally abt to reread pt2 with this newfound knowledge like UGGHHHHHH MY GOAT ISN'T WASHED I KNEWWW MY FAITH WAS PUT IN GOOD HANDS .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·.

[ssahotchnerr]

if you’re interested, i’ve been so into the idea of aaron discovering reader has a birthmark he’d never seen before — maybe on her inner thigh or something — and i’m dying to see what you’d do with that. take it whatever direction you like best no one’s picky over here <33

hidden in plain sight

hehe i hope this suffices <3 cw; bau fem!reader, established relationship, fluff and some spice

"We're in the depths of hell. I'm convinced."

A brutally hot day. AC temporarily out of service. The lack of ceiling fans preventing any air circulation, resulting in numerous agents in a worse mood than normal. The BAU in these conditions, not the best place to be.

"Whining isn't going to make it any cooler, y'know." You told Morgan, raising your eyebrows cheekily.

"Touché." He pointed his pen at you, his eyes then shifting from your gaze and settling on something behind you. You felt a familiar presence soon after, Aaron's palm finding your shoulder in a silent hello.

"Hotch, please tell me something's getting done about this AC," Morgan pleaded, using a case file to fan his face. "We're boiling out here."

"Hey you." Your chair turned ever-so-slightly as you peered up at him, grinning.

Aaron wasn’t immune to the heat either; his face flushed, his forehead dotted with small beads of sweat, the sleeves of his button-up rolled to his elbows. He looked uncomfortably troubled, but his facial features relaxed at the sight of you.

After offering you a small smile, he addressed Derek's inquiry. "It's getting fixed as we speak."

However, his voice trailed off as he ended his sentence - as your head turned back towards your desk.

You could almost hear his brows furrowing as he swiveled your chair to its previous angle, causing a slight tug at your skin as he got a better look at whatever had piqued his interest. Soon after, a fingertip traced your skin, focusing on one spot.

"How much longer?"

"As long as it takes." He answered plainly, directly. Aaron's hand brushed back towards your shoulder, giving it a long squeeze. "Can I see you in my office?"

You cleared your throat, fighting a squirm as you rose out of your seat. "Sure."

"Uh oh." You shot Morgan a glare at his remark, his teasing only half as enthusiastic as normal (the temperature to thank). Shaking your head in amusement, you followed Aaron.

"What's up?" Stepping into his office was like stepping into a wall of humidity - thick and stagnant. No wonder he had looked so tense, and had been avoiding the room altogether.

Instead of answering, Aaron moved behind you. His fingertips returned to your skin again, focused on the same singular spot as before. The roughness of his finger contrasted with the soft, comforting way he touched you.

"You have a birthmark."

Your birthmark laid along the curve where your shoulder met your neck. Usually covered by hair, but your hair was thrown up in attempt to keep it from sticking to your skin. You had also removed your cardigan, leaving you in a tank and exposing more of your skin - smooth and warm in the fluorescent light.

"You called me up here because I have a birthmark?" You laughed gently, your eyebrows crinkling in question. Despite the heat, goosebumps trickled onto your skin at his touch.

"I can't believe I haven't noticed it before."

"I mean, every time you've seen me bare, you've been distracted elsewhere." You teased, your forward-facing position causing you to miss the smirk that threatened his lips. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

"No excuse. I pride myself on knowing every part of your body." His finger traced the outline of the small mark; the pad of his finger lingering softly, as though savoring the imprint, studying it, committing it to memory so he wouldn't dare forget it again. Additionally, the added pressure he was applying made the strength of your knees falter. "No matter how delicate."

A heavy want grew in his chest; the urge to press his lips to that spot he had unintentionally missed. Over and over again, at that, offering it the attention it quietly demanded and he had lacked.

If you two were in the privacy of home, he would've.

"I'll tell you what." You turned around to face him, your eyes darting out to the bullpen before finding his again. They met him with a mischievous glint. "I'm in need of a shower when we get home. Aren't you?"

The ends of his mouth lifted upwards. "After today? Perhaps."

You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger as you whispered into his ear, "I’ll let you check for any other birthmarks you may have missed. How about that?"

[mrpenguinpants]

Just the weight I needed.

— You ask to sit on his back while he does push-ups.

— Phainon, Mydei + Jing Yuan

[Masterlist]

After that monster of a Lighter fic, I just wanted to write something nice and silly. I'm serious, the next fic I write might actually be 20k words. The title is from BSD btw, love and kisses to whoever gets it.

Phainon

Realistically, if you brought the idea up to Phainon, it could go one of two ways. One possibility is that he’d be fully on board—no hesitation, no questions asked, as if he’d been waiting for this moment his entire life. He’d immediately drop to the ground in one fluid motion, presenting his back like a beautifully adorned, living throne, every muscle flexing with anticipation. His arms would be poised, elbows bent just enough to secure the perfect balance, ready to support you as he began his impromptu strength training. His determined blue eyes would gleam with unshakable resolve, like a knight pledging his undying loyalty to his sovereign. To him, carrying you wouldn’t just be an exercise—it would be a calling, an honor, a challenge to conquer.

The other possibility? A completely different reaction. Phainon, with a rare, grave expression—one that only emerged in times of true distress—would place his hands firmly on your shoulders, his grip unwavering, grounding you in place. His normally vibrant demeanor would dim, his brows drawing together in deep concern as he searched your face for any sign of distress. And then, with a devastated choke, his voice thick with unfiltered worry, he’d ask, “Are you being blackmailed?”

It's not like your request is so out there that Phainon needs to find you a scapegoat for why you're asking. This isn't even the first time he's bent far stricter rules with actual consequences slightly to fulfill your requests! The man has an impressive track record of brushing the laws of common decency and practicality under the rug when it comes to helping you out. Take that one time in the baths for instance—when you were trying to get some peace and quiet, hiding under a sea of bubbles to avoid your duties. Phainon, ever the loyal accomplice, had simply closed his eyes, zipped his mouth shut with a soft snap of his fingers, and let you lie in blissful, responsibility-free silence. No questions asked. No protest. Just remarking about how difficult it was to find you before walking away.

Or the most recent example, when you decided to spy on the newest esteemed guests. It was a delicate situation, and you knew there was no way you’d be able to sneak a peek without drawing attention. So, of course, you enlisted Phainon’s help. He positioned himself like a human shield, blocking any unwanted gazes as you peered from behind him, hidden by his imposing figure. All the while, you stayed as quiet as possible, watching the guests converse with Aglaea while Phainon pretended to be entirely uninterested, despite his complete awareness of what you were up to. The point is, this request? It’s nothing compared to the stunts he’s pulled for you in the past. It wouldn't even include anyone outside you two!

Suggestion: Inflection baby! Sound just as enthusiastic as him! (It's not like he would ever say no)

Delighted squeals and giggles echo off the marbled walls as your view of the giant sphere in the sky—situated at the center of Okhema—bobs up and down, like a real ball you used to play with as a kid. In fact, everything about this moment feels like you've been transported back in time, swept up in a childish sort of joy that you haven't felt in years. Even though it's undeniably a silly sight—you, perched sideways on Phainon's back, your toes just barely hovering above the ground—you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t at least a tiny bit fun. It took a bit of hassle to convince Phainon that no, you weren’t being blackmailed, bribed, or coerced into this request. There were no hidden motives, no dark secrets behind it—just a plain, simple, and entirely ridiculous desire to see if he could do it.

"Don't forget that you're supposed to keep count," Phainon chastises lightly, though the effect is entirely ruined by the bright, boyish grin tugging at his lips. His tone is more playful than scolding, his usual boundless energy making it impossible to take him seriously. It's weird seeing him from this angle, half of his face turned over his shoulder as your neck cranes down for once. Seriously, what were they feeding this man?

"Oops, sorry!" you manage between muffled laughter, barely able to catch your breath, "I guess I lost track... maybe we should start over?"

"If that's what Your Highness wants, then it shall be done," Phainon says as easily as breathing, bending his elbows to push up again.

Mydei

Haha. No. Just no.

First of all, you wouldn’t even be a significant weight for Mydei—he could take you on as resistance training in the same way a bodybuilder might consider lifting a single book. If anything, he’d have to stack at least five more of you just to make it remotely challenging. Secondly, why on Amphoreus would you think he’d let you sit on his back? Best-case scenario, he’d stare at you with a long, exhausted sigh before asking if you’d recently taken a tumble down the stairs and cracked your head open. It’s not like he’s even being that mean when he says it anyway. Well, for Mydei standards at least. The fact that he hasn't bashed your head into the floor is, quite frankly, a miracle. The fact he hasn't bashed your head into the concrete itself is a wild understatement that you've lowered any respect he has for you over the days you've been acquainted with him.

Your first meeting was when you had misjudged how many steps there were and slipped forward. The inviting concrete was ready with open arms to split your head open, but Mydei, ever the observant type, had caught you just in time. There you were, suspended in mid-air, not even sure how you ended up there. Your limbs flailed like a ragdoll as he pulled on the back of your shirt with one arm, effortlessly lifting you with little more than the ease of a casual stretch. You'd been too stunned to even form words at the time—only managing a stammered thank-you as he set you back down as if saving you from an embarrassing death by stairs was just another casual Tuesday for him. In retrospect, it was a miracle you hadn’t cracked your skull open on the concrete. And of course, he’d said something entirely deadpan in response, like, "Pay attention next time," before turning back to his blue-haired companion. And he wonders why you're so obsessed with wanting to sit on his back.

Mydei has a short fuse and a quick temper, and as much as you'd really like to put your hand on his chest just to see his reaction, you also enjoy breathing a little too much to risk it. Not to mention, you can’t exactly take him in a fight. If you could, staking a bet that if you won, he’d have to fulfill your request would be a piece of cake. But alas, he's built like a wall, and your ability to land a punch would probably be a joke in comparison. So instead, you're left with the very real, very sensible option of begging and wearing him down with your charm—or at least hoping he’ll eventually tire of saying no. The risk? Well, it's still there, but that’s what makes it fun, right?

Suggestion: Beggars can't be choosers and living is pretty cool. Better to ask Phainon instead.

You've barely uttered the first syllable of your question before you're unceremoniously scooped up by the back of your clothing, lifted from the ground like a disgruntled cub being dragged away by its mother. Except, in this case, it's more like being hoisted over someone's firm shoulder, your limbs dangling helplessly as you're treated like a sack of potatoes. The bewilderment on your face is a new look as Phainon's figure grows smaller and smaller in the distance, the sound of your protests muffled by the unexpected shift. Amid your confusion, you catch sight of the blue bastard waving gleefully, a cheery smile plastered across his face as if he’s just won some kind of victory.

"Um, not that I'm complaining, but... where exactly are you taking me?" you ask, your voice tentative as you try to adjust yourself on his shoulder. On one hand, you're living the dream, able to feel those muscles effortlessly hoisting you up like you're nothing more than a feather. But on the other, his shoulder is starting to dig uncomfortably into your stomach, and it's quickly turning into a rather awkward ride. You shift slightly, trying to find a less painful position, but all you accomplish is further squishing yourself against his back.

"Training room." is all Mydei says. There's no snark, no extra words, just that one brief statement that leaves you quite literally and metaphorically hanging.

"Ah. Training room, huh?" you say back lamely, even though you're internally screaming in elation, your arms up in the air as you bow toward whatever Aeon is looking out for you.

You can totally tell by the way Mydei drops you in the middle of the pathway that he knows exactly what you're thinking.

Jing Yuan

Contrary to popular belief, you aren't blind. Even if the General is a bit too old to still be in his "bachelor" years—do those even truly exist for long-life species?—Jing Yuan is... well, let’s just say he’s easy on the eyes. Super easy. A five-star resort easy on the eyes. Is this what they call a silver foxian? He was the one who off-handedly mentioned it when your traitorous eyes had decided to linger a tad bit too long on the shape of his back during a meeting. Of course, you had to act all professional about it, clearing your throat and giving him a strict reprimand about how inappropriate it was to bring such things up in a work environment. You almost nailed the tone too, until you rounded the corner and crumbled into a puddle of embarrassment. What the hell just happened? How did he do that to you with just one little comment? That was so... unfair. It didn’t help that the image of sitting on his back while he did push-ups kept playing in your mind—every chiseled angle, every movement, the way he had to flex those back muscles with each rep. Seriously, how were you supposed to function with that lingering in your thoughts?

