#they are the best and this is not discussed

[purple-plum-petals]

Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)

⊱ Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair ⊰ || NSFW Alphabet (A-Z) Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化, Separate) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns, No Sex-Specific Genitalia is Mentioned but it was Written with an AFAB Reader in Mind) Warning(s): 18+ Content, Virgin Asexual Author, Cum Eating, Facials, Minor Objectification, Cuckoldry, Mutual Masturbation, Face-fucking, Sexual Fantasies, Tickling, Praise/Degradation Kink, Breeding Kink/Creampies, BDSM, Overstimulation, Orgasm Control/Denial, Dumbification, Dacryphilia, Hair-pulling, Light Impact Play, Light Breathplay, Implied Cunnilingus/Blowjobs, Cock Warming, Mention/Discussion of Sex Toys… If I missed anything, please let me know! Genre: Headcanons, Smut (Minors Do Not Interact), Fluff Word Count: 7,200 words Request: “Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)” Author’s Note: I’m still very much working on getting better at writing spicier content, and I had no clue how to start writing these kinds of headcanons from scratch, so I went ahead and just filled out the NSFW Alphabet for both Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair as a jumping off point! It’s definitely interesting to think about how both of these characters would be in a sexually intimate setting, especially since – at least in my mind – they’d be quite different from each other in a variety of aspects even if they did have some overlap on a few of the points. I did my best to keep each of their headcanons at a similar word length (which was kind of hard to do with my Mr. Crawling bias, but I think I accomplished it haha). Anyway, I hope you enjoy these headcanons! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

👣: Mr. Crawling is immensely clingy after having sex, holding onto you and pretty much refusing to let go as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. While he doesn’t want to get up from the bed or leave after the two of you have been intimate, if you’re hungry or thirsty or if you want to go take a bath, he’s happy to go fetch you something to restore your energy or help you to the bathroom to clean up. He’s quite good at aftercare, even if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing counts as it. Mr. Crawling just likes making you feel good, and he wants to keep you safe and happy! His favorite thing to do is help you bathe; he enjoys the way the warm water feels on his skin while he washes your back for you. 

💉: Mr. Silvair isn’t too affectionate after the two of you are intimate, but he’ll check up on you and ask if you need him to get you anything. If your wrists were rubbed raw from the restraints he had placed on you, he would make sure to carefully wrap gauze around your irritated skin. If you were thirsty or hungry, he would locate something safe for you to consume to get your strength back up. If you feel sticky or gross afterward, he’ll carefully wipe your body with a wet cloth to make sure you are clean and comfortable. He lets you sleep and typically goes about his own business. Sometimes, though, Mr. Silvair finds himself watching over you to make sure you’re breathing steadily, carefully combing his fingers through your hair. 

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t have a favorite part of your body since he honestly enjoys every aspect of you but, if he had to choose, he loves your hands. He knows that they can hurt people and cause a lot of pain, but he loves the way they feel when you cup his face to softly caress it or whenever you thread your fingers through his hair. For himself, Mr. Crawling loves his hair the most (I know it’s not technically a body part, but I think it makes the most sense for him); he pretty much melts whenever you play with it, and his head is quite sensitive, so he blue screens whenever you pull at his hair or rake your nails across his scalp. I also feel like Mr. Crawling would be proud of his arms since they’re fairly toned considering they’re his primary means of getting around. Because of his impressive strength, despite what his thinner frame may portray, he’s able to hold you up and move you around with relative ease (he 100% can manhandle you, but only will if you’re cool with it). 

💉: Mr. Silvair finds every aspect of your body fascinating, and he could probably explain why each part of you was interesting from a medical perspective or that everything was pleasant to look at in one way or another. If he had to pick a favorite part of your body, though, he would have to say it’s your head (I know, kind of weird, but he does appreciate your intelligence and, well… Ending 06 is my other piece of reasoning haha). Specifically, though, he likes your mouth. He enjoys being able to hold your head in place while your jaw hangs open, all while he just goes to town while you drool and choke around his cock. Don’t worry, though – he’ll find some remedy to lessen the soreness you feel in your throat afterward. For himself, he’s quite proud of his hands. Mr. Silvair is skilled at many things, and being able to make you come undone with his fingers alone makes him feel a sense of power (plus, you called them pretty once, and it made him feel good). 

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

👣: Mr. Crawling gets extremely flustered whenever he sees his cum on any part of your body, from your hair to your face to your stomach. The sight of it alone on your skin makes his brain short-circuit and body flare up – it only makes him want to touch you even more. He likes being able to clean you up, too, leaning forward before he runs his tongue along your body or face, making sure there wasn’t a single drop of his cum left on you (even if now it meant you were covered in saliva…). He doesn’t mind tasting himself, but it most certainly doesn’t compare to your flavor. 

💉: I probably need to ask you to stay with me on this one, but I think Mr. Silvair would probably keep your cum stored away in a sample tube or something along those lines, having a desire to run tests on it to see what he could create. Views your cum as a valuable resource in his research...yay? Maybe he could even use your release to invent some kind of lubricant since that’s not easily accessible in the other world and make having sex much more streamlined… or he just keeps it around to show you later and see your reaction to the fact he keeps your cum stored away in his laboratory to tease you. 

D: Dirty Secret

👣: The thought of taking you in public, in a space where no one but you could see him, makes his mind race and his body feel like it was on fire – this man can act like a feral dog sometimes. I mean, even you sometimes forgot he was there, unable to see his form unless you concentrated hard enough, so imagine if the two of you went out somewhere in public and he (with your consent, of course), just started touching you? Groping your ass, his face between your legs as he runs his hands along your inner thighs… no one can see that it’s him making your face flush and not the excuse of a fever you told the concerned stranger in the hopes they would leave you alone. When you half-heartedly glare at him to try and get him to lay off for a bit, he just laughs at your expression… how rude!

💉: Mr. Silvar wouldn’t be opposed to having a threesome with another resident of the other world. After all, he would be curious to see how differently you acted when another person was there with the two of you, or if your body reacted in an unlikely way if another were to touch you. While I will not write NSFW for Mr. Chopped (the power dynamic there isn’t my favorite thing in the world), he would be the one Mr. Silvair would feel most at ease sharing you with; Mr. Crawling or Mr. Hood would be his second and third choices respectively since he knows how deeply you trust them. He might not even partake in sex either, just sitting off to the side while he lets another use you like a toy. As long as you know your his, though, he doesn’t mind watching you enjoy yourself with another (he has to be there, though). 

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

👣: Mr. Crawling has absolutely zero experience with this kind of stuff, so he would need someone willing to walk him through the whole process, show him what you like, and teach him what and what not to do. What he lacks in experience, though, he makes up for in pure enthusiasm. It’s quite flattering how determined he is when it comes to making you feel good, even if it’s a bit sloppy and unpracticed. His thrusts are extremely unpredictable, never quite finding their rhythm… It’s alright, though; he’ll definitely get better with more time and the more he gets to understand what your body likes. You just have to give him the time to improve, and he’ll be certain to leave you breathless. 

💉: Mr. Silvair also has no experience when it comes to sex, or at least not any while he’s resided in the other world. He is a life-long learner through and through, though, and there’s nothing in the universe he’s not willing to learn about, especially if it has to do with humans and their anatomy. His thrusts are frighteningly accurate, being able to hit your most sensitive inner spots with ease to have you begging him to give you a moment to breathe. He’s an almost terrifyingly fast learner, too, being able to apply whatever new information he’s observed and gathered within moments. He can do it perfectly, too, and he does it in a way that has you questioning whether he was telling the truth when he said this was his first time doing anything like this. 

F: Favorite Position

👣: When it comes to favorite positions, Mr. Crawling loves being able to hold you close to him while also being able to see your face (he has to kiss you during sex – sorry, I don’t make the rules). He enjoys the rocking horse position since it allows him to be able to hold you close while still being able to maintain eye contact with you and easily have access to cover your face in kisses. While he prefers being the one making you feel good, Mr. Crawling would also enjoy the cowgirl position. He’s happy to let you use him to your heart's content while being able to look up and soak in the pleased look that’s plastered across your features while you slam your hips up and down on his cock. 

💉: Mr. Silvair personally enjoys the butterfly position, having you lay on your back atop his operation table all while he can watch and take mental notes on every single facial expression you make and every single twitch of your muscles while he drives you absolutely insane. He would also enjoy missionary, but he would spice it up a little bit by having your hands or wrists tied to something. After all, he doesn’t want you to touch him unless he says you can – just lay there quietly while he completely wrecks you with that annoyingly calm expression on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy when you touch him, though. Mr. Silvair simply prefers being the one in charge and determining when and where you’re able to feel his skin beneath your hands. 

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)  

👣: Acts goofy most of the time during sex, even if he doesn’t mean to. He likes being able to make you happy, and he finds your laughter to be music to his ears. Sometimes you two will be having sex, and he’ll suddenly start giggling completely unprovoked, just finding the experience with you so joyful. Being with you in any capacity makes his chest feel light and fluttery as a sense of giddiness flows through his veins. He’ll wrap his arms around you and nuzzle into your neck, causing your body to spasm and tighten around him while his long hair drapes over you and tickles your skin. Overall, Mr. Crawling enjoys being more playful when the two of you are intimate since it adds to the overall experience for him. 

💉: Prefers to be serious while having sex. He treats the whole process of intercourse like one would treat a research project which, honestly, can make you feel a bit annoyed in some instances (Mr. Silvair still doesn’t quite understand why, though). He’s methodical in everything he does, and being light-hearted or purposefully humorous isn’t high on his list of things to do. He has no problem if you want to be silly, however. He finds it cute when you try to see if you can make him chuckle. It endears you to him more, and it makes him want to keep you around for even longer. The only goofy thing he does is gently run his fingers up and down your sides while thrusting into you, finding the way your body wriggles and writhes away from his touch to be adorable. 

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

👣: I think Mr. Crawling would have fairly long hair beneath the metaphorical belt. His pubic hair would be thick, curly, and a very dark shade of black. He doesn’t really keep himself groomed (kind of hard to do in his world, plus it was never a priority for him), but if you would prefer him to keep it trimmed, he’d be happy to! He doesn’t care one way or another. 

💉: Mr. Silvair comes off to me as someone who would enjoy keeping themselves groomed and their appearance well-maintained, and I mean every inch of his body. I think he would have either no pubic hair or pubic hair that was trimmed to be the perfect length. If he did have any hair below the belt, it would be a gray color, one that was a shade darker than his regular hair and wavy in texture. 

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

👣: One of the more human-like members of the cast when it comes to his affections; he’s as romantic as a non-human being can be. Mr. Crawling loves holding you close as he ruts into you like a wild dog, whispering praises against your skin. He even tries his best to learn phrases in your language so he can tell you how much you mean to him without you having to try and decipher it. He’s always so, so soft with you when you two are having sex. He’s honored that you’d let him have you in such a way, and finds your trust in him heartwarming – he trusts you, too, with his entire heart and soul. 

💉: Mr. Silvair canonically doesn’t comprehend the concept of “liking” or loving someone, so that also translates into sex with him. All he knows is that he finds you entertaining to be around and that he’s somewhat endeared to you at this point. He’s not romantic but, in between teasing you and making you cry (whether it be in frustration or overstimulation), he’s checking in on you to make sure that you’re still comfortable. He knows sex can be invasive, and he’s aware of how much regard the act is held in by some people in your world, so he does his best to respect that... Even if he does need to check himself every now and again. 

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them masturbates much because they simply don’t have a desire or time to do so. Mr. Crawling would rather wait for you to be there so you two can enjoy yourselves together, and Mr. Silvair simply has more important matters to attend to. That’s not to say they never masturbate, though, it’s just typically a rare occurrence. 

👣: Mr. Crawling typically masturbates by rutting up against something, like a pillow, rather than taking himself in his hand. His thoughts before meeting you were just focusing on the physical sensation of his cock sliding against the fabric of his clothing, but now he finds himself thinking of you – the way your voice sounds when you coo sweet words in his ear, the warmth of your body. Imagining your hands gently touching his chest and hips makes him cum right then and there, almost embarrassingly quickly… Yeah, he’s down bad. 

💉: Mr. Silvair treats masturbating as a chore. He’d much rather be doing something else than leaning against the wall of his operation room while his hand goes absolutely ham on his dick. He knows which areas on his body get the most reaction, so he purposefully presses all of his buttons just so he can be done with it quicker. This doesn’t change after meeting and getting to be intimate with you, though, he still sees it as a chore… Just now he imagines cumming on your face or inside you whenever he finally reaches his climax. 

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

👣: 

Mutual Masturbation: He likes spending time with you and doing things together, so why not spend some time watching each other explore yourselves? He likes observing you as you touch yourself, making mental notes of every spot on your body that have you biting your lip and furrowing your brows. While I wouldn’t say he’s into voyeurism since he does like being with you while you touch yourself instead of tucked away in the shadows just watching, he focuses more on the way your hands touch and caress your skin instead of focusing on the way he moves his hands across his body. Doesn’t last very long doing this, though, eventually pouncing on you and touching you himself.

Overstimulation (Giving): Mr. Crawling loves overstimulating you, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it half of the time. He just enjoys seeing you become a blabbering mess all because of him; he takes great pride in being able to make you feel good. However, the first time you started crying because he was simply giving you too much, he felt so guilty – the poor man was on the verge of tears thinking he made you feel bad. 

Praise Kink: While praising you is a bit more difficult considering the language barrier and the limited amount of words and phrases he has to choose from, he still loves doing it. Muttering against your skin how you’re doing such a good job, how he loves you so much, how you make him so happy. Mr. Crawling definitely makes sure to reassure you both inside and outside of the bedroom. 

Hair Pulling (Receiving): He loves, loves, loves it whenever you take his hair in your hand and give it a firm tug. Mr. Crawling enjoys it whenever he’s going down on you and you take his hair into your hands and push him even closer, making him become fully immersed in your scent and taste. 

Sensation Play: While Mr. Crawling may not enjoy more painful experiences, he does like general sensation play quite a bit. He likes the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin while you pepper his flesh with gentle kisses and nips. He enjoys tickling you while his hips sensually thrust in and out, feeling the way you squeeze around him as breathless and airy giggles escape past your lips. He loves whispering into your ear while running his tongue along it before taking your lobe between his teeth and lightly tugging.  

💉: 

Breeding Kink/Creampie: Mr. Silvair, after learning more about human reproduction, has a deep-seated curiosity regarding whether or not the two of you would be able to have offspring. That’s kind of what starts this particular kink for him – he wants to know if you both are sexually compatible in that aspect, and he is curious what the resulting child would look and act like if they were born in the other world. If you’re unable to give birth or get pregnant, even if his initial interest in breeding is certainly from a more scientific aspect, he still finds the image of you full of his seed while it drips down the curve of your ass to be quite arousing. 

Bondage/Shibari (Giving): He enjoys tying you up and pinning you down, being able to have full control over you in the bedroom. He’s perfectly content if you agree to light bondage, like having your hands restrained, and would never ask you to do anything more than that. However, if you trust him enough and feel comfortable doing some more intense bondage, he’s not going to complain. Would definitely be interested in the art of shibari, finding the way the rope looks pressing into your skin tantalizing. 

Orgasm Control/Denial (Giving): Another kink that feeds into his desire for control. Mr. Silvair enjoys being the one in charge of your release, and he likes seeing how far he can push you until you finally break and plead for him to let you cum. He loves seeing how stupid and desperate he can make you, sometimes with just his fingers alone. 

Overstimulation (Giving): Much like orgasm control/denial, he likes pushing you to your breaking point. However, unlike the previous bullet, he likes seeing how much stimulation you can take until you’re crying for him to stop. He thinks it’s fascinating, seeing how quickly your desire for his touch can change – one moment you’re begging for him to touch you, and the next you’re weakly pushing his hand away. He does eventually relent, of course, but only after letting you cry for a bit. 

Dacryphilia: There’s something about seeing your tear-streaked face that makes it feel like he’s just been hit with an arrow in his chest. It’s endearing and oh-so cute the way you look while you sob all because he’s making you feel that good. It makes him feel proud, in a way, seeing you in such a pathetic state all because of him. 

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

👣: He enjoys having sex with you on a bed (boring, I know), but he likes the softness of the mattress and the many pillows and blankets that can be used to bring even more comfort by keeping the heat from your bodies trapped. He also likes taking you in small, enclosed spaces, like an empty locker or cabinet (sorry folks with claustrophobia). Much like the reasoning with the bed, he likes how the smaller space forces you both to be immensely close to each other. Plus, these spaces bring him comfort, so why not mix the two things that make him feel safe together? 

💉: Either in his laboratory/operation room or in one of the many different cages or prison cells that he has access to (bonus points if you allow him to chain you up hehe). Mr. Silvair doesn’t need a soft mattress or pillows to enjoy sex with you. He’s fine taking you on his operation table or the cold concrete floor of the small prison cell, even if your back moving up and down across the ground rubs your skin raw. He’ll patch you up after, no worries, but he doesn’t need a lot of bells and whistles to have an enjoyable time. 

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

👣: Sweet words and gentle touches. The other world is one full of violence and death, one where survival trumps all else. While there are entities like him who only resort to violence when either their safety or the safety of someone they’re fond of is in danger, it’s still not a happy or bright place to exist. Mr. Crawling does what he can to enjoy life, laughing in situations that probably aren’t even that funny just to try and make existing more enjoyable. Then you come along and make him feel cared for – loved – and safe, and he’s never been happier. Being able to lay with you, to feel you clench around his cock with your warmth while you pepper kisses across his face and let him know how good he is… Yeah, this is the life. 

💉: Power and control. He enjoys being able to restrict your movement, being able to dictate when and where you’re allowed to cum and, if you disobey him, he’ll punish you with a sadistic smile on his face. However, he would be lying if he said that was all. Mr. Silvair thinks the fact you trust him with your safety – your life, your heart, your existence – gets him going, whether he realizes it or not. Trusting another in the other world showcases how much two people believe in the fact the other would not do anything to purposefully harm them, and you feel that way toward him (and he feels the same toward you). Whenever you call out his “name,” the one you had given him, he finds his hips unconsciously moving even faster at the sound...

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

👣: Anything involving pain would be a hard no for Mr. Crawling, both giving and receiving. Even though his senses are dull and what would be extremely painful for a human wouldn’t be for him, he still doesn’t particularly enjoy being harmed. When it comes to hurting you in any way, that’s pretty much something he will never concede on. He doesn’t want to do a single thing to hurt you, even if it’s an enjoyable kind of pain. 

💉: Pretty much nothing is off the table for him – Mr. Silvair enjoys experimenting, and that’s no different for him in the bedroom. The only extremely hard no would be coprophilia since he just doesn’t see the appeal nor does he want to test to see if he would like it or not. I also feel like he wouldn’t necessarily want a bratty partner or a partner who is constantly trying to take control back in the bedroom. 

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

👣: Loves giving oral 101%, and he will give it to you anywhere – in public, in private, while you’re sleeping (with your consent, of course). Mr. Crawling adores having his mouth on you, being able to taste every single part of you while his tongue forces its way inside you, feeling your release dripping past his lips or dribbling down his chin… You taste good, too, better than anything he’s ever had before; he might get addicted to it, to be honest. He eats you out/blows you like a man starving, wanting a chance to have a taste and make you cry out his name while you pull harshly on his black locks and encourage him to keep going. He’s very enthusiastic about it, too, putting in so much effort and energy to get you cumming on his face or in his mouth. 

💉: Prefers giving oral over receiving it, but it’s not his favorite thing to do either way. It’s nothing personal, he just prefers using his hands, his cock, or a toy to get you off rather than his mouth. If he does allow you to give him a blowjob, he’ll place a collar around your neck and pull on the chain if you get cheeky – after all, he’s the one in charge here. Mr. Silvair enjoys making you kneel in front of him, watching you with a small smile as you take him into your hands and pump once or twice before taking him into your mouth. If the rare occurrence happens when he gives you head, you better thank the universe. He looks so hot, holding your thighs apart while he slowly runs his tongue along your length/slit and teases you until you’re asking him to touch you more. 

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)  

👣: Enjoys the slower and sensual side of things, but he typically can’t control himself as soon as he’s inside of you, so he ends up being somewhat fast and rough (not all the time, though... his thrusts remain immensely unpredictable no matter what, and he never seems to find a good rhythm to follow). Mr. Crawling enjoys the intimacy of sex, and he finds comfort in the closeness of your bodies while you two are connected at the hips. He loves being able to hold your hands and place kisses across your cheeks. Sometimes, he’s so caught up in the act of showering you with words of praise and sweet displays of affection that he forgets the fact he’s currently inside you and is supposed to be moving. He does see the appeal of rougher sex, though – it makes him feel almost animalistic whenever you two decide to set the pace for the night. 

💉: Mr. Silvair can quickly switch between the two, sometimes almost at a break-neck speed, to the point it feels like you got whiplash from the sudden change of deep and slow thrusts to fast and somehow even deeper ones (he’s very precise when it comes to hitting those sweet spots inside of you – it’s actually kind of terrifying how quickly he can locate them). He pretty much does whatever he thinks will get the most reaction out of your body and acts accordingly – nothing more, nothing less. He tends to prefer rougher and faster sex, enjoying the noises the quick snap of his hips can draw out of your mouth. However, sometimes, he finds himself preferring a slower and softer pace. This way, he’s able to focus on and truly soak in the expression on your face and appreciate the way your body feels under his palms (this sometimes just leads to you cock warming him). 

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down for anything at any time. Pretty much, if you ask him to have sex, he’ll happily do it for you. Need him to eat you out or give you a blowjob, he’ll gladly oblige! After all, he is always pretty much kneeling, so he’s not being made to go out of his way to do it (even if he would go out of his way to please you). Want something more than just his tongue? That’s perfectly fine, too! There’s a private room over there he’ll gladly take you in, or maybe you’d want to try doing it in the empty locker? He’ll try not to take too long, but it’s hard since he loves being able to enjoy you to the fullest. So, Mr. Crawling can do quickies for sure, but he likes being able to take his time with you.  

💉: While he’s not opposed to quickies, he prefers being able to have proper sex with you to get the most out of it. After all, he can’t exactly see how long it takes for you to break or how much time it takes for you to start crying and babbling if you only have a few minutes to enjoy one another. However, he does make it a little challenge for himself to see how quickly he can get you to climax. Mr. Silvair will even make educated guesses on how fast you’ll finish just by making note of your current expression, body language, etc. He likes seeing how flustered you get if you think someone is going to enter the room the two of you are in, begging him to go faster which only makes him want to slow down – how mean! 

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down to experiment but, as stated before, he doesn’t want to try anything that causes him or you harm, even if pain is something you enjoy. He just has no desire to hurt you in any way, something which is quite different from other members of the cast who are definitely more sadistic (cough, Mr. Silvair and Mr. Machete, cough). I feel like he would be down to partake in certain aspects of BDSM, specifically B/D (bondage and discipline) and D/S (dominance and submission). He just wants to have a good time and be close to you, both physically and emotionally. 

💉: 100% down to experiment with anything (except the previously mentioned coprophilia). If you wanted to try some breathplay or impact play or even blood play, he’d be down for it. I honestly think he would enjoy breathplay since it adds more to the differential in power that he enjoys so much (there’s also a stirring in his chest when he sees how much you trust him with your life, but shhh…). Mr. Silvair is a man hungry for information and new experiences, so yes, he’s willing to try a variety of different things even if they could potentially be dangerous – he’ll always make sure you return to your original form. 

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

👣 and 💉: Both of them are inhuman, which means that neither of them need any food, water, or rest to survive. Honestly, the two of them have unlimited amounts of stamina, and they can go for as long as you need them to (which could be two rounds or even eight – nothing is holding them back in the stamina department). 

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them owns any toys because, well… you can’t access them easily in the other world. If they do end up there, though, they’re probably dirty or damaged beyond repair (please do not use nasty sex toys, people – infections and diseases are no joke). 

👣: Mr. Crawling would be down to use toys on you! After all, why not? It’ll just make the experience more fun, right? You’ll probably have to explain what he’s supposed to do with them, though, since he’s not quite sure what some of them are for. If you want to use toys on him, he’s completely fine with that! Want to wear a strap and give him backshots? Go right ahead! Want to tape vibrators to him until he’s whining and writhing? He’d be happy to oblige! Overall, he’s pretty chill about it and is somewhat enthusiastic about adding toys into your sex life. 

💉: Mr. Silvair enjoys using sex toys on you, some of his favorites being cock rings/chastity belts, strangely-shaped dildos, and vibrators. He loves being able to secure the variety of different vibrators he owns to your body, making sure to cover every erogenous zone he’s noted. He doesn’t typically want toys used on him (but he’d probably try out a variety of different sex toys on himself after a while, though, curious about how each of them felt or what they did), however, and the only one he’d be willing to use consistently would be fleshlights. He’d make you watch him use it, never once allowing you to use them on him. 

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

👣: Mr. Crawling is very fair, and he always makes sure to give you exactly what you want in the bedroom. However, that’s not to say he never teases you, he just doesn’t do it very frequently. Sometimes when he’s going down on you, he’ll pause his minstrations to nip at or kiss the fat of your thighs, keeping your hips held down so you can’t buck up against his mouth. When you start getting antsy, he just giggles at your expression before returning his attention to that oh-so-needy part of you. 

💉: If the word unfair was personified, it would be Mr. Silvair. I’d argue teasing you and making you cry – either because you can’t cum or have cum ten times in a row – are the aspects of sex that he enjoys the most. Edging you is one of his favorite things, though, watching you whine and try to move your hips on your own when he stops moving… bad move, though, because now he’s just going to make you wait even longer for release. 

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

👣: He’s not loud, per se, but he does make quite a variety of different noises whenever the two of you are intimate. He whimpers and whines frequently while you’re having sex – they’re barely audible, high-pitched, and come out sounding as though he’s completely out of breath. Sometimes you wonder if he’s in pain with the noises he makes, but he’s not. He just really enjoys being able to feel you like this as he pants like a dog in heat. 

💉: Completely quiet most of the time. Really, the only noises you’ll probably get out of him are barely audible sighs or the sound of his breathing hitching when he feels you stretch/tighten around him. It’s not that Mr. Silvair doesn’t enjoy having sex with you, he just doesn’t express that feeling verbally. You can tell in the way his hand squeezes the fat of your thigh or the way his hips stutter when he moves in and out that he’s having a good time. 

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

👣: Mr. Crawling loves taking showers or baths with you, though he leans more towards baths since it’s less painful on his joints (I headcanon that Mr. Crawling can stand, but walking for extended periods of time is painful for him – ambulatory wheelchair user Mr. Crawling when?). While yes, he can technically sit in the shower, having water spray his face isn’t exactly pleasant… He doesn’t view bathing with you as sexual, he just finds it relaxing as he helps you wash your back or you help him make sure all the soap is out of his hair. His favorite scent would have to be lavender – it’s very calming for him. 

💉: He keeps a journal tucked away full of terms and gestures from your world. Mr. Silvair has a deep desire to understand humans and everything they have to offer, even if he believes it's from a stance of craving knowledge (really, he wants to be able to express his endearment of you in a manner you can understand). He has a page on kissing and different kinds of kisses, a page on gestures of endearment, another on hugging and cuddling… The fact that humans’ bodies release a hormone whenever they simply spend time to bond with another socially, a hormone that turns the dial on their brain for whatever emotion they’re currently experiencing, is fascinating to him. 

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

👣: Mr. Crawling is tall – and I mean extremely tall whenever he stands up (my man has got to at least be seven feet), so I can assume that he’s probably relatively proportionate under the belt. I feel like he would be big, almost concerningly so, clocking in at around 8 inches in length. Even though his size is impressive, his dick doesn’t have much girth to it and is on the thinner side, but it is thicker towards the base compared to the head (not that you can take all of him – you can certainly give it a try, though). It’s on the veinier side, too, with a very distinct and present one on the underside of his cock. 

💉: Much like pretty much the entire cast, Mr. Silvair is also on the taller half of the height spectrum. However, I feel as though he would have a more modest, yet of course still impressive dick size. I imagine him to be 6 ½ inches in length and relatively thick from the base to the head with very little change in girth. Whenever you see his cock, you’re kind of awestruck for a moment because how can a man have such a nice-looking dick?? It doesn’t make sense! There’s barely any hair, there’s no visible veins or bumps, and it’s long and thick enough to drive you wild… Plus, it’s just really nice to look at, honestly. 

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

👣 and 💉: Okay, so I know others probably will not agree with me here… but I honestly don’t think anyone in the cast has much of a sex drive, let alone a high one. I mean, they’re not human, so their cultural/social norms are different than ours, and I wouldn’t hold them to “typical” human desires on a biological/psychological level either. As I said before, I doubt any of them have been laid because sex just isn’t something the residents in the other world partake in – they’re too busy killing/fighting others, eating humans who find themselves lost in the other world, etc. Is this my asexual and world-building brain working? Probably haha. 

👣: Mr. Crawling really only wants sex whenever you want it, but he’s always enthusiastic and does get aroused whenever you ask if he wants to be intimate. While he does love feeling the warmth around his dick whenever you’re clamping down on him, almost like you were hugging him and not wanting to let him go, he enjoys the emotional connection during the moment more than anything else. I headcanon him (and all of the cast, to some degree) as existing somewhere on the aroace-spectrum. For Mr. Crawling, I see him as being reciproromantic/sexual with an average libido – he gets riled up whenever you’re riled up, though there are times he does get horny without you needing to do or say anything.  

💉: Much like Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair will have sex if you ask him to – he’ll make you beg for it, though, so he’s not as nice as the former. He prefers the control/power he gets from having sex rather than the sole act of intercourse (not to say he doesn’t enjoy the feeling, though). Plus, he finds the activity interesting since he knows it’s something most humans partake in with one another for a variety of reasons, from procreation to recreation. If you ask him to have sex and he isn’t in the mood, he’ll just use his hands or some toys and play around with you until you’re satisfied. I headcanon Mr. Silvair as being quoiromantic and eegosexual with a low libido. 

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t need to sleep (you know… being non-human and all), but he’ll curl up next to you on the bed and hold your body close to his while pretending to sleep alongside you. It’s kind of adorable, the way his head is nuzzled under your neck while his legs and arms are wrapped around your body, holding you close to him like you were a bodypillow or large stuffed animal. While you sleep, though, he’ll eventually place his head against your chest, listening intently to the sound of your heartbeat and the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath. Moments like this, laying there with you in silence, make his mind wander to scenarios with you he’ll never be able to fully experience. 