It takes several days for neither of you to address the elephant in the room. The tension lingers in the air, thick and unspoken, but it doesn't quite impede your duties. You carry on with your work, he continues to be as "lax" as ever—his presence still an odd mix of effortless command and lazy confidence. But there's something there, a shift, subtle yet undeniable. Every time you glance at him, there's the tiniest degree of something different in his smile, a sharpness to it that grows more cat-like with each passing moment. His expression seems to hold a quiet, menacing amusement as he sits across from you, still and patient, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that feels almost predatory. He reminds you of his pet lion in those moments, the way she watches her prey with those intense, knowing eyes. Her demeanor is calm, almost gentle, until the moment she pounces, and you can’t help but imagine the way the small, frail necks of her dinner break so easily between the crushing strength of her jaws. Yet, her owner, Jing Yuan, still calls her the sweetest, most docile creature, even with blood still staining her paws. A crazy man.

Patience is a virtue, they say. And eventually, with enough time, water will wear down the hardest stone. You’ve tried to avoid it, to ignore the inevitable, but today feels different. The morning is quiet, bathed in the soft light of the rising sun—a golden hour where the world feels still as if it’s holding its breath for what’s to come. It’s just you and Jing Yuan, silently preparing for the events ahead, the hum of the day yet to begin. There are meetings lined up, one in particular that has been pushed back so many times due to Jing Yuan’s absences that it's now on the verge of becoming a disaster. The final meeting needs to happen tonight, or his white mane might end up skewered on the end of a spear. The weight of it lingers in the air, but for now, it’s just the two of you, and the calm chirping of his precious finches acts as the only soundtrack to the morning’s preparations. As you glance at him—his calm, unflappable demeanor, his steady hands—something shifts inside you. It’s not immediate, but it’s undeniable. You finally allow yourself to acknowledge what’s been sitting in the back of your mind, simmering beneath the surface: you’re no better than your General.

Suggestion: Life is too short for things like dignity and shame, go for the throat!

"General, I apologize for my lapse in judgment, but I seriously cannot do this, or I might suffer a stroke."

Your words come out in a strangled rush, your face contorting into a myriad of expressions—none of them quite fitting for the situation. You're staring down at Jing Yuan, sprawled out on his stomach, looking entirely unbothered as he waits for you to—well, do exactly what he’d asked. Sit on his back. You have to remind yourself that it was technically his suggestion, his agreement when you’d tentatively raised the question, and yet here you are, mentally spiraling into a moral crisis. Every fiber of your being screams that this is just... wrong. This can't possibly be something that should happen in a professional setting, in a place of authority, with a man who is the very definition of your superior.

But no, there’s Jing Yuan, lying there with that serene look in his eyes, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips as if this were just another ordinary task in his day. You swallow thickly, still battling with your internal conflict, even though the situation is slowly spinning out of your control. How did this become a thing?

"Ah, well. I will not force you to do something you're so against," Jing Yuan says with a light chuckle, standing up smoothly as if your entire dilemma was merely a fleeting thought. He pats his pants as if brushing away any invisible dust, his movements deliberate and calm. Then, with a casual grace, he crosses his arms behind his back, his posture exuding the confidence and composure only someone of his status could command. "But it is a warrior's shame to go back on their words, don't you agree?"

You blink rapidly, momentarily taken aback by his smoothness, but the weight of his words presses on you. You can almost feel the invisible pressure of your promise tightening around you. You stammer a bit, trying to regain some semblance of control, but you can only manage a meek response.

"Ah— I... yes, General."

Before you can fully process the situation, his large, warm hand lands heavily on your shoulder. It's not the usual friendly gesture, though. No, this time it feels more like a reminder—one that makes you shrink into yourself involuntarily. His hand is firm and for the briefest moment, you feel like you're pinned in place by the sheer force of his presence. You’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, but now, in the face of his unwavering authority, you can’t help but feel small.

"So, I can count on you to fill in my stead for today's meeting then?" Jing Yuan's voice is light, but there's an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. A satisfied lion getting away with murder, "Excellent, I knew I could count on you!"

[olive-main]

oooo if you’re interested would love to see your take: reader is Azriel’s mate, nobody knows. The inner circle keeps trying to set him up with females (including Elaine & Gwyn). They like reader but don’t view her as an option for being his partner. Lots of angst, she’s hurting, she overhears them saying she’s not an option for him. Up to you what happens for her and Azriel. Loved your last story, and that you wanted more angst ideas!! And if this isn’t what you’re looking for, all good!

Between Us Alone

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel’s mate overhears a conversation that shakes her confidence in their hidden bond, but he reminds her that love, even in shadows, is unbreakable.

Wc: 1.2k

A/N: Annndddd welcome back to our regularly scheduled programming. This time I come with the gift of some fluff (with angst ofc bcs duh—who do y’all think I am?) Enjoy the happy endings while they last…..evil laugh

Masterlist

——

The corridors of the House of Wind were quiet, save for the faint hum of conversation that drifted from Rhysand’s office. You’d gone looking for Azriel, hoping he might steal away from his “boys’ night” early and join you at your shared apartment.

A secret, the two of you. Hidden in plain sight. Quite fitting for Rhysand’s spymasters.

It was exhilarating at first—the quiet smiles across rooms, the fleeting brushes of hands, and the stolen glances when no one else was looking. But there were cracks now, small fissures of insecurity that made you wonder if keeping the bond private had been the right choice.

Your footsteps slowed as you neared Rhys’s office, voices clear now, though you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were about to knock when you caught the sound of Cassian’s boisterous laughter.

“Oh, come on, Az,” Cassian said, his tone teasing. “You’ve been spending all that time with Gwyn. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Gwyn’s sweet,” Rhysand added. “And she clearly enjoys your company. You’d make a good pair.”

Your heart clenched painfully, the words hitting you like a physical blow.

Azriel’s reply was quieter, almost unreadable. “Gwyn is a friend. I’m not looking for… that.”

Cassian scoffed. “You say that now, but it’s been centuries, Az. When was the last time you even tried to let someone in? Gwyn’s perfect for you—kind, strong, clever. She gets you.”

“She’s not the only option,” Rhys said smoothly. “There are others. Nesta’s mentioned a few priestesses who would be good matches.”

Cassian nodded in agreement. “There’s also Y/N.”

You pressed your hand to the doorframe, your breaths shallow as you heard Cassian say your name.

“No, I don’t see them together. They rarely speak to each other outside of missions and a few shared words at dinners.” Rhysand says with a shake of his head as if the thought of you and Azriel together was the most unlikely thing he could think of.

You shouldn’t have stayed, shouldn’t have listened, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. They didn’t mean to hurt you—you knew that. You’d always been on the periphery of their circle, a friend but never a true equal in their eyes. Azriel’s shadows had been your sanctuary, his quiet love a solace you cherished.

But to hear them speak so casually, as if you weren’t even a possibility…

Azriel’s voice cut through, firm and unyielding. “I don’t need you to play matchmaker. I can handle my own life.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Cassian said, clearly amused.

“Drop it,” Azriel snapped, his tone brooking no argument.

The room fell silent after that, but the damage was done. You turned and fled, the ache in your chest twisting tighter with every step.

—

The space you shared with Azriel was small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Velaris where no one thought to look. It was your haven, the only place you could truly be yourselves without prying eyes or whispered questions.

But tonight, it felt suffocating.

You sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around yourself as the doubts clawed at your mind.

This charade was necessary. You both knew that. If they ever found out you and Azriel had been together for months—years, now—it would complicate everything. Not just for him, but for you.

As Azriel’s partner, you worked in the shadows as he did, your work as vital and delicate as his own. Secrecy was second nature to you both, and you’d agreed early on that revealing your bond—to anyone—was too risky.

You’d thought you could handle it. But moments like this, when they talked about Azriel’s love life like you didn’t exist, like you weren’t his, made you question how much more you could endure.

You told yourself it wasn’t Azriel’s fault. He hadn’t encouraged them. He’d even told them to stop. But the weight of their words lingered, stirring fears you’d tried so hard to bury.

What if they were right? What if Azriel deserved someone like Gwyn, someone who could stand beside him without the need for secrecy?

You didn’t hear the front door open, too lost in your thoughts to notice the familiar sound of Azriel’s footsteps until he was standing in front of you.

“Something’s wrong,” he said immediately, his hazel eyes scanning your face. His shadows swirled around him, restless and sharp. “What happened?”

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”

His brow furrowed, and he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees. “Don’t lie to me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly broke you. You looked away, your throat tightening as you tried to hold back tears.

“Y/N,” he said softly, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But you couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“I went to Rhys’s office,” you admitted quietly. “I was going to find you, but… I heard you all talking.”

Azriel stiffened, his jaw tightening. “What did you hear?” He already knew. There was only one part of the conversation that could’ve had you so distraught.

You swallowed hard. “They… they were trying to set you up with someone. Gwyn, mostly. Rhys mentioned others.” You laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “They said I wasn’t even an option.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his shadows curling tighter around him.

“They didn’t mean it to hurt me, I know that” you added quickly, seeing how Azriel was ready to go back and pummel his brothers. “They don’t know about us. But… it still hurt.”

He exhaled sharply, standing and pacing the room. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “They had no right—”

“They care about you,” you interrupted. “They want you to be happy. And maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d be better off with someone like Gwyn. Someone who—”

“Stop.”

The word was a command, sharp and unyielding. Azriel crossed the room in an instant, kneeling before you again. He took your hands in his, his grip firm but gentle.

“Don’t you dare doubt this,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare doubt us.”

Tears spilled over, and he reached up to brush them away, his touch achingly tender.

“You are my mate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You. Not Gwyn, not anyone else. You are the only one I want, the only one I will ever want.”

“But they—”

“They’re idiots,” he said flatly. “I’ll deal with them. But don’t let their ignorance make you doubt what we have.”

You searched his face, finding only unwavering certainty in his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, his voice softening. “More than I thought I was capable of. And I don’t care if they don’t see it. I see it. I feel it.”

A broken laugh escaped you, relief washing over you like a tide. “I love you too.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could shield you from the world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I never wanted you to feel like this. I thought keeping the bond private would protect us, but if it’s hurting you—”

“It’s not,” you said quickly. “Not really. I just… I needed to hear this. To hear you.”

He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “You’ll never have to doubt me again.”

——

Aren’t they just so sweet *sigh*. Thank you for reading <3

Requests are still open ;)

[kisses4themissus]

Unknown Feeling | M.R X Reader

a/n: wydm i gotta go to work now :'( pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single Mom!Reader wc: 2.4k

!! warning; semi proof read !!

prev | masterlist | send me a love letter ♡ | next pt

It was off, lacey sat across from nick with a look of uncertainty.

“I got you a gift buggy!” Nick smiled as he grabbed a small gabby cat keychain form his pocket, lacey smiled politely at it; truth be told lacey had hated the kids show, her allergy to cats filled it, only acting happy to please you.

“Thank you, nick.” She gently placed it down on the table beside her, you held back a laugh at the motion, the hidden look of disgust on her little face.

“Nick? I’m dada!” Nick smiled, making you nod and smooth the hairs on lacey’s head.

“You’re name is nicolas though!” She explained, looking at her mom, as if asking if the man in front of them was dumb. “I heard you’ve been doing ballet, you like it?” Nick asked, scooting the the edge of your couch.

You saw the plain difference, robby had asked the same question and gotten a whole exclamation of her ballet moves and class while now nick only gotten a small nod. “I’m going to be a rat again.” Lacey explained, looking to the side before back at you. “Can i get a juice, mommy?” She asked politely making you nod before getting up.

Not long after you left nick followed, sighing as he leaned against the kitchen island, admiring you.

You pulled out a small juice box, many cartoon animals on the carton, as you cleaned up you stood at the sight of nick. “What is it?” You asked, grabbing a small pack of pretzels for a snack for lovebug.

“Motherhood suits you y’know? The whole material is your vibe.” He chuckled, moving closer to you. 

“Opposited to your non paternal vibe?” You joked, laughing at it.

He rolled his eyes playfully and moved closer to you. “I could take care of you girls, i’ve got my own place not the far from the studio, you could quit the hospital and take care of lacey full time…maybe some more?” His words made you scoff.

“Sure, so you can leave again!” You smirked, placing your hands on your hips. “I was young, didn’t know what i even wanted.” Nick tried to defend, making you scoff. 

“And i wasn’t?” You asked, tilting your head to the side slightly. Nick sighed and stared at you for a moment before scoffing at you, an annoyed smile on his face as he paced the room.

“I get it now, you want me out so you can make that emergency doctor to her dad!” He accused, at his words you couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. “You know what, he’d probably be a better dad than a deadbeat like yourself.” You scoffed, picking up the juice box and walked over to lacey who had zoned into her cartoons.

Nick walked over and sat down beside lacey. The little girl drank her juice and watched you both before going back to the TV.

“You excited to be a rat this year, baby?” Nick asked, lacey nodded wordlessly. 

“What do you plan on doing?” He asked, trying to start a conversation. Lacey sighed and blinked slowly, “Dance.”

Nick sighed and got up from the couch, this meeting clearly not working in his favor.

- - - - - - - -

It had driven robby crazy, you had been avoiding him at all cost. When you would run into him you’d refer to him as dr. robinavitch, there had been rumors of your own dating life going around now, robby had hoped none were true.

You had been spotted several times getting into a truck with a random guy. One of the nurses said they had seen you out in public with him at grocery stores and coffee shops.

Robby knew deep down he shouldn’t have felt that way after he hadn’t cleared up rumors of him and collins together. It was a constant thought in his head, were you and lacey happy with...him?

Sighing as he leaned onto central before getting pulled away by a trauma, most of his days had gone faster as he thought of several ways he could apologize to you, it had killed him to see the look of love change to nothing, as if you never opened up to him. He sighed as the EMTs rolled in more patients.

Robby glanced over them before sending them to open rooms and some into the trauma rooms. All while assisting the residents and interns robby couldn’t help but let his thoughts drift off to you.

As he exited the trauma room, tossing his gloves into the nearest trach can he mindlessly looked up and stopped as two ICU nurses rolled you in on a wheelchair, vomit bag in hand. “She keeps fainting, vomiting excessively and a high fever.” The nurses began listening off your symptoms to robby as you gagged into the vomit bag.

He knelt down and looked over you, ignore the death stare you gave him, he nodded and motioned for the closed off room. “Don’t do it robinavitch!” You warned him, your hand gripping one of the nurses hands as she went to wheel you away, stopping her from doing so. 

He smirked at you and tugged your hand back to your lap, following behind the nurses. “Too bad, it’s my ED, and I think you don’t look too good.” He chuckled, as you thrashed from the nurses. “I’ll go into an urgent care after work!” You yelled, glaring as one prepared an IV.

“You work at a hospital for gods sake, just see one here!” One of them groaned, pointing a finger at you. “Don’t make me give you propofol!” She warned, at he threat you groaned and helped the two as you got into a hospital bed.

As robby went to check you over a trauma caught his attention, he looked at you for a moment before leaving to the trauma, leaving you and the nurses in the room.

As you fell in and out of sleep, a knock on the door made you glance up, both dr. collins and dr. king stood at the door. You sighed and attempted to sit up. “Heard the ICU’s best finally fell.” Collins teased earning a small nod, you attempted not to be upset at heather, she couldn’t have known about you and robby either..

“Lovebug caught something, I assume it’s the stomach flu.” You sighed, motioning to the several vomit bags now laid out nearby in case. Dr. king sighed looking between you and collins. “We just need to rule out other things, Um– is there a chance you could be pregnant?” Mel asked politely, making you snort at the question, you shook your head at her.

“We’ll still have to run a test to be sure but more than likely you probably caught a stomach bug.” She nodded, handing you a testing cup. You nodded and got up with the help of the two women. Mel had helped walk you to the bathroom, quickly filling the cup.

You washed your hands and let your thought go to your patients upstairs or lacey’s practice. With a groan you realized you had left your phone upstairs on your desk. Walking out of the restroom, you walked over to mel and handed the test over.

Thankfully collins had gotten pulled away and mel walked to the lab to have the sample tested. You looked around, it had seemed busy, quickly making your way to the elevators, as your foot stepped in, a firm hands stopped you. “That’ll be an AMA, get back to your bed!” Langdon scolded, making you groan.

“I thought i was in the clear,” You whined as langdon guided you away from the elevators.

“I just left my phone upstairs, please can i go get it?” You begged, making him snort a laugh. “Sure you did, i’ll send an intern up.” He watched as you got back into the bed before flagging down whittaker to get your phone. The blond nodded and scurried away.

“I have two legs y’know?” You rolled your eyes, langdon shook his head. “And excessive vomiting, don’t need someone slipping in your dinner..” He smiled before leaving to central.

- - - - - - - -

It had been about two hours since you had tested, majority of the ED workers had “happened” to be passing by your room. You had managed to fall asleep, the fatigue hitting hard. 

A soft knock made you wake from the light daze you had fallen in. Mel stood at the door with her eyebrows furrowed. She stepped in and stood up closer to your bed. “Um- I got your results back.. It’s actually positive…” Her words make your stomach drop.

“Excuse me?” You asked, feeling ringing in your ears at the news. “You’re pregnant, congratulations, or if you need we can have a medical abortion, totally your choice!” Mel ressured, making you nod, your thought going wild. 

“Don’t put it on my chart please, um– just say it’s the stomach flu..” You asked the doctor who nodded, a bit confused but agreed. She had quickly dismissed you, helping you as you disconnected from the IVs, you shrugged on your jacket and walked back upstairs, quietly.

Lacey was going to be an older sister? It had to be robby’s child, you had refused to let nick get near you in any intimate way. Your thoughts ran wild the elevator ride. 

As you sat back down at your desk, you placed your hands on your head, wishing the world would swallow you whole at the moment. One of the nurses walked over and watched over you. “You alright?” She asked, eyeing you carefully. With a nod you sighed and got up to attend to the patients nearby, distracting yourself from the news.

As your shift had continued you couldn’t help but want to see the results yourself after seeing on your period tracker your cycle had been late,  quickly telling the others you needed to buy something at the cafeteria you had slipped down to the ED, making your way to their supply closet.

Slipping into the room, you searched over the shelves before landing on the pregnancy tests they used. You grabbed three and shoved them into your jacket pockets, making sure nothing stuck out.

As you went to leave, robby entered the room and blocked you in. You scoffed, the universe had it out for you that day. 

“Can i get by dr. robinavitch?” You asked, not making eye contact. 

“Not unless we talk.” He shook his head, crossing his arms as you nodded and looked around the room. “Dr. king cleared me, i have the stomach flu, lacey caught one from the kids at the studio..” You explained, grabbing a vomit bag in case, you quite literally couldn’t stomach the situation. 

“I mean about the park, these past few weeks..about us?” Robby kept his gaze on you, watching as you look down at your shoes; those pregnancy test burning a hole into your pocket as he kept talking.

“Talk? Talk about you randomly running off and appearing in a relationship the next week?” You asked, scoffing, your outburst taking robby off guards. “We should talk about this another time michael, i have patients and so do you. Now if i may leave!” You excused yourself and pushed past him and ran back upstairs to the nearest secluded bathroom.

Robby sighed and groaned as you ran past him, refusing to speak to him, calling him michael, it wasn’t like how he imagined it would go, rather then it sounding soft and filled with love, now it had a serious tone and nothing more.

Robby huffed into his hands as you left him in the supply closet, he couldn’t help but grow frustrated at his own actions.

As he leaned his forehead against the shelving, the supply door opened.

“Sorry to interrupted your breakdown but no one had taken a look at a dancer with a broken ankle in south 15..” Dana informed, watching as robby took a moment before nodding at her. “Yeah– yeah i’ll be there..” He sighed, running a hand over his head before walking out of the supply closet.

- - - - - - - -

“Hi there, i’m dr. robby, heard you have a broken–!” Robby stopped as he made eye contact with the three girls in the room, cursing under his breath.

Lacey sat on the patients mom’s lap, tapping away on her tablet while the mom quietly rocked lacey and herself on the plastic chair. “Broken ankle, um–how did it occur?” Robby asked, grabbing the nearest stool and sat down by the patient’s ankle.

“Dance practice…I was suppose to be our sugar plum..” The teen sighed, resting her head on gurney’s railing. Robby nodded and looked over to the ankle before nodding to himself. “Looks like you’ll be needing a cast and a replacement.” He sighed, his gaze following to lacey who had occasionally looked up from he tablet to listen.

“I told her only to do four pirouette’s for the practice...” Lacey muttered under her breath, robby hid a smiled as he typed up the order on the computer. “How many can you do?” Robby asked lacey, turning as she looked at robby before looking to the teen in the gurney. “I’m not showing you, look at what happened!” She said dramatically, patted the teen’s uninjured leg in comfort.

“A nurse should be in to set things up for the cast, then i’ll be back.” Robby smiled and went to leave the room, quickly waving to lacey before exiting.

- - - - - - - 

You paced the bathroom as the test laid face down, the timer on your phone going. As you thought of possibilities your phone rang, looking at the contact you sighed and answered.

“Yes mom?” 

“Oh perfect you answered, listen anna had a bad fall and her mother called to say that she won’t be able to be in the show and well me and marissa were going through the storage unit and happened to find your old sugar plum and it’s perfect since tomorrow evening the photographer will be here..” SHe hinted making you scoff.

“I haven’t done sugar plum since I was eighteen, nice try mom..” You sighed.

She scoffed on the other side before confessing. “Fine, when i picked lacey up, i may have snooped through your closet to have your costume resized, it should fit like a glove honey!” She reassured.

You sighed, going to open your mouth but stopping as the timer went off. “Yeah, sure mom. um–I’ll call you in bit!” You quickly hung up the phone and flipped over the test results.

All tests laid out the same result.

Negative.

next pt

lovebug taglist!! @nerdgirljen @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @snowflames-world @evans-dejong @lovebuggyies @itschelseacisneros @kmc1989 @foolishseven @rhysology @delicatetrashtree @whimsicalfungiforager @equallyshaw @qardasngan @fallout-girl219 @dantemorenatalie @18lkpeters @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @blackblueberries @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @isla-finke-blog @baileythepenguin @khaleesibeach @obfuscateyummy @li22ie2017 @hagarsays @catmomstyles3 @antisocialfiore @journalism2004 @capswife @obsessed-fan-alert @sabrinaselina55

[8housevenus]

12th house synastry!

wanted to do this because 12th house is super interesting to look into, and when your partner/friends/etc has their placements in your 12th house it can reveal a lot that hasn't been known before, your future with this individual, inexplainable feelings and occurrences, lets dive into it.

partner sun in your 12th house - usually this person will unlock a part of your brain that will teach you the deeper meaning of life, they will provoke you with intense thoughts to challenge you and connect you deeper to reality. you find that this person usually understands you without much explanation, sometimes it might even feel surreal on the basis they can read you. you are predictable to them and almost feel that nothing in this bond can be hidden from them. they admire something about your mental strength and want you to express your burdens than to shy from them. it doesn't scare you so much at the thought of it, but your biggest challenge will be opening up to this individual- and depending on how their sun is aspected it can show you the intentions they have with knowing these things about you. ex; if they have sun trine your moon, they will be emotionally there with you. if they have sun oppose mercury/uranus, they can be very chatty and spill some of your traumas and experiences to others.

partner moon in your 12th house - this person is very respecting to your emotions, and they find you to be their happy places in a way. they love when they can get past surface level discussion with you, to them they love to protect you and tell you things that are far too uncomfortable to tell other people. sometimes it can become an overburdening where you might pull away and the partner begins to question what this means for the relationship. set boundaries, but also let this person play the role they want because the backbone of this relationship is going to be your longevity of trust with each other. might be hard to make the moon person change his/her habits, but all they need is a gentle tug.

partner mercury in your 12th house - this person will be the one to tell you information you don't want to hear but need to hear. you might often resent this individual sometimes because of this and feel that they can get distant towards you from time to time, or jumpy in their explanations. the mercury person will have a quick temperament, and the communication can become murky, but you don't forget what they tell you though, and usually they will be the ones telling you stories to learn from or traumatic experiences. just be sure to set limits with this placement, as they can overstep or really push away. but besides that, they find an appreciation for your company, and they become quite fixated on you when you keep up the communication. otherwise, it can go either way.

partner venus in your 12th house - feelings left unsaid is the energy that exudes here. secretly being admired or having to admit it out of one another. the venus person will often try and match your love language as much as possible, they will find out things you like (music, interests, content, friends/family members, you name it), to have an underlying similarity. it can become borderline obsession; however this partner is naturally clingy towards you and knows how you inter-operate than most people do. you have predictable patterns to these people because of how much they analyze you from afar. their biggest fears in terms of love with you is that you abandon them or shun them away, even minimal acknowledgement make them fall for you even harder. just be aware that this can be an intense spot for venus.

partner mars in your 12th house - you both might impulsively jump into experiences together, this person shows you newer practices, mentalities, anything hidden in plain sight. they will encourage you to express your desires more and can also get sexually aroused by you without you even knowing when it happens. creates a healthy intensity between the two of you and the mars knows not to overstep surprisingly, as confident as they are, they do back down when things might get too overstimulating for the house person. there's a sense of care and adrenaline the mars person gives to the house person, they will please them in many ways and approach them in such an unforgettable way too. you might uncover that your sex-life with this person is so top tier, and roleplaying is prominent in your lives. if you think it, it comes to life.