💉: Does not rest often, finding it a waste of time that could be spent doing something else. He understands you need your sleep, though, so he lets you do it in peace after you both have had sex. Mr. Silvair always manages to somehow make sure you have enough pillows to keep you comfortable or blankets to keep you from getting cold (you can’t help but wonder where he finds clean linens in such a grimy place…). Occasionally, however, he finds himself sitting next to you on the bed, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair before he pulls his hand back as though you had burnt him – he doesn’t understand it, and he’s desperate to figure out an answer. 

[sinofwriting]

Sex Positive - Charles Leclerc

Words: 2,470 Summary: Y/N goes on a podcast to talk about one thing and one thing only, sex. Note(s): NSFW just because this is just all sex talk, no actual sex, but it is the main topic of discussion. Part SMAU

Masterlist | Support Me!

“Y/N Y/L/N”

She smiles at the sound of her name, adjusting her headphones a bit until they finally seem to sit snug on her head.

“Welcome to the sex positive podcast.”

“Thank you for having me!”

“Thank you for coming on!” Elaine says. “When I reached out, I had hoped you would come on, but was shocked when you said yes.”

“I had to come on. We’ve known each other now for like two years?” Elaine nods at her words. “And yet despite that and this podcast doing so well, which by the way congrats on the new milestone. 250k is insane, and your profession we’ve never once talked about sex.”

“We have not.” Elaine laughs. “Probably because we also run into each other at events and dinners. Not the best place for me to ask how you feel about sex.”

“Well, I should tell you, I am coming on here to actually talk about how much I hate sex.” She says, ending her sentence with an eye roll, as she adjusts how she’s sitting, not even noticing her cardigan slip.

“Oh, yeah.” Elaine nods. “You hate sex.” She then nods to her left shoulder and her eyes drop and she lets out a laugh, seeing the love bites now exposed from the cardigan slipping.

“Like I said, I hate it.” She laughs.

“How is your relationship with sex? I mean, what has your experience been with it?”

She considers for a moment, “I’d say I have a good relationship with sex. It was never a topic that was shied away from when I was younger. My parents both gave me the talk, they made sure that I felt safe and comfortable to talk to them about it. They also never shied away from talking about how they had sex before they were adults, so if I did, they understood. All they asked was that I was safe.”

“And you think that’s helped?”

“Of course.” She nods. “I mean, I was sixteen when I had sex for the first time. Which was before all my friends and after that I was the one my girl friends came to for condoms and advice.”

“Was it good?”

She makes a face, “I mean, I think it was as good as two sixteen-year-olds having sex for the first time can be. A little awkward, some fumbling, finishing so quick.”

Elaine laughs, “Y’know that probably is as good as it can get.”

“Yeah.” She laughs.

“Were you like okay, I had sex this first time, I’ve experienced it, I’m good, or was it like me where you wanted to explore more.”

“Oh, I wanted to explore more. I didn’t have sex again for, I think like another two years. But I did so much self exploring. Just trying to see what I liked, what I was interested in, what I wasn’t interested in.”

“Porn?”

“Yes, there was quite a large amount of porn being watched. I read a lot of adult novels, guides, blogs, really just anything I could get my hands on.”

Elaine nods, tucking a leg underneath herself as she adjusts the microphone to be a little closer. “And this is something I’m curious about, how do you feel about porn? It’s something a lot of people are divided on, a lot of women especially.”

“I like porn. I enjoy it. Either just watching for pleasure or for research.” And she puts the last word in air quotes. “And please people listening or watching, if you see something you like in porn or are interested in, and this applies if you are reading something as well, look it up, read some guides and blog posts about it before doing it yourself. Just be safe.”

“Oh, please be safe. We have our own blog where we talk about different kinks, positions, various things and I urge you, along with everyone else who works on this podcast, to be safe with yourself and others.” Elaine says, addressing the camera before looking back at her. “So, you like porn.”

“Yes. Obviously not all porn is good, there are bad studios, there are overdone tropes, issues with the industry itself with it continuing to promote certain things because it earns them so much money. But I do enjoy it. It’s an industry that is always going to get criticized and hated and it deserves some of those criticisms without a doubt.”

“As a sex therapist, I do try to veer my clients away from porn, most of the time. And that’s mainly due to the acting of it. But it has its place in helping you learn and educate yourself. My issue is when people only look at porn and don’t look into things further.”

“Yeah, a hundred percent. It’s so important to not just take away things from porn but to take things away and expand on what you saw.” She nods.

“And of course I have to ask, what do you yourself like to watch in porn?”

“Hmm.” She thinks. “I think it depends on my mood. I think what I normally go for is something a little more rough. I’ve never really enjoyed watching people have like slow, gentle sex, not unless there’s something else there like overstimulation.”

“So, you like it rough?” Elaine asks.

She laughs, “Yes. It wasn’t something I had ever tried out before though until my current partner.”

“Really?”

She nods, “Really! I can admit that with my current partner, Charles, is where I’ve done a lot of exploring with someone else sexually. We’ve tried out many things.”

“Anything you guys didn’t like?”

“We don’t care for titles or honorifics.”

“You are crushing some dreams with that statement.”

“I know.” She laughs, well aware of the many tweets and things about wanting to call Charles daddy or sir. But it was just something that didn’t work for them in bed. The most was sometimes as a tease, she’d call him Mr. Leclerc and that was mainly to wind him up, not because the word itself was a turn on.

“What about things you’ve both enjoyed?”

“Oh, where to begin.” She teases, the both of them laughing. “Roleplay is one, bondage, edging, overstimulation. And I don’t consider this sex, but it is something we both enjoy a lot, cock warming.”

“That is quite the list.”

“Oh, just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Talk me through some of it. Bondage?”

“Yes. This was something we both had come into the relationship having never done before and wanting to do. We have the actual like rope you're supposed to use for when we do it, though sometimes we have used other things.”

Elaine shakes her head, grinning. “Of course you two have. I feel like if I see you two together, you’re always attached.”

“Pretty much. We both enjoy touch and Charles, despite all the interest in his personal life and how much already is exposed to the public, doesn't mind holding my hand or hugging or kissing me while in public.”

“Was that a worry of yours?” Elaine asks.

“Absolutely.” She nods, fingers interlacing. “I knew he’d at least, when I went to my first race, that he’d hold my hand, but I figured that might be it. And I didn’t want to bring it up since me going to Baku was so last minute for the both of us.”

“I’ve seen photos from that race and I would have never guessed that it was a last minute decision or that you two hadn’t talked about that yet.”

“Yeah, I got on a plane and was there by 11pm on Wednesday night, and the plane tickets had gotten bought maybe six hours before the plane took off. Charles had to send a photo of my ID to the front desk and had a spare key for me waiting since he had to be asleep already.”

“And then the next day, I mean you guys were very loved up.”

She grins, “we very much were. I think Charles knew I was nervous. We hadn’t officially been spotted together and he’s such a comforting person, very calming, so it was easy to not feel anxious with him holding me and pressing a kiss to my cheek every few minutes as y’know a bunch of people were taking photos of me and I’m being introduced to about a hundred people.”

“Which is overwhelming to say the least.”

“So overwhelming.” She nods.

“Though you might’ve liked that, since you’ve brought up overstimulation a few times.”

Her hands come up to hide her face, laughing into them, before they fall back into her lap. “I’d apologize, but I like what I like.”

“So it’s you being overstimulated.”

“Oh, absolutely. I find it very enjoyable.”

“I’ve never actually really talked about overstimulation, what is that you like about it? That you find to be enjoyable?”

“It’s the near constant feeling of too much, it’s so much pleasure just back to back, and everything depending on how you're doing it, can feel just like raw? And exposed? And you don’t think you can orgasm one more time, you just can’t again, but then you can and it feels at least in my experience just so good and then you do it again and again, and every time the pleasure of it just washing over you is even more and more and it’s the only thing you can focus on, everything else just fades away.”

“You make me want to try it.” Elaine laughs.

—

Charles’ head immediately perks up when he hears the hotel door open. “Chérie! How was the podcast?”

She smiles, setting her bag down, before moving over to the couch where Charles is sitting and happily sitting in his lap before Charles can pull her down. “It was good.” She finally says after kissing him.

He hums, “How good?”

She thinks, playfully humming as her fingers run through his hair. “Very good. I think your fans will want to kill me and so will Ferrari.”

He frowns, arms tightening around her. “Ferrari knows that you are allowed to do as you’d like. It is not like with,” He stops himself.

“I know, Charles.” She soothes. “But, they will be upset with me considering me talking about my sex life is talking about your sex life.”

He huffs, obviously not liking it, but he hopes that the podcast will do well, be received well, so at least Ferrari will be forced to accept it because fans like it.

“Did you mention me?”

Her eyebrow raises, “No. I want on a podcast to talk about my sex life so you obviously didn’t come up.”

He pouts at the tease and she can’t resist pressing a kiss to his pouty lips.

“Yes, I mentioned you. Multiple times and by name.”

He hums, moving his hands under her cardigan and top. “What did you say?”

“That we’ve done a lot of things together. That we like certain things.”

When she had accepted the invite it was only after a long talk with Charles, one she had to force, to go over what she could and couldn’t mention. Charles had been fine with her mentioning whatever she wanted. Uncaring that it would be out for the world to see, his colleagues, friends, and even family if for some reason they decided to click on it. He had stuck by that after their talk, though had asked her to keep most of the details of their roleplay and their love of rough sex to a minimum.

And it had been easy to not talk about what kind of roleplay they did and while rough sex had been mentioned twice, they were brief, just establishing her love of it.

“It did make me want to roleplay our favorite thing again.”

His eyes light up at her words.

It wasn’t often something they did, their favorite roleplay scenario, not when it required her to be in a certain headspace to really work, but she wants and craves it so much.

“You want to be my innocent little girl?” His voice has a bit of rasp, his fingers resting on her back, stretching out.

“Yes.” She breathes.

He leans forward, giving her a hungry kiss, his and her last chance to lose control, before pulling away. “Go get ready for me, bébé. I’ll find a place to have dinner.”

---

[wolvesandcomputers]

The Blind Cave Hippocampus

Image Description: A drawing of a hippocampus that looks like a fetal horse on the front and a cave salamander on the back. The image is surrounded by notes on the creature. The notes read:

The dark spots are vestigial eyes that can sense changes in light.

The textured feet help it grip wet rocks.

Blood vessels, bones and organs are visible through the hippocampus’ thin hide. A layer of mucus offers some protection to its sensitive skin, but they are rarely out of the water for long and cannot tolerate direct sunlight.

They have no teeth

It breathes clouds of heavier than air gasses that it uses to kill its prey. This is an instinctive reaction they cannot be trained out of. Anyone attempting to handle them must use safety gear.

Once its prey is dead it drags the carcass into the water and wedges it under a rock until it has decayed enough to be mostly liquid. Then the cave hippocampus slurps up its meal.

A Blind Cave Hippocampus can go several years between meals, much longer than other species of hippocampus.

An explorer approaches a pool containing a cave hippocampus. Protected by a respirator and bottled air, the human has little to fear from the creature. The Blind Cave Hippocampus will rarely physically attack a conscious target out of fear of injury.

Another monster from the Pool Kelpie discussion. Remember the best way to avoid dying in a cave is to stay out of caves.

[nakakabaliw]

(⚠️Talk of SA/Abuse Victims/Anya Mouthwashing)

⚠️If you need any "credibility" i am also a victim of abuse.

My Thoughts on #GIRLBOSS Anya

TW: S/A , Abuse

Some people need to realize that not all victims of abuse are empowered #girlbosses and are in fact scared to face their abuser bc of power dynamics and such .

Sometimes people just arent able to stand up to them, and thats okay. Its easy for some to say "oh they should fight back" but its really not :( often times their abusers are people in power, or close to them that they wouldnt want to antagonize in fear of disappointing them or for them to do the worst.

Sometimes victims may not even realize they were being abused/manipulated, and sometimes they downplay their own suffering bc its easier than fighting back.

That isnt to say that "victims should just comply to their abuser", its definitely not, and if you are suffering from abuse please seek as mucb help as you can. Im referring to people who always assume that if victims just "tried hard enough" they could defeat their abuser.

This is why often times I feel a little off put by depictions of Anya being this girlboss character who couldve defeated Jimo Because it sorta downplays her fear of him. Yes, we wouldve loved to see her succeed and win, but she was honestly scared. She was doing her best to please him by cheering him on and folding in when he berates her.

Personally I also want her to take that gun/axe and hit him where it hurts, but as a victim of a similar (not SA) type of abuse where people who controlled/manipulated were far above me, I symphatize with her.

Her death and her folding up, her taking drastic and risky measures such as hiding the gun case when she told Jimo about her pregnancy. Her struggling to open up about it bc shes been dismissed already by Curly, who couldnt believe that someone hes close to would do such an act and is trying way too much to balance both sides.

This is all just my opinion. Theres really nothing wrong with making a victim stand up for themselves, in fact yes, it should be celebrated. But also dont dismiss when a victim doesnt do that due to fear/trauma.

TL;DR: sometimes victims can dismiss their own abuse for the sake of safety.

Pls keep in note that im speaking from complete experience and am no way a psych major or anything. This is just my voice and opinion and if you beg to differ, im open to discussion ^^ please be respectful!

[toy-dragon]

Eat This!

You find yourselves in a strange kitchen, monsters staring you down. Ingredients have been handed off to you, aspiring chefs. Now cook for your life.

As many Chefs as will barely fit in your kitchen, at least one Monster Judge. More is better.

One Monster Judge will procure at least 3 ingredients for the Chefs that they need to use, following any general safety things and other agreed off-limits foods (Allergens, Certain Textures, etc).

Discuss a reasonable prize for winning. Discuss and set a time limit. This is how long the Chefs have to cook and plate a dish using the required ingredients and whatever else is available in the kitchen. Chefs will be cooking at the same time, so maneuvering this fact is required.

Once the Chefs are done plating or time's up, it is time to eat and judge the food. Chefs can't vote, but may critique or lament their mistakes.

Monster Judge(s) critique and vote on the favorite. Ties are decided by rock-paper-scissors, best of 5, or some other agreed method. Winner survives the Monster Judge(s) this week. Loser gives a small speech about their limitations and exits the room as they are "eaten".

Okay to archive offsite. Feel free to remix, reuse, reskin, etc.

Enjoy my exactly 200 words LARP concept, Chopped, but there is only one oven.

Based off a real game my mom and i did once, but with a challenge from a different food network game show.

Alright, last game ill submit for the month. Excited to see the games the rest of the month brings.

200 Word RPGs 2024

Each November, some people try to write a novel. Others would prefer to do as little writing as possible. For those who wish to challenge their ability to not write, we offer this alternative: producing a complete, playable roleplaying game in two hundred words or fewer.

This is the submission thread for the 2024 event, running from November 1st, 2024 through November 30th, 2024. Submission guidelines can be found in this blog's pinned post, here.

[heechwe]

lost in wonderland | 𝐩𝐬𝐡

୨୧ pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 12k ୨୧ genre: smut, semi-angst, fluff ୨୧ tags: mentions of drug use, fake dating au, rockstar!sunghoon, popstar!reader, enemies to lovers au, jerk to down bad sunghoon, pet names (baby, doll, love, etc.), dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f receiving), belly bulging, spanking, unprotected sex, creampie ୨୧ synopsis: Park Sunghoon, one half of popular rock band Into Eden, is on thin ice with his management and the general public. What does his manager Jay decide to do? Set him up with the leader of rising pop girl group PrismHeart. And while it starts as two stubborn people living in a lie, growing feelings cannot hold anything but the truth. ➸ This one's dedicated to my lovely betas: Ley @pars-ley), Ally @lovetaroandtaemin, Kiki @wonwovy, & Lola @monamipencil)! I'm so grateful to y’all and the love you’ve given this story; I hope everyone else loves it too 🤍 Also the ending song and inspiration for the title is from Boys Like Girls's song "Lost in Wonderland"!

“PARK SUNGHOON: ANOTHER HEARTBREAK UNDER HIS BELT?”

“IS HEESEUNG TIRED OF HIS BANDMATE’S GAMES? IS ‘INTO EDEN’ IN TROUBLE OF DISBANDING?”

“DID SUNGHOON RUIN ANOTHER GIRL GROUP, AND HIS EX’S CAR?”

Sunghoon laughs at the headlines plastered across his manager’s desk. The gossip rags are the only vibrant thing in the office, the monochrome black and white color scheme creating a strict atmosphere that suffocates the rock star to no end. Who knew such bullshit could provide such humor? 

The sound dies on Sunghoon’s tongue when he sees Jay’s displeasure pervade the older man’s entire face. His arms are crossed, and Sunghoon can see the veins in Jay’s neck tighten.

“You think this is funny?” Jay asks, his voice even-keeled, but his body language anything but.

“No, Mr. Park.”

“Hoon.” Jay says his talent’s name with admonishment. He sits back down in his chair across from Sunghoon, the large desk separating them. “You know I hate when you call me that.”

“What should I call you, Mr. Park? Bro? Dude? J-Man?”

Jay can’t help the chuckle on his lips, but he shuts it down to go back to the discussion at hand. “Simply put, the label’s pissed. All that we should see two months before your tour is good press, not this shit. And you know Yeji is going to do more than just comment in a couple of tabloids.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “She has nothing to say, besides the fact that it ended mutually.”

“You call making out with Lia ‘ending mutually’?”

Sunghoon raises his hands in defense, a smirk on his lips. “Don’t know what you were told, but that happened after we broke up.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Jay takes the multitude of tabloids and throws them in the trash next to his desk. “The label is going to chop my balls off if I don’t fix the problems you created.”

Sunghoon, in his mind, isn’t a problem child, per se. He simply pales in comparison to his golden boy best friend and musical partner, Lee Heeseung. It isn’t his fault that Heeseung is squeaky clean. The only crazy thing the guy has ever done was dye his hair red for their recent cover shoot. 

Sure, Heeseung has been committed to one person for years, long before the two men ever became a name in the public eye. The guy never partakes in recreational activities, choosing to spend his free time with his girlfriend or in video game chat rooms rather than in nightclubs like his counterpart. And he’s always been a media darling, giving signed photos to fans and providing the paparazzi with his undivided attention without complaint.

 Sunghoon likes to live without restrictions or red tape. If he has to be judged for that, constantly not measuring up to the pedestal his best friend lives on, so be it.

“It’s time for Plan B,” Jay says, breaking Sunghoon from his thoughts.

After Sunghoon’s brows furrow in confusion, Jay turns on the TV stationed behind his desk. The news video on display shows the members of PrismHeart, the label’s rising girl group, attending the AMAs with bright smiles and matching sparkly ensembles.

“This is Plan B?” Sunghoon asks, releasing a breathless laugh.

“No.” Jay points to you in the center of the LED screen. Your hair billows in the wind as your face shines with the same quality of the cameras capturing your essence on the red carpet.

Sunghoon is taken aback by you without hearing you speak a single word, and he suspects something devious brewing behind his manager’s eyes when he says, “She is.”

The nightclub is packed with D-list celebrities and upcoming starlets, ready to post to their respective social media accounts. With the right touch, the news will work its way to the trending page without fail.

Thankfully, Jay, Sunghoon’s manager, knows how to set the scene for a piece of tabloid fodder. It’s part of his job to make sure that, for better or worse, Sunghoon gets his time in the spotlight.

As for you, all you’re expected to do is mingle with your new “boyfriend,” look pretty in your little black dress, and set the trap. 

You asked your own manager, Momo, if you could bring one of the girls along to break the ice and make the “meet cute” look more believable, and both she and Jay agreed.

So here you are, sitting across from Yujin with a strawberry martini in one hand and your cellphone in the other, waiting for the signal.

“He is pretty cute. You can’t deny that.” Yujin scrolls through Sunghoon’s Instagram feed, multiple gym pics and rehearsal photos lining the grid of his main profile.

When Momo produced Jay’s offer to her, she marketed it to you as the perfect way for PrismHeart to skyrocket from simmering stardom into true mega-fame. All it took was a handful of white lies and scheduled meetups. No harm, no foul, right?

Like a devoted group leader, hands in your lap and a demure smile on your face, you said yes. You would do anything for your team and the girls who were your second family at this point. Not disclosing the truth was an easy thing to do, and nobody’s feelings would be sacrificed in the process.

It would also be a welcome distraction from the destruction of your last relationship. The back and forth with Jake proved to be too much on both your work and personal lives, 7 months of happiness leading to a slow and bitter end.

Maybe a cute boy with no attachments and some light flirting could be a nice way to bounce back into the game. Then, when a real relationship would be possible for you again, you’d be ready.

You nod and take another sip of your drink, the alcohol leaving a burning aftertaste in your throat. “He is,” you agree. “He’s terrible at time management, though, clearly.”

Yujin rolls her eyes and continues scrolling. “Take off your micromanaging hat tonight, babe. Have fun. Kiss your new fake beau.”

“Say it louder,” you chide, lips on the rim of your glass again. The drink was taking the edge off of your nerves, but you still couldn’t shake the desire to make sure things went perfectly.

For both work and personal reasons, you need this to go off without a hitch.

A second later, your phone buzzes on the top of the bar. Sunghoon’s face lights up your screen, along with his message.

[Received at 10:46 PM]: Walking in with Jungwon. U?

You internally roll your eyes at the cryptic text. Jake was so good at making his messages personable, and although you could put a dagger in him for breaking your heart, the least you can do is recognize that was one of his better qualities.

You just hope Sunghoon is better in person than he is on the page. Or phone, so to speak.

[Sent at 10:48]: By the bar with Yujin.

Sunghoon saunters through the club’s double doors, the notorious half of Into Eden smiling ear to ear with his friend Jungwon in tow. Your ex Jake and Jungwon hung in similar circles due to their statuses as popular actors, but Jungwon was always nice when you ran into him.

He greets you with a smile but stops short when he sees your best friend, his cheeks turning a red hue. “Sorry, you’re just even more beautiful in person.”

As Yujin stutters over her next words, sharing a similar blush with the man in front of her, Sunghoon saunters over to your side and grins. As you look closer at him, you can discern the pink around his irises and the flimsy edges of his smile.

He’s high. So much rides on his cooperation on this plan and he’s fucking high?

“Park Sunghoon, pleased to meet you.” He gives your hand a sloppy kiss when your fingers link together in a handshake, and you retract immediately. Sunghoon pays no mind to your distaste, immediately ordering a beer and downing it the second it slides across the bar.

“Do you think you should be mixing alcohol with…whatever’s in your system?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Sunghoon winks at you and scoots closer on his barstool to you, tracing the skin of your thighs with his eyes. “I think this is the part where we dance?”

You scoff and down what’s left of your martini. You flag the bartender down for another, incredulous but trying to mask your anger with another drink. “Maybe we should get to know each other first?”

“What’s there to know? Jay gave me all the cliffnotes this morning. And we can just learn as we go, you know?”

A part of you wants to run into this without a roadmap, but it’s not in your nature. And it would be a lot easier to let yourself relax if you knew you were walking into this plan with a person as serious as you are about it.

But no, you get a stoned rockstar as your new “boyfriend” instead.

The bartender hands you your second martini, and you hop off the barstool with it in your hand. You take a light sip before you motion to the dance floor. “Let’s go.”

You have a tight grasp on the stem of your glass as Sunghoon takes your free hand to walk towards the dance floor. You notice Yujin and Jungwon dancing in a far corner together, the two of them hitting it off incredibly well.

Your hips sway to the song, your body trying to follow the music that’s thumping loudly through the speakers. It’s a remix you don’t recognize, but you enjoy it nonetheless. You smile as the pulse of the song thrums through your veins, your nerves at their lowest since arriving at the club.

What you don’t expect is for Sunghoon’s hands to settle on your hips, pulling you closer to fall into rhythm together. He moves well considering his prowess lies in rock rather than pop.

“You’re a pretty good dancer for a bassist,” you tease.

“I have a lot of talents,” he remarks back, the club lights gleaming across his face in purple and pink strobes.

He looks better in person than in all the interviews and tabloids you read prior to meeting him tonight. In your efforts to gain intel for the meetup, you couldn’t deny how well he cleaned up, even when he acted poorly.

The slosh of your drink makes you stop dancing for a second, and you laugh. “Probably shouldn’t have brought this on the–”

Sunghoon captures your lips in a searing kiss. The taste of ale lingers on your tongue the longer both of your mouths are linked. He is a good kisser, no doubt, but where does he get off assuming you wanted him to? All you had to show for tonight so far was some small conversation. Is that his typical green light to dive straight into making out? 

You immediately push him off, the contents of your martini glass spilling on him in the process. “What the hell?” Sunghoon asks, touching his jacket and feeling the leather soaked in sugary liquor.

You’re stunned at how brash yet nonchalant he is about what he just did, caring more for his clothes than your personal space that he just invaded. 

“You’re such a bastard,” you whisper loud enough for only Sunghoon to hear, his eyes immediately widening at your words. You walk away from him stunned and drop the glass on the counter where you were initially sitting. Not wanting to take Yujin away from her success of a night, you run outside to a handful of cameras flashing and your failure coating your skin.

Late into the next morning, you sip a hefty cup of tea for breakfast as you scroll through your latest mentions. The socials are blowing up from your recent outing with Yujin, Jungwon, and Sunghoon. You half expected to wake up to the ending of your career, but to your relief, the event was nothing short of a success.

Despite your embarrassment on the drive home and sadness before bed last night, your followers and many of Into Eden’s fans seem to have taken the bait. Some took shots of you exiting the nightclub, Sunghoon following shortly behind with a smile on his face. They also edited short clips of the two of you on the dance floor. Incredibly, none of them caught your mishap with your martini on video.

Better yet, they found the prospect of you and Sunghoon not just exciting but fitting somehow.

@edenenthusiast: hope she can whip him back into shape, miss the old hoon.

@sunghoonsluv71: sad he’s off the market but they’re actually cute together??? 

@prismshearts_09: she looks so happy!! suck it @jaeyun_sim.

In the next second, your phone blows up from a mention on Sunghoon’s most recent story. Your handle is hidden in a far corner of the black screen but the words plastered across the screen say everything they need to.

“Love at first spill? 🍸😏”

All of your band members and Momo light up your group chat with their excitement. In the chaos of the chat, you thumb-up a text from Yujin about Jungwon giving her his number.

Then, a single text pops up from Sunghoon that makes your glee transform into anxiety.

[Received at 11:52 AM]: Lunch on me? :/

You feel a part of your chest flutter. There’s a hope that maybe in the light of day you’ll get a chance to see the real Sunghoon. No drugs, no cameras, no need to impress. Maybe if he’s away from the attention, he’ll realize you deserve an apology for his actions.

[Sent at 11:56 AM]: Lunch and dinner or get lost.

You see the quick succession of bubbles following your text, his response hot on the heels of your last message that he reacts to with a laughing emoji.

[Received at 11:58] I think I can handle that.

You sit across from Sunghoon on the balcony of his apartment, two BLTs cooked to perfection on the patio table in front of you. He kept to his word, laying a spread of food out for you in exchange for your time.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Did you make these yourself?” You ask.

Sunghoon shakes his head, bashful. “Jay helped me. Not only is he a great manager, but he’s actually an amazing cook.”

You nod and smile, grabbing a bite as Sunghoon’s blush and your quiet chewing fills the silence.

“I wanted to say that yesterday got out of hand, and I shouldn’t have gotten wasted before meeting you. It was unprofessional, and I apologize.”

 You tap your fingers on the wicker table, your gut warning you to be cautious. “Did Jay tell you to say that?”

Sunghoon stutters on whatever words he planned to say next and quickly runs a hand through his hair. “I mean it, what difference does it make? I really am sorry, okay?”

You roll your eyes. “So you’re apologizing using someone else’s script? That’s supposed to make me believe you?”

Sunghoon scoffs and presses his palms to the table. “You’re fucking impossible, you know that?”

“I’m impossible because you got loaded and decided to stick your tongue down my throat? Oh, and I bet the next words out of your mouth were going to be how stubborn I am because I expected you to actually want to make up for how shit you acted last night.”

“Wow. Are you just mad because you didn’t expect to like me kissing you that much?” Sunghoon says his question with a pestering but sultry tone, the words completely rhetorical.

You huff and make your exit from the table. “Fuck this, I should never have come.”

Before you can walk away from the balcony, Sunghoon takes your wrist in his hand. His eyes express his frustration, his mouth in a grim line. “Don't leave, please. Can we just pretend that the last twelve hours never happened? Start from scratch. We both know we need each other here.”

You take a deep breath and cross your arms, walking back to your side of the table with a stone expression. “I think it’s a good idea to create some rules for…this arrangement.”

Sunghoon stares you down, still irritated but agreeable. “I’m all ears.”

“First and foremost,” you start, “whenever we’re scheduled to meet, no drugs. Do it in your spare time.”

Sunghoon nods. “That’s fair.”

“Second, no PDA unless there’s people around that need to notice it. And we have to agree on it before either one of us initiates anything.”

“What,” Sunghoon laughs, “like a secret bat signal?”

“Sure Batman,” you jest. Does he have to joke every time he decides to speak? Against your better judgment, a small piece of you finds it endearing.

He ponders the thought and then taps two fingers to the side of his neck. “How’s that?”

“Fine,” you agree. “Do you have any other rules you think we should add?”

The word “we” slips so easily from your tongue. In spite of the way he stirs up every ounce of frustration inside of you, already you see him on the same team as you. That has to be a good sign.

He rubs his index finger and thumb under his chin, half teasing but half reflecting on what he could add.

“Only one more thing,” Sunghoon says. “When we don’t have plans to spend time together, what we do in our private time is our business.”

You raise your hands. “Not a problem for me.”

Sunghoon reaches his hand across the table. “Deal?”

What the outcome of your arrangement will be besides the expected results remains up in the air. Whether it will reap what you want is really anyone’s guess. But if it means you do your duties as a good bandmate, you will take whatever comes at you.

You grasp his fingers in yours, shaking them gingerly. “Deal.”

Into Eden’s most popular song “Salvation” plays on the stereo speakers in the photography studio of Vogue magazine’s headquarters. The two men on set act incredibly comfortable, Heeseung’s arm wrapped around Sunghoon’s shoulder. The older musician’s red hair is stark against the chosen clothing for the shoot, but he makes it work.

He always does, Sunghoon thinks with a repressed sigh. His hair is slicked back in contrast to Heeseung’s messy mop of wind-blown tresses, creating the contrast between the two that highlights the shoot’s concept. TWO SOULS COLLIDE: THE LEADING MUSICIANS OF NEW AGE ROCK.

Sunghoon stays still for the next shot of him and Heeseung, but he can’t help himself from following you with his eyes when you enter the studio with a bag of breakfast treats and a to-go tray of coffees.

He did not expect to see you show up to his photoshoot, and Jay didn’t give him any warning for the event on his schedule being one you would share space with. He’s not against it though. In the sea of gray suits and media lackeys, you’re a breath of fresh air. You have already taken his attention away from the mundane nature of the task he’s assigned to complete today.