partner jupiter in your 12th house - the jupiter person will change your life dramatically, spiritually you will feel very positive around this person, and almost like you take a part of them when you're not with them. you admire their ability to get more of everything from life, which of course they do teach you, their ways. the jupiter person will take pride in helping you benefit from them, especially when both of you mean well. these people might feel even god-sent sometimes, be careful to not take more than you give to these people, as jupiter is about luck and you never know. they can give you an old soul kind of energy, and one that just wants the betterment for the people they care about including the house person.

partner saturn in your 12th house - as stern as this person might come off to you, they are intensely loyal and work hard to sustain the relationship between the two of you- in their own way. you usually have no abnormalities between the two of you, although you will want to be clingy to them, remember that they persevere the best when they are alone and, in the zone, don't smother these people too much or they will forget about their tasks and abandon them. emotionally they can seem off, but depending on how their saturn is aspected, it can show you the ways they open up and how long it can take them too. because it is your 12th house, they will be drawn to your dark nature and match that with discipline, as a result very unspoken dynamic at times, but a very loyal and committed one.

partner uranus in your 12th house - uranus person will oddly understand you out of many people in your life, they themselves can sometimes even analyze your lifestyle and mindset a little too hard where they try to inflict so much change onto you. they may also insist on involving other people to come and convince you to be a part of something that maybe you don't want to be. this is a prime example of a groupie dynamic, uranus person will introduce you to the similar things that have changed them as a person (good or bad), house person will either like it or hate it. house person has to draw the line on what they say to the uranus person before they can draw out their life.

partner neptune in your 12th house - neptune person will be your peacekeeper and you feel a sense of belonging towards one another. there is a good balance between the two of you where you respect each other's privacy but also drop casual lores of each other here and there. this mutual respect makes the 12th house person very fond of the neptune person and creates for good long term relations. the neptune person admires 12th house person's abilities to discern topics in a similar way to them. these people have similar troubles i notice, and both heal together in a harmonious way that can turn them religious at the same time, or heavily spiritual at the same time. they are super on sync, or the neptune person will try to catch up to the house person a lot.

partner pluto in your 12th house - pluto person will make you shift perspectives all the time, and doesn't like to take short cuts. they want the house person to feel all their feelings, explain them thoroughly, and understand their capabilities. the pluto person can genuinely help the house person feel ready for the changes they are going to experience. pluto will remind the house that darkness is a necessity to experience light. the house person will resent this at first, but then become vulnerable and respecting of pluto's efforts to help them transform into the person they are meant to be. the pluto person won't mind the house person's whiplash from time to time, as usually the pluto person has heavy life experiences that they can only ease in to understand somebody elses.

partner chiron in your 12th house - this person will find themselves healing through you. your dynamic will teach them things about themselves that wasn't apparent to them when they were younger, or before they met you. house person will help chiron ease into their insecurities and become more open to the idea of acceptance. while the chiron person will accept house for all their flaws and allow the house person to be themselves without carrying shame. as long as this bond is mutually beneficial, it can help both people grow. however chiron person can be burdening to house person if they feel that chiron is always at the brink of sabotage, it can be hard to maintain. however it can flourish to be beautiful.

that's basically all for 12th house synastry, if you have other placements in the 12th that aren't here tell me below and i will tell you my input on those, thank u so much for readings i know its a strong yap but there's a lot that depends with synastry and this is only the surface of it! <3

[reality-detective]

What else did he say? 👇

And there are a lot more of these to explore so löök this guy up and happy digging 🤔

[i2rizz]

Did I mention I'm wildly in love with this deranged little bitch? Don't even ask where this idea came from-my brain's basically a cursed fanfic generator fueled by chaos, thirst, and questionable zero impulse control

Locked & Loaded

The alley was slick with demon blood—everywhere, sticky, and steaming where it hit the pavement. The stink of it clung to the night air, thick and metallic, crawling into your lungs even through the adrenaline.

Dante wiped his blade on his coat, standing over the remainings of what had once been a gangly, hissing demon.

"Ugly bastard" he muttered, nudging the corpse with the toe of his boot. "That’s the last time I take a bounty that pays in IOUs and moldy pizza"

You scoffed, stepping over a pile of broken crates. "You weren’t complaining about the pizza when you ate half of it"

"Low standards. Occupational hazard"

You shot him a look over your shoulder as you sheathed your own blade. The two of you made quite the pair—blood-splattered, sweaty, and absolutely unbothered. Dante had his usual swagger, that half-cocked grin that never quite left his face, and you? You were the calm to his chaos. Cool hands, sharp eyes, and a pistol always ready—until tonight.

Because, as fate would have it, both your guns had hit the ground mid-battle. His were kicked across the alley; yours had slid under a rusted dumpster in the middle of dodging a particularly aggressive hellspawn.

You figured you had enough time to grab them—until the second wave hit.

The growl echoed before you saw it. Low. Guttural. Disgusting.

Dante turned just as the wall behind you shattered, bricks flying. Something huge and snarling lunged out from the smoke, claws like meat cleavers and a mouth full of jagged teeth that glistened in the moonlight.

You both dove—instinct, perfect synchronization—but you hit the ground hard, knees scraping.

"Shit—Dante, your guns—"

"Gone" he grunted, rolling to his feet. "Yours?"

You looked under the dumpster. No glint. No chance. "Buried. We’ve got nothing"

The demon roared, charging.

Dante grimaced. "Alright. We’re doing this old-school"

But you held up a hand. Calm. Focused. And very much not panicking.

"Nah, twin" you said smoothly, voice cool as the metal you were about to introduce to the situation. "I got this"

Dante blinked. "Babe, unless you’re hiding a shotgun in your boots, I don’t think—"

You reached into your jacket, tugging at the zipper halfway… then lower.

He paused.

"Wait—are you—?"

And with one confident pull, you drew a sleek, silver pistol from right between your chest—tight holster, custom fit, hidden in plain sight. You cocked it without missing a beat, the click loud and sweet in the tense air.

Dante stared.

"Holy hell," he muttered, visibly stunned. "Is that where you keep it this whole time?"

You smirked, stepping forward with a roll of your shoulder. "Emergency backup, babe. You think I wear this top for style?"

The demon charged again. You raised the pistol.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots. Each one precise. The demon reeled back, screeching in pain as black ichor burst from its eye socket and shoulder.

Dante watched you—barely breathing, maybe because you looked like a literal fever dream. Bloody, glowing in the alley light, sweat clinging to your collarbone, your weapon still hot in your hands, smoke curling from the barrel.

He let out a low whistle. "You just became the hottest person I’ve ever seen"

You didn’t look at him—too focused, too in the zone. "Flirt later. Cover me"

“God, I love you” he muttered, dazed, as he grabbed a crowbar from the ground and dove in with you.

It was fast, brutal. You moved in tandem—one fluid, lethal machine. The demon never stood a chance.

By the time it crumpled into a pile of twitching limbs, you were breathing heavy, hands on your knees. Dante came up behind you, slow, still catching his breath.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"I’m not even mad about losing my guns," he murmured. "That was the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen. I mean, between the boobs? That’s genius"

You laughed, low and smug. "Told you I had it handled"

He nuzzled your neck, shameless. "You have me handled"

You turned in his arms, lifting the still-warm pistol and tucking it back into its secret holster. His eyes followed the motion like a man hypnotized.

"Stop staring"

"Can’t," he said. "My girl pulls a piece from her tits and kills a demon with three shots to the face. What do you expect me to do, not get turned on?"

You kissed him then—sweaty, blood-spattered, and giggling. He tasted like adrenaline and praise and something wild.

"You’re shameless" you whispered.

"And so hard it's concerning" he said against your mouth. "Now let’s go home. I wanna see what else you’ve been hiding under that top"

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Heyy, I love your work, and I was wondering if you could make a seonghwa × fem!reader oneshot, where she is the 9th member of the group, and fans keep shipping both of them, something like that

Pairing: Seonghwa x 9th member fem reader

Warnings: none

Hidden in Plain Sight

You never planned for this to happen.

When KQ Entertainment announced they were adding a female trainee to their upcoming boy group—a bold move that shocked the K-pop industry—you'd been both terrified and thrilled. Years of training alongside eight boys who gradually became your brothers, your friends, your family.

And then there was Park Seonghwa.

The cameras didn't lie. Neither did the fans. And lately, neither did your heart.

---

"Y/N-ah! We need you for the final costume check!" 

You looked up from your phone to see your manager waving frantically from the doorway of the dressing room. The other ATEEZ members were already lined up, their stage outfits for the comeback perfectly coordinated—black and gold, with accents of deep crimson. Your outfit matched theirs but was tailored differently, embracing your figure while still maintaining the group's cohesive image.

As you made your way over, you caught Seonghwa's gaze in the mirror. He quickly looked away, adjusting his jacket collar unnecessarily. You pretended not to notice the flush creeping up his neck.

This dance had been going on for months now.

"The stylists need to fix something with your jacket," Hongjoong explained, always the attentive leader. "We're on in forty minutes."

"Got it." You nodded, taking your place at the end of the line beside Jongho, who gave you an encouraging smile.

The stylist fussed with your outfit, pinning something at your shoulder while you stood perfectly still. Years of practice had taught you to be patient during these last-minute adjustments.

"So," Wooyoung's voice carried down the line, mischief evident in his tone, "did you see what was trending on Twitter last night?"

Your stomach dropped. You knew exactly what he was referring to.

"Wooyoung-ah," Yunho warned quietly.

But Wooyoung, ever the troublemaker, continued: "The 'SeongN' hashtag was number one worldwide after that V Live." He chuckled. "Fans are convinced you two are secretly dating."

The stylist working on your outfit pretended not to hear, but you could see her hiding a smile. Great. Even the staff were aware of the fans' shipping.

"It's just fans being fans," you replied, keeping your voice casual despite the heat rising to your cheeks. "They ship everyone with everyone."

"Not like they ship you two," San chimed in with a smirk. "The compilation videos of your 'moments' have millions of views."

You risked a glance at Seonghwa, who was staring straight ahead, his expression carefully neutral. Only the slight tension in his jaw betrayed his discomfort.

"That's enough," Hongjoong said firmly, shutting down the conversation. "We need to focus on the performance."

You shot him a grateful look. As leader, Hongjoong had always been protective of the group's dynamics, especially the unique challenges you faced as the only female member.

The stylist finished with your jacket and stepped back to assess her work. "Perfect," she declared. "You all look amazing."

As the team dispersed for final preparations, you felt a gentle touch on your elbow. Seonghwa stood beside you, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking.

"Don't let it get to you," he said quietly. "The fans just... see something special in our friendship."

*Friendship*. The word stung more than it should have.

"I know," you replied with a forced smile. "It's fine. I'm used to it."

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long. "Are you? Because sometimes I wonder if—"

"Five minutes to standby!" The stage director's voice cut through the moment.

Seonghwa's hand fell away from your arm. "We should go," he said, the unfinished question hanging in the air between you.

As you followed him toward the stage, you couldn't help but wonder what he had been about to say.

---

The performance was electric. Your comeback stage for "Horizon's Edge" had the audience screaming from the first beat. The choreography—fierce and intricate—showcased the months of grueling practice you'd all endured.

During the bridge, you and Seonghwa had a duet section that the choreographer had insisted on after seeing your chemistry during rehearsals. It was barely fifteen seconds, but those moments on stage, moving in perfect synchronization with him, his hand briefly at your waist before spinning you away—they were both heaven and torture.

You could already imagine the fan edits that would flood YouTube tomorrow.

After the final bow and the adrenaline of the stage had faded, the exhaustion hit you. Back in the dressing room, you collapsed onto the couch, scrolling through the initial reactions on social media while the makeup artists helped the members remove their stage makeup.

"Y/N, you're up next for makeup removal," one of the staff called.

"In a minute," you responded, eyes fixed on your phone. The hashtag #SeongN was indeed trending again, accompanied by dozens of screenshots from the performance. Your duet with Seonghwa had not gone unnoticed.

@ateezmoon: *THE WAY SEONGHWA LOOKS AT Y/N DURING THAT SPIN?? HE'S WHIPPED* 😭❤️

@yeosangfairy: *we all know why the company added y/n to the group... the chemistry between her and seonghwa sells albums* 💯

@hongjoongace: *unpopular opinion but i hate how everyone's obsessed with seongn when y/n is such a talented performer in her own right*

You sighed, turning off your phone screen. The last comment hit a nerve—one of your biggest fears was being reduced to just "the girl in ATEEZ" or worse, "Seonghwa's rumored love interest." You'd worked too hard to be defined by either label.

"You shouldn't read those."

You looked up to find Yeosang standing over you, his makeup already removed, face glistening with post-cleanse moisturizer.

"I know," you admitted. "Bad habit."

He sat beside you, his presence calming as always. Of all the members, Yeosang was often the most perceptive, noticing things others missed.

"The fans will always create narratives," he said quietly. "It doesn't mean you have to let them affect you."

You nodded, grateful for his wisdom. "It's just... complicated."

Yeosang's eyes flickered across the room to where Seonghwa sat in the makeup chair, his gaze meeting yours in the mirror before quickly looking away.

"Yes," Yeosang agreed, following your line of sight. "I can see that."

Before you could respond, Mingi bounded over, his energy seemingly undiminished by the performance.

"Emergency snack run! Who's in?" he announced. "Manager-nim said we can go to the convenience store if we wear masks and hats."

The prospect of ramyeon and ice cream was too tempting to resist. Soon, most of the members were gathering their things, ready for a late-night food adventure.

"Y/N? Seonghwa-hyung? You coming?" Jongho asked, already pulling on his hoodie.

"I still need my makeup removed," you explained.

Seonghwa stood from the makeup chair, face now clean. "I'm a bit tired. I think I'll head back to the dorm."

"Suit yourselves," San shrugged. "We'll bring back ice cream."

As the others filed out with promises to return with snacks, the dressing room suddenly felt too quiet, too empty. Just you, Seonghwa, and a makeup artist who was now gesturing for you to take your seat in front of the mirror.

The silence stretched uncomfortably as she began removing your stage makeup with gentle cotton pads. Seonghwa busied himself organizing his belongings, though you noticed he was taking an unusually long time to pack his simple backpack.

"That choreography was intense," you said finally, unable to bear the quiet. "My legs are going to be sore tomorrow."

"You did well," he replied, his voice soft. "That spin transition was perfect."

The makeup artist dabbed cleansing oil around your eyes, removing the heavy eyeliner. "You two looked beautiful together on stage," she commented innocently. "The fans will love it."

You felt rather than saw Seonghwa stiffen at her words.

"Thank you," you managed, keeping your expression neutral despite the awkwardness.

When the makeup artist finished and stepped away to dispose of the used cotton pads, Seonghwa approached, sitting in the chair beside yours.

"Y/N..." he began, his voice lower now. "About what Wooyoung said earlier..."

Your heart raced. "It's just fan stuff. It doesn't matter."

"What if it does?" His question hung in the air, loaded with unspoken meaning.

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the makeup artist returned. Seonghwa immediately stood up, the moment broken.

"I'll wait for you outside," he said, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "We can share a car back to the dorm."

You nodded, trying to ignore the disappointment settling in your chest. Another almost-conversation, another moment lost.

---

The car ride back to the dorm was quiet, the city lights passing in a blur outside the window. You sat beside Seonghwa in the back seat, careful to maintain a proper distance despite the urge to lean into his warmth.

"You were looking at the comments, weren't you?" he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to him, surprised. "How did you know?"

A small, sad smile tugged at his lips. "I know you, Y/N-ah. Better than you think."

The intimacy of his words made your breath catch. "They're just comments," you said dismissively. "Some nice, some... presumptuous."

"Do they bother you?" His question was careful, measured.

You considered lying, but something in his gaze made honesty feel necessary. "Sometimes. Not because of what they imply about us, but because..."

"Because?"

"Because sometimes I feel like that's all they see." You looked down at your hands. "Not the years of training, not the performances or the music. Just... shipping fodder."

Seonghwa was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly you almost missed it: "And what about what they imply about us? Does that bother you?"

The question made your heart stutter. You risked meeting his eyes. "Should it?"

The car slowed as it approached your dorm building, saving you from having to hear his answer. As you both climbed out and thanked the driver, the weight of unspoken words hung heavy between you.

The dorm was empty, the other members still out on their snack mission. The silence felt different here—more intimate, more dangerous.

"I'm going to shower," you announced, needing space to collect your thoughts.

Seonghwa nodded, heading toward the kitchen. "I'll make some tea."

Under the hot spray of the shower, you tried to make sense of the conversation in the car. Was Seonghwa just concerned about fan perceptions affecting the group? Or was there something more to his questions?

By the time you emerged in comfortable clothes, hair damp and face flushed from the steam, you'd convinced yourself you were reading too much into things. Your feelings for Seonghwa—feelings you'd carefully hidden for over a year now—were clouding your judgment.

You found him in the living room, two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table. He'd changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, his black hair still slightly styled from the performance.

"Feel better?" he asked as you settled onto the couch, leaving a cushion of space between you.

"Much." You reached for the tea, letting the warmth seep into your hands. "Thanks for this."

He nodded, his eyes on his own mug. "Y/N, I need to tell you something."

Your pulse quickened. "Okay."

"I requested to change the choreography for the next comeback."

Of all the things you expected him to say, this wasn't one of them. "What? Why?"

He set his mug down carefully. "I asked the choreographer to give our duet section to you and Yunho instead."

The words hit like a physical blow. "But... why would you do that?"

"Because I think it's becoming a problem." His voice was strained. "The fans, the shipping, the rumors... it's not fair to you."

"Not fair to me?" You placed your own mug down, afraid your shaking hands might spill it. "Shouldn't that be my decision?"

"The company is concerned," he continued. "They think the focus on us is overshadowing the group's music. And you said it yourself—you don't want to be reduced to just shipping fodder."

Anger flared unexpectedly. "So you made this decision without even talking to me first?"

"I was trying to protect you," he insisted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You don't see how people look at you, how they talk—"

"I'm not some fragile thing that needs protection, Seonghwa," you cut in. "I'm an idol, just like you. Just like everyone else in this group."

"It's different for you and you know it," he argued, voice rising slightly. "Being the only female member puts you under a different kind of scrutiny."

"And you think removing our choreography together will somehow fix that?" You laughed bitterly. "All it does is validate the rumors that there's something to hide."

Seonghwa stood abruptly, pacing the small living room. "Then what would you have me do? Because every time we're together on stage, every time we interact, it feeds this... this narrative."

"Why does it bother you so much?" you demanded, standing to face him. "Unless..."

The realization dawned slowly, painfully. "Unless you're uncomfortable with people thinking there's something between us. Is that it? The idea is so terrible you needed to eliminate it completely?"

The hurt must have been evident in your voice because Seonghwa stopped pacing, his expression shifting from frustration to something softer, more vulnerable.

"Y/N, no," he said quietly. "That's not it at all."

"Then what?" Your voice cracked slightly. "Why go behind my back like this?"

He took a step toward you, then hesitated. "Because every time they pair us together, every time I have to hold you on stage and then let you go, knowing it's just for show..." He closed his eyes briefly. "It's killing me."

The world seemed to stop. "What are you saying?"

Seonghwa looked at you then, really looked at you, his guard completely down. "I'm saying that pretending there's nothing between us when the whole world seems to see it—it's harder than I thought it would be."

Your heart pounded so loudly you were certain he could hear it. "Seonghwa—"

"I know it's unprofessional," he continued quickly. "I know it complicates everything. That's why I thought if we had less interaction on stage, maybe I could..."

"Could what?" you whispered.

"Stop feeling this way."

The confession hung in the air between you, changing everything and nothing all at once.

"You never asked me how I feel," you said softly.

His eyes widened slightly. "How... how do you feel?"

Instead of answering, you closed the distance between you, reaching up to touch his face gently. His skin was warm beneath your fingertips, his breath catching at the contact.

"The fans see something between us because there *is* something," you admitted. "At least... on my side."

For a moment, Seonghwa remained perfectly still. Then, slowly, his hand covered yours against his cheek. "I've been trying so hard to be professional, to not let my feelings get in the way of the group."

"I know," you murmured. "Me too."

"If the company found out..."

"They don't need to know," you said. "Not yet. But I don't want to pretend there's nothing here when we both know there is."

His forehead touched yours, an intimate gesture that made your heart soar. "What are we going to do?"

Before you could answer, the sound of laughter and voices in the hallway signaled the return of the other members. You stepped back from each other quickly, the moment broken but the truth now acknowledged between you.

The door burst open, and Wooyoung led the charge, laden with plastic bags of convenience store treasures.

"We come bearing gifts!" he announced dramatically, before pausing at the obvious tension in the room. "Did we interrupt something?"

"Just discussing the choreography for the next comeback," Seonghwa replied smoothly, his composure recovered faster than yours.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced but choosing not to press. "We got ice cream. It's already melting, so we should eat it now."

As the members distributed snacks and recounted their convenience store adventure, you caught Seonghwa's eye across the room. He gave you a small, private smile that promised an unfinished conversation.

Later, as everyone settled in for a late-night movie, you found yourself on the couch with Seonghwa beside you. Under the cover of darkness and with the others distracted by the film, his pinky finger hooked around yours—a tiny gesture, hidden in plain sight.

Like so many things between you.

---

The following week was a whirlwind of music show performances, fan signs, and radio appearances. Your comeback was being well-received, with "Horizon's Edge" climbing the charts steadily.

And the #SeongN hashtag continued to trend.

During one particularly chaotic fan sign, a fan placed a photo in front of you—a screenshot from your duet with Seonghwa, the moment his hand rested at your waist.

"Are you and Seonghwa-oppa really just friends?" she asked boldly, eyes gleaming with excitement.

You maintained your professional smile. "We're groupmates and very good friends," you answered diplomatically. "ATEEZ is like family."

The fan wasn't deterred. "But you have such amazing chemistry on stage!"

From the corner of your eye, you saw Seonghwa at his seat further down the table, signing albums with practiced efficiency.

"We work hard on our performances," you said. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

As the line moved forward, you caught Mingi smirking at you from his seat. He leaned over when there was a brief gap between fans.

"'Very good friends,'" he mimicked in a whisper. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

You elbowed him discreetly. "Shut up, Mingi-yah."

His laugh only confirmed your suspicion—the members were starting to notice the shift between you and Seonghwa, subtle as it was.

After the fan sign, as you all filed back into the company vans, Hongjoong pulled you aside.

"We need to talk," he said quietly. "Not now, but soon."

The seriousness in his tone made your stomach drop. "About?"

His eyes flicked to where Seonghwa was climbing into the other van. "You know what about."

You swallowed hard and nodded. As leader, Hongjoong's primary concern would always be the well-being of ATEEZ as a group. If he thought something—or someone—might jeopardize that...

The ride back to the company building was tense, your mind racing with potential outcomes of the conversation to come.

When you arrived, Hongjoong caught your eye. "Meet me in practice room three in ten minutes."

You nodded, watching as he spoke briefly to Seonghwa, who glanced at you with concern before following Hongjoong down the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you found yourself in the familiar practice room, where countless choreographies had been learned and perfected. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were already waiting, their expressions serious.

"Close the door," Hongjoong instructed.

You did as asked, heart hammering. "What's this about?"

Hongjoong sighed, looking between you and Seonghwa. "I think you both know."

Neither of you spoke, the silence confirming his suspicions.

"Look," Hongjoong continued, his tone softening. "As your leader and your friend, I need to know what's going on. Not because I want to interfere, but because whatever affects two members affects the whole group."

Seonghwa stepped forward. "Nothing has happened," he said firmly. "We've acknowledged some... feelings, but that's all."

You nodded in agreement. "We would never do anything to hurt ATEEZ."

Hongjoong studied you both carefully. "I believe you. But the company might not be so understanding if they notice what I've noticed."

"Are you going to report us?" you asked, fear creeping into your voice.

To your surprise, Hongjoong laughed. "Report you for what? Having feelings? No." His expression grew serious again. "But I do need you both to be careful. For your sakes and for the group's."

Relief washed over you. "We will be."

"The fans already suspect something," Seonghwa pointed out. "That's why I suggested changing the choreography for the next comeback."

Hongjoong shook his head. "Changing the choreography now would only fuel speculation. You need to act normal—professional on stage, friendly off stage. Nothing more, nothing less."

The reality of your situation settled heavily on your shoulders. What had momentarily felt like freedom—the acknowledgment of feelings between you and Seonghwa—was now clearly outlined as a complication that needed careful management.

"We understand," Seonghwa said quietly.

Hongjoong placed a hand on each of your shoulders. "I'm not saying this can never be. Just... not now. Not when we're still establishing ourselves."

You nodded, knowing he was right. ATEEZ was finally gaining the recognition you'd all worked so hard for. A scandal—even a minor one involving two members having feelings for each other—could derail everything.

"Thank you," you said to Hongjoong. "For not making this bigger than it needs to be."

He smiled, the tension in the room easing slightly. "That's what leaders are for. Now, let's get back before the others start gossiping even more than they already are."