He can’t deny that Jay’s plan has already made shifts to his image in the public eye. It’s only been a week of public paparazzi candids and social media mentions shared between his and your accounts, and fans are eating it up.

And, though he might never say it out loud, something about your presence levels him in a way Jay’s and Heeseung’s doesn’t. He quantifies it to you also understanding the pressures of the music industry, the feeling of someone outside of his circle who can relate to him foreign but welcome. Your relationship may be manufactured, but he has to look at the positives it’s already created in his life.

Jay runs over to you with a bright smile. “You’re an angel, thank you.”

You grin and take a breakfast sandwich from the bag to give to Sunghoon’s manager. “Least I could do for a member of my boyfriend’s camp.”

Jay winks over the rim of his coffee cup and goes back to the photographer’s side, overseeing the shots with a bit of sausage sticking out of his mouth.

You give Sunghoon a slight wave and stay a few steps away from the large lights capturing the shadows and highlights on the men’s faces.

You haven’t met Heeseung up to this point, so interacting with Sunghoon’s bandmate will add a new dimension to your “relationship.”

In contrast with Sunghoon, Heeseung exudes seriousness in every movement. You’re unsure if it’s because of his maturity or dedication to everything he does, similar to yourself, but it shows in the way the men stand next to each other. Where Sunghoon is fluid like water, transforming into whatever he needs to be, Heeseung is stoic and certain of himself, solid like a stone.

You wonder how such different people managed to be friends and bandmates. Then again, you’re in a group with four other girls, and your personalities are anything but similar.

“Alright, I think it’s time for individual shots. Mr. Park, we’ll do yours first!”

Heeseung runs to his chair in front of the vanity. It’s set up in a corner of the room for retouching his and Sunghoon’s hair and makeup. He beckons you over with a polite smile, and you oblige the silent request.

“Sorry I haven’t been able to greet you since you came in. You know how it is,” Heeseung’s lips turn up at the corners as his makeup artist dabs at his forehead with a clean powder puff. “I’m Lee Heeseung.”

You respond with your name and shake his hand, your nerves spiking. You expected Heeseung to be both attractive and polite, but it’s another level in person compared to his media appearances.

“Have you always been interested in music?” You ask.

Heeseung nods, still smiling. “Since I was old enough to hold a guitar. Both of us, actually. I don’t know if Hoon told you, but he was the one that started the band.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “No, he didn’t say anything at all. He doesn’t really talk about his work. Neither of us do.”

Heeseung laughs. “Yeah. He’s a closed book a lot of the time. But he’s got a great soul, he just doesn’t let a lot of people see it.”

You look down at your shoes, smiling. “I’d offer you a bagel, but I think the team would kill me if I let you mess up your makeup.”

Heeseung releases another chuckle. “Save it for Hoon, then. Make it a little lunch date.” When the photographer’s assistant calls for Heeseung, he winks at you and leaps off of the chair.

Sunghoon finds you in the next second, smiling warmly before taking the bag of food from your hands. “Please tell me there's an everything bagel in here.”

You nod. “With extra cream cheese.”

He beckons you to the free armchairs on the opposite side of the makeshift vanities. You sit down across from him and find your croissant in the bag, ready to eat it whole at this point.

“You could’ve eaten before I finished. You didn’t have to wait for me.”

You shrug and bite into your food. “Force of habit. I always make sure the girls eat before I do.”

He nods and takes a chunk out of his own bagel. “Like a good leader. I knew Jay liked you for a reason.”

You scoff, practically choking on the egg and cheese in the croissant. “Says the guy who started this whole thing. You didn’t tell me you were the one who made Into Eden.”

Sunghoon shrugs, his mood shifting. “It never came up. Besides, Heeseung took the proverbial role of leader a long time ago, anyway.”

You shake your head, picking at your food. “I bet everyone would give you more of a lead if you proved you could handle the responsibility.”

 Sunghoon is taken aback, there’s no doubt about that. When has he not been serious and responsible about his commitment to the band, save for the past year?

Sure, he hasn’t made great decisions recently, especially with his new…habit, simply put. But he’s never stopped caring, no matter how the tabloids turned on him or Heeseung overshadowed him when he began to fall short.

Maybe he needs to put some good will back in, even if he feels justified for being jaded at this point in his career.

Wanting to turn the tide of the conversation, Sunghoon spots a random guitar in the studio and grabs it eagerly. He sits back down with a newfound interest, plucking the strings to ensure it’s in tune.

You laugh and stuff the crumb-filled wrapper in the bag. “Avoiding the subject, I see.”

“Hey,” Sunghoon defends himself. “When I see a guitar, it’s only natural to play it.” He strums a few chords, satisfied. “Have any requests?”

You lift your shoulders, intrigued.

Sunghoon begins playing the opening strings of Oasis’s “Champagne Supernova.” It’s a bittersweet song, one with a beautiful instrumental but somber lyrics. Seems fitting for the man playing it somehow.

He begins to sing the first lines, the fried timbre of his vocals lulling you into a state of relaxation. By the introduction of the first chorus, you’re singing along with him, matching his tone with your saccharine harmonies. 

It makes the crowd around you pause to look on for a moment, mesmerized at two stars seeming to shine at the same second. They must resign it to fate, two talents coming together in music and love, unaware of the reality of your situation.

Or maybe, they see the shades of something blossoming that you and Sunghoon have yet to recognize yourselves.

You flip through the newest issue of Vogue, excited to read Sunghoon’s part of the interview. It takes a handful of turns before you make it to the spread, the interview intertwined with shots of Heeseung and Sunghoon clad in V-necks and leather jeans. Their outfits coincide with the grunge aesthetic. You flip through the discussion about their newest album, “Under the Sun,” until one specific segment catches your eye.

VOGUE: So, it’s safe to assume this new album is about dedication, or the commitment, to one’s desires. It shows in your new single off this album, “All For You,” as you said Heeseung, but how do you feel about it Sunghoon?

PSH: I agree with Hee a hundred percent. Sometimes you don’t realize how devoted you are to something or someone until you’re caught in the middle of it. And sometimes that can be beautiful and intoxicating, a reason to go on that keeps you alive in so many ways.

VOGUE: I sense something or someone on your mind besides the album.

PSH: You could say that.

You left hours before the boys began their interview. It could’ve been a million things on his mind when the writer made note of his reaction, but you know the online forums and fandoms must be exploding over the snippet.

“Whatcha reading?” Ningning asks. She walks into your kitchen, looking for a cup to fill with ice water. She may live a few apartments down, but she never fails to use her status as the youngest to barge in whenever she wants.

You show her the front cover when she turns her head back in your direction. “His new article just came out.”

“Any mentions of his new love affair?” She wiggles her eyebrows and you threaten to throw the magazine at her head.

“Drop it already, Ning! It’s not real anyway.”

“Come on. The guy is cute, you’re cute, have some fun with it!”

“I would if he didn’t have so many walls up.”

“Like you don’t?” Ningning tests the waters, the air suddenly thick with tension. “You’re always so serious. You know we love you, but you never let yourself loosen up.”

You sigh and drop the magazine on the counter. “There’s a lot of responsibilities on the line. I can’t just shuck them whenever I want.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to worry every second about them, or about us. Let go sometimes,  babe.”

Before you can respond, your doorbell rings. You’re both surprised, not expecting anyone to show up today, but you answer the door anyway. 

Sunghoon stands before the threshold with a bag of takeout and a shy smile. His eyes are not bloodshot, his outfit looks purposefully put together, and his posture tells you he’s on a mission. “Figured since you brought food last time, I oughta return the favor.”

Ningning saunters up behind you with a smirk, arms still crossed. “Speak of the devil.”

“Easy, that’s not me,” he jokes. “Probably more of an associate.”

Ningning laughs and takes the cue to exit the apartment. “Have fun, you two, but not too much fun!”

You press your hand to the back of your neck, the heat on your cheeks rising at an alarming rate. “Didn’t know we were supposed to meet today.”

“We weren’t,” he admits.

A corner of your mouth quirks up. “I thought whatever we did in our private time was our business. You’re using the space in your schedule to hang out with me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Sunghoon bops you on the nose with his index finger and drops the bag of takeout on the counter. “I didn’t know what you’d like so I got a little bit of everything. Wontons, crab rangoons, egg rolls…I guess I kinda went overboard, didn’t I?”

You shake your head, the other part of your mouth turning up until your face cracks into a full-blown smile. The uncertainty on his face, the wind-swept hairdo covering a part of his eyes, the rapid motions of his hands taking the containers of food out of the bag.

In any other circumstance, you would consider this an awkward but real first date. And because your heart is not functioning in tandem with your head, you feel the flutters in your stomach all the same. “I’ll eat whatever you brought.”

The sun sets into the clouds surrounding the apartment complexes near yours, the high-rise bathed in orange and yellow hues from the day coming to a close. Your stomach is still overwhelmingly full from the food Sunghoon brought over, but you’re in a comfortable space as you both sit on your couch together watching another episode of New Girl.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sunghoon turns to you, his smile not meeting his eyes. “‘S a free country. But I get to ask you one also. Quid pro quo and all that.”

You ponder how to word your next sentence, not wanting to cross an unspoken boundary. “Why did you start using drugs?”

He sighs, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Honestly, I didn’t know the reason until I stopped taking them a few weeks ago…when we started this thing. It helped to take the edge off of things, off of me always worrying about how I was measuring up to Hee. And then they just helped with everything else, until they didn’t.”

Your heart aches at his answer, the explanation one you did not expect to be so in-depth. Like most starlets and singers at your age, it just seemed to be around and available to take whenever you wanted. Not that you or any of the girls in PrismHeart partook, but it was still there.

You didn’t realize that his proclivity started from a place of genuine need for something else. Anything else, if it meant he could escape.

 “My turn,” Sunghoon says, turning his full attention to you on the couch. “Why do you never let yourself relax?”

His question and Ningning’s words haunt the deep recesses of your brain in an instant, the unspoken fears inside of you coming to a head as you try to create an answer. “Being able to sing professionally has been something I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember. I guess somewhere deep inside I’m worried if I don’t take it seriously, I’ll lose it forever.”

Sunghoon ruminates on your answer before he traces the outline of your hand with his fingers, the touch setting off sparks on your skin. “We’re more alike than I thought.”

You laugh and throw the pillow under your back at him. “What? It’s not like I’m a robot or something.”

He chuckles and stands up from the couch. “Okay, well, either way, we need to liven the mood again.” Sunghoon scrolls through a playlist on his phone and finds a song that immediately makes his face lighten up. “Perfect.”

He connects his phone to your Bluetooth speakers, the guitar riff of The Darkness’s “I Believe In A Thing Called Love” cutting through the silence from moments before.

“What the hell-“

“Stop thinking for five minutes and dance with me or so help me God.” His eyebrows quirk up in an unspoken challenge, and before you can stop yourself and use your logical brain to think first and then decide, you’re up off of your feet with your best cockney accent to match the lead singer’s tone.

You may be off key and breathless, and Sunghoon may look ridiculous as he riffs on an air-guitar, but it’s the first night in years where you’ve truly felt free. No obligations or restrictions are there to stop you from doing what you please.

That night when you go to sleep, you save the ridiculous song to your Apple Music account and think about Sunghoon’s smile before shutting your eyes.

The flash of cameras is nothing new, especially on a red carpet. What adds a unique dynamic to the situation is Sunghoon standing by. He watches you pose for the cameras, the press doting over you for a shot of your outfit and presence at Into Eden’s album launch party.

His eyes on you burn brighter than the lights strung across the space. You blush to yourself and keep smiling for the multitudes of paparazzi. The next minute, Sunghoon puts a hand on the small of your back gently to lead you in the direction of the club a dozen feet or so away.

“Sunghoon, one picture! Just one!”

You turn your eyes to him and press two fingers to your neck, feigning it off as nervousness in front of the public. Sunghoon smirks and pulls you into his chest, letting the vultures beg for more as he holds you close.

He puts a hand up to say goodbye and walks away with you, palms intertwined. Even as you enter the club, seeing Heeseung and his girlfriend Ryujin waiting for you both, Sunghoon doesn’t let go.

“Do you want a drink?” Sunghoon asks, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

“No thank you.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Sunghoon?” Ryujin asks, mystified at his newfound etiquette.

“He’s still around, Ryu. Just trying to be on his best behavior for once.” Sunghoon ruffles her hair before walking away to greet Jay at the bar riddled with executives.

She huffs and fixes the flyaways Sunghoon caused, but smiles at you when she’s done. “Whatever you’re doing to him, keep it up. I haven’t seen him this way in forever.”

Clearly Ryujin’s not aware of the circumstances of yours and Sunghoon’s relationship, but something has changed in him both in and out of the public eye. Many posts and headlines showcased your numerous outings and discreet meetups in the weeks you’ve spent together. However, there were more moments shared between you that the public had no insight on.

Nights in the recording studio, rehearsals for PrismHeart that turned into goofing off between the both of you, and rides on his motorcycle that almost made your head spin.

It’s hard to tell now where the truth stops and the lies begin, and vice versa. How can you tell yourself the smiles that he gives you aren’t genuine? How do you respond to Ryujin without feeling like your answers are coming from the depths of your heart?

“Babe, there’s that director! Let’s go say hi!” Ryujin runs over to the eponymous man with her hand tightly wrapped around Heeseung’s. He smiles apologetically before being stolen away.

You wait for Sunghoon to come back, but not before you witness Yujin and Jungwon linked arm in arm, followed by the last two people you expected to show up tonight.

Jake’s hair is newly dyed, the ash blond of his hair striking under the lights of the club. He doesn’t notice you, only shakes hands with Jungwon and continues on his path to the bar. His date and Sunghoon’s ex Yeji has her body wrapped tightly around his, even as they walk through the crowds of people.

It’s been months since you last saw him, and in spite of your desire to stay and show your pride for Sunghoon and his newest album, you want nothing more than to run out of the club and never come back. Your heartbeat quickens, the thumps of it rattling your chest with no guarantees it’ll calm down.

Like a magnet, Sunghoon is by your side immediately and looking into your eyes with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Jake’s here. Yeji’s with him.”

Sunghoon scans the crowd and lands on the two at the bar. Jake catches the younger man’s eyes and lifts his drink in congratulations, a smug smirk on his face.

Before he can walk over to the idiot’s spot, you hold onto his arm tightly to stop him. “He’s not worth it, Hoon. Trust me.”

Sunghoon knew enough of your history with the C-list actor from your own admissions and your friend’s anecdotes to want to kick the guy’s teeth in. Jake didn’t just make it harder for you to make your relationship a priority in your life, but he made every issue between the two of you your fault somehow.

And as far as Sunghoon could tell, no-one could be more devoted to the things that mattered to them than you.

“Why the fuck would he show up here?” Sunghoon asks nobody in particular, still fuming at the man’s audacity and his effect on your wellbeing. “The least I can do is show him the door.”

“No, please.” You grip onto the lapels of Sunghoon’s suit jacket, emphasizing your need to have him close. If he leaves you, you might fall apart. “Dance with me?”

Sunghoon’s anger transforms, lightly scoffing at your request with a soft smile to follow. “I don’t think this song is good to dance to, love.”

The term of endearment makes your knees weak, the word on his lips making your fingers tremble against the fabric of his jacket. Yes, the remix of one of Into Eden’s new songs “No Doubt” is more suited for a mosh pit than a couple wanting to dance, but you don’t care. “Dance with me anyway.”

You lead him to the center of the club. Both your worlds look on as you hold him close and try to match the rhythm of the remix. It’s a pointless endeavor, the beat changing right when you think you’ve mastered it. Your attempts to follow make Sunghoon smile. “If it helps, I’m not a big fan of this version of the song. Glad it’s just a B side track.”

You roll your eyes and grin. You rest your head on his chest, deciding to sway softly instead of thinking about the music pumping or the strangers’ passing glances.

“I think we’re breaking rule number two, love,” Sunghoon whispers into the crown of your head.

You move to stare up at him, running two fingers to the side of his neck exposed over the collar of his shirt. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

In the haze of blinding lights and blank faces, Sunghoon’s is the only one that matters as he bends down and presses your lips to his.

In contrast to the first kiss you ever shared, this one is not entwined with alcohol or unwelcome shock. It’s ingrained with weeks worth of tension and words that you could not read before, the lines between your agreement now crystal clear. 

You gladly accept his mouth on yours, your body on fire when his tongue touches the roof of your mouth. His hands slip down to the curve of your hips, squeezing the skin through the confines of your clothes.

The sounds of shuttering cameras and surprised voices intercut with the music are of no priority to you. All that matters is that this kiss never ends. That the feelings you’ve been harboring never have to be concealed again.

Sunghoon walks into Jay’s office with a heavy heart, unsure how to present the situation he will unfold to his manager. He’s been ducking your calls and texts, unsure how to go about his next moves before discussing his predicament with the person he trusts the most in this world, save for Heeseung.

“I could kiss you!” Jay says when he sees Sunghoon walk in, pointing at him with pure glee.

“Please don’t,” Sunghoon responds.

 “Streams of ‘All for You’ hit an all-time peak last night, the projected numbers are predicting this record to be your best selling one since the first album, and you’re a golden boy in the press again!” Relief washes over Jay’s face, the success of his plan evident in the easy posture of his body. “Not gonna say I’m a god, but I'm definitely a genius.”

Sunghoon claps his hands together, giving his manager the praise he deserves. “That’s great, Jay. Really.”

“You should be happy, man! We’re on the straight and narrow again. Now I just have to come up with some sweet and easy way to end the whole thing and we’re good to go.”

Sunghoon wants to interject, but Jay continues on with his thoughts, letting them run free out loud. “It should be pretty easy. Just gotta find another event to have you guys attend and then we’ll pull the plug—“

“Jay, I can’t.” Sunghoon blurts out the three words that have been on his mind since he walked into the label’s building. His heart rests in his throat as he holds nothing back. “I like her. Really.”

Jay stops walking around the room and stuffs his hands in his pockets. He blows the hair in front of his face, puzzled. “Well, that’s a pickle.”

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” Sunghoon admits, because it’s the truth. He never intended on actually finding you endearing, funny, attractive, all the positive adjectives he can come up with in his mind. “And then the album party happened…and I just can’t.”

Jay sits down at his desk, his face becoming a mask of professionalism. “You know that’s not possible, Sunghoon. I mean, think about it. She has her band, you have yours. It would be a disaster trying to keep it up. The only reason Hee and Ryu are still together is because she isn’t involved in any of this shit.”

Sunghoon shakes his head, vaguely listening to his manager’s words but not giving them weight. “You don’t know her like I do.”

Jay shrugs. “You may be right. But you could barely handle a relationship, real or fake, when this started. Do you think a real one is manageable right now?”

Sunghoon leans back into the armchair, some of his manager’s words hitting too close to home to deny. Would he truly be able to keep a true relationship with you alive when he was always under public pressure and eventual scrutiny?

Sunghoon walks out of the office with more questions than answers, more unsure than he was before.

You sit in your bed, undecided on whether you should try to text Sunghoon again or not. The downpour outside reminds you of the onslaught of emotions pooling in your gut, a mixture of hurt and anxiety weighing heavy on your heart.

He kisses you because you both wanted him to and then he decides to leave you without a single word for days? What kind of sense does that make?

Yujin and Ningning want to cut his heart out with a rusty knife, but you assure them you’re as confused as he probably is, unsure where to go from this point forward.

If only he could give you some signal he’s still alive, you would feel more at ease.

A knock at your door makes you run to answer it, expecting Ningning to show up with Sour Patch Kids and the newest film on your To Be Watched list. “Ning, you better have ‘Bend It Like Beckham’ in your hand or you’re not coming in!”

You open the door to Sunghoon soaked through from the rain. “Sorry I came empty handed.” Sunghoon trails his eyes down your body, smirking at the Hello Kitty pattern of your cotton shirt and shorts. “Nice outfit.”

You shake your head, incredulous that he’s at your door without any word to warn you. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to see you,” he says honestly. He walks through the door and makes you back into the hallway wall. His wet body traps you against him and the walkway. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

He chuckles, swiping his wet hair off his face. “I know, I’m an idiot.”

“And a jerk.”

“And a jerk,” he parrots, eyes full of sincerity. “But I want to be better for you. I want to be worthy of being yours.”

The confession makes your body buckle. The breath that was still in your lungs escapes in one gust from your lips. How can he think he isn’t worth it after all the vulnerability he’s shown you? “You already are, Hoon.”

He places his hands on either side of your face tenderly, his mouth inching closer. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You mirror his expression, covering his hands with your own. “I might have been told that once or twice.”

His lips collide with yours, the action soft but the emotions charged behind the kiss heavy. Where that kiss in the nightclub was chaste compared to this one, you can only imagine how the rest of the night will play out.

Sunghoon discards his jacket onto the floor, your hands automatically sliding across his damp shoulder blades. Your touch makes him shudder, a moan escaping his throat. “You’re so warm.”

You smirk. “My bed’s warmer.”

The tangle of clothes and tongues leads to your position in his lap on your bed, the comforter discarded somewhere in the rush to get him to sit down and hold you closer.

Your body writhes against his, his pants the only thing left that he’s wearing. He holds you tighter against him, groaning against your lips. “Fuck, are you trying to get me to come already?”

You blush and kiss his neck. “Wasn’t my intention, but I don’t mind.”

Sunghoon chuckles. He flips you onto your back on the mattress, taking your bra off to reveal your breasts. Your nipples perk up once the air hits your skin, and Sunghoon can’t fight the groan that escapes his lips. “You’re fucking beautiful. I could stare at your tits all day.”

Most compliments make you feel like the person giving them is obligated to, not because it’s true. But when you hear such explicit thoughts leave Sunghoon’s mouth, you believe every word he says.

He covers your body with his own, taking one nipple into his mouth as he kneads the neglected breast with one hand. Expertly, he uses his other hand to slide into your underwear, finding your clit in record time.

He swirls his index and middle finger around the bud, using your essence that has already pooled in your panties as lubricant.

You mewl, grasping Sunghoon’s hair in your fingers for purchase on something, anything.  “Fuck, that feels good.”

Sunghoon releases your nipple with a pop, his mouth trailing up the valley of your breasts to stop at your lips. “I’m not done yet, darling.”

Suddenly, he has both hands pulling your underwear down your legs, leaving the fabric dangling on the curve of your ankle. He wastes no time settling his face at the apex of your thighs.

He kisses your clit, making your body buck into his face at the quick act. By the time his tongue is inside of you, prodding deliciously at your walls, you’re practically at the brink of an orgasm.

“You like that?” Sunghoon asks, his voice wicked against your pussy, the vibrations of his mouth reverberating against your skin. “Like how I stretch you open, love?”

You nod vigorously. “Yes, Hoon, you know I do.”

He licks a long stripe up your center, from your perineum to the hood of your clit. “I have to be inside you right now, darling. But I promise, I’ll make you come on my tongue later.”

You clench down on nothing, eager to have his body conjoined with yours. He takes his jeans and boxers off in one motion, his cock long and thick. You want nothing more than to take him in your mouth, feel the taste of him on your lips, but you’re too excited for what’s to come when you look in his devilish eyes.

He settles on top of you once again, certain he’s prepped you enough for him to enter you. He looks into your eyes for confirmation, and you kiss his lips to emphasize your eagerness.

He slips inside without issue, his girth stretching you more than his tongue did. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, a curse flying from your mouth when he fills you completely.

“That’s it, baby,” he says, his voice anchored to the skin of your neck. He can practically see the outline of himself on your lower belly protruding through the skin. “Feel all of me.”

His hips push himself in and out of you, his tempo slow and torturous. The rational part of you thinks he’s only doing this for your comfort, but you know him better than most deductions of logic.

 Sunghoon knows you want him to go faster from the feeling of your nails digging into his back and your moans in the shell of his ear. But because he loves to tease, he’ll drag this out for as long as he can.

Until he hears you beg for more, that is. And you don’t mind groveling for what you want.

“Hoonie,” you plead, trying hard to meet his hips with your own for more force. “Please fuck me harder.”

Sunghoon kisses your forehead before saying, “Flip over for me, love. All fours.”

You do as he commands. Once you’re in an acceptable position, he slams himself inside of you.

The tempo barely compares to the previous one, giving you no time to do anything but relish in the pistoning of his hips as they make contact with yours. He smacks your ass for good measure, a moan escaping from your lips as he rubs the reddening skin.

“You wanted this,” He reminds you, smacking your other cheek harder as he drills himself in and out of you without any sense of stopping. “Wanted me to ruin you like a good little doll.”

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you beg, stuffing your face into your pillow.

“None of that, my love.” He takes your hair into a makeshift ponytail to raise your head from the bed. “Want everyone to hear how good you feel, how well you’re being fucked. And I want them to know how beautiful you sound when you come.”

You’re limp by the time your orgasm rushes through you, your body wrecked to no end as you’re bathed in ecstasy.

“Holy shit,” you mewl, still feeling the aftershocks.

Sunghoon continues on with his relentless attention, his speed not letting up. He moves you against him and vice versa as he pleases, seeing the white coating of your essence on his cock as it disappears inside of you.

“Fuck, baby, where do you want me to come?” He asks, unsure how much longer he can hold it in.

“Inside of me, please.”

Don’t have to tell him twice.

A groan rips from Sunghoon’s throat as he releases inside of you, knowing his entire load is painting you white. If only he could see it, see how much of him is a part of you now.

He runs his hands up and down your body when you both come down from your highs. He kisses the reddened skin of your backside as he drags a washcloth between your legs, making sure not to overstimulate you in the process of cleaning you up.

You stare at each other, both in lingering rapture as well as disbelief. He hums a song into your ear as your eyelids flutter closed, the gravel in his voice the perfect lullaby.

You wake up the next morning to Sunghoon playing the chorus of “Wonderland,” PrismHeart’s first hit on the Top 100. You grin to yourself, holding the comforter close to your chest. “Trying to record that music video was such a pain.”

Sunghoon turns and smiles at your awoken form, putting the guitar against your side table. He takes you into his arms, kissing the top of your forehead. “How so?”

“They wanted us to do this themed shoot. White rabbits, decks of cards, me dressed as Alice. But every time the director tried filming the segment where we all went down the rabbit hole, it just kept going wrong.” You laugh and run your fingers across Sunghoon’s chest.

He chuckles and kisses your shoulder. “They didn’t think to try a different concept out?”

You shook your head. “We all agreed on it. Besides, the story is actually one of the inspirations for the songs. I read a lot of Lewis Carroll growing up, but I always loved ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’ the most.”

 Sunghoon runs his lips across your neck, his hand tracing circles into your waist. “A beautiful girl lost in her fantasies. Sounds nice,” he whispers, his breath creating delicious waves of heat across your skin.

It still doesn’t feel real, having him so close and naked against you in your bed. It could be a dream, one action of your subconscious playing on your deepest desires. And if that were true, you wish you would never come out of it, too happy for words to express.

When Sunghoon slips under the covers and between your legs once again, you wonder if the faraway place that held your dreams could hold a space for Sunghoon too.

It only takes one weekend for your happiness to come crashing down. Whatever you and Sunghoon were building is destroyed, all in the span of seventy-two hours.

Sunghoon is helping you cook a plethora of pancakes when your front door opens in a slam. Yujin and Jungwon bust through with worried expressions.

“You guys haven’t seen it, have you?” Yujin asks, frown lines etched on the sides of her mouth. She hands you her phone, and you and Sunghoon look over the article headline on the screen.

“‘INTO EDEN’ & ‘HEARTPRISM’ CAUGHT IN DATING SCHEME? IS IT REAL OR JUST FOR SHOW? EXCLUSIVE INSIDER TELLS ALL!”

Sunghoon pulls out his phone to call Jay, stalking into your bedroom. The conversation immediately bursts into a screaming match, the sounds of Sunghoon’s anger apparent.

“I swear to God, Jay, if you don’t find out whoever leaked this shit, I’m gonna have your head on a plate right next to theirs.”

Yujin and Jungwon grow quiet. With the news shared, your friend hugs you and walks out the door with Jungwon in tow. 

Sunghoon throws his phone onto your bed and walks back over to you, clearly worn out from the information he told Jay and the facts that were given to him by his manager.

You give him a close-lipped smile and envelop him into a hug. Sunghoon strokes your hair as you promise him, “It can be fixed, Hoon, and it will.”

A few days and one interview later prove that in spite of your hopes, not all things are fixable. 

Jay sets up a quick interview with Buzzfeed under the guise of discussing the new album. Everyone knows the sole reason for its existence is to quell the rumors of your false romance. It started that way, yes, but that doesn’t mean you or Sunghoon have to divulge that information to the public.

Heeseung and Sunghoon discuss the inspiration for their songs and the creative process behind the album. And when the questions come up regarding the rumors, Sunghoon plays them off with a smile.

“I’m not desperate enough to need to fake a relationship with anyone! How stupid would I have to be to do that?”

The interviewer quirks an eyebrow. “Are you saying your girlfriend was desperate to date you?”

“All I’m saying is that she pursued me that night in the club, and I was more than happy to see where it would go. And as they say, the rest is history.”

Heeseung looks at Sunghoon with wild eyes, his face practically screaming: That’s the best answer you could come up with?

When Sunghoon comes to your door that night to explain himself and how his words got twisted after the fact, you open the door only to throw the jacket he left in your apartment in his face.

“Desperate,” you seethe. “That’s the word you thought best described me, huh? So I guess I’m also stupid enough to want to date you, too?”

“No, I didn’t say that! I didn’t say any of those things!”

“So the interviewer was lying? Just another person or thing out to get you, right Sunghoon? When will you take responsibility for once and own up to the shit you said about us, about me?”

The girls huddle behind you as the tears stream down your face. “Just leave me alone, Sunghoon. Get away from me, use this as the out you wanted since day one.”

You slam the door in his face, not bothering to address the fist that slams into your door or Sunghoon’s pleas for the two of you to work this out.

His heart shatters from the force of his mess, a mess that not another soul can be blamed for but him.

Weeks roll by into painful silence, not a single exchange shared. You blocked him on all social media in hopes to avoid taglines of your name in relation to Sunghoon, but it’s of no use. The time comes where the girls have to keep your phone away in hopes you’ll stop searching online for comments related to the Buzzfeed article. “Babe, it’s not gonna do you any good,” Yujin sighs, powering off the device.

You nod, resigning yourself to the fact that whatever relationship you had is over, and there was no way to prevent it. You could not control or change Sunghoon anymore than he could change himself, and unfortunately, he was still in the process of doing so and shattered your heart in the quest to be a better man.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, tries everything to repair what he’s destroyed. He pleads with Jay to make contact through Momo, but his hands are tied. “She doesn’t want to talk to you, man. If I keep pestering Momo she’s going to have my ass, and not in a fun way. I’m sorry.”