As you left the practice room, Seonghwa's hand briefly brushed against yours—a fleeting touch, a silent promise. *Not now doesn't mean not ever.*

For the moment, it would have to be enough.

---

Three months passed. The comeback promotion period ended successfully, and preparations for your next album were underway. You and Seonghwa maintained the careful balance Hongjoong had suggested—professional, friendly, nothing more.

At least in public.

In private moments—late nights in the studio when everyone else had gone home, early mornings in the dorm kitchen before the others woke—you found ways to acknowledge what existed between you. Small conversations, gentle touches, shared glances that said what words couldn't.

It wasn't enough, but it was all you could have for now.

The fans, predictably, continued their theories. Each interaction between you was analyzed, each moment of distance equally scrutinized. The #SeongN hashtag had become a permanent fixture in your fandom.

During dance practice for your new title track, the choreographer announced a surprising change.

"For the bridge section, we'll have Seonghwa and Y/N center again," she explained, demonstrating the move. "The company specifically requested it after seeing the response to your last duet."

You caught Seonghwa's eye across the practice room, seeing your own surprise reflected there. Hongjoong raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Later that evening, you found yourself alone in the dorm. The others had gone out for dinner and a movie—a rare night off that everyone had been looking forward to. You'd declined, claiming exhaustion from the day's practice, though in truth, you just needed space to think.

The new choreography was weighing on you—not because it was difficult, but because of what it meant. Another duet with Seonghwa. Another round of fan theories and shipping hashtags. Another test of your resolve to keep things professional.

You were in your room, hair still damp from the shower, when you heard the front door open and close. Footsteps moved through the dorm—too quiet for the usual chaos of all seven boys returning at once.

"Hello?" you called out, opening your bedroom door. "Who's back early?"

Seonghwa stood in the hallway, looking slightly startled to see you. "Y/N. I thought you'd gone with the others."

"I could say the same about you," you replied, leaning against your doorframe. "Wasn't the movie something you wanted to see?"

He shrugged, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up in a way that made your heart skip. "I couldn't focus. My mind was elsewhere."

The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with three months of careful distance and controlled interactions.

"Do you want some tea?" you offered, desperate to break the tension. "I was about to make some."

"No." The firmness in his voice made you look up sharply. Seonghwa's eyes were darker than usual, his posture tense. "No more tea, no more excuses, no more pretending."

Your breath caught. "Seonghwa—"

"Three months," he said, taking a step toward you. "Three months of acting like there's nothing here when we both know there is."

Another step. You found yourself backing up, into your room.

"The others could come back," you warned weakly.

"They're watching the extended cut. They'll be gone for hours." His voice had dropped to a tone you'd never heard from him before—low, intense, almost dangerous.

Your back hit the wall beside your bed. Seonghwa stood before you, close enough that you could smell his cologne, but not touching you. Not yet.

"We agreed," you whispered. "For the group's sake—"

"I'm tired of putting everyone else first," he interrupted. "The group, the company, the fans. What about us? What about what we want?"

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "What do you want, Seonghwa?"

The question hung in the air for one breathless moment.

Then, with a sound that was almost a growl, Seonghwa closed the distance between you. His hands found your waist, backing you against your bedroom door as it swung shut behind you. The solid thud of your back hitting the wood was followed immediately by his lips crashing into yours.

The kiss was nothing like you'd imagined in your quiet daydreams—it wasn't gentle or tentative. It was desperate, hungry, as if he'd been drowning and you were air. His hands moved from your waist to frame your face, fingers threading into your damp hair.

You responded with equal fervor, months of suppressed feelings unleashing all at once. Your hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between your bodies.

When you finally broke apart, both gasping for breath, Seonghwa pressed his forehead against yours. "I've wanted to do that since the first day we performed together," he confessed, voice ragged.

"Why did you wait so long?" you asked, your lips still tingling from his kiss.

His thumb traced your lower lip, eyes following the movement. "I was trying to be responsible. The perfect hyung, the perfect groupmate." A bitter laugh escaped him. "But I can't do it anymore. Not when you're right here, so close I can touch you, but always out of reach."

You reached up, brushing his hair back from his forehead in a tender gesture that contrasted with the intensity of moments before. "You don't have to be perfect. Not with me."

Something shifted in his expression—vulnerability giving way to desire once more. "If the others knew..."

"They don't need to," you whispered, echoing his words from months ago. "Not yet."

This time when he kissed you, it was slower but no less passionate. His hands skimmed down your sides, leaving trails of heat through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You arched into his touch, fingers threading through his hair, marveling at how right this felt despite everything that made it complicated.

Seonghwa's lips moved from yours to trace a path along your jaw, down your neck. "Tell me to stop," he murmured against your skin. "If this is too much, tell me to stop and I will."

In answer, you tugged him back up to capture his lips again. "Don't you dare," you breathed against his mouth.

A low sound rumbled in his chest as he pressed you more firmly against the door, one hand moving to your thigh, lifting it slightly to bring your bodies even closer together.

The world narrowed to just this room, just this moment—Seonghwa's hands mapping your body as if memorizing every curve, your fingers tracing the lean muscles of his back beneath his shirt, the mingled sounds of your breathing growing more ragged.

"Y/N," he whispered your name like a prayer. "I—"

The distant sound of the front door opening jolted you both back to reality. Voices and laughter filtered through the dorm—the others returning far earlier than expected.

You froze, still pinned between Seonghwa and the door, his body pressed against yours, both of you breathing hard.

"Y/N-ah! Seonghwa-hyung! Are you here?" Wooyoung's voice called out. "The movie projector broke so we came back early!"

Seonghwa's forehead dropped to your shoulder, a soft groan of frustration escaping him. "Of course," he muttered, the irony of the situation not lost on either of you.

You couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up. "Hidden in plain sight," you whispered, echoing his earlier words in a different context.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a mix of regret and promise in his gaze. "This isn't over," he said quietly, his thumb brushing your lower lip once more.

"It better not be," you replied, pressing a quick, final kiss to his lips before gently pushing him away to fix your disheveled appearance.

Seonghwa stepped back, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to restore it to order. The flush on his cheeks and the slight swelling of his lips would be harder to explain away.

"We should..." he gestured vaguely toward the door.

You nodded, smoothing down your clothes. "Just act normal."

A laugh escaped him. "Normal. Right."

As you reached for the door handle, Seonghwa caught your wrist, turning you back to face him. "Y/N," he said softly. "No matter what happens next, know that this—us—it's real. It's not for the cameras, not for the fans. It's just us."

The sincerity in his eyes made your heart swell. "I know," you whispered.

With one last shared look—a promise of more moments like this to come—you opened the door and stepped out to face your groupmates, the heat of Seonghwa's touch still lingering on your skin.

Some things, you realized, were worth the risk. And Park Seonghwa was definitely one of them.

[secattention]

HMP: Human Meat Project.

I Found the Following Below After Doing a Little Digging...

''In reality, the Human Meat Project is a conceptual art project that aims to explore the importance of accepting terms and agreements. It’s not seeking donated bodies for actual meat production. Think of is as a thought-provoking artistic endeavor rather than a real-world endeavor''

[mephisto-reporting]

Hidden in Plain Sight: Xavier

Premise: You were a Lemurian, hidden in plain sight. It was never a probelm.. until you started dating Xavier. With Ebb Day approaching, would you be able to hide it from him? Based on this request. Pairing: Lemurian! Reader x Xavier Note: Reader and Xavier are dating. Let me know if you want to be a part of my taglist.

The first time you met Xavier, he was asleep. Just lying there, tucked into himself like the world had nothing to do with him, breathing slow and deep as if he had all the time in the universe. You had nearly walked past him, assuming he was just some drifter seeking rest. But when his eyes fluttered open—serene, unreadable, and just a little too knowing and then you felt something shift.

You hadn’t realized then how much those moments would mean to you.

Xavier, with his quiet presence, had slipped into your life like water filling the cracks between stones. He wasn't expressive in the way most humans were, but you learned to read him in other ways. The way his fingers would tap against his knee when he was thinking. The slight tilt of his head when you said something that amused him, the way his lips would quirk up when he teased you.

He could be so endearing in ways that left you breathless, and then frustrating in ways that made you want to shove him. Like when he let himself doze off during Kitty Cards, giving you the perfect opportunity to cheat—not that you ever would. Or when he gave you the choice to go first at the claw machine, watching you struggle with an intensity that was almost unnerving before effortlessly plucking out a prize with an ease that made you groan.

"You looked like you were having fun." he’d say with the barest flicker of mischief in his eyes.

You loved these things about him.

And yet, for all the time you had spent together, for all the things he had come to know about you—he didn't know everything.

Not about the tail you kept hidden. Not about the faint, iridescent scales that shimmered beneath your skin. Not about your eyes that burned too brightly if you let loose.

Because you weren’t human.

You had lived among them long enough that it was easy to forget. You had learned their mannerisms, spoken their language, adapted. But some things never truly went away. The memories of what had happened to your kind—the stories whispered in hushed voices about Lemurians who had been taken, kept as pets, their freedom stolen the moment the seas had begun to recede.

You had no idea how Xavier would react.

Moreover, you were scared that these distinct Lemurian features would be less than appealing to him. You had been insecure about them all your life. Why could you not just be human? Why be ‘blessed’ with these features? You had asked these questions ever since you learned of your heritage.

The fever came in waves, each one worse than the last.

Your body ached, limbs trembling as cold sweat clung to your skin. The sheets beneath you were damp, tangled around your restless form as you tossed and turned. Your head felt like it was underwater—sounds were distant and muffled, light blurred at the edges of your vision. The glowing patterns along your arms flickered weakly, no longer hidden beneath your usual disguise. You were slipping.

You knew this would happen.

It was Ebb Day.

The day the tides receded so far they exposed the ocean’s hidden skeleton, when the land remembered the sea and the sea remembered its people. A day of human celebration—festivals, fireworks, lanterns drifting in the dusk sky. And for Lemurians like you, it was the weakest, most vulnerable time of the year.

You had lived among humans for so long, buried your Lemurian blood so deep, that you almost believed you belonged among them. Almost.

But here, now, in the sweltering heat of your fever, reality crashed over you like a wave. The truth of what you were—of what you had hidden, burned through you with every aching breath.

The soft fins along your arms trembled as chills wracked your body. Your eyes, usually dulled for the sake of blending in, pulsed faintly with their unnatural glow.

It was Ebb Day. And Xavier had wanted to spend it with you.

The way he had asked—softly, earnestly, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered—made your chest ache with guilt. You had said yes before you could stop yourself.

Lemurians were at their weakest during Ebb Day. When the tides pulled away, so did the strength in your limbs. Fever. Chills. A gnawing, unbearable exhaustion. You had known it was coming, and yet the moment you felt the first waves of heat rolling through your body, you cursed your own weakness.

When you called Xavier to tell him you were sick, his reaction was everything you expected—calm, understanding, not even a hint of disappointment in his voice.

You didn’t know how he would react if he found out. You didn’t know if his care for you would falter if he saw you like this—if he knew what you were.

You had heard the stories. When the sea dried up, when the Lemurians lost their sanctuary, they were no longer seen as people. They were pets, slaves, exotic things to be admired and owned. And even now, even after centuries, whispers of those days remained.

Would Xavier see you that way, too?

A fresh wave of fever rolled over you, and you whimpered, curling in on yourself. The room was too hot. No—too cold. You couldn’t tell anymore. The world swayed around you, everything tilting in and out of focus. Your fingers trembled as you ran them over your arms, feeling the faint ridges of scales pushing through too-sensitive skin. You were changing, slipping, losing control—

A noise.

Soft. Barely there. But enough.

Footsteps. The faintest creak of your door.

"You're burning up, aren’t you?."

Xavier’s voice.

It should have been comforting. Instead, it sent ice through your veins.

You forced your eyes open. Your vision swam, a hazy blur of heat and dizziness, but you could see him. Standing there, his brows slightly furrowed, the usual neutrality in his face edged with something sharper. Concern.

Your body went rigid.

No.

No, no, no.

Xavier was here.

A surge of panic cut through the weakness in your limbs. You tried to move, tried to pull the blankets higher, to hide yourself, but your body refused to cooperate. Your strength had long since abandoned you.

And then there was warmth.

A hand against your forehead, cool against the burning of your skin. You flinched, but Xavier didn’t pull away. His touch was steady, grounding.

"Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?"

Your throat felt raw. Your head spun. You wanted to answer, to explain, but the words tangled in your mouth, too heavy to speak.

His gaze flickered downward, and instinctively, you followed his line of sight—

You clenched your eyes shut. Maybe if you didn’t look at him, if you pretended hard enough, he wouldn’t see.

But then…

“You’re glowing.”

Your stomach dropped.

His fingers brushed over your cheek, slow, unhurried. Not startled. Not repulsed. Just tracing the faint luminescence that had broken free from your control. You didn’t dare open your eyes.

“I—” Your voice cracked. You swallowed against the tightness in your throat, but the words wouldn’t come.

Xavier exhaled softly. The bed dipped as he sat beside you.

“You should have told me,” he said, voice even but quiet. "You're a Lemurian." It wasn't a question but more of an observation.

Shame coiled deep in your chest.

“I couldn’t.”

A pause. The warmth of his hand never left your skin.

“…Why?”

Because you were afraid. Because you didn’t want to see the shift in his expression, the hesitation, the unease. Because you wanted to keep this—this strange, wonderful thing between you, the way he let you see the softer edges of himself, the way he looked at you like you were something worth protecting.

Because you didn’t want to lose him.

Your fingers clenched weakly in the sheets. “Lemurians… aren’t safe among humans. I was… scared.”

A moment of silence. Then—

“You don’t think you’re safe with me?”

Your breath hitched.

You opened your eyes then, just barely. The dim light of your room flickered, casting soft shadows over Xavier’s face. His gaze met yours—steady, unreadable, but impossibly gentle.

And there it was.

No fear. No disgust. No cold detachment.

Just Xavier. Just the boy who fell asleep in ridiculous places, the boy who let you win at Kitty Cards, the boy who would throw himself between you and danger without hesitation.

And maybe it was the fever, maybe it was the exhaustion, but something inside you cracked.

A choked sound left you—half a laugh, half a sob.

“Xavier,” you whispered. “You… you’re ridiculous.”

His hand moved before you could react. Slow, deliberate, pressing against the space just above your wrist, where the scales were faintest. His thumb brushed over them, testing, as if he were memorizing the texture.

"You could have told me," he said, voice as steady as ever. But there was something else there now, something you couldn’t place.

"I was scared." you admitted, barely a whisper.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his fingers curled around your wrist, his touch firm, grounding.

"You don't have to be," he murmured. Then, softer, almost teasing, "And here I thought I was the one keeping secrets."

You blinked at him, your thoughts fuzzy as the fever swirled inside your head. "Secrets?" you managed to rasp, your voice barely a whisper. The words felt heavy, like you were trying to carry something too much for you in this state. "What secrets, Xavier?"

He looked at you, his expression still unreadable, but there was an odd tenderness in his gaze. His fingers curled around your wrist, as if grounding both you and himself in this shared moment. He hesitated, his lips pressing together in a thin line, before he spoke again, quieter this time.

"I’ll tell you everything when you're feeling better," he murmured. "But for now... you just need to rest. Listen to your body."

You nodded weakly, your exhaustion making your eyelids heavy. Yet, there was a flutter of anxiety in your chest—something tight, something uncertain. You swallowed hard, the words escaping before you could stop them.

"I was... worried. About my fins... my scales... my eyes." You stammered, the fear bubbling to the surface despite your best efforts to keep it hidden. "I thought it would... freak you out."

Xavier’s hand paused. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his thumb stroked gently over the skin of your wrist, the sensation grounding in a way that calmed the storm of your thoughts. His gaze softened, and he leaned closer to you, the coolness of his breath a slight contrast to the burning fever that gripped you.

“Shhh…" he murmured, a comforting sound. "None of that. None of it would ever freak me out." His voice was soft but firm, a reassurance in the midst of your fear.

He pressed a finger to your lips before you could protest further. "You’re beautiful. Ethereal, even. A person like you," he hesitated for a moment, searching your face as if trying to hold you in a gaze that would keep the words safe, "would never, ever be something to be afraid of. You are perfect as you are."

You inhaled sharply, the words too gentle, too much for you to process in your state. Your heart fluttered—faint and weak, like the softest ripple of water—but it was there, beating, and somehow calming.

Xavier continued, his voice a low murmur as he reached out again. His touch was soft, as if he were afraid to break you, his fingers moving gently along the soft curve of your wrist before moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Whenever you feel comfortable... I’d like to see the real you," he said, a playful note creeping into his voice despite the situation. "Maybe... maybe I could see your tail, too?" He paused, his lips quirking slightly. "I have no doubt it would take my breath away."

The words left you breathless, but in a way that made you feel lighter. The tension that had wound itself tightly in your chest began to ease, your breath coming in slower, steadier gasps. You let out a shuddered breath, unable to stop the faint, tired smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. Your head sank deeper into the pillow, the heat of the fever still present but suddenly more bearable.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible, but you meant them more than anything. "For... not being afraid."

Then, to your utter disbelief, he shifted, moving carefully until he was lying beside you, propped on one arm. His fingers brushed through your damp hair, slow and deliberate. The warmth of him, the steadiness, sent a shiver through you.

“Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll stay.”

Your chest ached. “You don’t have to—”

He flicked your forehead lightly, the gesture so normal, so achingly fond, that your throat tightened.

Xavier smiled—small, barely there, but real.

“I’ll stay,” he said, settling more comfortably beside you. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

You blinked sluggishly up at him, fevered and drained but impossibly, inexplicably safe.

His fingers ghosted over your hand before he spoke again, voice softer now, fond.

“Rest now, seashell.”

The steady thrum of his presence was everything, and you closed your eyes with a sense of peace you hadn’t realized you’d been yearning for. For now, you didn’t have to hide. And that, more than anything, was what gave you the strength to close your eyes and let yourself finally rest.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom @m00nchildwrites

[supi-wupi]

Second Place - Joshua

pairing: Joshua x Reader

synopsis: You’ve loved him since day one, but he’s in love with someone else. As you help him write love letters to his crush, he unknowingly discovers your unsent letters—confessions hidden in plain sight. 

wc: 4.3k

genre: Angst, Unspoken/unrequited love, second chance

warning: Emotional angst, Unsent letters and misunderstandings, Separation/abandonment, Mental health struggle mentions, Heartbreak, mentions of exhaustion and burnout, joshua crying on stage, members confused, grievinga/n: This can be considered an alternative ending to my work ‘Penpal’, which you don’t need to read before this, it just gives background context to the name ‘Shuji’.

The studio always smelled like burnt coffee and citrus-scented air freshener—two things Y/N constantly relied on to stay awake through 3 a.m. writing blocks and last-minute composition tweaks. It was her quiet place, her second home. And lately, the only space where she could love him in silence.

Joshua.

She'd been writing songs for the group since before they debuted. First as an intern, then as a contracted lyricist, now a ghostwriter whose name was never printed but whose words shaped half their discography. No one questioned it. And she preferred it that way.

Well. Mostly.

It was easier to hide in the credits when the person you loved was singing words you wrote for someone else.

“Y/N,” Joshua called softly from the doorway. “You got a minute?”

She turned, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. He wore a hoodie half-slipped off one shoulder and held a notebook in one hand like he wasn’t sure whether to offer it or clutch it to his chest.

“Yeah, of course.” Her voice was lighter than she felt.

He stepped inside, hesitating. “So… I wanted to ask you for help with something. Again.”

You always do, she thought. But she smiled. “Lyrics?”

Joshua nodded, his grin sheepish. “It’s stupid, probably, but I wanted to write something for… someone. You know. Just something personal. You’re better with words.”

She didn’t ask who. He didn’t offer the name. But it didn’t matter. She already knew.

It had been the same for months now—Joshua appearing with half-formed verses and flushed cheeks, shyly mumbling about how this girl made him feel something he couldn’t explain. And Y/N, like a fool, would spend nights bleeding her heart into lyrics she could never claim as her own.

“Do you have a melody?” she asked instead.

He hummed the beginning of something gentle, a chord progression she recognized from their last jam session. It would make a beautiful ballad. A confession song.

It would destroy her.

“Give me a few days,” she said, reaching for her pen.

He looked relieved. “Thank you. Really.”

“Always,” she whispered once he’d left.

—

She stayed long after the studio lights dimmed, laptop screen casting a dull glow across her face. The chorus came easy—hearts in hands, breathless hope, longing wrapped in soft vowels and sweet consonants. She knew his voice well enough to mold the words into something that would sit right in his mouth.

That was the problem.

Every word she wrote tasted like love.

Her own.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 12/09/2017]

Dear Shuji,

You smiled when you read the lyrics today. You said they felt real. That they captured exactly how you felt.

You don’t know they’re about you.

You don’t know that every time you describe her, I think of all the things I’ll never be.

But I keep writing, because it’s the only way I can love you without ruining everything.

Yours,

Nie

—

Joshua found the letter by accident.

A week later, rummaging through her desk while she grabbed them both dinner, he was looking for a spare cable when he noticed the envelope tucked inside a draft folder. It wasn’t labeled, but curiosity got the better of him.

He read it once.

Then twice.

The handwriting was hers. The paper was old, the fold lines soft with time. But there was no name. No context. Only the nickname: Shuji.

His heart skipped.

Only one person called him that.

When Y/N returned, he smiled like nothing had changed.

He didn’t ask.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Not yet.

—

Joshua started to notice little things.

The way Y/N stopped looking at him when she spoke. How she paused before answering, like measuring every word before it left her mouth. The ghost of a smile that used to be automatic now took its time showing up.

But she still helped him write songs. Love songs.

She always did.

—

The melody they settled on was soft and simple—just guitar, piano, and breath. Y/N filled the gaps with metaphors that made Joshua’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. He didn’t ask where she pulled those images from: The way she laughs into her sleeve, like hiding joy makes it stronger. Or: I loved you like a secret—loud and unspoken.

He thought maybe he was finally finding the right words.

Even if they weren’t his.

“I’m thinking of giving it to her,” he said one night, when she handed him the final demo. “Just… directly. Not through a release or anything. Just me. And her. What do you think?”

Y/N swallowed. “I think… if it’s honest, she’ll hear you.”

She didn’t tell him the honesty was borrowed.

She didn’t tell him that the verses were carved from her own heart.

—

Later, after he left with a hopeful smile and a folded-up lyric sheet, Y/N sat back and stared at the empty chair across from her.

You really think she’ll hear you?She’s not even listening.

She reached for the drawer.

She shouldn't read the old letters again. But she always did.

Except… one was gone.

Her hands froze.

She counted them twice.

And it was definitely missing.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 04/11/2019]

Dear Shuji,

You asked me what falling in love feels like. I didn’t answer, but this is what I wanted to say:

It feels like watching your favorite song play out in front of you, knowing you can’t join in. Like standing in the audience when you know the harmonies by heart.

It feels like writing lyrics about someone who’ll never read them—and hoping they never do.

Because then maybe, you can keep pretending they were yours.

I don’t want to pretend anymore. But I will. For you.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found this one in a second notebook—one she left on the piano bench in the practice room. The edges were worn, the ink faded. It was dated years ago, before he even realized she was the one gluing their group’s emotions together behind the scenes.

The nicknames again. The handwriting again. That same ache in the words.

He didn’t confront her. Not yet.

Maybe she’d written these for someone else. Maybe it was just a coincidence.

Maybe he was starting to realize the truth and didn’t know what to do with it.

Still, he kept the letter folded in his bag.

Just in case.

—

Y/N noticed it first—the shift in how he looked at her.

Like he was watching her with a question on his lips he didn’t know how to ask.

But it didn’t matter. Not really.

Because the moment she saw him holding hands with the girl in the lobby—her—the one he’d been writing songs for… it all came crashing down anyway.

—

That night, Y/N didn’t cry.

She packed her laptop. Shut down the studio. Took the long train ride home. And when she got in, she did the one thing she swore she never would.

She started a new letter.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 07/02/2022]

Dear Shuji,

It’s not her fault. It’s not yours either. I should’ve said something years ago.

But I was always scared of being a burden you couldn’t put into a melody.

I was scared that if I told you I loved you, I’d lose the only part of you I was allowed to keep.

So I wrote you songs instead.

But you never heard me.

I think it’s time I stop writing.

I think it’s time I go.

Yours, almost.

—

She didn’t show up to practice the next morning.

Not in the studio. Not in the back room where she usually scribbled lyrics on her tablet with earbuds in, mouthing melodies no one else could hear.

Joshua didn’t panic right away.

Y/N had always been consistent, but not rigid. She sometimes needed air—walks at night, weekend disappearances for inspiration, quiet hours with her thoughts and no one else's noise.

But when she didn’t answer his texts by lunch—and her shared drive folder remained untouched, with nothing new since the demo he’d used for the girl—something in him shifted.

He told himself she’d be back.

She wasn’t.

Three days passed.

Then four.

When Seungkwan asked if she was sick, Joshua just said, “She’s taking a break.” It sounded better than I don’t know where she is, or maybe I’m the reason she left.

Because now, with every quiet hour that passed, the letters began making more sense.