The first few weeks of the tour comes and goes in a haze, Into Eden beginning their string of tour dates up and down the eastern coast of America. The only time Sunghoon is coherent enough to remember anything is in the mornings before he falls into another night of misery. He doesn’t go back to his usual routine of drugs and booze, keeping his promise religiously. Instead, he goes on in a blur, playing his instrument and performing his parts of the songs without a hitch.

He may not be happy, but at least he’s doing something he‘s always been meant to do.

One afternoon of rehearsals, Sunghoon decides to use his break time on the roof to his advantage. The sounds of the city, its car horns and speeding pedestrians, keep him sane for once in a long time. 

Of course, Heeseung has to ruin the solitude with his presence. “Sunwoo said I’d find you up here.”

“Sunwoo needs to learn to shut his mouth and focus on sound mixing,” Sunghoon grumbles, strumming the electric guitar in his lap and avoiding Heeseung’s gaze.

Heeseung sighs and sits next to his best friend. Both of their legs dangle over the edge of the building as they take in the bird’s eye view of New York City. “If you want to fix things, you just have to tell her how you feel.”

“Thanks, Yoda. Where would I be without you?”

Heeseung laughs at the young man’s ridiculous attitude, Sunghoon’s stubbornness unbroken since they became friends. “Just because you may not like my advice doesn’t mean I won’t give it to you.”

“What nuggets of wisdom could Mr. Perfect give me that I haven’t heard a thousand times over?”

“Is that what you think of me?” Heeseung runs a hand over his face, mystified at Sunghoon’s words. “I don’t know where or when you got this notion in your head that my life is perfect, but it’s complete bullshit.”

“Look at you and look at me, Hee. Everyone has said it for years. How much more talented you are, how much better you handle the spotlight compared to me, the list goes on and on.”

Heeseung closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Ryujin and I almost broke up last year.”

Sunghoon looks at his best friend, stunned. “Fuck, really?”

His best friend nods. “The last album’s release…I was never home. Ryujin kept getting on my case about us not spending time together, and we took a break for a few weeks. Once I realized how dumb it was for us to be fighting in the first place, things went back to normal. Well, normal and one relationship counselor later.” Heeseung sighs. “Jay kept it quiet from everyone, including you.”

“You could’ve told me,” Sunghoon says, guilty he had no clue.

“I know. But everyone has their secrets, just like you.” Heeseung emits another breath from the depths of his lungs. “I’m glad you know now, though.”

Sunghoon nods. The reality of what he’s done, coupled with the fact he’s spent so long misunderstanding one of the only people to love him so earnestly, hits him hard. Against his will, a few tears escape his eyes. “I really fucked up, Hee.”

Heeseung takes Sunghoon by the shoulder and makes Sunghoon look him in the eyes. “Then fix it. And let me help you.”

Sunghoon smiles, his first real smile in weeks. “How?”

Heeseung smirks. “I may not be as good at making plans as Jay, but I have a few ideas.”

The arena is alive with the sounds of the audience chanting and the instrumental intro to “All for You” exploding from the main stage and stadium speakers. Sunghoon tries to brush off his sudden nerves, the gravity of what he’s about to do shaking him to the core. It could go terribly wrong or do nothing to fix his problems, but he has to try, right?

Heeseung puts his hand on Sunghoon’s back, his bandmate providing the reassurance and stable ground he needs. “You got this, Hoon.”

The two men step on stage, the crowd screaming an octave higher when they take their instruments off their stands. Sunghoon raises a hand, motioning for the band to go quiet and the audience to silence their cheers.

“As you know, a few months ago I met a person that really matters to me. I want her and all of you to know that she still does. And if she’s listening somewhere tonight, she should know that this is for her.” 

Sunghoon begins playing the first chords of the song he’s written, nobody but Heeseung and the band aware of this change in the setlist. “This isn’t off of our new album, but I hope you all like it. It’s called ‘Lost in Wonderland.’”

Sunghoon begins the song on his guitar, Heeseung following behind him with backing vocals and a bass. The audience sways to the song, enraptured by the lyrics and melodies of the two musicians. Sunghoon pours his heart into the chorus, hoping by some luck that you’ll be able to hear this if nothing else.

“Maybe I’ll see you in Brooklyn, maybe I’ll see you in France. As long as the waves keep on rolling in. Things don’t always go the way they’re planned.

“Maybe I’ll see you in Jersey, maybe next year in Japan. Sometimes it’s so hard to find a friend, you’re the only one that just might understand.

“Lost in wonderland…”

By the time the final chorus rings out, the notes of Sunghoon’s guitar flying through the air gracefully, Sunghoon feels a million times lighter. All he can hope for now is that his plea will reach you amidst the sea of screaming fans.

Sunghoon runs off the stage as soon as the band finishes playing their last song, unable to hold his composure any longer. What stops him short from running to the green room is your face riddled with tears.

Sunghoon is unsure what to do next. Hold you in his arms and not let go, the last time he saw you being too long for him to accept as reality? Or confess what he said on stage was only a fragment of what he holds in his heart?

You beat him to the punch, your words coming out practically on top of each other. “Momo booked me a red eye to get here in time. She said Heeseung told her something had happened to you before the concert and—“

“I love you,” Sunghoon interrupts, the three words and eight letters no longer able to be kept inside of him.

You smile, eyes puffy but shining. Before you can ask him if what he just said is true, he repeats it until the words go stale, but they don’t. “I love you,” he says, “and I’m so sorry I made you think I didn’t.”

He runs to you immediately and kisses you with all the energy he has left in his body. The feeling of your mouth on his and your hands gripping tight onto his shirt fixes the part of him that broke the second you told him to get lost.

He knows he’ll never let you go again, never take you for granted for another second, and always remind you how much of you is home to him now.

When you part, you ask him, “Did you really write that song for me?”

Sunghoon smirks. “Every single line.”

You nod, running your thumb across his chin. “I love you, too.”

The resounding sound of the bustling audience leaving the venue and the crew packing up fills the background as you kiss Sunghoon again, making up for the time you lost, and preparing for all the times to come.

1 YEAR LATER

PrismHeart’s new album cover is plastered across the press wall. The red carpet is dyed neon pink to accentuate the colors of the title, “Love Language.” It’s a fitting name for the project in your opinion, many of the songs directly inspired by your personal life.

Yujin fusses with Jungwon’s suit once they’re away from the press wall, their matching ensembles making you smile. They’ve been together for as long as you and Sunghoon have at this point. Sharing your songs and thoughts for the newest record has been easy thanks to a fellow member being stupidly in love like you.

Sunghoon steps onto the carpet for his round of paparazzi photos. His suit and jewelry are completely black except for the shirt he picked out that coordinates with your dress. It may be too pink for his taste, but he’d do anything to make you happy, and he knows how to stay on theme for a special occasion.

You add on a few brownie points in your mind for how incredible he looks, the suit emphasizing the contours of his body that you know too well by now. 

When Sunghoon’s done with his pap walk, he has to hold himself back from running to you and kissing you hard on the mouth. His composure hangs by a thread through seeing the top of your chest accentuated by the sweetheart neckline of your bubblegum pink dress.

He holds you close and kisses you on the cheek, a halfway point between what he should do and what he wants to do to you, the audience around them be damned.

The audience in question goes crazy when his lips linger on your cheek, the candid shot perfect for the slew of tabloids that will come out tomorrow.

“You look fucking incredible, just so you know,” Sunghoon whispers in your ear.

You smack him on the chest softly, beaming. “Language, Hoon!”

“Hey, forgive me. Words of affirmation and all, y’know. My love language.” He winks, and you chuckle into his chest.

“You and your dad jokes. You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am,” he confesses, taking a free lock of hair between his fingers. “Very lucky.”

Before you can tell him you feel the same, you hear the sound of your name on an interviewer’s lips. You walk hand in hand with Sunghoon to greet her before she begins her parade of commentary, both of you all smiles as you discuss your latest single.

The show must go on, the multitude of cameras and questions second nature by now. But with Sunghoon’s hand in yours and your heart completely his, you know that none of the fame will compare to the happiness that his love has brought to your life.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy @monamipencil

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[kleopatra45]

Sun in the Houses of D9 Chart

1st House

When you have the Sun in your first house that partner must be one who helps you find your uniqueness and express it. This is a person who most likely knows they are right about something, firm in their beliefs. Something about them is very large, maybe even radiating and they might play an active role in your life guiding you to the realization of your own magnificence. Be ready for someone who tells you to be all best version of yourself possible, and respects your boundaries. Or mirrors — so that both the strengths and flaws can be reflected, providing a chance for greater awareness.

2nd House

Sun in the 2nd house means your future husband is someone who seeks stability and security, especially financially. Expectations will likely run high for loyalty and commitment, too, as they may either come from a place of strong financial means or be very good at managing resources. Can be the practical, pragmatic earthy side of a partner who appreciates simple pleasures and finds sense in building and curating comforts in your home. The may assist you discover your value, particularly in relation to self-respect educating you all about having a sense of worth in the relationship.

3rd House

A Sun in Third House — If you have your sun here, you will probably be drawn towards someone who piques your curious and communicative side. They could be a listener, a thinker or someone who enjoys the exchange of ideas and ideas. In this connection, communication is at the heart of who your partner will be, they will retain a razor-sharp wit and be inquisitive (even if it may seem challenging), and possess agility in being able to explore new directions. They might work in communication, media or educational fields and they will challenge you to be connected with the world. This partner provides enough of a spark to keep your mental wheels turning as you venture throughout life.

4th House

With the Sun in the fourth house, your compatible partner is likely someone who attaches great importance to kinship, heritage, and sentimental security. They may have a profound, nurturing essence, and they’ll probably bring warmth and solace to your shared domestic situation. This individual might have strong familial bonds or be intensely linked to their origins, and they will prioritize constructing a protected and loving home base. They're likely contemplative and emotionally astute, valuing internal development and a sanctuary-like area. With them, you’ll feel at home in your soul, as though you’ve discovered someone who offers deep, unwavering aid and foundation. Additionally, this person has the ability to connect with others on an emotional level through thoughtful discussion and a calm, gentle demeanor. While home and heritage are priorities, they also value personal growth through respectful, insightful exchanges that bring greater understanding.

5th House

The Sun in the fifth house indicates that your prospective spouse will be amorous, artistic, and playful. They'll add a spark of passion and enthusiasm to your life, and they're inclined to like art, self-expression, and spontaneity. They could be someone with a lively, childlike personality who exudes optimism and charisma. This spouse values romance and is prone to express it in dramatic or distinctive ways. If you want children, they may be very involved in your children's life, adding joy and excitement to family gatherings, or they may urge you to express your creativity through collaborative projects.

6th House

With the Sun in the sixth house, your spouse could be someone who exemplifies perseverance, resilience, and a sense of service. They could work in a healing or service-oriented field, such as healthcare, education, or community work. This person loves hard work and will most likely provide structure and support in your life, allowing you to keep healthy routines and balanced obligations. They are grounded and may have a quiet, unassuming nature, expressing their love through acts of service rather than grandiose displays. This relationship will most likely be one of mutual support, in which you collaborate to attain long-term goals and inner harmony.

7th House

The Sun in the seventh house indicates that your spouse will have a great effect on your life, most likely someone with a strong personality and leadership skills. They will exude confidence and may have a charisma that naturally draws people in. This someone may be highly motivated and accomplished in their area, even appreciated by others. They will look for an equal partner in you, with whom they can create a life of balance and mutual respect. Your journey with this person will feel like a meaningful partnership, with each of you learning from and growing alongside the other.

8th House

A spouse who enters your life with the Sun in the ninth house is likely to be mysterious, intense, and emotionally deep. This companion will provide transforming experiences to help you discover hidden elements of yourself. They may be highly perceptive and drawn to psychology, spirituality, or healing. Expect a deep connection that goes under the surface, where passion and difficulties help you grow together. This person may be financially resourceful, and they can assist you in managing shared resources. You'll discover the power of vulnerability and deep, heartfelt connection as you explore life's mysteries together.

9th House

With the Sun in the ninth house, your spouse is likely to value knowledge, philosophy, and adventure. They could have a broad viewpoint, possibly originating from a different background or having a strong interest in travel, spirituality, or education. They'll motivate you to grow and widen your horizons, allowing you to experience life from other angles. This companion could be a teacher or mentor who will inspire you to embrace your beliefs and spirituality. Together, you'll start on a lifelong adventure of learning, growth, and purpose.

10th House

When your Sun occupies the tenth house, it indicates that your future partner would be someone who is not only ambitious and industrious but also earns respect in their workspace. Such individuals are most likely to be career-driven wanting to change the world in some way and even take up an exalted position. This person will help you to fulfill your dreams and motivate you to think about the dreams in the far horizon. Such ambitions will be round you, and as important they will regard the joint legacy creation, with them, you will be able to achieve a way of living, which is meritocratic, and dignified. They can perhaps be the more level-headed of the two and, as a couple, you will forge an interdependent bond of respect, ambition and stability.

11th House

The placement of the Sun in the eleventh house suggests that the person could have a spouse who is reminiscent of a best friend- someone who resonates with their dreams and aspirations. Such a person is outgoing, modern, and may be engaged in some kind of organizational activities. A person like this holds friendship in high esteem, and this brings into the partnership cohesion and cooperation. This person may broaden your horizons or motivate you to achieve your goals. There will be common goals and values that will act as a strong foundation of your relationship, and you shall be happy in creating a world that integrates your uniqueness and the objectives you wish to achieve.

12th House

With the placement of your Sun in the twelfth house, it is likely your future partner will be someone with a very soft heart or perhaps spiritual or even enigmatic. Such a person may be involved in some self-healing or inner work and they will most certainly assist you in exploring the more obscure aspects of existence. This mate may be more suited to being on their own, enjoying activities such as silence, contemplation or creative art. They will provide you with emotional stability and tranquility, teaching you that sometimes it is necessary to turn within to appreciate one’s surroundings. You’d share a love that goes well beyond the physical level, towards greater principles of existence such as love, life, and the spirit. This bond will probably have an ethereal quality.

©️kleopatra45

[mostly-imagines]

Who Needs Heaven? : Safe & Sound

jason todd x fem!reader

aka your daughters learn what happened to jason

warnings: nonspecific discussions on how jason died

(1) the drop-in

The sound of water splashing under toy boats and fish fills the small room.

You ring the washcloth out over the suds, Rory’s idle hands scooping up the excess. She entertains herself with the slowly dissolving bubbles between her fingers as you fill up your cup.

“Put your head back,” you tell her, nudging her forehead.

She does, squeezing her eyes shut.

You pour the cup of water over her head, combing through her hair. You refill the cup again as she pipes up. 

“Mommy,” she says with a casual lull in her voice. 

You pour it out again, making sure to rinse the shampoo at her roots, “Hm?”

Her hand comes up to wipe the stream from off her forehead, “How did daddy get that scar?” 

“Well, daddy has lots of scars,” you say carefully. “You know that.”

She shakes her head, “Littler scars. He has a big one though, right here.” 

She points up and down her torso. 

“What happened?”

You take a breath, eyes focused on the dissolving suds. “What happened…”

She continues on, “He said scars come from when you get hurt and the bigger ones are bigger hurts. How did he get such a big hurt?”

“Um...” She’s quite young to hear that story, especially coming from you. Your older daughters have an awareness of what happened, though it’s never been formally discussed. You think Mia knows what the autopsy scar is and the twins definitely know he died at the very least. You’ve been made aware that there’s been…discussions at school about who their dad is and how he one day died and then years later magically reappeared. You and Jason had decided that you would talk to them about it eventually, but only when they were old enough to not be completely traumatized hearing it.

You just hadn’t assumed that day would creep up on you like this.

You sit back, tense. “Did you ask him that?”

“No…” she says gravely. “I don’t wanna make him sad.”

You nod, trying to collect your thoughts. How can you steer away from this without attracting more questions? 

“Do you know what happened?” she asks, scanning your face.

You do your best to reset your expression to neutral.

You start without really knowing where the sentence is going, “We…we can talk about it later…”

Rory tilts her head, “Not now?”

You shake yours, “Not right now.”

That’s enough to appease her curiosity for the rest of the bath, but you know with that one, it won’t last long.

You’d gotten her dressed and sent her on her way, but your mind stayed heavy the whole time.

You walk downstairs slowly, hands still damp from the bath. As you turn the corner from the stairs you find Jason, reading contentedly by himself in the living room.

You cross the room without hesitation, climbing into the spot next to him on the couch. He doesn’t need to look up, only adjusts the position of his arm so its draped over you, pulling you into his side.

“So…” you start, “Rory was asking about your scar..”

He turns away from the book, looking at you with serious eyes. “What did she say?”

“She wants to know how you got it,” you tell him. “I didn’t tell her, but she didn’t want to ask you either.”

“Why not?” He asks quickly, face brimming with anxiety.

You shake your head, calming his worries. “She said she didn’t want to make you sad.”

He relaxes a bit at that, taking in the information.

You break the silence after a minute, quietly telling him, “I think it might be time to talk about it.”

He looks dejected, eyes on the floor. “They’re still little..”

“I’m not saying tell them everything right now, just…acknowledge it.”

“I don’t—” He sighs, “I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell them that.”

You think for a moment, nodding. 

“Tell them how you told me. Just…more kid words.”

He still looks resigned at the idea so you continue, “You know how to talk to them. Just tell them what you want them to hear. They’ll listen.”

He nods, eyes low. “Okay…”

You stand up, and he grabs your hand as you rise, pulling himself up too.

You give each other one more confirming look before calling up the stairs, “Girls? Come here.”

There’s a ten second delay before a scuttle of footsteps starts down the staircase, arriving with a low-liveliness, nearly bedtime energy amongst them.

The second you’re within sight of them, they’re keen that something’s not right.

“What’s going on?” 

“Is—”

“Everything’s alright. Nothing’s wrong,” you tell them. “We just want to talk to you for a minute.”

Your words don’t do much to ease their minds, but after a moment they slowly gather onto a single couch. They’re all squished in together and Rory’s half on top of Anna and Laine, the latter of which can barely move. Still, there’s no complaints to be heard, only an air of seriousness throughout the room. 

Jason clears his throat, though he has trouble looking at them, the easier option seeming to be the carpeted floor. 

“Alright,” he starts with a deep breath. “So my, uh, my Y scar…”

The air in the room drops the second the words are out, the girls all quiet and listening closely. You can tell this is something they’d been wondering about for a long time.

“When I was younger and I’d just started doing the, uh, special job my brothers and Bruce do…” He takes another breath, “Some things happened that shouldn’t have and I got hurt..”

“What things?” Ryan asks.

“I…I got tricked by a bad guy and…I just got hurt.”

It’s uncharacteristic for the girls to all look so dejected and serious like this. Goes to show that you were right—they do have an understanding of what happened.

Anna is the first to pipe up. 

“Did you die?”

“Anna—”

“It’s alright,” Jason interrupts. He collects himself before eking out, “Um…yeah, I-I did.”

He’s still stuck on those words and you have to silently push for him to keep talking, so as to not give their imaginations time to run wild.

He takes the hint, stuttering, “But, um, it’s complicated, but I came back and—”

Laine interrupts this time, almost teary-eyed.

“Are you going to die again?”

Jason shakes his head quickly, “No. No, honey, not for a long time.”

It’s quiet for a moment as they process, sorting through the details into something their minds can understand.

Rory looks on edge, wide-eyed, as she asks, “Are you a ghost?”

“No, sweetheart,” Jason answers calmly with a shake of his head. 

That seems to calm her anxiety more than anything else.

“Are you better now?” Laine asks. 

Jason nods, “Yeah, I’m a lot better now.”

Ryan looks skeptical at the choice of words. “How did you…get better?”

He takes a shaky breath, “Well…your mommy helped me a lot. And then you helped me some more. And now…now I’m all healed.”

None of them seem to really understand, but they accept the answer anyways.

The next question is from Anna. 

“Is the bad guy in jail now?” 

Jason only momentarily stutters in his response, but pulls it together nicely. 

“It’s not something you need to be worried about. I promise. Nothing like that’s going to happen again to me or you or anyone.” 

This appears to appease most of the concerns flying around in their heads. 

He continues, “We can talk about it more when you get older, but…

You take the queue, nodding Rory and Lainey your way. 

“Let’s go get ready for bed, okay?”

You nudge the younger two upstairs, who, to your surprise, go without resistance.

You give Jason one last glance before heading up the stairs, happy to see him much more relaxed than he was at the start of this conversation.

He’s left downstairs with his eldest three girls, each nearly bursting at the seams full of their thoughts and questions. 

Jason thumps down on the couch between them, a heavy breath following.

The trio watch him quietly for a moment before Anna speaks.   

“I know what it is,” she tells him somberly. He looks at her with more melancholia than he would’ve hoped for.

She continues, “There’s autopsies on my show sometimes.”

Right, her show. The X-Files.

Jason nods, a bit remiss at the idea that she knows.

From his other side, Ryan pipes up. 

“Did it hurt?”

He shakes his head, “No, I-I wasn’t…” 

Wasn’t alive. He doesn’t want to say that, though. 

Ryan nods, understanding anyways. “Did it hurt when you died?”

He hesitates before answering, wavering between lying to protect their minds and telling them the truth. In the end, he decides that you’re right, they can handle it in small measures. 

“Yeah. It did, a little,” he confesses. ”But like I said, that’s not going to happen again.”

From behind Ryan, Mia speaks so softly Jason almost misses her words. 

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at her, brow furrowed. “For what?” 

“That that happened to you,” she says. Her eyes are filled with an equal sadness to his and it breaks his heart. Even more so that her words are so clearly meant sincerely.

“Oh.”

It’s all he can manage to say.

He was only a little older than Mia when his life had been taken away from him and he’d been forced to reset everything he ever knew. And now, all these years later, he sits here surrounded by his children, his world that he was given a second chance to create. His children that don’t see a monster when they look at him, don’t see the scarred giant that he sees. They just see their dad. 

When they were still young they’d started getting almost excited whenever they got a scar from playing too hard because it made them more like him. It took Jason years to just bear the thought of his scars, but his girls look at them like art. Even when they know he got them in bad ways, they pour out nothing but affection. No disgust, no fear, no hate. Just love.

His eyes close and his face falls in his hands, overwhelmed by the idea of his children being such angels, despite being products of him.

“Dad? Are you okay?” 

He nods, face still covered. His voice is muffled as he says, “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, I just, um…” 

His words die off with little fight, and when his hands drop his eyes are red. 

Anna, who’s usually compulsed to only touch emotion with a ten-foot pole, is the first to wrap her arms around him, holding him tight. The gesture takes him by surprise, especially from her, and he tenses briefly before deflating like a balloon. Mia and Ryan are quick to follow suit, basically dog-piling over his opposite shoulder.

“It’s okay, dad. We love you. And your scars,” Ryan tells him. 

Oh, they think he’s sad.

Hell, thirteen years ago he would’ve thought he was sad. He only started to understand his feelings after his first daughter was born. He doesn’t tell them he’s not sad, doesn’t tell them that he’s crying because life slapped him around and then gave him everything he could ever want five times over. 

Instead, he just nods, pulling them impossibly closer.

who’s your fav daughter

[absinthe-auncle]

Further psa on top surgery and mastectomies:

Standard masculinizing top surgery typically leaves some amount of breast tissue, so while it will reduce the risk of breast cancer, it will not be as effective as double mastectomy. If you’re pursuing top surgery partly as a preventative measure, discuss this with your doctor and surgeon to figure out which approach works best for you and your goals.

Mastectomy also has a very similar recovery process and you will be restricted from exerting much effort with your arms for a while. Cane, crutch and wheelchair users will need to consider similar arrangements with a support person before the procedure.

Some forms of mastectomy may permanently limit arm/shoulder movement, so also make sure to discuss this concern with your surgeon if you need to retain full arm and shoulder movement for use of your current mobility aid.

psa for cane, crutch, and wheelchair users getting top surgery:

you will not be able to exert much effort with your arms. self supporting with a cane or crutch or self propelling in your wheelchair is inadvisable.

make sure you have a support person to help you, or be prepared to be using your legs more if you are able.

[jarofstyles]

Pierced Through The Heart

Hello my ducklings! Welcome to Pierced Through The Heart (I’m writing a second part it’s okay 🫶) friends to lovers, piercing artist h, artist Y/N, fluffy and smutty and all the fun stuff!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 200+ exclusive writings

WC- 8.7k

Warnings- smut, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, h has tongue and lip piercings

“Finally! Hey.” An easy smile lit up his face as he watched her walk into his flat. It was always welcome to see her enter like she owned the place- she very well could, if she wanted to.. Looking her over with what he hoped were at least slightly concealed heart eyes, he lifted his hand for her to sit next to him on the well loved sofa. “Where have you been, gorgeous? Off hiding away?”

It had been a bit since they’d gotten together so when she had texted him asking if he was busy tonight, he had scrambled to make sure his place was clean and he could appear as nonchalant as possible when he texted her when he texted her to come over- even if his heart had been in his ass when she gave her ETA. 

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned, stretching her legs out as she took a seat right next to him as he so graciously offered. “I got a huge fucking commission and it’s taken me ages. M’happy about it, don’t get me wrong, but I feel a bit over my head a bit. I needed to get a head start on it so I didn’t fall behind.” Sometimes she did get in her head about work so it made sense, though it didn’t make him miss her any less. 

Harry nodded, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “I get it, babe. S’important and you've got to take care of your work. I just missed having you around.” He pouted playfully, putting his arm around her “But hey, you're here now.”

“Exactly.” She smiled tiredly, leaning her head on his shoulder. His cologne was a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed- as well as the simple concept of human touch. Being locked up in her studio as she chipped away at the commissions often had her forgetting how much both her body and mind actually craved a cuddle or two. “Where's the roommate tonight?”

Harry shrugged, his hand tracing lazy circles on her shoulder.  “He's out. Some party or another. You know how it is with Kev. Always living life on the edge.” He chuckled, but there was a hint of worry in his voice. It wouldn’t be long before he went off the deep end- but that wasn’t a discussion for tonight.

“Yeah...” It was hard. His roommate was a bit much, so it was better they were alone, but she felt bad for feeling that way. “Did you order the food yet? Or were you waiting for me?”

Harry smiled, his fingers tightening slightly on her shoulder in a little squeeze. It felt so good to have her close to him again. Thankfully she was just as happy to be cuddly with him and didn’t seem to be weirded out by her friend’s overt clinginess- or didn’t show it- because he felt slightly pathetic with how much he’d missed her presence. “I ordered already, love. Should be arriving any minute now.” He took a glance down at her, his eyes soft with… something. She couldn’t tell quite what it was, but she’d seen it a few times. “I've got everything set up just the way you like it.” 

“Ugh. You’re a godsend.” Wrapping her arms around him she hugged him tight, feeling a little bit of pressure roll off of her shoulders. He was always so good at things like that. taking care of her, making her feel relaxed, always being one step ahead. “You are the absolute best. I hope you know that.”

Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around her in return and relishing in the feeling of her initiating the embrace before pulling back. It wasn’t that he wanted to, nor did he fully, but he needed to attempt some semblance of normalcy. “I do my best, babe. Just want to make sure you're taken care of, that's all.” The man smiled down at her, his fingers trailing through her hair. Just couldn’t fucking help it, could he? “And honestly, I love doing things for you.”

Harry had never considered himself much for taking care of people prior, tending to be more of a lone wolf in most aspect of his life, but when he met Y/N it had all… just come out. He loved being the one making sure she was smiling.  Making sure she was well fed, warm, feeling comfortable in his presence. It gave him a sense of purpose, he thinks. The smiles were reward enough, but making her feel comfortable in his company was the ultimate goal. It's why he made sure his roommate wasn’t going to be here tonight. Y/N was too polite to say he made her a little uneasy, but he was attentive to her and receptive to her feelings. Her body language never seemed at ease when he was around-‘so he eliminated that sort of issue

“And that’s why you’re above everyone else.” Y/N mumbled, keeping her eyes closed as he ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck. “That feels incredible, by the way.”

Harry blushed to himself, grateful she couldn’t see it right now. It was weird, feeling such a sense of pride wash over him over something so simple. He loved being the one she turned to, the one she felt most comfortable with. Hearing her praise him made him feel like he was genuinely doing something right. “Ah, yeah?”

“Mhm.” The girl nodded. “Tell me about work, though. Any interesting piercings? Anyone pass out? Had that one weird guy come in again? I want to know it all.” She kept her cheek pressed to his shoulder as he continued the motions.

Harry let out a soft laugh, settling into the comfortable rhythm of running his fingers through the silky locks as he tried to think of something interesting enough to tell her. “Well, actually, there was this one guy who came in for his first ear piercing and he freaked the fuck out when he saw the needle. He started shaking and sweating and just about passed out cold on the chair.”

“For an ear piercing?” Y/N let out a choked laugh. “I try not to judge people but… that’s kind of an overreaction, isn’t it?”

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction. It was like her to be sweet about it and not judge, but he did sometimes. She was the only one who knew he really rolled his eyes at shit like that. He leaned down, pressing a small kiss to the crown of her head before pulling back to continue his story. “Yeah, I thought so too. But you should've seen the look on his face when I finally got the needle through.”

“Oi.” She winced. “Yeah, M’sure that was a joy to deal with.” Sarcasm laced her tone. “You have loads more patience than me. It’s why I work with as few people as possible.” Retail and service has never bode well with her, and when she had fallen into her own artwork she had counted her blessings that it meant she didn’t have to work with people day to day. 

Harry smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him as he listened to her voice. He loved her sarcasm, her wit, her everything, but he tried to keep that sort of fondness off of his face the best he could. “That's part of why I like bein’ close with you, actually. You're low-maintenance and always so easy to be around. A little grumpy, but s’cute.”

“Grumpy?” Her nose wrinkled, but she couldn’t deny it. The girl did her absolute best to be as sweet as she could but one of the things that made her tick was stupidity, and that was something people had to deal with in abundance when they worked in those industries. She was a little bit grumpy when it came to people. “I…wish I could deny those allegations, but I can’t. But in my defense, people shouldn’t be asking so many stupid questions. I worry more and more that people lose common sense as the days go by.”

Harry laughed, pulling her a little tighter against his side. "Grumpy and worried about the loss of common sense, huh? That's my girl." He paused, his fingers still gently fiddling with the ends of her hair. "But even with all that, you're still the most comfortable person for me to be around."

“Really?” She looked at him in surprise. Her guess would have been maybe Mitch, or Connor. Not her. “How come? I mean, not that I’m not extremely flattered and have to calm my ego at this moment because I can literally feel it growing out of my ears.” 

Harry smiled, feeling his tummy twist slightly as he looked down at her, "Because you're just... you, ya know? You're honest, and a bit grumpy-which we already established as cute-, and you don't put up with any of my shit." It was refreshing to have someone who cared about you enough to call you out on shit, and that’s what he needed. It was an interesting juxtaposition to see her soft doe-like eyes looking up at him with her head tilted, telling him that he’s absolutely ‘full of shit’. Harry had been known to be a bit arrogant at times and she had taken that level way down, in a good way. "And you're the only person who can make me laugh without even trying."

“H… you’re gonna make me blush.” She playfully batted at his chest, but felt the swirl of warmth in her tummy. It was a true compliment all things considered. Harry seemed open, but he kept people at an arm's length usually. She had noticed that he didn’t do it with her which she had always special, but hearing it out loud made her feel even more so.

Harry's eyes softened slightly as he looked at her. "You're the only one who can see past all the layers and shit and just get me, you know?" He leaned in just a bit, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "And I fucking love it." 

It was that moment, she would come to reflect, where the tension started. The kiss to the cheek, the compliments. It had started the loaded tension, the sexual undertone for the rest of the night. 

Later on, after the food had been eaten and settled in their bellies and the second episode had ended and the third had begun, she realized how close she had gotten to him through the night. Her legs over his thighs, his thumb tracing over her knee. His eyes were on the screen giving her a chance to observe his beautiful fucking face for a moment without feeling the normal intimidation she would from him staring right back at her. The lip ring, the sharp curve of his jaw, his pretty mouth, the slope of his nose- a modern Apollo. It had been no secret that he was good looking but it was harder to ignore tonight. It was always hard to ignore just how beautiful the man was, but feeling it now, seeing it up close and personal felt like a privilege. Her body flushed when she noticed his eyes on her- he caught her staring, his eyebrow raised at her, but didn’t say a word.

Harry moved his hand from her knee, tracing his fingers up her thigh slowly before resting it there again. He leaned in closer, his lips curling as he whispered to her. "You like what you see, love? Wanna take a picture? I’ll pose for you, even. Let the pretty artist do her thing. Think I’d be a good muse?" The hint of tease was in there but he was waiting for her reaction. Feeling his own want for her bubbling over, simmering under his fingertips.

“You’re really handsome, H. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that, but you are.” Ever the blunt person, Y/N didn’t shy away from telling him that he was beautiful. That was the god’s honest truth. Harry was factually gorgeous and she had always thought so, as did most human beings whenever they went out. He commanded a room without even trying, attracting eyes like magnets- only his being the opposite pole. 

Harry's smirk grew wider at her words, his hand still resting on her thigh. "Handsome, huh?" He repeated, his voice huskier than she had heard it before. It sent a bit of a zing to her tummy because- that was hot. There was a quick glance at the TV before looking back at her, his eyes locking onto hers. "You're pretty fucking stunning yourself, you know that?"

The air between them was static, the tension thick and palpable. Harry's hand on her thigh was a constant reminder of his presence, of his touch. Her legs were draped over his, their bodies close, touching in a way they had before a million times but it felt… different. The charge was there. He could feel it and he was sure she could too. What exactly changed, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps the heart had grown fonder over their bit of time apart, or perhaps the dam was finally overflowing and breaking against the weight of trying to hold back desires hidden behind the walls- either way, he was going to find out. The sound of the TV in the background was barely audible over the pounding of their hearts, but he could feel it in his throat.

Harry had been pining for her for what felt like an eternity. He'd watch her from afar, his heart aching with every smile she shared with someone else. The only true explanation he could come to was that he loved her, he realized. He had loved her for a long time now. He ached for her, his heart hurting every time she mentioned dating apps or hookups in the past because fuck, he wanted to be the one she was talking about, the one she was laughing with. He wanted to be her world, her everything. No one would expect the man to be a romantic, but he was. Maybe she’d brought it out of him, but he felt completely at her mercy and she had no idea just how tightly wound he was around her tiniest finger.

“You think so?” She felt a little shy with that compliment. It wasn’t often that she got like that, but Harry had a way of pulling it out of her. “Stunning is a big word, but thank you.” Licking over her lip, she looked down to his tattooed wrist, running her finger over the ink. “I’m glad you invited me to hang out tonight.”’

Harry's heart flipped at her shy reaction. Damn, she was so fucking cute. He wanted to lean in, brush his lips over hers and take a taste of her. The way she was looking at his tattoos, running her finger over them was driving him crazy. The sensation was something he’d dreamt about, post coitial bliss with her hands all over him in the best way. He wanted to feel all of it, all of her, everywhere

"You're more than fucking stunning, you know that?" Harry's voice was raspy as he spoke, volume low as if trying to keep it private for them even if they were already alone. He shifted in his seat, his hand on her thigh flexing a little as he leaned in closer to her.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she looked at him, throat tight. She had an idea what was happening but she hadn’t anticipated it actually being any reality, let alone one that would be happening tonight. Part of her wanted to shy away but she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t let her. Eyes curious and round, her head tilted in question as he looked right back at her.

Harry noticed the way she was looking at him, head falling back slightly as he let it a light groan. "Fuck, don't look at me like that, please." He begged. He couldn't take it, seeing her so nervous and shy. 

“Like what?” Her eyes widened slightly but she made no move to shift away from him. What was she doing? What was happening? And why did she want him to keep going, keep touching her, why did she feel like she was lightheaded from the attention he was paying to her? Had he always looked at her like this?

Harry's eyes were locked onto hers, his gaze intense. "Like you're confused. Like you don’t know how fuckin’ gorgeous I find you." He admitted, his hand on her thigh trembling slightly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take, you're fucking killing me."

Warm fingertips trailed over his wrist and down his hand, brushing over his wrists and back up as she waited for him to react. The anticipation was killing her, sitting perfectly still as she decided to wait. to let him take the lead. “Why am I killing you?” She was playing dumb. The sexual tension had risen up, her skin hot from it, but she wanted to hear it from him.

Harry sucked in a breath as she trailed her fingertips over his wrist, his heart racing in his chest. He couldn't take it anymore, he had to tell- had to show her. To let out everything that was building up inside of him. "Because I want you so goddamn bad." His voice was hoarse, laced with fervor, his eyes pleading with her to understand. He couldn't help the way he felt, the way he had always felt about her. "I've wanted you for so long, been pining for you.. it's driving me insane."

“You have?” Her head tilted, hair falling over her shoulder as he dropped that bomb on her. Y/N hadn’t had any real idea that he had wanted her, had always sort of thought maybe he just liked that she was easy to hang out with and that they’d meshed together really well, but the knowledge that he was pining over her sent the hoard of butterflies into her stomach. “How.. for how long?”

Harry's jaw clenched, knowing it was time to confess. There was no use in hiding it anymore, even if she was going to reject him. It was about to burst from his seams, leak from his lips regardless. "Since we’ve met," He admitted, his voice rough with emotion. "I’ve been fucking useless over you. Used t’watch you, wonder what it would be like to have you, to hold you, to kiss you." He looked at her with desperate eyes.

"I'd see you talking to that asshole ex of yours, and I'd just want to fucking rip him apart and keep you all to myself. Knew I could treat you better, make you feel better, give you all the shit he couldn’t. Heard you cry too many times over people that aren’t worth it and I can give you all the shit you need. I know I can." He admitted, his face flushing with anger and jealousy. "I've tried to ignore it, to move on, but I can't."

"You have no idea how many times I've imagined telling you, but I didn’t want to fuck things up between things up between us. You’ve felt safe with me. I didn’t want you to feel like I’ve been friends with you as some fucking attempt to get into your pants because that isn’t it. I’ll be your friend regardless, but I just need a shot. Please. Just give me one chance t’see." Harry felt a little pathetic for his approach but he didn’t have much control over it. It was all in her hands now.

Her breathing hitched as she listened, her cunt getting slightly wet at the way he looked at her, at how he spoke. losing that bit of a veil he had over him, showing her how he had felt. Finally, It felt like that part she couldn’t figure out was coming to the light. “Harry…” she breathed, feeling his hand reach for her jaw. It was welcomed, his warm fingertips tilting her head up.

She didn’t know he had that in him, but she really fucking liked it. 

Gripping her chin firmly, his thumb brushing over her pouted lower lip as he looked into her eyes. "Shut up and kiss me." He commanded, leaving no room for argument. Harry didn't wait for her to respond. Leaning in, his free hand came up to wrap around her waist, pulling her close to him as he crushed their lips together. It was rough, passionate and intense, a hunger she hadn't sensed from him before- and she strangely loved it.

Harry’s lips were demanding, claiming hers as if she belonged to him. His tongue pushed past her lips, tangling with hers in a heated kiss that left her gasping. He kissed her like he was starving for her, like he hadn't eaten in days and she was the only thing that could satisfy him. His lips were bruising, hungry, insistent, molding against hers with a fierce intensity that took her breath away. The tip of his tongue delved into her mouth, probing, tasting, owning, his moan vibrating against her lips as he deepened the kiss.

She melted into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as she returned it with equal fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him close as she surrendered to the overwhelming hunger he stirred within her. She whimpered into the kiss, her body trembling with need, her heart racing in her chest.

Y/N could feel just how much he meant it, how much he had yearned for her. She could taste it on his tongue as he held her to his body, resting her on his thighs. He was greedy with her, taking and taking and taking- but she didn’t mind at all. If anything she flowed into it, melting into the feeling.

The way she fed into the kiss, so willingly and completely, made his heart race and his head spin. He could taste her surrender, her desire, her longing for him and he drank it in eagerly, as if he could never get enough of her. Her body melted into his embrace as her lips parted further, inviting him in deeper. He could feel her heart racing against his chest, her hands gripping his hair almost painfully, but he hardly cared.

Her body was pliant, her breathing uneven, as he continued to delve into her mouth. He could feel the way she shifted on his lap, her legs bracketing his hips as she slowly began to move herself against him.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, the sound almost primal as he felt her shifting on his lap. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard and it only served to drive him further into madness. He wanted more of her, all of her, every single part of her. “Baby…” The nickname fell out of her mouth as a breathless sigh. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

He pulled back from the kiss slightly, his breath coming in ragged pants as he stared down at her. Her eyes were glazed over with desire, her lips swollen and so prettily puffy from the intensity of their kissing- he wanted this to be the state of them every fucking day. Why was this only the first time he’d gotten the privilege of getting to see this? "I can't... I can't think straight when you're like this,"

Uneven breaths filtered the room, the TV show long forgotten behind them. She, too, was unable to think straight as she looked into his eyes. It was gorgeous, he was fucking gorgeous, looking fucked out just from a kiss alone. “Huh?” Y/N was hazy herself. This wasn’t what she had expected from coming over tonight but she had no complaints. Her mouth felt like it was buzzing and her clit was throbbing as she sat against him, his large hands keeping her still otherwise she’d continue her ministrations on top of him.

Harry reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a gentle touch. "Just looking at you, baby, makes me lose my damn mind. I need you to focus on me for a second, okay?" He swallowed hard as he tried to calm himself down. "You're fuckin’ stunning. Driving me crazy, really fucking crazy. The way you move against me... I need more of it." The man sighed out, his fingers trailing down her throat gently, petting her.

Harry's mind was swimming with need, a deep and intense desire to have her, to make her his and his alone. He wanted to feel her body pressed against his, the heat rolling off of her in waves. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to taste her. “But I don’t want t’just fuck you. I want you. Want you to be my girl.”

Holding her eyes with his own, he thumbed over her swollen bottom lip and watched as it snapped back to place as he released it. “I want t’do the whole thing. The dates, the flowers, everything you want. I don’t want to ruin this friendship but fuck, darling… I just want you to be mine.” He swallowed thickly, watching her reaction. “I’m willing to work for that title… but I can’t hold back anymore. Can’t keep pretending that I’m not dying t’hold you and kiss this perfect fucking mouth.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and lips parted. Her cheeks were hot under the skin, chest rising and falling with every deep breath she took. It felt like he’d stolen her breath and her thoughts as he confessed to her, making her blink at him a few times. She looked completely lost in his words and the way he looked at her as he spoke them. The air around was thick with tension and desire.

There wasn’t a thought that needed to be had to confirm that she wanted him back, though. She always adored him, but he’d never seemed like the relationship type. Never showed his interest in the way she had anticipated. It had taken her by surprise, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t happy about it.

Without thinking, she reached up and cupped his face, her thumb brushing over his berry hued lips and running over the piercing as she searched his eyes. She could see the raw emotion in them, the way he was barely holding on to his control. And it broke her heart, in a way, because she was so completely aware of how painful it could be to hold back emotions for someone. “I wish you hadn’t hidden it for so long.” Softly, she used her other hand to push back his hair. “I can’t lie and say this isn’t a surprise… but I am more than willing to give it a shot.” Indulging in him, she leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss to his lips. “Especially when you kiss me like you just did.”

She deepened the kiss, parting her lips for him and wrapping her arms around his neck in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. Harry groaned against her mouth, pulling her flush against him as he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

That was the answer he needed. He had imagined her rejection a million times, her acceptance a few times more, but nothing could compare to the actual feeling of it. Having her in his lap and the overwhelming giddy feeling working its way through his limbs as he tried to show it through his actions.

The kiss was needy, full of the  longing and passion that had been building up over the months. He was rough and gentle at the same time, leaving her dizzy as he trailed kisses from her lips to her jaw. “Good. So it’s settled… no more silly dates with useless boys. You’re gonna give me a shot to show you just how much I can appreciate you.”

“Mhm.” Y/N nearly purred, rolling her head to the side as he kissed over her skin and down to her throat. It had always been sensitive for her, but feeling the cool brush of his lip ring, and then the metallic ball of his tongue piercing brush her hot skin had her shiver in his arms.

Harry smirked, knowing he was getting to her head. His hands roamed her body, pulling her in even closer as he sucked on a soft spot right under her ear. God, she was fucking soft wherever he touched her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He sucked hard on the spot, his nose brushing against her skin as he inhaled her scent deeply. His other hand came up to wrap around her throat, applying just a bit of pressure as he tilted her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck.

“Fuck.” Y/N felt her second heartbeat between her thighs, the strong hand and thick fingers holding her still. Positioning her where he wanted her. His rings added a similar sensation to his piercings, the mix of hot and cold working her up.

He hummed at her response, his hand tightening around her throat just slightly as he moved down to bite at her collarbone. A low growl rumbled in his chest, feeling the way her body trembled under him as he pressed a kiss over the racing pulse on her neck. Harry pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his own dark and intense as he spoke in a low, rough tone. "M’gonna mark you up, m’love. Every inch of your skin is gonna have my fingerprints, my bites, my kisses. You're gonna be my girl, and everyone's gonna fuckin’ know it."

“Yeah.” She hummed, grinning as his hand loosened slightly on her throat. As toxic as it may be, she ate up the possessive words, wanting to let him do that very thing.

Harry let out a low, pleased noise at her words, his hips rocking forward as he pressed against her heat. He kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth as he gripped her hip with one hand and reached down to undo his pants with the other. His poor cock needed to breath, aching with need as he finally got her exactly where he wanted her.

"How do you like to be touched, baby?" He whispered into her ear, before sucking on the lobe gently and nipping it, smirking to himself as he felt her shudder in his arms. He pulled back to look at her, his eyes shining. “Hm? I want t’know. Want t’make you the happiest fuckin’ girl. Can do anything y’want.”

“I…” She had trouble finding her words. This was not at all the sort of thing she’d anticipated coming over tonight, but she was loving every second of it. Harry… wanting her? It seemed like it was one of those dreams, one of those things that sounded nice in theory but would never happen- and yet here he was. Asking how she liked being touched because he wanted to be the one doing it. “I like when you held my throat… and when you bit me. And when you held my jaw.”

Harry's lips quirked into a half grin and he nodded. He pulled back to look at her, his thumb tracing over her jaw where he had just held it so gently. He leaned down and bit the skin there lightly, feeling her shiver under him. Her reaction was immediate and visceral. The moment his teeth sank into her jaw, she let out a soft, needy whine, her eyes fluttering closed as her body relaxed into his grip. Her leg tightened around his waist, her free hand reaching up to gently touch the spot where he'd bitten her.

Her whole body seemed to melt against him, her back arching as she pressed herself closer, seeking more of that delicious pain. A soft, high-pitched noise escaped her lips, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, as she tilted her head to the side, offering him better access to her neck as she felt his nose drag down the side of it.

She was completely lost in the sensation, her mind going blank as all her focus shifted to the feeling of his teeth on her skin. Her fingers curled into his shirt, her nails digging in slightly as she held on for dear life, her other hand still resting on the spot he'd bitten, gently massaging it. “That feels so good.” She exhaled, the feelings washing over her. “I love how you touch me, H.”

Harry smiled against her skin, his teeth grazing over her jaw as he spoke. "I love touching you too, sweetheart. You're so fuckin’ responsive, for me.” He kissed the spot he'd bitten, soothing it with his lips before pulling back to look at her again.

His bulge rocked between her thighs, his hand moving to cup her face. She could feel his want for her, his affection. Harry hadn’t been joking in the slightest that he wanted to be hers, and that was something she hadn’t experienced before.

"You still haven't let me make you mine, properly," Harry said, a hint of a pout on his lips. "I want all of you, Y/N." He moved himself against her again, the cock in his pants rubbing against her aching cunt. "Are y’gonna let me have you?"

“Y-Yeah.” She nodded, shy smile on her face. There was nothing she wanted more in the moment, actually. 

 “Don’t want you to regret it, though.” Harry murmured, face sobering. As much as he wanted her, he wanted to make sure this was what she truly wanted above anything else. “We don’t have to go too far if you don’t want to.” 

“I wanna.” Y/N hadn’t been fucked in a while, no, but she trusted him. Hell, he’d waxed near poetry about how he wanted to be hers and vice versa. There was no one night stand needed to get off. Harry could do it- and if the things she had heard were true, he could do it very well.  “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry's eyes widened at her confession, his hand lingering on her cheek for a moment before he let go. "Well," he said, swallowing thickly. "I can certainly do that."

He was practically vibrating with excitement, his heart racing in his chest as he held her close. The thought of finally being able to claim her as his own, to be the one to make her feel good and cry out his name, was almost too much for him to handle. "I've wanted to be with you for so fuckin’ long." Harry murmured against her skin, his breath warm against her. "I've thought about you every night as I've fallen asleep, imagining what it would be like to finally have you, Y/N. You’ve got no idea"

“Then have me.” Y/N could hardly believe it, but she needed it just as badly now. Her body was hot and achy and her cunt was wet and felt so empty- Harry would fix it. He was the only one that could. “Touch wherever you want. I trust you.”

The declaration of trust meant more to him than she would probably ever realize. It gave him the confidence to go for it. Harry's hand immediately moved between her legs, rubbing her through the fabric of her pants. The man groaned as he felt how wet she was, his fingers tracing over her cunt as he breathed against her lips. "Oh, fuck, baby." he whispered in awe.

“Take them off.” her plea was a little whiny but it seemed to make him happy with how he smiled against her lips. “Please… I want to feel you touch me with nothing stopping it. Need it.”

Harry's smile was wicked as he reached for the waistband of her pants, quickly adjusting her so he could tug them down her legs along with her underwear. There was very little time to waste when it came to getting to have her. This had been his wet dream, his fantasy, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He sat back up and looked at her, his eyes roaming over her bare pussy before he knelt down in front of her with a husky groan.

“What?” She felt shy with him staring at her, the most vulnerable she had ever felt in front of him. The hunger in his eyes was visible and she knew he liked what he saw, but his quiet observation was unnerving. She watching the silver glint of his piercing glint as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, strong, ringed hands gently pressing her thighs open and black polished fingers digging into her skin.

“M’sorry, baby.” he crooned. “Don’t mean to stare, but…. I’ve been waiting so long. M’not even sure this is real.” Any bit of control was completely gone. He leaned forward, pressing his face against the plush of her lower tummy, inhaling her scent before he looked up at her with those starving eyes again. "Fuck, you smell so good. You’ve no idea." he murmured before placing a kiss to her mound. “Wanna eat you up.”

Where she found the nerve, she had no clue- but the moment she had it, she let it go. “Do it.”

Her words were the last thing he needed before he gave into her- happily. Harry's hands gripped her thighs greedily as he buried his mouth between her legs, indulging in what he’d been wanting to taste for ages. He lightly kissed over her clit and nuzzled her as her felt her jolt at the feeling, letting her settle into it for a moment before getting into it. The cool metal ball of his tongue piercing tapping over her clit had her shivering, a shaky gasp leaving her swollen lips as her eyes fell closed. 

It was overwhelming, to say the least. Harry's tongue felt hot and slick as it lathed over her pussy- the contrast in temperatures between him and her sensitive flesh making her squirm. He explored her, leaving nowhere untouched as she gripped the cushion next to her, taking full advantage of his permission to taste before he settled into a slow, gentle rhythm of lapping at her cunt. The man was good- almost too good.

She could feel herself sinking into the cushion beneath her as he ate her out, his tongue dipping into her pussy and licking at her entrance before swirling around her clit. His hands were gentle on her thighs, rings cool to the touch and fingertips digging into her skin as he pushed them open wider for him. He groaned against her, eyes peering up at her.The vibrations against her pussy sent tremors through her body.  “Look at me, baby. Let me see your pretty eyes.”

The view was something else completely. Looking down at him, she felt herself nearly lose it altogether. It didn’t seem fair to have someone look that good doing such a filthy act, but it only seemed to make perfect sense for him. Harry exuded sex, and his sensual nature had always made her a bit curious in the past- but this was other worldly. His nose rubbed against her clit, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh, hair a mess, as hazy, dark green peered up at her from where they were so comfortably buried between her legs. Like they were made to be there.

Her hands fell to his hair, back arching as his tongue brushed her entrance again, breathing hitched as he nuzzled into her cunt, not caring about any mess as he pressed his tongue into her, nose brushing her clit with every movement. “Oh, fuck.” Her voice was a choked mess as she looked down at him in shock, not at all expecting this out of him. She should have, she should have known he was a filthy fuck, but she’d apparently unleashed something in him.

His hair was a wild mess as she gripped it, pulling him closer as he devoured her. He made happy noises against her, moving up to momentarily suck on her clit before plunging his tongue back inside her. She could feel his scruff scratching against her inner thighs, a rough sensation that made her clench around his tongue. It was animalistic, desperate in a way she had never felt before.

Harry hadn’t felt this deprived in his life. He hadn’t liked a woman this much before either, hadn’t wanted her this badly. He needed some relief, especially with her rocking her damn cunt against his face. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he pulled his sweats down, tugging his embarrassingly hard cock out and started to stroke. His hips rocked in time with the rhythm of his tongue, hand moving faster as she arched her back, pulling him closer. He could feel her getting closer, body trembling beneath him.

“H…” she panted, gently tugging him away from her cunt. “Inside me. I want to cum with you inside me.”

Harry groaned, a whine slipping from his lips as he pulled himself away from her pussy, a string of saliva connecting his tongue to her entrance before breaking away.

“M’not done with that. You taste so fucking good.” He mumbled, leaning himself up. His hands were gentle as he adjusted her to make them both comfortable. “Gonna make it good for you, baby. I promise.”  Another time he would take his time, make love to her properly. Spend hours with her in a bed when they both had patience- but right now? He knew the both of them needed relief, and they needed it now. Taking a shaky breath, he positioned the tip of his cock at her entrance, the head pressing against her soaked lips. He looked up at her, eyes wild as he pushed forward, the tip popping inside her. He let out a satisfied groan as he sunk himself in to the hilt, her tight pussy squeezing him the way he knew she would. 

She gasped, the way her walls closed in tighter on him as he sunk to the base was a small slice of heaven for him. He closed his eyes, riding out the pleasure of it for a moment. He could feel her body reacting in kind, legs trembling. “It’s okay, yeah? You’re okay?” He looked down at her, making sure she didn’t have any discomfort on her face. 

“I’m okay.” She sighed, gripping onto his forearm. “I’m so okay. I want it all. You can give it to me.” Lightly dragging her nails down his skin, she knew she could handle it. It’s how she liked it- how she wanted him to give it to her. Y/N wanted Harry exactly how he wanted to give it because she had full confidence he was going to give it to her good. 

“Alright, sweetheart. Jus’ hold on t’me then.” He pulled out barely, just the head remaining before thrusting himself back in, making her jolt under him. Deep- he was so deep, making her gasp as the pleasured fullness was felt to its extent. This was exactly what they needed. His hands grabbed her hips and he started moving in earnest, every thrust baring his need for her to cum around him. “Don’t have to hold back with me, sweet girl. Gonna make sure you feel good all night.”

She was a vision of beauty, legs spread wide as he fucked into her, the sound of their skin thudding together echoing through the room. Tears of pleasure slowly pooled in her waterline as he fucked her deep, his balls slapping against her ass with every thrust. Slow, deep, passion. It was palpable. 

Not overly rough, no. Not at all. It was hot and heavy in the best possible way, making her eyes roll back. He wasn’t using her as a toy, but showing her how much he wanted her with his body. There was no mistaking it. Harry meant what he said. He wanted her, and he was speaking through his body. She heard him loud and fucking clear. Hopefully, he was listening back. 

The room was filled with the sounds of their sex, the slap of skin, the wet squelch of his cock sinking into her over and over. She was shaking, her nails digging into his biceps as he pounded into her, the force of his thrusts making the aged sofa squeak. If it was any other scenario, he’d be cautious- but he was finally getting the woman he had been dreaming of around his cock.

Her whole body was a trembling mess, her breasts bouncing with each thorough thrust. Her back arched off the couch as he hit that sweet spot inside her, her walls clamping down on him like a vice. She let out a mewl, a saccharine call of his name as the intense pleasure washed over her. “Harry- Harry if you keep going M’gonna cum.” It was a frantic warning. Her mind couldn’t figure out if it was too much or not, but she didn’t want it to stop.

He couldn't help himself, his thrusts became even more urgent as he felt her walls fluttering around him, signaling her impending orgasm. He grabbed her face, his thumb pressing against her lips, shushing her as he fucked into with a blissed out smile. "Shh, m’dream girl, let it happen. Cum on my cock. Been dreaming of you for ages.

Let me have it." 

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled moan of his name as her orgasm hit her. White hot pleasure hitting her blood as the tears left her waterline when her eyes squeezed shut, she dug her nails into him with a garbled whimper. Her body shook, her pussy fluttering around his cock as he continued to fuck her through it, prolonging her pleasure.

Harry leaned down, resting his forehead against hers as he felt his own climax building within him- especially with the feel of her nails digging into him and her own orgasm. "Fuck.. You're so fuckin’ perfect, so good, I'm gonna cum.." He whispered his final warning, groaning against her skin.

“Please.” Y/N whispered, dragging her nails up his arms and over his shoulders. “Give it to me. M’on the pill.” Her lips brushed his ear. “I want to feel it. You’ve been so nice to me tonight and I love it. Cum for me how you want. Anywhere you w-want.” 

Harry was a mass of frayed nerve endings as he neared his release. His entire body felt like it was buzzing, his heart beating fast against his chest. The build up of pleasure in his balls and the slick feeling of her pussy made him feel as if he was on cloud nine.

His muscles tensed, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. He was so close. He could feel his orgasm building, coiling in the base of his spine, ready to explode- but her sensual coos into his ear and fingers down arms had been the breaking point. "I'm gonna cum so fucking hard," he gritted out, his voice strained with effort. “M’cumming for you, baby. G-Gonna give it all t’you and make you m-mine.” His words stuttered as he felt it start. His vision started to blur and his breath hitched in his throat as he thrust into her one final time, holding himself deep inside her as his orgasm ripped through him. His vision went white, his mind going blank as he emptied himself into her, his cock pulsing with each spurt of cum.

Catching his breath, he let himself sag into her as he felt her hand dragging up and down his back. Mutual comfort as she held him, helping him through his own orgasm as she wrapped a leg around him, making sure he felt steady as he checked in on her. His ears were sorta ringing in a good way, but he was chuffed. “Okay?” He cupped her cheek, stroking her heated skin. At her nod, he grinned widely. “Yeah? Okay- okay, good. Jus’, need to make sure you’re good. Hold on. Need t’make us more comfortable. I’ll clean up in a second.” 

Ever so carefully, Harry pulled out of her, his softening cock slipping from her sensitive pussy. He cooed at the slight hiss she let out, apologizing as he grabbed a few tissues clumsily from the coffee table and wiped her the best he could as gathered her close on his lap, cradling her in his arms as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, anywhere he could reach without breaking the tender moment. “That’s my girl. Fuck… you’re everything I want.”

Y/N had pushed away her crush on him when they’d first met, especially when they started to become closer friends- but this had been beyond her expectations. Harry had given her the fuck of her life all while claiming his devotion to her- something no one else had done before. She was borderline giddy as his hands stroke her, the rushed sex leaving their tops on and a true nod to the frantic passion they’d felt once the kissing had started.

A giggle left her throat as she peeled her eyes open to look at his flushed face and swollen lips, his eyes burning with an emotion she couldn’t place as she ran her hands over his shoulders. “We probably look so silly.” Harry’s pants around his ankles and hers off completely, both with just a shirt on.

Harry chuckled softly, his breath ghosting along her cheek as he spoke, his voice low and raspy from the intensity of their just-past fucking. The way she was looking at him was almost better than her moans had been.

“Silly, hmm?” Harry’s eyes took on a mischievous edge as his fingers traced the curve of her waist. He sat up on the couch, dragging her with him so she was straddling his lap. His roommate be damned, he wasn’t too concerned about the mess on the couch right now.

“Mhm.” Her smile faded into a soft grin. “We were a little eager, huh?”

Eager was an understatement, but Harry loved how cute she looked in this moment. The way she was sitting on top of him, all breathless and relaxed—it made him want to do it all over again, if only to see that look on her face.

Harry’s hand wandered to the back of her neck, his thumb gently tracing circles against her skin as he spoke. “I am eager.” He sobered slightly. “I meant what I said. I want you. I promise I’d be the best person you’ve ever dated. I’ll worship you every day and make sure you know how much you mean to me.”

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips, his eyes still locked on hers. “I’ll make you laugh every day, be there for you through everything. And when it comes to the bedroom,” Harry paused, grinning slyly.

“Hush.” Y/N giggled, placing their lips back together for a longer kiss, slow and smooth as she pulled back. their lips made a soft clicking sound as she rubbed her nose against his. “So if you want to be my boyfriend…. does that mean you’ll give me free piercings?”

Harry let out a chuckle, his arms wrapping around her waist as he hugged her close. “Free piercings, exclusive attention, really bad jokes, and a love that’ll make your heart skip a beat. That’s the deal, love. But you have to promise me one thing in return.”

“Hm… what’s that?”