He re-read them at night. Alone. In bed. Memorizing the curves of her handwriting like he used to memorize chord changes.

She hadn’t signed her name.

But it didn’t matter.

The letters weren’t a puzzle anymore.

They were a mirror—and he had never bothered to look into it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Dated 08/13/2021]

Dear Shuji,

They always say to write what you know.

But how do I write this? This knowing. This silence.

I know your favorite coffee order. The tempo your foot taps when you’re anxious. The way your shoulders tighten before you laugh. I know you want her. I know I’m not her.

But I still write you love songs like I’ve been asked to.

Like you’re not breaking me every time you sing them.

I love you so much it hurts. And I hate myself for it.

Yours,

Nie

—

He found that one in an old shared lyric book—one they used to keep between the two of them, back when they were still experimenting with writing as a duo.

It had fallen behind her desk. Tucked into the middle like a secret.

The page before it had a scratch melody he remembered vaguely. A soft ballad. It had made him tear up the first time he heard it.

He thought it was because it sounded like longing.

He hadn’t realized it was.

—

He messaged her again.

[11:03 PM] You wrote those letters, didn’t you? Why didn’t you say anything?

No reply.

[11:47 PM] Was I really that blind? Please talk to me.

Still nothing.

The next morning, he got an email.

—

Subject: For the Team From: [Y/N] To: [SEVENTEEN Staff + Members] Time: 5:26 PM

Hi everyone,

I’m officially stepping away from the group’s lyricist role to pursue something quieter. This decision wasn’t made lightly, and I’ll always be grateful for the years we spent creating together.

Please take care of yourselves.

With love, Y/N

—

The air left his lungs like a silent apology.

The rest of the team read the message with wide eyes and murmurs of she didn’t say anything. But Joshua said nothing.

Because he’d known.

Maybe not in time.

But he knew now.

And it felt like losing a song before he ever got to sing it.

He went back to the studio that night, even though the others had left. Just in case she'd left something else behind.

She had.

In the pencil drawer was one last envelope. No name. No date. Just folded paper, waiting like a confession.

His hands shook when he opened it.

—

[Unsent Letter — Undated]

Shuji,

I hope you don’t hate me.

I hope when you find these, if you find these, it’s because some part of you wondered.

Some part of you looked at me and thought, maybe.

If not… then at least now you know.

I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.

I loved you when you didn’t see me.

I loved you when you looked right through me to find her face.

But I loved you.

And I’ll keep loving you… just not here.

Yours, once.

—

He sat there for a long time.

Letter in hand. Empty studio. No background melody. No voice humming beside him.

Just silence.

And for the first time since debut, Joshua Hong had no words.

Joshua stared at the unsent letter in his hands like it held the answer to everything he’d missed.

“I wrote every song for you. Even the ones you asked me to write about her.”

His chest tightened at the words. Every song—every lyric—was a confession he’d been too blind to hear.

The studio felt emptier than ever, the echoes of her absence ringing louder than the microphones ever could.

He couldn’t let this be the last note.

—

The next day, Joshua sat alone in the practice room after everyone left, opening a fresh blank page on his tablet. His fingers hovered, unsure. He hadn’t written a lyric for weeks—not since Y/N left.

But this time, it wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for her.

—

[Joshua’s Letter — Draft]

Dear Y/N,

I didn’t know. I didn’t see the signs, the quiet tears hidden behind your melodies.

I was so focused on who you weren’t, I missed the person who loved me all along.

I’m sorry for the silence, for the songs you had to write alone.

If you’re listening somewhere out there, know this—

I’m trying to find my own words now. For you.

J.

—

He saved it, but didn’t send it. Not yet.

In the following days, he found pieces of her everywhere: a coffee cup on the corner of the studio desk, a half-finished notebook of lyrics, a familiar scent in the hallway air.

Each small thing a reminder.

And a question.

Why didn’t she stay to tell him?

He asked the members, careful with his words, hoping someone had heard from her.

They all shook their heads.

“She’s busy, probably taking time for herself,” Woozi offered quietly.

But Joshua knew better.

—

That night, his phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

“Shuji, it’s me. I’m sorry I left like that. I needed space, but I’m not gone forever.”

His heart pounded.

Could it be?

—

Joshua stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Four simple words that stirred a thousand questions—and a hope he hadn’t dared to feel in months.

He typed back slowly, carefully.

“Where are you?”

Hours passed with no reply. The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain.

—

The next morning, a new message came:

“I’m still figuring things out. But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?”

Joshua exhaled, a mixture of relief and nervous anticipation flooding him.

—

He sat by the window, guitar resting in his lap, eyes tracing the skyline of Seoul as if searching for her in the distance.

The songs he once wrote for her now felt like letters waiting to be opened—pieces of his heart scattered across melodies and unsent words.

He knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There were wounds to heal, misunderstandings to unravel, and time to reclaim.

But for the first time in a long while, Joshua felt a quiet promise flicker inside him—

A promise to try.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start.

—

Aftermath

Joshua never thought he’d be standing there, in front of the world, with his heart laid bare.

The moment was etched in everyone's memory—the moment when, on stage, under the bright lights, his voice cracked with emotion and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He apologized, not for the crowd, not for his fans, but for you. The promise he had broken. The way he had walked away from you, from everything, without a word.

The silence after the apology was deafening.

Everyone wanted to know the truth. What did it mean? What did he mean by it?

You knew. And that was the problem.

In the days that followed, the weight of what had happened didn’t lighten. Instead, it became heavier, suffocating in its own right. Joshua’s apology had echoed across stages, but you were still the one who had to live with the silence.

—

It wasn’t long before he started looking for answers in the wrong places. In places that were never meant to be discovered. You had hoped—no, you had expected—this day would come. You had written so many letters to him over the years, carefully pouring your heart into words that never saw the light of day. Letters meant only for him, but never sent, because to send them would have meant losing him entirely.

And now, they were all he had left.

He hadn’t meant to find them. He hadn’t meant to see the words you had written, the confessions buried in the folds of old notebooks and drafts. But now, he had them. All of them. The letters, the songs, the pain you’d tried so hard to hide.

—

Joshua had been spending every waking hour in the studio, lost in the music that was no longer his alone. The songs, the melodies, everything now felt tainted with the truth he had ignored for so long.

"Shuji, I'm sorry," his fingers hovered over his tablet screen. "I didn't see it. I didn't see you. I was too blind to realize."

It was a draft, but it was a start.

But even as the words took form on the screen, they felt like they were coming too late.

And then came the message.

The silence had been unbearable, and in the silence, you had left.

—

You hadn’t told him. You hadn't told anyone. You'd just slipped away. Packed up the parts of yourself you had given so freely, and left. You were no longer the invisible force behind the songs. You weren’t the lyricist, the ghostwriter—just a woman who had loved him too much to stay.

Your decision wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. The love you’d hidden for so long had taken everything from you, and you couldn’t afford to keep giving pieces of yourself away when he never once saw them.

Your last message to him was simple. A quiet goodbye in the only way you knew how.

"I’m still figuring things out," the words came, hesitant and soft. "But I want you to know I’m okay. Maybe we can talk soon?"

—

Joshua held his breath as he read your message. It wasn’t the answer he had been hoping for, but it was something. A sliver of hope. He stared at the screen, the weight of the words pressing against his chest.

"Where are you?"

The response came slowly. Hours passed before he finally got an answer.

“I'm okay. I'm not gone forever. But I need time. We need time.”

His heart ached.

Time. It was all he had left now. Time to undo the damage. Time to finally listen to the words you had been whispering for years.

Joshua didn’t know how to fix things. He didn’t know where to start. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t let the silence swallow everything.

As the days stretched on, Joshua found himself writing songs again. Not for the group. Not for anyone else. Just for you. They were the songs you had written for him, once. The lyrics you had poured into every melody, every note, every verse.

He had missed it. He had missed you.

And maybe, just maybe, this time he wouldn’t be too blind to see.

He hit send.

"Y/N... I’m sorry. I know I can’t fix everything. But I’ll spend every day trying to."

The message was simple. But the promise was everything.

And for the first time in months, the silence felt a little less heavy.

—

Joshua stared at his phone screen, his thumb hovering above the send button, unsure if the words would be enough. Would they ever be enough?

He thought back to the letters. The confessions you had written, the ones you had never shared. Your words were so raw, so beautiful, and yet he had failed to see them for what they were. The melodies, the lyrics—they had always been pieces of your heart, pieces of you, woven into songs for him that he had accepted without ever questioning.

But now, now that it was too late, all he could feel was the weight of every moment he had missed, every opportunity he had wasted.

He had heard the lyrics, but he hadn’t listened. He had felt the melodies, but he hadn’t understood. All of it had been a confession—an open secret—but he had been too blinded by his own self-doubt, too focused on the girl he thought he was meant to be with, to see you—the one who had been there all along.

The truth was a bitter pill, one he had swallowed too late.

—

It was a few weeks before he saw you again, and even then, it wasn’t how he imagined it would be. There were no grand gestures. No reunion at the studio or a dramatic confession at a concert.

It was just a text.

"Meet me at the café?" It was you, as simple as always. But this time, Joshua wasn’t sure how to feel. His hands shook as he read the message again, each word a reminder of everything that had led him here.

"Of course," he replied.

It was the first step. A small one, but the only one he could take.

—

The café was quiet when he arrived, the usual hum of conversation muffled by the early hour. He spotted you right away, sitting by the window, a cup of coffee in front of you, your fingers tracing the rim of the mug absentmindedly. You weren’t looking at your phone. You weren’t avoiding him either. You were just... there.

For a moment, Joshua froze, unsure of how to approach you. He had rehearsed a hundred apologies, a thousand explanations, but in the end, none of them felt right.

What could he say? "I'm sorry" felt so small in comparison to everything that had happened between you two. And yet, it was the only word that seemed to keep coming back.

You noticed him standing by the door, hesitating, and for the first time, you gave him a soft smile. It wasn’t the warm, easy smile you used to share, but it was something. Something that made his chest tighten.

“Joshua.” Your voice was soft, almost like you weren’t sure how to address him anymore. You had been so used to calling him Shuji, to speaking to him as someone who knew your every thought, every word. But now… now there was distance. The kind that couldn’t be crossed with a simple smile.

He walked over slowly, sitting across from you. The silence that hung between you felt thick, heavy, like something unsaid that both of you were too scared to voice.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at him, your eyes tired, but there was something else there too—something he couldn’t quite name. “I’m doing okay. A lot of changes… but I’m alright.”

You avoided his gaze for a moment, your fingers curling around the handle of the coffee cup, as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the present. Joshua's heart skipped. It wasn’t the answer he wanted. It wasn’t the answer he needed. He needed you to say that you were okay because of him, that he had fixed something, made up for everything he had done. But the truth was that you had already made up your mind long before this conversation.

He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just sat there, watching you, trying to gather the words that had been locked inside him for months.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, the words coming out in a rush. "I didn’t see it. I didn’t see you."

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a brief moment, there was something in your gaze that he didn’t expect—something like understanding. But it was fleeting.

“I know you didn’t,” you replied quietly. “But I couldn’t keep waiting for you to see me.”

Joshua’s heart clenched at your words. The air between you was thick with everything unspoken, everything that had been left unsaid. The letters. The songs. The moments that had never been shared. It was too much, and yet, it was nothing compared to what he had lost.

"I was a fool," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I was so caught up in everything else, I never took the time to see what was right in front of me. I—"

“No,” you cut him off, your eyes soft, but firm. “You weren’t a fool, Joshua. You were just... lost. So was I. But I can’t keep pretending like I wasn’t waiting for something that would never come.”

Joshua swallowed hard, the knot in his throat threatening to choke him. "What do we do now?" he asked, voice rough.

You sat back in your chair, your gaze thoughtful, distant almost. “I don’t know. Maybe we take things one step at a time. But I’m not here to be your second choice. I need to find my own way now, too.”

The words stung, more than anything he had heard before. But there was truth in them. And that truth was something Joshua wasn’t ready to face. Yet he knew it was the only way forward.

“Then... I’ll wait,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “If you want me to. I’ll wait. Because I owe you that much.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. But when you finally spoke, it wasn’t to shut him down. It was a quiet agreement, a fragile understanding that neither of you was quite ready to step into each other's lives again, not yet. But maybe, just maybe, there would be a way forward.

“Okay,” you said, your voice small but resolute. “Maybe we’ll figure it out someday.”

Joshua nodded, the silence between you two more comfortable now, not full of things left unsaid, but things left to be discovered.

For the first time in a long while, he felt like he might be on the right path. Even if it wasn’t clear yet, even if it took time, he knew he wasn’t walking it alone.

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