Harry would give her the world if she asked for it, probably, but he did have one stipulation. “No more waiting between commissions t’see you. You can set up here, or I can come see you after work. M’a little clingy, if you couldn’t tell. Deal?” “Deal.”

[cosmicpuzzle]

Mars ♂ in Houses

Mars in 1st House

You are bold, combative and impatient by nature. You can tend to act first and think later, or jump to conclusions too quickly. Not content with just watching life from the side-lines, you need to have direct experiences. Equally, you can be headstrong and inconsiderate; wanting things your own way or not at all. Physically, you should enjoy good stamina and body strength. However, with your tendency to impulsiveness, there may be accidents and injuries.

Mars in 2nd House

Impulse buying is not unknown to you! A certain amount of your energy and drive is directed at making or spending money. On occasion, you may be prepared to take financial and business risks. You can get a rush from wheeling and dealing. Less positively, there can be conflicts over money or possessions.

Mars in 3rd House

Your thinking is quick and sharp and you like to participate in active discussions and debates. At times, your verbal manner can be too abrupt or cutting for others. Arguments and disputes with neighbors or siblings are possible. Some care is necessary when driving or undertaking short journeys.

Mars in 4th House

A fine line exists between your home being a place of high activity or a battlefield. You like to dominate your domestic scene and in extreme cases can come across to your family as a hothead or bully. Equally, a dominant parent can cause friction within the family. You have to watch how you express your physical energies around your home, as accidents are possible.

Mars in 5th House

A born romantic, you are ardent, passionate and enthusiastic about pursuing the object of your affection. Likewise, suitors can be just as ardent and determined in their pursuit of your affections. You have a competitive spirit and may excel in a sport or recreational activity. There can be a tendency to take risky gambles.

Mars in 6th House

You are an energetic and industrious worker. If you employ others, you need to be aware of potential conflicts and losses through staff. There can be accidents at work and danger to your health through impatience or impulsiveness. You may be susceptible to burns, bruises and fevers.

Mars in 7th House

You are drawn to energetic and enthusiastic people. Direct and competitive in your relationships, you need a partner that you can spar with. Quarrels and disagreements are frequent in your personal unions. Other people can annoy or irritate you if they interfere in your life. Partnerships tend to be made and broken quickly and impulsively.

Mars in 8th House

You have strong survival instincts and react quickly to threatening or risky situations. You can act recklessly and defiantly, yet you instinctively know how far to take things. Facing perilous situations can give you an adrenalin rush. You are prone to arguments over money and shared resources with personal or professional partners. Problems or disputes may arise over legacies and inheritances.

Mars in 9th House

You have an enthusiasm for learning and acquiring knowledge. However, you are not a person who just sits back and accepts what you're told or taught; you tend to challenge ideas and outlooks. Travel interests you and can broaden your horizons, however, you may need to take care physically when overseas. Legal conflicts are possible.

Mars in 10th House

You have high ambition, coupled with a strong desire and drive to do the best you can professionally. You are motivated by the urge to achieve goals and vocational aspirations. Competitive and energetic, you may do well in careers associated with the military, engineering, sport or corporate management. Be aware, that an over-estimation of yourself or the misuse of your energy can damage your reputation. You may experience conflicts with authority figures.

Mars in 11th House

You are motivated to make friends and to join clubs or societies. Your friends tend to be boisterous and energetic. Arguments and conflicts are likely between you and your friends. You need to be careful with regard to the company you keep, as others can lead you into trouble. Consequently, some of your friendships are frequently tested or deemed to be more demanding than they are worth.

Mars in 12th House

You may find it difficult to keep motivated or to take action when required. You can benefit from taking time out to recharge your batteries. Secretive behavior can create difficulties. Be aware that there is a danger of being exploited or undermined by others.

For Readings DM

[dutifulsnack]

I agree with vampirisms, but I take issue with what Gretchen is saying here.

First image, the tweet she quotes doesn't seem to want a horror, they seem to want a romantic comedy. The discussion of horror is irrelevant to the original tweet being quoted.

Also, Horror being about predatory forces seeking out vulnerable people is a choice made by writers, not a requirement of the genre itself. "The Hill Have Eyes" in 1977 had the "predatory" forces target a white suburban family, one of whom was a cop.

Second image - the "usually" is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. I don't want that, I'm sure anyone I read this tweet to will agree that they don't want that in a horror film either. There is a point for characters between "Is genre aware" and "Jumps down from fortification to a horde of zombies" where characters can exist. Hell, depending on the story, the extreme ends on the scale can exist too.

Also, action-horror is a genre - Zack Snyder's "Dawn of the Dead" (although I feel that someone would just say that it's not a horror movie, just an action one with horror elements. To those I say "Evil Dead" and "Train to Busan"). Overcoming deadly challenges is a thing in almost every horror movie, even when the protagonists are doomed (not true in all horror films), they need to overcome the horror long enough for the story to be interesting. When the protagonist fails, despite their best efforts, it is supposed to be tragic.

"Get Out" had the protagonist be intelligent, survive, kill all of his attackers and go home. I will concur that he was vulnerable, that's what got him trapped in the first place. Overcoming the horror is often a part of horror, even though it is not always present ("Seoul Station", for example).

Third image - Poetic and true, yes. But not really important to fiction?

Fourth image - Booooooo! Booooo! BOOOOOOOO! BOOOOOOOOOO!

people are so mean about horror movie victims like. sorry but if i had gone to a cabin in the woods with my friends as a teenager you couldn't have stopped us from reading aloud from the evil tome. how were they supposed to know the ancient curse was real they're like 17

[demonic0angel]

Another On Sight Speedsters prompt.

Clockwork and/or Jazz meet and make a deal with the speed force(s). In exchange for not killing their avatars, the speed force(s) will no longer grant them enough power to create temporal distortions, for a certain period of time.

I say speed force(s) because I don't remember how many there are lol

(Man, idk either 😭 I barely know anything unless it's about the Bats)

Bart looked around at the place eagerly, nearly bouncing. Wally had to grab him by the shoulder or he would've run off to look at the many portals into other timelines and universes.

Clockwork and Jazz stood in front of them, looking calm. Jazz was decked out in her full Wolf attire, helmet included. Shadow was by her side, standing guard as a dog.

Barry nervously coughed. "Hello, uh. Clockwork. And Wolf. So how can we help you?"

Clockwork hummed. "In the past year, there have been over 1,781,312 incidents where you and your family have used the powers of the speed-force. By doing so, you have altered other worlds and created multiple timelines, often of which collapse due to the strain and instability. It had been up to us to fix your mistakes, but this has gone on for too long."

Barry gulped and Wally asked, "What does that mean?"

Jazz said, with her mechanical voice, "It means that you're going to fix your behavior and control the speed force."

Barry said carefully, "Or what?"

Jazz pulled out her gun, making all of them flinch backwards. "Or I'll solve the problem once and for all."

Shadow growled and Barry cried out, "Jesus Christ!"

Clockwork tapped his staff. "And don't bother trying to attack her either. I can stop all three of you."

Wally said placatingly with his hands up, "We weren't thinking of attacking anybody!"

Bart muttered something that had Wally stomping on his foot.

Barry quickly nodded. "We'll do it. And sorry for the trouble, we... we really didn't know that it would create so many problems for you."

Jazz tilted her head. "Did you think that Phantom, Wraith, and Spirit just attacked you all without cause?"

Wally scratched at his hair. "Honestly? I thought Wraith was just jealous I was Nightwing's best friend."

Clockwork gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "Just sign these papers and we'll discuss further plans to prevent this again."

Bart saluted. "Yes sir! I'm just glad Spirit won't be tackling me anymore!"

"Just sign the damn papers."

[seospicybin]

PLAY PRETEND.

Lee Know x reader x Han. (s,a)

Synopsis: Minho, a seasoned actor, is joined by Han, an idol stepping into his first major role for a BL drama and their chemistry on screen makes everyone wondering what’s real and what’s an act, including Minho’s girlfriend, you. (20,7k words)

Author's note: A fair warning, it's a tad bit angsty but hope you enjoy it. ♡

Minho is no stranger to the thrill of the spotlight. As one of the industry's top actors, he’s amassed a fan base that follows his every move, each role bringing him closer to becoming a household name. His charm and undeniable talent have carried him from promising rookie to revered star, and few can match his level of skill and dedication.

This latest role, though, is something entirely new. When the announcement breaks that he’s accepted his first BL drama, the news explodes across social media, every fan site, and entertainment news outlet. Fans can barely contain their excitement.

Minho is known for transforming into his characters with an authenticity that leaves them breathless, and the thought of seeing him in a romance with another man—something he has never done onscreen—sends waves of excitement through them. Speculation about his co-star and their potential chemistry runs wild.

But beneath the flood of supportive messages and the whirlwind of media attention, Minho feels a prickling of doubt. He’s heard whispers that he’ll be paired with Han Jisung, an idol who only recently turned to acting. Minho can't deny he’s apprehensive about working alongside someone with so little experience. Acting requires a kind of discipline that not everyone can muster, especially when the stakes are this high.

Even as the buzz around the drama continues to grow, Minho keeps his distance from the hype. He needs to stay focused, to treat this role like any other. After all, he’s a professional, and he’s made it his career to bring out the best in every character he plays—even if that means navigating uncharted waters with a rookie idol by his side.

-

The table read is set in one of the sleek, polished meeting rooms of the production studio, its walls lined with posters from past hit dramas. Minho arrives right on time, slipping into his seat with the practiced nonchalance of someone who’s done this countless times before. Around him, the director and scriptwriters are setting up, their expressions shifting between excitement and concentration.

Just as Minho begins flipping through the script, he notices a quiet stir as Han enters the room. Dressed casually, with a hint of nervousness shadowing his usually confident expression, Han greets everyone politely, bowing deeply. His gaze shifts to Minho, and he visibly straightens, flashing a hopeful smile.

“Minho,” Han says, inclining his head with respect. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.” His tone is warm, genuine, a mix of nerves and eagerness showing in the way he speaks. It’s clear he’s someone who looks up to Minho, eager to make a good impression.

Minho, on the other hand, keeps his expression carefully blank. He offers Han a curt nod, glancing back down at the script with an air of disinterest. His own reservations about the rookie’s lack of experience hover in the back of his mind.

“Let’s just focus on the work,” Minho replies coolly, turning the page. “I’m sure you’ll pick things up as we go along.”

Han, however, doesn’t seem discouraged. His eyes brighten, and he shifts his chair a little closer, leaning forward eagerly as the director begins discussing the scene they’ll be reading. Despite Minho’s chilly demeanor, Han listens intently, occasionally glancing over at Minho, almost as if trying to absorb his every gesture and expression.

As the reading begins, Han gives it his all, his voice rising and falling with emotion, even if his delivery lacks the polish of a seasoned actor. Minho remains composed, effortlessly slipping into character with every line, his calm, professional presence commanding the room. But he can't help but notice the way Han watches him, soaking in each subtle movement, as though he’s studying a masterclass.

Despite himself, Minho is somewhat impressed by Han’s dedication, even if he doesn’t let it show. Han’s energy is raw and unrefined, yes, but there’s a spark there—something that could, perhaps, be shaped. Not that he’s planning to admit it.

When the read-through ends, Han gives him another eager look. “Thank you for today. I hope I can learn a lot from you.”

Minho offers only the briefest nod, keeping his tone neutral. “Just do your best,” he says, before gathering his things and slipping out the door, leaving Han watching after him, still hopeful and undeterred.

-

It’s past midnight when he finally slips out of his car and makes his way down the empty street toward your apartment. The city feels different at this hour, like it’s holding its breath. He lets himself in quietly, his heart lifting the moment he sees you, curled up on the couch, waiting for him as if you knew he’d come.

“Hey, stranger,” you greet him with a sly smile on your face.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks softly, shutting the door with a careful hand.

“I figured you might drop by,” you say, smiling as you pat the space beside you.

He sinks down, the stress of the day beginning to fade in your presence especially after his lips touched yours in a rewarding kiss. You lean against him as he snuggles into your arms, comfortable, familiar, as if the world outside doesn’t exist.

“So, how was the table read?” you ask, curiosity lighting up your face. “Was it as intense as you expected?”

Minho sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just say it was… interesting,” he mutters. “They paired me with Han Jisung, you know, the idol who just started acting.”

There’s a slight edge in his voice, a hint of skepticism. “He’s eager, I’ll give him that, but he’s new to this, and it shows. I could see it right away. He’s trying hard, but…” he trails off, his tone resigned.

You rest a hand on him, giving him a reassuring smile. “Hey, give him a chance. You might be surprised. Once filming starts, he could be different. He’s probably just nervous being around someone like you.”

Minho huffs softly, though his expression softens a bit. “Maybe. But you didn’t see how he was watching me, like he was waiting for every word I said. I’m used to people wanting to learn, but with him… I don’t know. He tries too hard.”

“Then try not to be so hard on him,” you suggest gently, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You might be the only one who can help him get through this. You know, just… take it easy. He might surprise you.”

Minho chuckles, his fingers brushing lightly along yours and sneaks a quick peck on your lips. “I’ll try. No promises, though.”

“Good,” you say, leaning your head against his as you continue landing comforting rubs on his back.

For all the lights and cameras that follow him, Minho’s real life unfolds in the shadows, far from the glare of fame. To the world, he’s a household name—a sought-after actor whose every move is documented, dissected, and adored.

But here, in the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, he’s just Minho. Here, there’s no need for the polished charm, the unshakeable confidence, or the professional distance he maintains around others.

Here, he can simply exist, away from the world that claims to know him.

Dating someone outside the industry was never something he’d planned, but somehow, being with you—a person untouched by the demands of fame—grounds him in a way nothing else can. You work a steady, simple job, miles from the chaos of show business, and that’s part of what he loves most. Your world is calm, ordinary, real. He can shed the layers of expectation and just… breathe.

These quiet nights with you are his escape, a secret he guards as fiercely as his most cherished roles. And though it’s a thrill to keep your relationship hidden, it’s also a risk—a delicate balance he walks to preserve the one part of his life that fame hasn’t touched.

After a few minutes of peaceful silence, you shift against him, glancing up with a playful smile. “Are you hungry? I could whip something up.”

Minho’s lips curve in amusement, already anticipating your offer. “Depends. Are you on the menu?”

You chuckle, getting up and heading to the kitchen, dismissing his flirty attempt. “How does a bowl of noodles sound? Only the best for a famous actor like you, of course.”

Minho follows you, leaning casually against the counter as he watches you work, eyes warm with that familiar, easy affection. You go about filling a pot with water, setting it to boil before adding in the noodles and seasonings. He knows you’re not exactly a gourmet chef, and he’s well aware that these noodles come straight from a packet, but it’s never been about the food.

When you finally slide the bowl over to him, you can’t help but tease, “You know, you’re probably the only person who actually enjoys my cooking, and all I did is adding the seasoning packet.”

Minho only shrugs, picking up his chopsticks. “Doesn’t matter. I like it because you made it and you put your love in it,” he says simply, looking at you with that soft, genuine smile that’s just for you.

You sit beside him, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him dig in, a small warmth blooming in your chest. Moments like this, just the two of you, sharing a late-night snack in the dim glow of your kitchen, feel like little pockets of normalcy—something rare and precious amidst the fast-paced world he belongs to.

“So, how was your day?” he asks between bites, looking over at you with genuine interest.

“Pretty quiet,” you say, mirroring his casual tone. “Went to work, came back, and then… waited for you,” you add with a small smile, one that he quickly returns. “But nothing too exciting, really.”

He nods, listening intently, and after a moment, he begins to share bits of his own day, too—the rehearsals, the meetings, the endless stream of people he has to charm and impress. But there’s something about these late-night conversations that lets him drop the facade and just be honest, to talk freely without any pressure or expectation.

“But nothing too exciting, really.” He adds at the end of his sentence, copying your tone as he says it.

He finishes the noodles, setting the bowl aside and leaning back, his hand reaching for yours. “Now, how about...” he murmurs, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, “We make things exciting?”

-

When Minho says exciting, he doesn't mean brushing teeth together by the sink in the bathroom. He gets ahead of you, washing his mouth with a scoop of water and puts his tootbrush into its place, having something he wants to do to you as you're busy brushing your teeth.

He stands behind you, wrapping his arms around you before pulling you close until your back meets his chest. It stays like that for a moment until his hand wandering your chest and fondling your breast through your camisole.

“Now, this is exciting,” he murmurs as he sinks his mouth into your neck.

Through the reflection in the mirror, Minho sees you shoot him a glare as you keep brushing your teeth and it only makes him want to keep doing it, he uses both hands to slip under your camisole and continues fondling them, fingers circling on your blossoming buds.

You turn your head slightly to the side and this time, directly glare into his eyes. You let him have his way for now but as you need to eventually finish brushing your teeth, you yank his hands away from you so you can bend down to wash your mouth with water next.

But Minho takes advantage of this new position and lands a gentle slap on the back of your thigh, he then takes a step forward to close the gap, allowing him to rub his growing bulge against your ass.

You take a towel to dab your mouth and look over your shoulder at him, “You're so impatient, you know that?”

Minho shamelessly nods and pulls you close, making you feel his erection poking behind you, “Just trying to keep things exciting.”

There’s no way you can stop Minho from getting what he wants. He lays on top of you, elbows propped on each side of your body as his hands are busy fondling on your breasts. He gently squeezes on your soft mounds and then pushes them to the middle so he can take the two nipples into his greedy mouth.

“Be nice,” you warn him with your hand tangled in his dark locks as he has your nipple tugged between his teeth.

The way he responds with a menacing smirk only means that he'll likely do things that goes against your warning and you're right, he opens his mouth wide and takes as much flesh, he closes his mouth around it and sucks on it as hard as he can.

“Minho!” you hiss in pain and tug at his hair hard because that’s the only way to make him hear you.

He lets go with a loud pop, his lips are wet and so are the marks he made on your breasts. Even so, he begins making a trail of kisses down your front until his lips land on where you want him the most.

He looks at you as he starts lightly touching your clit with his fingers, and then he places the softest kiss on it. He replaces his fingers with his tongue next, pressing the tip of his hot tongue on it before moving in circular motions. His fingers teasing your entrance repeatedly, he pushes his two digits just enough to make you feel the stretch and make him feel how tight you are for him.

One long finger slipped into you, and grateful sighs and murmurs tumble from your lips. That is exactly what you need. He works a second finger in, and the stretching sensation has your head falling back. Oh yes, this is what you need. Your heels dug into the bed as you push into the penetration as his fingers easing in and out, curling against you to breathtaking effect.

When Minho abruptly removes his touch, you can’t bite back a protesting sound. “Minho, I need more, I—”

He lifts his glistening fingers to his lips and suck them into his mouth. The intensity of his eyes combined with his devilish grin has you fisting the sheets in you hands as your core tightens on itself.

Minho continues by placing caresses with deep, slow thrusts. It's good, so good, but he isn’t touching you where you want it, need it. Your hips writhed as you try to relieve the growing ache. When he withdraws again, you stroke your hands down your stomach in rampant frustration, but your own touch does nothing to excite you so you grip your knees, pull them apart to bare your sex to his eyes.

“I need more,” you mutter to him with a defeated sigh and a lustful glare. You spread your legs wider for him and seductively beg, “Please?”

The first push he makes is gentle and your body takes, and then takes some more until he's fully sheathed inside you. There’s no denying that every part of his body arouses you but but it’s his eyes, and the expression in them as he rolls his hips against you. His movement is slick and easy, there’s no hard impact, Minho moves against you with measured control.

You know he's not enjoying it when you're not making all kind of noises, Minho is frowning a little in concentration as he tries to angle his hips until he finds one that seems to nudge a little switch inside your body.

“Goodness!” You gasp in response as you grip the side of the pillow.

“There we go!” Minho mutters with a satisfied smirk as he hits it again and again, and the pleasure is so intense a sob catches in your throat.

You have no strength to raise your arms to his shoulders as every thrust that goes into you is taking you one step closer to something you’re fairly sure will kill you but despite of it, you want to savor every second of it. In fact, you want to live in this moment forever.

Minho is quick to notice what you're doing, you're trying to delay your orgasm. “Hey, quit holding off.”

“I'm not,” you breathlessly and innocently answer.

Your lie only causes him to increase his force, he slips his hands under your hips and angles you higher, he then adds more intensity to his thrusts and you have no idea how he's not tired.

“I don’t want it to end, please, Minho, please,” you whine as you're on the brink of free falling into a pool of unadulterated pleasure.

“Stubborn, aren't you?” He murmurs before pressing a hard kiss on your parted lips.

Instead of adding speed, Minho begins doing this smooth, deep rolling thrusts that slowly making you two losing it and on the second, you grip at him as your mouth snapped close. However, you can’t hold in your satisfied moans for long and even though they might be heard by the whole apartment building, you let them out.

Minho lowers you down and you keep your arms around his shoulders, not wanting to let him go so he ends up lying on top of you. He places kisses on your neck and jaw, he turns your head to the side to place a kiss on your lips next.

“Minho?” You softly call between your exhausted pants.

His hand lingers on your jaw, “Mmh?”

You softly smile as you look at him and say, "I still don't want it to end.”

-

The earliest light of dawn filters in through the curtains, casting a soft glow across your room. Minho stirs awake, his body tuned to early starts, but he finds himself reluctant to leave the warm comfort of your bed. He turns slightly, his gaze falling on you, still sound asleep beside him.

There’s something so peaceful in the way you’re nestled against the pillow, your breathing steady and even, and he doesn’t have the heart to wake you.

For a moment, he just watches, taking in every little detail—the way your hair falls across your face, the gentle rise and fall of your chest. It’s a side of you he rarely gets to see, and he wants to hold onto this quiet moment just a little longer.

Just as he’s about to slip out of bed, you stir, blinking sleepily as your eyes find him. “You’re awake already?” you mumble, your voice soft and drowsy.

He offers a gentle smile, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. “Yeah, I have to head out early today. Busy day ahead.”

You sigh, a little pout tugging at your lips as you nod. “Alright. Go home safely, okay?”

Minho leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead and then your lips. “I will,” he murmurs, his voice a quiet promise. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his hand still resting against your cheek. “Now go back to sleep, mmh? I’ll see you soon.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink back into the warmth of the bed, feeling the gentle weight of his words wrap around you like a blanket. With one last soft smile and a long peck on your lips, he pulls away, leaving the room with quiet steps, careful not to disturb the peaceful quiet of the early morning.

As Minho steps out into the early morning chill, he pulls his jacket tighter around himself, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the street. The sky is painted in soft hues of blue and pink, a quiet beauty that feels worlds away from the life he’s about to return to—the endless rehearsals, the flashing cameras, and the carefully managed image he has to keep up for everyone else.

He pauses for a moment, looking back at your apartment building, a sense of longing settling in his chest. Leaving you always feels harder than he expects. These brief, stolen hours together are like little fragments of a life he can’t fully claim—moments he can only touch in secret, moments he treasures more than he can ever say. With you, he doesn’t have to be Minho, the actor. He can just… be.

But out here, as the city begins to wake, he feels the weight of that distance between his two worlds, the one where he’s a public figure and the private one he shares with you. And as much as he longs to stay in this quiet, hidden world a little longer, he knows he has to step back into the other, slipping on the mask he wears for everyone else.

With a steadying breath, Minho turns and walks down the empty street, blending into the first stirrings of the city. But even as he goes, a part of him lingers behind, held by the warmth of the life you share, waiting for the next time he can return to you.

-

The lights are hot and bright as the cameras start rolling, casting the whole set in a surreal glow. Han can feel his pulse quickening as he glances over at Minho, who stands effortlessly in front of the camera, already slipping into his role with a natural ease.

It’s their first day of filming, and Minho’s presence on set is undeniable—commanding and calm, as though he belongs here. Han’s seen him in countless dramas, admired his work from afar, but seeing him in action up close is something else entirely.

Han straightens, pushing down the nervous energy bubbling inside him. He wants to do his best, not just for the role, but because he respects Minho’s work.

As they begin their scene together, he mirrors Minho’s every movement, every expression, trying to match his intensity. The world around them fades, and for a moment, Han feels like they’re the only two people in the room. Acting alongside him is exhilarating, like catching a glimpse of something real—something that flickers into life only when they’re on camera.

But as soon as the director calls “Cut!” and the cameras stop rolling, it’s like a switch flips in Minho. His face hardens, his expression going from warm to distant in a heartbeat. Han watches as Minho steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets, his gaze averted and indifferent.

The shift stings more than he’d like to admit. He’s tried not to let it bother him—after all, Minho is a seasoned actor, and Han knows he’s still new to all this. He tries to remind himself that it’s just how things are, that Minho has his own process. But a part of him can’t help but feel like he’s being shut out, that maybe Minho doesn’t think he’s good enough to be here.

Still, he brushes off the discomfort, plastering a grin on his face as he walks up to Minho between takes. “Hey,” he says brightly, a playful note in his voice. “That last line—you totally nailed it. I don’t know how you make it look so easy.”

Minho gives him a polite nod, his expression neutral, barely meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”

Undeterred, Han leans in, grinning wider. “You know, I really want to learn from you. I’ve never done this before, so if you have any tips or, I don’t know, actor secrets… I’d love to know them.”

Minho’s gaze flickers toward him, unreadable. “Just do what comes naturally,” he says coolly, his voice even, before glancing back at the script in his hand.

Han can feel the subtle rejection, but he’s not one to back down so easily. Despite the distance Minho keeps, Han finds himself wanting even more to prove himself—not only to show he belongs here, but because something about Minho’s presence challenges him to be better. He might not understand Minho yet, and he might never break past that calm exterior, but he knows he can learn from him. And no matter how many times Minho brushes him off, he won’t stop trying.

As they step back into place, the cameras ready to roll again, Han shakes off the lingering doubt, focusing instead on the spark of excitement he feels at working with someone he admires. He’ll keep pushing, keep learning, even if it means playing his own game just to get Minho to notice.

After all, this is only the beginning.

-

Minho leans back against his bed, phone pressed to his ear as he hears your familiar voice on the other end. Just the sound of you, even over the phone, has a way of easing the tension that clings to him after a long day on set.

“So,” you say, your tone warm and curious, “how was the first day of filming?”

Minho sighs, letting himself relax for a moment. “It went… pretty well, I guess. It’s strange, doing something like this,” he admits, feeling the honesty flow more easily over the phone. “But everyone was professional, and the scenes turned out alright. Han, too, was… surprisingly good.”

“Oh?” Your interest piques, and he can hear the little smile in your voice. “I thought you weren’t sure about working with him.”

“I wasn’t,” Minho replies with a slight chuckle. “But he’s… not bad. Maybe it’s just beginner’s luck, but he’s got this energy that fits well on camera. Still, I don’t know.”

He pauses, considering his words. “He seems eager, almost like he wants to prove himself. But sometimes I feel like he’s trying too hard to impress me.”

“Well, maybe he is,” you say lightly. “He probably respects you, wants to do a good job, and maybe he’s just a little nervous.”

He huffs out a laugh, not answering directly. The truth is, he knows you’re probably right, but there’s something about Han’s determination that catches him off-guard. Maybe he’s just reluctant to admit how much potential he actually sees in him.

You’re quiet for a moment, then your voice softens. “Just try not to be too tough on him, Minho. He could learn a lot from you, and you might actually enjoy it.”

He hesitates, then lets the subject drift. “Anyway,” he murmurs, shifting the conversation, “what about you? How was your day?”

“Pretty routine,” you say, a little laugh coloring your words. “Nothing as exciting as your day, obviously. Work, home, the usual. But it was good.” There’s a beat of silence, a comfortable pause, before you add, “I wish you were here, though.”

The words hit him more deeply than he expected, and a quiet ache settles in his chest. “Me too,” he says, his voice softening. “I miss you. It’s strange being away, not getting to see you.”

“Think you’ll get to come by this week?” you ask, hope in your voice.

He sighs, his mind going to tomorrow’s early call time. “I’d love to, but I’ve got to be on set early. It’ll probably be like this for a while.”

A small pause, and he can imagine you nodding, understanding even without him saying it. “That’s okay. Just call me when you can. I’ll be here.”

“I know.” A faint smile tugs at his lips as he shifts on the bed, pressing the phone closer as though he could close the distance between you. “Soon, alright?”

“Alright,” you say, and there’s warmth and understanding in your voice that makes him wish he could be there to hold you.

He stays on the line a little longer, savoring the sound of your breathing, the easy silence between you that says more than words could. Finally, reluctantly, he whispers a soft goodbye, letting the call end.

“Goodnight,” he softly murmurs into the phone while imagining himself placing a soft kiss on your lips as he says it.

“Goodnight,” you say back and Minho imagines you're lying close next to him as you say it.

As he sets the phone down, he feels the empty space around him a little more sharply, a quiet reminder of the life he keeps separate from the world he’s about to step back into tomorrow.

-

The set hums with quiet activity as staff members move props around, adjusting lighting and prepping for the next scene. Minho lounges in his chair, script in hand, as he studies his lines for the upcoming scene—a heavy, emotional exchange that requires all of his focus. He’s done this countless times before, but it never gets easier. Emotion, raw and real, always takes something from him, and he’s already gathering his energy to make the scene hit just right.

Just then, the faint shuffle of footsteps pulls his attention. He glances up to see Han approaching, clutching a steaming cup of coffee with both hands. Han looks a bit awkward, his gaze shifting between the cup and Minho, as though he’s unsure whether he should go through with whatever he came over to say. Minho raises an eyebrow, curiosity tempered by his usual calm, as Han finally steps forward, extending the coffee to him.

“Here,” Han says, offering the cup with a nervous smile. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

Minho accepts the cup with a polite nod, trying to read Han’s expression. There’s something hesitant there, like Han’s searching for the right words, but they’re just out of reach.

“Do you need something?” Minho finally asks, his tone more detached than he intends.

Han shifts his weight, looking down at his hands, clearly gathering his courage. “Actually… yeah, sort of,” he admits, his voice a little lower. “I, uh, wanted to ask if—if you could give me a few pointers. For the next scene.”

Minho’s first instinct is to brush it off. He’s not here to be Han’s mentor; he has enough to focus on himself. But just as he’s about to deflect, your words come back to him: Try not to be so tough on him. He feels a quiet sigh building but swallows it back, deciding to give Han a chance.

“Alright,” he says, keeping his tone measured. “What part are you struggling with?”

Han’s eyes brighten, his expression earnest. “I just… I don’t want to mess up. It’s an emotional scene, and I know I should be able to make it feel real, but I feel like something’s missing. It’s like I can’t quite reach the right emotion.”

Minho studies him, caught a bit off-guard by how genuine Han’s concern seems to be. There’s no sign of the overly eager performer he’d expected, no arrogance. Just someone who truly wants to do well, who wants the scene to mean something.

“Alright,” Minho says after a moment, settling back into his chair. “If you’re struggling to reach the right feeling, think about what the scene means to you. Imagine if it was a real experience you went through—how would it make you feel? How would you react if it were happening to you?”

Han nods, looking down thoughtfully as he takes in Minho’s words. “That makes sense,” he says, his voice quieter, almost to himself. “I guess I’ve been trying too hard to think of it as a performance, instead of… just letting it be real.”

Minho finds himself nodding, feeling a faint respect growing. “The camera picks up on everything,” he says. “If you’re holding back, it’ll show. Don’t worry about looking a certain way; just feel the moment, and the rest will fall into place.”

Han looks at him, something almost like awe in his expression, and for the first time, Minho sees past the nervousness and the enthusiasm. He sees Han’s passion, the quiet intensity that fuels him, and he realizes that maybe, just maybe, Han’s not doing this for appearances. He’s doing it because he genuinely loves the craft.

As they’re called back to set, Minho watches Han head toward his mark, feeling a flicker of something new—a recognition, a sense that maybe Han isn’t as unpolished as he’d assumed. He has potential, real potential, and Minho feels a quiet challenge stir within him. He hadn’t expected this, but maybe working with Han might be more interesting than he thought.

-

Minho frowns as he glances at his phone, refreshing his messages again. Between every take, he checks, hoping to see a notification from you. Since last night, he hasn’t been able to reach you, and as much as he tries to focus on work, an uneasy worry nags at him. And, if he’s honest with himself, there’s a touch of frustration, too.

Finally, his phone lights up with a message from you: “Hey, sorry I couldn’t reply sooner! I’m okay, just got a little busy. Call me when you can.”

Minho doesn’t waste a second. He hurries to his car, slipping into the driver’s seat to get some privacy, and immediately dials your number. You pick up on the second ring, but before you can even say hello, he’s already starting in.

“Where have you been?” he says, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’ve been trying to reach you all night.”

There’s a pause on your end, then you reply, sounding a little sheepish. “Sorry, Minho… I went out with some friends last night, and I was exhausted, so I went straight to sleep when I got home. I didn’t think you’d be so worried.”

He exhales, some of the tension easing now that he’s finally hearing your voice. “You could’ve at least sent me a quick text. I don’t like waiting around, wondering if something happened.”

“I know, I’m really sorry.” You sound genuinely apologetic, but there’s a lightness in your tone as you add, “I assure you I’m totally fine.”

But even though he’s reassured, he can’t help the faint jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He hates that he can’t be with you for a normal night out, can’t enjoy the easy, carefree moments you have with others. Instead, he’s here, locked in this demanding schedule that keeps him away from you.

“What are you up to now?” you ask, breaking his thoughts.

Minho smirks, deciding to take advantage of the moment to get back at you, just a little. “Well, we’re on a break right now,” he says, his tone casual. “But I’ve got an interesting scene coming up later—a kiss scene, actually.”

There’s a pause, then you laugh softly, catching on to his little game. “Oh, I already looked him up,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice. “And yeah, I can see why the fans think he's cute.”

For a second, Minho feels his own jealousy prickling again, but he plays along, leaning into the teasing. “You sound jealous,” he says, savoring the reversal.

You laugh, feigning an exaggerated sigh. “Well, maybe I am. It’s not every day you get to kiss someone as adorable as him. I hope you’re making the most of it.”

“I guess you’ll just have to imagine it,” he replies smoothly, though the truth is, he can already picture your playful glare. The thought makes him smile, and the frustration that had built up fades just a little.

At that moment, one of the crew members calls out to him, gesturing that it’s time to return to set. Minho sighs, reluctantly pulling himself back to reality. “I’ve got to go. They’re calling me back.”

“Good luck with the kiss scene,” you tease, your voice light and warm.

“Thanks,” he says, a hint of a smile still lingering. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay. Don’t enjoy the kiss too much, Minho.” You add with a sly smile that he can hear through the phone.

He chuckles, hanging up with a smile that lingers even as he steps out of the car. As he walks back to the set, he can still feel the warmth of your voice echoing in his mind, carrying him through the challenges of the day and making him feel, just for a moment, like he’s not as far from you as he really is.

-

Han’s heart races as he glances over the script again. Today’s scene isn’t just any scene—it’s a kissing scene. He knew it was coming, but somehow, seeing it in writing and knowing the cameras will be rolling any minute makes it feel ten times more intimidating.

Not only is this his first time acting in a drama, but it’ll also be his first time kissing someone with an entire crew watching. His hands feel clammy, and he can’t quite calm the flutter of nerves in his stomach.

He paces a bit, hoping the movement will help him shake off the jitters, but it only makes him feel more visible, more self-conscious. The pressure mounts, and he’s starting to doubt if he can pull this off without looking completely out of place.

Just then, he hears a familiar voice, steady and calm. “Hey, you alright?”

Turning, Han finds Minho watching him, his expression unreadable but maybe… a little curious. Han realizes he must look as nervous as he feels. He laughs, trying to brush it off, but his voice sounds too high-pitched, even to his own ears. “Oh, yeah. Just… you know. First kissing scene and all.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, an amused smile playing at the corner of his lips. “First one ever?”

Han nods, scratching the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks start to burn. “Yeah. It’s just… not exactly something you get to practice with an audience.”

Minho considers him for a moment, then nods thoughtfully. “Alright. Do you want some tips?”

Han’s eyes widen, and he nods eagerly, grateful for the offer. “Yeah, definitely. I just don’t want to mess this up.”

“Alright,” Minho says, stepping close enough for Han to catch a faint hint of his vanilla tinted perfume, a subtle warmth that somehow makes the moment feel more intimate than he anticipated. “When you’re filming a kiss scene, it’s not just about the kiss itself. It’s about building the moment.”

Han nods, listening intently as Minho explains, his voice calm and steady. “First, you have to make eye contact—hold it, let the camera pick up on it. It’s about anticipation.”

Minho’s gaze holds his, unblinking, his eyes drawing Han in. Han swallows, trying not to look away, but there’s something intense in Minho’s stare that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Then, just before you lean in, close your eyes slowly.” Minho demonstrates, his eyelids lowering in a way that looks so natural, so effortless, that Han feels his breath catch. “You want it to look like you’re losing yourself in the moment, even if it’s just for the camera.”

Han tries to mimic it, closing his eyes as he’s been shown, and he hears a quiet chuckle from Minho. When he opens his eyes, Minho is watching him with a slight smile.

“Not bad. Just a little slower next time.” Minho’s tone is relaxed, and Han feels himself start to loosen up, reassured by his guidance.

Then, Minho moves closer, reaching up to show Han where to place his hands. His fingers lightly grip Han’s shoulders, then slide down, positioning Han’s hands at a comfortable height. Han’s pulse races as he tries to focus on Minho’s instructions rather than the way Minho’s hands linger on his arms, warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“For the camera, small details make a big difference,” Minho says, his voice soft. “When you put your hand here” —he places Han’s hand gently on his shoulder— “it should look natural, like you’re pulling the other person in. You don’t have to actually pull; just let it look like you could.”

Han nods, and they go through the motion slowly, Minho guiding him with subtle adjustments. When he’s finally in position, Minho lets out an approving hum.

“Good. Now, when you’re ready to lean in, you want to pause for a second, let the anticipation build. And when you’re close…” Minho’s voice trails off, and his gaze flickers to Han’s lips, just for a heartbeat, before he looks back into Han’s eyes. “That’s when you close the distance.”

Han’s heart is racing by now, every word and movement searing itself into his memory. They practice the approach a couple more times, each time stopping just before their faces are close enough to kiss. Each time, Han tries to stay calm, to focus on the details of what Minho is teaching him, but his heartbeat keeps betraying him. He’s intensely aware of every movement, every breath, every inch between them.

“Alright, now put it all together,” Minho says, stepping back a bit, though his eyes stay on Han with an encouraging nod. “Eye contact, pause, and then move in slowly.”

Han tries, replaying Minho’s instructions in his mind. His gaze meets Minho’s, and he holds it just a little longer, letting himself linger in the moment as Minho had shown him. Slowly, he leans in, placing his hand on Minho’s shoulder and letting his eyes close just before he’s close enough to kiss.

When he pulls back, Minho gives a small nod, a faint smile of approval on his face. “See? You’ve got it.”

Han exhales, finally allowing himself to relax, though he still feels a strange flutter in his chest. “Thanks, Minho. I... really appreciate it.”

“Just remember what we went over,” Minho says, stepping back as he glances over at the crew setting up for the scene. “When we film, just focus on the details, and it’ll come across naturally.”

As Minho turns to join the others, Han is left standing there, still feeling the lingering warmth of Minho’s touch, his mind replaying every movement, every glance they shared. He tells himself it’s just respect for Minho’s talent, admiration for his guidance. Yet deep down, he’s not entirely sure if that’s all it is.

-

Minho settles into place, a breath away from Han’s lips, his heart steady as he prepares to make the kiss scene look effortless. He’s honed his craft over the years, and this should be no different—just another kiss for the camera, a routine step in building their characters’ chemistry.

But as he leans in, he can’t help but recall your teasing words, the way you’d feigned jealousy about him getting to kiss Han. The memory slips through his mind at exactly the wrong moment, and his composure shatters. He lets out a small laugh, quickly turning his head to cover it up. The crew and director glance his way, and Minho raises a hand in apology.

“Sorry, that was on me,” he says, trying to stifle the smile tugging at his lips.

Han watches him, visibly confused, but thankfully, the director doesn’t dwell on the moment. Instead, he calls for another take, and everyone gets ready to go again. As they reset, Minho notices Han still looking at him, a faint crease of curiosity in his brow.

“What was that?” Han whispers, leaning closer. “You don’t usually break character.”

Minho just shrugs, an amused smile lingering on his face. “Nothing. Just…something came to mind.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Han seems to sense there’s more to it but lets it go as they prepare for another take.

As the camera rolls, Minho resets his focus, this time with a playful plan forming in the back of his mind. A way to tease you a little, to get back at you for that playful jealousy you’d shown. He moves in, letting his eyes drift down to Han’s lips just before he closes the distance, leaning in a little closer than he has to, lingering just long enough for the gesture to feel personal. His hand finds its place on Han’s shoulder, and he holds it there with a slight squeeze, making the moment feel as real as possible.

He senses Han stiffen slightly, taken aback by the closeness, but Han doesn’t falter. They hold the moment just long enough for the director to call “cut,” signaling the end of the scene. Minho pulls back, noting the faint blush coloring Han’s cheeks, and gives a small, apologetic smile.

“Sorry if that was... more intense than you expected,” Minho says quietly, keeping his tone light. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

Han clears his throat, the blush still there as he offers a quick shake of his head. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean...the director was okay with it, so…” He trails off, looking away for a moment before adding, “You did what felt natural.”

Minho gives a nod, inwardly satisfied as he thinks about how you’d react if you’d seen that take. It’s a harmless bit of fun on his end, but he knows he’ll enjoy teasing you about it later, letting you imagine just how “convincing” he made the scene. And as they move on to the next part of the filming schedule, he can’t resist a quick, sly grin, already thinking about what he’ll tell you the next time he calls.

-

Han’s fingers twitch as he waits behind the stage, heart pounding in his chest. The noise of the crowd is muffled by the curtain, but he can still feel the energy thrumming through the air, making his nerves spike. This is his first press conference, his first time promoting a drama as one of the leads, and the weight of it all presses down on him. He’s used to being in front of a crowd, but somehow, this feels different—more personal, more vulnerable.

He closes his eyes for a second, trying to calm his breathing, but the anticipation only makes his anxiety grow.

“Hey.”

Han’s eyes snap open, and he finds Minho standing beside him, studying him with a slight, knowing smile. There’s a calmness in Minho’s gaze that immediately makes Han feel a little more grounded.

“You good?” Minho asks, his tone gentle, but with a trace of amusement.

“Yeah, yeah, just… you know, a bit nervous,” Han admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

Minho chuckles softly. “That’s natural. First press conference for your first drama—it’s a big deal. But hey, you’ll be fine.”

Han nods, trying to absorb the reassurance, but Minho seems to notice the lingering tension in his posture.

“Look, when you go out there, just remember this: you’ve worked hard for this, and you belong here,” Minho says, his voice low and steady. “All you have to do is be yourself. And if things feel overwhelming, just look my way. We’re in this together.”

The words settle over Han like a warm blanket, easing his nerves bit by bit. He takes a deep breath, finding comfort in the simple yet genuine support Minho offers.

“Thanks,” Han says softly, feeling a grateful smile tug at his lips.

Minho gives him a nod, a small smile of encouragement lingering on his face. “Let’s go out there and show them what we’ve got, yeah?”

With Minho’s steadying presence by his side, Han steps onto the stage, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. As the questions begin, he finds himself feeling more relaxed, anchoring himself with the occasional glance at Minho, just as he’d promised. And when the interviewer eventually turns to Minho with a question about him, Han listens, his nerves now replaced with a curious anticipation.

“Minho, as a seasoned actor, what’s it been like working with Han Jisung, given that this is his first major acting role?”

Han braces himself, expecting something polite but brief. But Minho’s expression softens as he pauses, clearly choosing his words carefully.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect at first,” Minho begins, his voice steady and sincere. “But Han Jisung… he’s surprised me. His passion for acting and his willingness to throw himself into the role has been inspiring, even to me. He doesn’t hold back, and he’s constantly open to learning and improving. For a newcomer, he brings a depth and commitment that not everyone has, and I think audiences will be able to see that right away.”

Han’s cheeks flush as Minho continues, his words unexpectedly heartfelt. Minho looks over at him, offering a small, encouraging smile.

“Han's energy on set has honestly made this experience refreshing,” he adds. “He’s kept things fun and alive, which has been a huge part of why our scenes have felt so natural.”

Han’s heart swells, his initial nerves completely forgotten as he absorbs Minho’s words. This is more than he ever expected, more than he thought he deserved. Hearing Minho acknowledge his efforts, and in such a public way, strikes a chord he hadn’t anticipated. He tries to focus on the rest of the press conference, but Minho’s words echo in his mind, leaving him feeling both honored and somehow vulnerable.

When the event finally wraps up, Han lingers, watching Minho as he chats with the staff. He knows now, without a doubt, that his admiration has grown into something more. And he wonders how much longer he’ll be able to keep it hidden.

-

Han has lost count of the days since filming began, but one thing has become impossible to ignore: the way his admiration for Minho has shifted, morphing into something deeper than respect. It’s a constant pull at his thoughts, this warmth in his chest that surfaces every time Minho offers him guidance, shares a laugh, or even gives a simple nod of approval after a scene. At first, Han tried to brush it off, telling himself it was just awe for Minho’s talent and dedication. But now he knows better. He likes Minho—more than he should, more than he ever intended.

But he keeps it to himself, swallowing back his feelings each time they surface. He doesn’t want to risk their work, their growing camaraderie, over a confession he’s not even sure Minho would welcome. So, he lets it simmer beneath the surface, content with the moments they share on set.

Today, though, his heart is beating a little faster than usual. Tonight, the first episode of their drama will air. The whole cast and crew are buzzing with excitement, anticipation hanging in the air as they wrap up filming for the day. Han watches as everyone exchanges plans for the evening, talking about where they’ll be watching the show, who they’ll be watching it with. He hears a few of the cast members mention a get-together to watch it as a group, and a thought strikes him, simple yet daring.

When the opportunity arises, Han gathers his courage and approaches Minho. “Hey,” he begins, keeping his tone casual. “Some of us are planning to watch the first episode together tonight. I was wondering… if you wanted to join?”

For a moment, Han feels a flicker of hope as Minho looks at him, appearing to consider the offer. But then Minho’s expression softens, and he gives a polite smile, one that Han can already sense holds an apology.

“I appreciate the invite,” Minho says gently, “but I’m going to have to pass. I’ve already got plans.”

Han tries not to let the disappointment show on his face. He nods, forcing a small smile of understanding. “Ah, that’s cool. No problem at all.”

Minho’s eyes hold a kindness that almost makes the refusal sting less, but only almost. “Enjoy it, though,” Minho adds, his voice genuine. “And don’t stress too much. I know you did great.”

Han swallows back the lingering disappointment and musters a grin, forcing a lighthearted laugh. “Thanks, hyung. I’ll try not to cringe too hard.”

Minho laughs softly and gives him a supportive pat on the shoulder before heading off, leaving Han watching his retreating figure. The ache of disappointment settles in his chest as he tries to shake it off. He tells himself it was just a small ask, nothing major, and that Minho’s absence doesn’t mean anything. But he can’t help but feel a lingering sadness, wishing—just for a moment—that he could be close enough to Minho for things to be different.

-

You make your way through the back entrance of Minho’s apartment building, slipping in with a comfortable familiarity that comes from many late-night visits. Inside the elevator, you scan the keycard he gave you, a small but meaningful token of trust. As the doors close and you begin your ascent, anticipation builds. It’s been a few days since you last saw him, and tonight feels special, knowing you’ll finally get to see the drama he’s been working so hard on.

The elevator brings you directly to his floor, and with a quiet thrill, you step into his apartment. The place is dimly lit, warm and quiet. It’s clear Minho isn’t home yet, just as you’d expected. Setting the bags of food on the counter, you begin unpacking, arranging the dishes you brought on his plates. As you’re finishing up, placing the food neatly on the dining table, you hear the faint sound of the door opening.

A smile spreads across your face, and you walk quickly toward the foyer, meeting him just as he steps in.

“Hey, stranger,” he says, his face lighting up the moment he sees you. Before he can say more, you’re in his arms, hugging him tightly. He holds you close, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead, and then another, softer one on your lips. For a moment, the rest of the world disappears, leaving just the two of you in the quiet of his apartment.

You smile at him when he pulls away and take his hand, “Hope you're hungry cause I brought some food.”

“Famished, actually,” he says as he follows you to the kitchen.

Settling into the cozy embrace of the sofa after dinner, you snuggle up next to Minho, draping a blanket over your laps as the drama’s opening credits begin to roll. Minho’s arm rests around you, his hand tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder, though his eyes are fixed on the screen, already fully immersed.

As he appears in the first scene, you can’t help but smirk a little. He’s clearly playing up the brooding lead, leaning into every intense look and dramatic pause.

“Wow, look at you, Mr. Intense,” you tease, nudging him gently. “Are you sure you’re not laying it on a bit thick?”

Minho sighs in mock exasperation, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s called method acting. Ever heard of it?”

“Oh, definitely,” you say, trying to hold back your laughter. “You’re giving ‘mysterious and misunderstood’ a whole new level. That little eyebrow furrow—does that come naturally, or did you have to practice in the mirror?”

He chuckles, pulling you closer. “I swear, you’re the worst critic I’ve ever met. You know I actually have to think about these things, right?”

As the episode progresses, you continue your playful commentary. When he delivers a particularly intense line, voice low and dramatic, you can’t resist muttering, “Ooh, that voice drop… it’s like you’re trying to win an award for ‘Most Serious Actor Ever.’”

Minho groans, but there’s a soft glint in his eye that shows he’s not entirely displeased. “What do you know? This is serious acting.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “Of course it is. I’m sure your fans are swooning over every word.”

But as the scene shifts to one where his character opens up about a vulnerable moment, your smile softens. You watch as he delivers his lines with surprising tenderness, the usual edge in his voice melting into something raw and real. For a moment, you’re caught off guard, watching as he brings a sense of depth to his role that you hadn’t fully expected.

Noticing your silence, he glances over at you, eyebrow raised. “See?” he says, a little smugly. “Still think I’m overdoing it?”

You roll your eyes but lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Maybe I spoke too soon. You’re actually pretty convincing.”

A triumphant grin spreads across his face. “Knew you’d come around.”

And then, Han’s character appears on the screen. You watch him closely, intrigued by the dynamic he’s creating with Minho. He’s got an earnest quality that’s surprisingly convincing, even charming.

“You know, he’s actually pretty good,” you comment, glancing at Minho. “Not as bad as you said he’d be.”

Minho sighs, leaning his head back against the couch. “Okay, maybe I was a bit harsh,” he admits, sounding a little reluctant. “I wasn’t thrilled about his casting at first. I didn’t think he’d be able to keep up. But I have to admit, he’s… he’s got something.”

You nod, watching his face as he speaks. There’s a thoughtful look in his eyes as he stares at the screen, and you sense that his respect for Han has grown, even if he’s too stubborn to say it outright.

“It’s nice that you two get along now,” you say softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

As the first episode wraps up, the screen fades to black, and you let out a satisfied sigh, glancing over at Minho. He’s watching your reaction carefully, clearly curious about your final thoughts.

“Well,” you say, drawing out the moment just to tease him, “I have to admit… you and Han actually have pretty great chemistry on screen.”

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” you continue, feigning a dramatic sigh. “Almost enough to make me a little jealous.”

Minho chuckles, shifting closer and wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, leaning in until his face is inches from yours. “It’s all just acting, remember?”

“Uh-huh,” you reply, jokingly doubting his assurance with an eye roll.

“You know who has the best chemistry?” he asks with mock seriousness, he pats his lap, gesturing you to sit on it.

Without hesitating, you obey his words and does what he asked, sitting on his lap with your back against his chest and he begins rubbing the side of your thigh.

“Who?” You ask as you rest your head onto his shoulder.

"You and me," He answers without a beat then pulls you into a kiss, his playful tone fading into something softer, more genuine.

As you relax into his embrace, you feel the ease and warmth that only he can bring, and for now, any lingering worries fade away as he captures your mouth in a kiss again, and it’s so gentle you could cry.

“Dress off. Come on now.” Minho’s voice is rough and cajoling.

You don't know what it is about him that always makes you always submit to his wishes even though nothing would happen if you didn't. Yet, you always do it. You tug the hem of your dress and slightly get up from his lap just so you can take it off over your head.

Minho immediately pulls you close and puts his veined arms around you, you don't want it less than that. His hand grabs your chin to turn your head his way and presses a kiss, his tongue touches yours.

“All I’ve been thinking about all day is all the ways we’ll fit together,” his lips graze yours as he speaks as he sinks his mouth on you again, hard.

You never know with Minho because next, he's giving your throat the softest bites imaginable. He then slides his fingers into yours and rests them together on your chest. Here, this moment is sweet, soft and gentle, and... Minho.

The two of you begin kissing again, and the friction of your ass against his crotch is spurring him into a slightly heavier rhythm. His mouth is wet, soft, delicious. The moment he stops, even to take a proper breath, you tug him back.

After an eternity, he tangles his hand in the strap on your shoulder. He runs it lasciviously through his fingers pulling it taut, releasing it with the faintest snap, and then does it again.

“I like this color on you,” he murmurs as he cups your breasts through your bra.

He crashes his lips on your open mouth, hot and intense, it goes on until he successfully takes off your bra. The second he breaks the kiss, you're gasping for air.

He continues to fondle your breasts, the friction between you and him blooming outward. He scoops your hair away and presses his mouth on the side of your neck. He slides under and weighs your bare breasts in his hands. Slowly, gently, his fingers pinch that earned him a gasp from you.

There's nothing you like more than seeing his hands on you but what's more arousing is how you're the only one naked. He slides one hand down your front and the scrape of his nails makes your skin break into goose bumps.

It doesn't take long until his hand slips between your legs, feeling your sex through the flimsy fabric, tracing that bundle of nerves that engorged the more he touches it.

The next thing you know, the underwear is off and lying on the side of the sofa. He lands his hand right where you need him and he licks at the sheen of sweat beginning to mist your neck, making you drop your head to the back.

His skillful fingers know how to please you and just the sight of his hand touching you between your thighs is enough to make you feel hot all over. When he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you, you hear a faraway sound that you realize is you, whimpering, begging noises. He takes no notice and shows no pity. He presses his perfect mouth on whatever section of skin he pleases.

“Minho, please,” you breathlessly plead with your hand flies to his forearm, it's unclear whether you're trying to stop him or gesture him to keep going.

“What is it, honey?” He casually asks with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Want you inside me,” you rasp with a brief, sweet kiss on his lips.

He endearingly brushes your head and kisses your lips, “You can have it, honey.”

Minho watches as you work open his jeans and pull the zipper down, and the second his erection sprang free, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking it. You don’t want to waste any more time waiting so you position yourself and slowly easing yourself down.

“Oh...” you moan the moment you fully take him and rest your back on his chest.

The slightest of movement and you can feel his whole length inside you, hot and hard, you lowly whimpering as Minho continues, one hand squeezing on your breast and the other is rubbing on your clit. As the knot inside you tightens, your body instinctively responds by slowly rolling your hips.

“That’s cute,” Minho murmurs as his mouth lingers close to your ear.

Half listening to his word, you turn your head his way and look at him. “Huh?”

He presses a haste kiss on your neck and answers, “I haven't moved yet you're already clenching around me.”

You put your arm around his neck and tangle your hand in his hair. “And maybe you should start doing your part too.” you say with a pout.

Minho smirks and then he tightens his hold around you, “You'd better hold on then cause I'm not going to hold back.” he warns you a second before planting a hard kiss on your lips.

One thing about Minho is that he’s staying true to his words, he's bucking his hips from under you, fast and without any intentions to stop. His arms tightly wrapped around you, keeping you steady as you bounce on his lap for every time he thrusts into you.

Breathless, incoherent noises are spilling out of your parted mouth as you cling onto the last shred of sanity. And when you think you can't take it anymore, Minho keeps pushing through until you fall apart around him.

He doesn't even give you time to gather your senses as he puts all of your hair away and kisses your lips. “You good?” he casually asks like he didn't just fuck your brains out a while ago.

“I'm dead,” you breathlessly sigh, completely spent. “I'm a ghost.”

Minho lets out a low chuckle in amusement. “I didn’t know I was lethal.”

“Oh, trust me. You are,” you say, bringing his head close to plant a soft kiss on his lips.

Minho puts his arms around you as you curl into him. The way he holds you right now is different, he holds you as if he's keeping a fragile object on his lap. He trails the length of your arms and then folds them together on your stomach. Together, you stay like that, simply existing in this shared world that only belongs to you and Minho.

-

The morning after the drama’s first episode airs, Han sits with his phone in hand, scrolling through endless comments and reviews. His heart lifts slightly at the sight of fans praising his chemistry with Minho; they seem excited about the pairing, and some are already declaring themselves fans of their on-screen relationship.

But the more he scrolls, the more his excitement fades. Articles from entertainment sites flood his feed, critiquing his lack of experience, questioning if he’s ready for the screen at all. A few words sting deeply: "too green," "stiff," "not quite convincing."

He exhales heavily, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the disappointment. But as he glances up, he catches Minho watching him from across the room, brows knitted with concern.

“Reading comments?” Minho asks, his voice gentle but knowing.

Han hesitates, but he nods, letting out a sigh. “Fans seem to like it… but the critics? Not so much. They’re saying I’m not ready for this.”

Minho moves to sit beside him, leaning back with a casual calm that Han wishes he could imitate. “Critics are always like that,” he says. “They can be harsh, especially with new actors.”

Han swallows, looking down. “Yeah, but... maybe they’re right. I thought I was getting the hang of it, but maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

Minho gives him a long look, then shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s true at all. You’ve got something that can’t be taught—genuine passion. I can see it, and that’s not something every actor has.”

Han glances at him, a small glimmer of hope returning to his eyes. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Minho nods. “Look, we’re a team here. You’re not alone in this. If there’s something you’re struggling with, tell me. I’ll help you.”

A warmth spreads through Han’s chest, the comfort of Minho’s words easing the ache from the criticism. “I appreciate it, really,” he says softly.

Minho gives his shoulder a reassuring pat. “Just remember, it’s early days. If we keep working together and building on this chemistry we have, the audience is going to feel it too. It’s not about perfection; it’s about being present, letting yourself believe in the character.”

Han nods, taking in each word. “I’ll do my best. Thanks, Minho.”

Minho smiles, a slight glint of pride in his gaze. “Good. Now stop overthinking, okay? You’re doing great.”

Han laughs a little, the weight on his shoulders feeling lighter. He’s not sure how he’ll improve overnight, but with Minho’s support, maybe this acting thing doesn’t seem so impossible after all.

As he glances over at Minho, still sitting close and offering a steady, reassuring presence, Han feels a warmth that has nothing to do with his career. It’s more than gratitude, more than admiration. This kindness, this unwavering belief in him—Minho didn’t have to do any of it. And yet, here he is, making Han feel like he’s more than just an idol trying to act, like he’s genuinely capable of this.

In that moment, Han knows he can’t keep denying what he feels any longer. It’s not just respect or admiration. It’s something deeper, something he can’t easily brush aside. As much as he wants to hide it, to keep their friendship untainted by anything more, he realizes he can’t. Not when Minho is the one who makes him feel this way—seen, encouraged, understood. And, with a sinking heart, Han knows that those feelings aren’t going away anytime soon.

-

Han sighs as he rubs his temples, trying to ease the tension that's been building since the morning. He can’t seem to shake the restless feeling gnawing at him ever since he read those online critiques. No matter how many times he tells himself to let it go—just as Minho advised—the words stick like thorns. As filming wraps up for the day, Han is lost in his own thoughts, trudging toward the parking lot, when he hears footsteps approaching.

“Hey, you’re not leaving yet, are you?” Minho’s voice breaks through Han’s clouded mind.

Han looks up, surprised to see Minho standing there with a casual smile. “Uh, yeah, I was heading out,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

Minho raises a brow, eyeing him thoughtfully. “Come with me, then. I know a place—quiet, private. Good for clearing your head.”

The invitation is sudden, and Han blinks, caught off guard. But Minho is already turning, expecting Han to follow. A slight thrill rushes through Han as he nods, curiosity piqued. He falls into step behind Minho, trailing him to a discreet, cozy-looking cafe perched on a hill with a stunning city view.

The lights are dim, casting a soft, golden glow, and the atmosphere is intimate. Han notices immediately that the place is empty, giving them complete privacy.

“It’s nice here, right?” Minho says, glancing around. “A friend of mine owns the place. I rent it out sometimes, just to get some space.”

Han nods, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. Just the two of them, alone, in a setting so... cozy. He can’t help but feel the weight of his own feelings pressing down, undeniable. His gaze lingers on Minho, wondering if he senses the energy between them, or if—on some level—he already knows how Han feels.

His heart races, and, feeling bold, he almost asks—asks if Minho knows, if he’s aware of the effect he has on him. But before Han can get a single word out, he hears footsteps. He turns, just in time to see you walking toward them with a bright smile, your eyes lighting up at the sight of Minho.

“Hey,” you greet, and Minho immediately rises to meet you, pulling you into a warm hug and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Oh, you’re here!” Minho says, his voice softer, affectionate. He turns to Han, still holding your hand. “Han, this is my girlfriend.”

Han feels something in his chest tighten. His smile falters for just a second, but he quickly pulls it back together, offering his hand to you as he forces out a polite, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

You take his hand with a warm smile. “Nice to meet you too, Han! Minho’s told me a lot about working with you.”

Han manages a nod, though his throat feels tight. He wants to say something—anything—but the ache in his heart makes the words stick. The sight of Minho with someone else, with you, sends a hollow feeling through him. He sits there, struggling to maintain his smile, all the while painfully aware that the private moment he thought he’d been sharing with Minho was never just his alone.

The table is set, plates of food and drinks laid out perfectly in front of him. But Han can’t bring himself to touch a single bite. His appetite vanished the moment you walked in, and now every glance at the couple across from him—at you and Minho—is like a quiet, twisting ache in his stomach. He feels faint, like his insides are tangled with something heavy and painful. He knows it's not hunger or exhaustion; it’s something deeper, a pang lodged firmly in his heart.

Forcing a smile, he tries to keep the mood light. He clears his throat and asks, “So… how did you two meet?”

You exchange a warm look with Minho, and he squeezes your hand gently before you answer. “We met at an event at the gallery where I work. I’m a curator, so I was helping with the art exhibition. Minho came as a guest. We didn’t talk much that night, but he found a way to reach out after.”

You chuckle softly, glancing at Minho with an affection that’s obvious. “And the rest, well… it just happened naturally.”

Minho nods, adding, “But we decided to keep it private, for now. I wanted to keep you out of the public eye, spare you the complications.”

There’s a softness in his voice as he speaks to you, a gentleness that makes Han’s heart clench. He can see it—Minho’s care for you, how serious he is about this relationship. The easy comfort you share with him is everything Han wants but can’t have.

A bitter taste fills his mouth, jealousy settling in a solid knot in his chest. He tries to hide it, but he feels every bit of his resentment boiling beneath the surface. He hates it—the way you and Minho fit so perfectly, the way you both look so natural together.

“So, Han,” you ask, turning to him with a friendly smile, “have you been enjoying the drama so far? You’re really good, you know.

“Thank you,” he simply responds with a courteous smile.

“And you're really cute in person, I can’t help but wonder... is there someone you’re secretly seeing too?”

Han swallows, feeling his throat tighten. He forces a small laugh, glancing away. “No, no one. I’m… just focused on work right now.”

He hates that he can’t admit the truth, hates that he’s here, across from you, pretending like everything is fine when all he wants is the person sitting right next to you.

You nod, looking genuinely kind, and somehow that only makes it worse. Han hates how nice you are, how you’re trying to connect with him. He hates how you and Minho look so in sync, how he can feel his heart tearing just from watching the way Minho looks at you.

Most of all, he hates that he can’t just shut off his own feelings. Sitting across from you both, he feels as if he’s being reminded of something he can never have, a painful dream that he knows he needs to give up on, but that still clings to his heart no matter how hard he tries to shake it off.

-

Minho watches Han carefully, noticing how his usual lighthearted energy seems to have dimmed. As they film take after take, Han's responses lack the spark that usually flows so effortlessly between them. The director's frustration mounts with each retake, his voice tight as he finally calls for a break, clearly exasperated. Minho feels the tension, both on and off set, but his mind zeroes in on Han, who has been uncharacteristically reserved all day.

Taking a deep breath, Minho strides over to Han, watching the younger man stare blankly off to the side, clearly lost in thought.

“Hey,” Minho starts, voice low but firm. “Is everything okay?”

Han shrugs, barely glancing his way. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, but Minho can tell he’s anything but. Han’s usual enthusiasm is missing, leaving an emptiness that’s throwing off their whole rhythm.

Minho presses, not willing to let it slide. “Look, we’re here to work, and the scenes are getting held up because of this...whatever it is.”

He’s careful with his words, knowing that Han is struggling but still needing to emphasize the stakes. “If you’re distracted, if something’s going on, just tell me. We have to get this done right, or we’re going to keep everyone here longer than necessary.”

Han sighs, brushing him off again, though Minho can see a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Minho softens his tone, sensing he may have come on too strong. “I’m only saying this because I want us to do well—and I can help, if you’d let me.”

There’s a moment of silence before Han nods, glancing away to mask whatever emotion is flashing through his expression. “Alright. Maybe we can practice the scene together.”

They sit down, scripts in hand, and Minho begins walking him through the lines. But as they work through each moment, he can't shake the feeling that Han is holding something back, a wall just behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. He wonders if something personal is weighing on him, though he knows better than to pry.

-

Han's heart races as he prepares for today’s scene, a new layer of anticipation weaving through his nerves.

It’s another kissing scene—something he used to dread, but this time, there’s a different kind of excitement, a yearning that feels both thrilling and bittersweet. He doesn’t have to force himself to seem close to Minho; the longing that he’s held back for so long is simmering just beneath the surface, ready to seep into the scene. For once, he allows himself to embrace it, just a little.

They run through a quick rehearsal, and Han tries to focus, but every subtle brush of their hands and each lingering gaze threatens to undo him. As they step into position for the actual take, he forces himself to take a breath and hold steady.

The director calls “Action!” and, with it, Han leans into the moment fully, letting every hidden feeling flow from him as they close the distance between them.

When their lips meet, Han pours every unspoken word, every ache, into the kiss. It’s more than just acting now—it’s a fragile connection that feels achingly real to him, even if only for this stolen moment. He lets himself feel it all, knowing this might be the closest he’ll ever get to showing Minho how deeply he cares. His hand brushes Minho’s cheek as they linger just a second longer, not wanting to let go.

Finally, the director’s “Cut!” jolts them back to reality. They pull away slowly, and as Han opens his eyes, he sees Minho’s expression shifting, as if caught in an unsaid question.

For a heartbeat, he thinks that maybe Minho sensed it—that somehow, in that kiss, his true feelings slipped through. But then Minho’s face relaxes, a warm smile spreading across his lips.

“You’re really getting the hang of these kissing scenes,” Minho says with a casual laugh, a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

Han’s stomach twists with disappointment, the remnants of that brief connection slipping through his fingers.

As Minho turns and walks off set, Han watches him go, knowing that his feelings remain hidden, unreturned. He wants to believe Minho felt even a fraction of what he did—but as reality settles around him, he knows it was only ever acting for Minho.

-

After filming wraps up, Minho lingers on set, barely able to shake the scene that’s been replaying in his mind. The kiss with Han felt different somehow—charged with an energy that was hard to pinpoint. He replays it in his head, wondering if maybe Han poured a little more into it, making it all the more convincing. Maybe he was just that good at acting, Minho tries to reason, but the thought keeps tugging at him, unresolved and pressing.

His phone chimes, breaking him from his thoughts, and his heart lifts when he sees your name light up the screen.

Opening the message, he’s met with a picture that instantly brings a smile to his face—a hint of mischief and a lot of allure, just like you. You tease him in the caption, making it obvious that you want to tantalize him this nude picture of you.

With a grin, he types back, playfully: “Not enough to cure it, you’re going to need to send more.”

And right on cue, you do, sending him another that’s even more provoking, arousing even.

“What you've been missing when you're away.” You write in a follow-up text.

“Maybe you should come to me instead.” He writes bacm but even in his teasing, there’s an underlying wish that you were really here with him, grounding him.

As he looks at your messages, Minho feels a deep warmth. Beyond attraction, beyond companionship, there’s a completeness in his life with you—a sense that he has everything he needs. And maybe, that’s what he needs to focus on, even amid his rising fame and unexpected connections on set. You’re more than enough; you’re what matters most to him, reminding him of who he is and what truly grounds him.

-

The day begins with a hint of anticipation buzzing in Han's chest, something he can't fully ignore. After yesterday’s kiss scene, he feels oddly lighter, but it hasn’t lessened his feelings for Minho—if anything, it’s intensified them. He worries that this pull he feels toward Minho will linger far longer than he’s ready to admit.

His first scene of the day is an intense one, an emotional scene he’s been rehearsing tirelessly. Though he knows Minho isn’t in the scene, a wave of surprise rushes over him when he sees Minho watching from a distance, blending in with the crew lined up behind the camera. A tiny flicker of nervousness unsettles him, feeling as though he’s being carefully assessed by Minho, even if it’s just him being there. The thought of wanting to impress Minho nudges at him, urging him to pour his heart into this take.

As the camera rolls, Han steps fully into his character, letting each line carry the weight of the scene’s emotions. He loses himself in it, forgetting even the people watching until, finally, he hears the director call, “Cut!” He lets out a breath, a sense of release, noticing his co-star’s encouraging smile and the director’s approving nod. But just as he looks for Minho, he sees him disappear behind a wave of moving crew members, leaving Han feeling strangely empty.

Later that day, after Han’s costume change, Minho finds him in a quiet moment. Han’s heart jumps as he notices the way Minho looks at him—a soft smile lighting up his face, more genuine than anything he’s seen from him before. That one look sends a rush through him, and when Minho speaks, his words only deepen the effect.

“That was a really good scene, Jisung,” Minho says with a warmth that Han can’t help but soak up. “You did great.”

The praise hits Han hard, and he feels both flattered and resentful of the ache it leaves. This approval, this smile—it's exactly what he wants, yet he knows how dangerous it is to hold on to it. Minho’s encouragement fills him with a quiet joy but also makes him painfully aware of his own unresolved feelings. Han wrestles between wanting to hold onto these feelings or forcing himself to let them go, but the choice only feels harder with every small moment like this.

-

As you sit on the couch, phone in hand, you glance once more at your screen. Still no reply from Minho. You’d sent him a couple of texts earlier, just checking in, but the lack of response now is stretching into hours. You tell yourself he’s probably caught up in filming—it wouldn’t be the first time—but still, you can’t help wondering what he’s up to.

Tonight is the broadcast of the new episode of his drama, and you’ve set up everything to watch it: dimmed lights, a cozy blanket, and your favorite snacks lined up on the coffee table. Just as you settle into the sofa, there’s a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone; Minho usually lets himself in, and you can’t think of anyone else who would come by unannounced.

When you open the door, there he is, pulling down his mask to reveal that familiar sly smirk. His eyes are bright with that hint of mischief you love, and before you can even say a word, he’s leaning against the door frame, clearly pleased with himself for the surprise.

“Missed me, stranger?” he says with a playful grin.

You barely wait for him to step inside before you practically throw yourself into his arms, wrapping around him in a tight hug. Excitement bubbles over as you press a series of quick, affectionate kisses all over his face, earning a warm laugh from him.

“Missed you,” You whine as you hold his face in both hands.

Minho’s arms slide around your waist, pulling you close, and he murmurs against your hair, “I missed you too. That’s why I’m here.” He’s smiling as he says it, his tone light but his gaze soft, as if being here with you is exactly where he wants to be.

“You could’ve at least answered one of my texts!” you tease, poking his chest gently.

“That would’ve ruined the surprise,” he counters, his smile growing.

The two of you are cozied up on the sofa, his arm around your shoulders as you lean into his warmth, both fully engrossed in the episode playing out on screen. Every so often, you toss out a playful comment about Minho’s acting, teasing him for an overly dramatic look here, a “heroic” line delivery there. He chuckles along with you, sometimes leaning in to nudge your shoulder in faux protest.

Then, the intimate scene comes on, the one you knew would happen eventually but hadn’t quite prepared yourself to watch with him right next to you.

On screen, Minho and Han move closer, the scene building until the two share a slow, meaningful kiss. The room goes still, and for a moment, neither of you say anything, just watching the scene in silence.

As the kiss fades to the next shot, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You give Minho a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” you say with a grin, “you didn’t even kiss me like that. I’m starting to feel a little jealous here.”

He laughs, a bit of color coming to his cheeks, and he lifts his free hand, shrugging playfully. “What can I say? I’m just a great actor,” he jokes, clearly enjoying the teasing exchange.

But then, something shifts. He grows quiet, his gaze softening as he looks at you, his playful expression fading into something warmer, deeper. He reaches out, taking your hand in his and intertwining your fingers with a gentle squeeze.

“You know that I love you, right?” He asks out of the blue.

“All of a sudden?” You ask back in utter confusion.

“I mean it. I love you so much.” He murmurs, his voice lower than a whisper.

The sincerity in his tone catches you off guard, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him, feeling the depth of his words sink in. It’s not often that Minho expresses his feelings so openly, and hearing him say it like this—it’s almost overwhelming.

You give his hand a squeeze, your heart racing. “I love you too,” you say, your own voice soft with emotion and lean in to plant a heartfelt kiss on his lips.

And as you settle back against him, you feel a sense of warmth and reassurance, a quiet understanding that nothing could come between you, not even a screen full of on-screen kisses.

-

As he waits to be called to set, Han steels himself, trying to bury the emotion stirring inside him. But he can’t shake the thought that his heart might betray him when it matters most.

The buzz of excitement and nerves in Han’s chest grows stronger with each step he takes toward the set. He’s been preparing for this scene, both mentally and emotionally, and he knows how important it is to the storyline, but there's more to it—this is the scene where Minho’s character will finally confess his feelings.

Han’s heart pounds harder just thinking about it, knowing the lines that will be said, the emotions that will pour out between them, even if it's all scripted.

He spots Minho on set, dressed sharply, looking even more stunning under the warm, intimate lighting. The setting feels romantic, with subtle touches arranged to evoke tenderness, and everything about it draws Han deeper into the atmosphere.

He takes a slow breath, trying to calm his nerves, but his hands still feel clammy, his stomach flipping at the thought of what they’re about to portray. He reminds himself it’s just acting, but when it comes to Minho, it feels like anything but.

When the director finally calls action, Han barely has a chance to prepare himself before Minho starts speaking, his voice low and sincere. The words Minho’s character says are filled with yearning, with raw honesty, and as Han listens, he finds himself lost in them, his heart aching as if they’re directed at him.

Without thinking, his body responds instinctively, as if it’s moving on its own accord. He reaches for Minho, stepping closer, and in the quiet pause between lines, he leans in. The kiss isn’t in the script, but it feels right, a raw improvisation that spills over the line between their characters and themselves.

For a moment, he forgets the cameras, the crew, and everything else—just the warmth of Minho’s presence, the closeness, the sense of something deeper.

In that split second, Han lets his own feelings slip, letting Minho feel what he’s held back all this time. It’s terrifying, yet exhilarating, and he can feel his heart racing as he wonders if Minho will notice, if somehow he’ll sense the truth beneath the surface.

As the director calls cut, Han steps back, trying to steady his breathing and his emotions. The kiss lingers in his mind, an echo of feelings he knows he shouldn’t have let surface, and he’s torn between regret and the quiet thrill of that moment with Minho. It felt real—too real—and he can only hope no one else noticed the depth of what he let slip.

But as he glances toward the crew lined up behind the camera, his gaze lands on you. You’re standing there, just out of the frame but close enough that it’s clear you’ve been watching.

Han’s heart skips, panic rising as he catches a look on your face that makes his stomach turn. There’s something in your expression, a subtle knowing, a hint of suspicion, as if you saw more in that scene than the scripted performance. It’s a look that seems to cut through him, one that makes him feel as though he’s been caught, exposed.

Han’s heart beats faster, his eyes quickly averting, but the feeling lingers, heavy and suffocating. In that single glance, he fears you’ve seen everything he’s been trying so hard to hide.

-

Disguised as Minho’s assistant, you make your way through the bustling studio complex, heart fluttering with excitement at the thought of surprising him. His manager is in on it, guiding you through the maze of set pieces and equipment with a casual nod, helping you blend in as just another member of the crew. You can hardly wait to see Minho in action, to watch him shine in the role he’s been so invested in.

When you finally arrive at the set, it’s just as he and Han are about to start filming. Quietly, you settle yourself among the crew, standing beside Minho’s manager as everyone prepares to watch the scene. Your eyes find Minho instantly, and you feel a swell of pride watching him work, completely in his element.

As the director calls for action, you’re immediately drawn into the scene. Minho and Han stand together, their faces a mixture of vulnerability and intensity. Minho delivers his lines with that familiar, effortless passion, but there’s something more, something unspoken in the way he looks at Han.

The air between them crackles with emotion, a depth of connection that feels almost palpable. Han responds with equal intensity, his gaze fixed on Minho, raw and completely believable.

Watching them, an unexpected pang of jealousy cuts through you. You’ve seen Minho work with countless actors, watched him perform in intimate scenes before, but there’s something different here. Their chemistry is undeniable, powerful in a way that feels unsettlingly real. The way Minho looks at Han… you’ve seen that look before, but it was meant for you.

An uneasy feeling builds in your chest, making it difficult to stay there any longer. Suddenly, being in the midst of the crew, watching this connection unfold, feels suffocating. You don’t want to make a scene, but you need some space, somewhere to process what you’re feeling.

Without drawing attention to yourself, you quietly slip out of the studio and make your way to Minho’s car. Sitting alone, you take a few deep breaths, trying to shake the images of what you’ve just seen, to push away the unsettling thoughts.

But they linger, and for the first time, you feel a strange sense of distance, as if the Minho you’ve known might be drifting somewhere you can’t reach.

-

Minho still feels shaken from that last scene, his thoughts tangled between reality and the emotions that flared up so unexpectedly. He wasn’t sure if it was acting or something more; the way Han looked at him, the intensity of it, felt… different. He steals a glance at Han, hoping for some kind of clue or confirmation, but before he can say anything, his manager approaches, letting him know that you came to set to surprise him.

He barely manages a nod before making a quick exit to the parking lot. As he reaches the car and sees you there, he feels an instant rush of relief. But as he takes in your expression, he notices something—a subtle hesitation, a shadow he can’t quite read.

The surprise in your eyes catches him off guard, almost as if you hadn’t expected him to come out so soon, like you weren’t fully prepared to see him.

“Hey, stranger,” he greets you, a smile breaking through the confusion swirling in his mind.

He quickly closes the distance, taking your hand, pulling you close as he wraps you in a tight hug. He kisses your lips softly, grateful that you’re here, grounding him after the surreal scene he’d just finished.

“Thank you for coming to see me.”

You give him a gentle smile, though he senses a slight distraction in your eyes. “I watched that scene you did with Han,” you say, your tone warm but reserved. “You were… incredible. So was Han.”

Your compliment touches him, but there’s something in the way you say it that feels… off. Before he can put a finger on it, you take a bag from the backseat. “Figure you'd be hungry so I brought you food.”

Minho gladly takes it from because he's indeed famished, unknowingly has skipped on a meal. He delivers his gratitude with a quick peck on your lips. “You know me so well.”

“Minho, I...” you talk with an edge to your voice and Minho holds his breath as he waits for you to finish your sentence. “I don't think I can stay long.”

“That’s okay. I'm happy just to see you even for a bit.” Minho, knowing he’ll be filming well into the night, doesn’t press you to stay, though a small part of him wants to. He doesn’t want you waiting around all night in discomfort.

“Alright,” he says softly, releasing you but keeps his hand intertwined with yours. “Make sure to get home safe and thank you for the food.” He gives you a warm smile, savoring one last kiss before letting you go.

Just before you exit the car, he catches a faint hesitation in the way you return his kiss. It’s fleeting, barely noticeable, but something about it lingers as he watches you walk away. He brushes it off for now, telling himself it’s just a long day getting to him.

-

Han’s heart races as Minho approaches him with that bright smile, so full of energy, as if the last twelve hours of filming hadn’t taken a toll on him at all. Han has been trying to stick to a plan—finish each scene and make a quick exit, not giving his heart any more time to catch up to the feelings he’s been wrestling with. But seeing Minho like this, so openly pleased to be near him, has him feeling dizzy with hope and dread all at once.

When Minho pulls him aside, Han’s pulse quickens. He can’t tell if he’s nervous or just bracing himself, wondering why Minho would be so close, why he’s leaning in.

“It’s my girlfriend's birthday and I uh... we're doing a get-together tonight and she wants you to come,” Minho’s voice drops as he tells Han about it and his eyes are steadily scanning his surroundings just in case someone is eavesdropping.

“But it’s okay if you can't come,” Minho is quick to add that there’s no pressure, that Han is welcome to decline.

Han knows he should turn it down, excuse himself with work or exhaustion, anything to put some distance between him and this moment that feels far too tempting.

But the way Minho’s eyes look at him, with that open warmth, makes it so hard to walk away. A part of him longs to be with Minho just a little longer, even if he knows he shouldn’t.

“Alright,” he hears himself say, his voice soft. “I’ll come.”

-

Han hadn’t known what to expect when he agreed to come to your birthday celebration, but a small, intimate gathering of just the three of you was nowhere near what he’d imagined.

There’s a cake on the table, candles lit and flickering softly, casting a warm glow over the empty café. Han and Minho sing you a slightly off-key version of “Happy Birthday,” and when you blow out the candle, Minho leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, murmuring a quiet, “Happy birthday, love.”

The kiss is both beautiful and unbearable for Han. He forces a small smile, trying not to look too long at how perfect the two of you seem together, how he can’t help but wish he were the one beside Minho in that way.

When it’s his turn, he clears his throat and offers a sincere, “Happy birthday. I, uh… I didn’t bring a gift yet, but I’ll make sure Minho delivers one soon.”

“Thank you, Han,” you reply, giving him a warm smile. “You being here is more than enough.”

The three of you share the cake, and while you all laugh and chat, Minho’s phone rings, cutting the conversation short. He glances at the screen and sighs. “I should take this—it’ll just be a minute.” He stands up and heads outside, leaving you and Han alone in a silence that settles thick between you both.

Han shifts uncomfortably, trying to think of something to say. “I really am sorry I didn’t bring anything. I… I just didn’t know it’d be this, uh… personal.”

You smile, but there’s something different in it. “It’s okay, Han. Actually… can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

You look at him for a long moment, and then, out of nowhere, you ask, “Do you like Minho?”

Han blinks, taken aback but he knows better to opt for a safe answer. “Of course. I mean, who wouldn’t? He’s a great guy, and he’s an amazing actor.”

Your expression remains calm but your eyes locked on his, staring intensely. “You know what I mean, Han.”

He stares at you, his initial denial withering under the weight of your gaze. His chest tightens, and suddenly, he feels vulnerable, exposed. “I… I admire him, I really do. He’s just… easy to look up to.”

But you don’t let him off that easily. You look at him with quiet understanding, and he realizes you already know. His voice falters as he adds, “I… I didn’t mean for it to be this way. I’ve tried to make it go away, but…”

His voice trails off, and he watches you, waiting for anger, for judgment—something. But instead, you surprise him.

“Then tell him,” you say gently. “When filming ends. You have until then.”

He stares at you, his heart racing. “W-What?”

“I’m giving you the chance to tell him yourself, Han,” you say, your tone gentle yet unwavering. “Whatever happens after that… well, that’s for the three of us to figure out.”

Han can’t believe what he’s hearing. A thousand thoughts flood his mind, but he has no chance to respond. Just then, Minho returns, looking between the two of you, sensing the strange tension.

“What’s going on here?” Minho chuckles, oblivious. “Did Han just remember he forgot to bring you a birthday present?”

You smile, deflecting with a light laugh. “Pretty much.”

Minho laughs, taking a seat beside you. “Well, lucky for you, I didn’t forget.”

He hands you a small, wrapped box, eyes twinkling. “Here—open it.”

You unwrap the box and find a delicate necklace inside. It’s simple but elegant, the kind of thing that’s unmistakably Minho’s taste. Your eyes soften, and Minho smiles, reaching over. “Here, let me.”

As he moves closer, his fingers brush your neck while he fastens the clasp. Han watches from across the table, feeling something heavy settle in his chest as Minho’s attention focuses entirely on you.

“There,” Minho says softly, sitting back with a satisfied grin. “Looks perfect on you.”

“Thank you,” you say, a touch shyly, your fingers brushing over the pendant.

Han forces a smile as he sits, his mind swirling. He feels as though he’s been given a choice he never imagined he’d have to make—and he wonders if he has the courage to take it.

-

Minho pulls up outside your apartment building, letting the car idle as he glances over at you. He wants you to stay, he always does, and tonight is no different. With a hopeful smile, he asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? Just one night won’t hurt, right?”

You laugh softly, the sound warm but faintly tired, and shake your head. “I’d love to, but I have to leave early tomorrow. It’s the opening for the exhibition at the gallery, remember?” You pause, then add with a teasing grin, “Besides, we both know there wouldn’t be much sleep if I stayed.”

He chuckles, understanding immediately, though he can’t deny the disappointment that lingers. He always craves more time with you, more moments like these, but he nods in acceptance.

“Okay,” he says with a sigh of defeat.

As you turn to say goodnight, leaning in for a soft, lingering kiss, Minho feels something different, something beneath the surface that he can’t quite put his finger on. Before you can pull away, he draws you back in, pressing his lips to yours again, deeper this time, seeking the reassurance he hadn’t known he needed. There’s a quiet intensity in the way he kisses you, like he’s searching for an answer to a question he doesn’t know how to ask.

When he finally pulls back, his hand still rests on the back of your neck, thumb tracing gentle circles there. He looks into your eyes, brow slightly furrowed. “Are we… okay? You and me?”

Your smile is soft but slightly strained, your voice gentle as you reply, “Of course we are, Minho. Everything’s fine.”

But as you pull away, Minho can’t shake the feeling that your answer isn’t entirely convincing. There’s something lingering in your gaze, something unsaid, and it hangs in the air long after you step out of the car and wave goodnight.

Watching you disappear into your building, Minho grips the steering wheel tightly, his mind racing. He doesn’t know what’s bothering you or what’s weighing on your mind, but he’s determined to find out. Whatever it is, he’s not going to let it come between you—not if he can help it.

-

The flowers arrive just as you’re beginning to settle into your day, a bouquet bursting with blush roses and delicate lilies. Tucked inside, there’s a small, handwritten note: “Missed you, stranger.”

You can’t ignore the pang of guilt that hits you as you read those words. Lately, you’ve been putting distance between you and Minho, caught up in your work and all too aware of how it must feel to him. You send him a quick text to thank him, hoping it conveys more than just words. But before you can put your phone down, it rings, and you see his name on the screen.

“Hey,” he says, and there’s a warmth in his voice that immediately pulls at you. “So… did you get them? Do you like the flowers?”

You can hear the hopefulness in his tone, and it stirs something deep inside. “I love them. They’re beautiful, Minho. Thank you.”

His laughter is soft, but you can tell he means it when he says, “I kinda had to. You’re starting to feel like a stranger to me, you know?”

The pang of guilt sharpens. He’s not wrong. Your busy schedule has taken its toll, and your relationship has been on the quiet side for too long now.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, hating how small the words sound. “I didn’t mean for things to get like this.”

There’s a pause, as if he’s letting your words sink in. “I miss you,” he says finally, and it’s so honest, so simple, that it breaks through all the walls you’ve been putting up.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his words settle in. “I miss you too, Minho.”

His sigh is full of relief. “Then let’s see each other this weekend. I’ll come over, or we can go out—whatever you want. Just… let’s spend some time together.”

You hesitate, knowing what you have to say next. “I wish I could. But… I’m going on a work trip. I’ll be out until early next week.”

The silence that follows is thick with his disappointment. “Ah,” he says finally, and though he tries to mask it, you can hear the hurt in his voice. “I get it. It’s just... been a while since we actually spent time together.”

You feel his pain like it’s your own. “I know. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Alright,” he says, a touch of resignation there now. “Just… don’t be a stranger too long, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. “I won’t.”

When the call ends, you’re left holding the phone, staring at the flowers, and hoping that when you’re finally back, it won’t feel like the distance has grown too much for either of you to cross.

-

Han has been caught in a constant tug-of-war with himself, torn between wanting to keep his distance from Minho and feeling that undeniable pull toward him. He can’t stop thinking about you and the offer you made, the chance to tell Minho the truth—a chance he knows is dangerous to take, but also one he can’t stop thinking about. But for now, he’s settled for a safer distance. Not too far, not too close. After all, it’s not his fault if Minho is the one who keeps stepping into that space, right?

Sitting alone in the empty changing room, Han studies his script, though the words feel hazy, his mind clouded with everything but the lines he’s supposed to memorize. Then he hears the door open, and Minho walks in, dropping down on the bench next to him. Han hates the way his heart betrays him, lifting and quickening just at the sight of him.

Minho speaks quietly, his voice low even though they’re alone. “Hey… about that night at the uh... birthday party. Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

Han tries to play it off, plastering on a look of confusion. “Not sure what you mean, hyung. Nothing happened, really.”

Minho lets out a soft sigh, eyes narrowing in the way they do when he’s trying to figure someone out. “It’s just… she's been acting slightly different around me since then. And I thought maybe… I don’t know, maybe she mentioned something to you?”

Han swallows, trying to keep his face neutral even as his mind races. He can feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on him, searching for something—an answer, maybe, or just some kind of hint. He should tell the truth; it’s right there, at the tip of his tongue. He could just say it, let everything out, let Minho know exactly how he feels.

But his nerve falters, and he finds himself shaking his head. “No, they didn’t say anything to me.” The lie slips out too easily, and he hates himself a little more for it.

There’s a moment, a charged silence between them, as if Minho is still trying to pry the truth out of him without words. Han’s chest tightens, his lips part, and for just a second, he thinks he might actually confess, might let himself finally say it.

But before he can, the door opens again, and a crew member steps in, breaking the moment. Han glances down quickly, hiding the expression on his face, and when he looks back up, Minho has already shifted back into his usual easygoing self, the vulnerable moment now lost.

As Minho returns to studying his own lines, Han can’t help but wonder if he’ll ever have the courage to take the chance you offered—or if he’s doomed to keep it hidden forever, just out of reach.

-

Even though you know he might not read it right away, you send Minho a quick text the moment your plane lands. Just something simple, letting him know you’re home safe, so he won’t worry. The exhaustion of the trip starts to settle in as you unlock your door, finally home, ready for nothing but a hot shower and some rest.

After your shower, you’re standing in the bathroom, towel-drying your hair when you hear the front door click open. It’s surprising because you hadn’t expected him. You’d assumed he’d be busy on set, wrapped up in his usual back-to-back schedule.

“Hey, stranger, I didn’t—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Minho crosses the space between you, pulling you into a tight hug, his arms wound around you like he’s trying to hold onto you with everything he has. His kiss is different tonight—there’s something raw, almost desperate, in the way he presses his lips to yours, like he’s afraid he won’t get another chance.

You feel his hand slide to the back of your neck, holding you close, and the intensity takes you by surprise. You pull back just slightly, searching his face, and see something you haven’t seen before: Minho’s usual confidence replaced by a quiet vulnerability.

“Hey…” you say softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

He looks away, almost as if he’s gathering himself, before he speaks. “I just… I feel like you’re slipping away from me. Like, you’re here, but… I don’t know, it feels like I’m losing you, and I can’t stand it.” His voice is low, but there’s no mistaking the emotion behind it.

He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours, his expression so open, so raw. “I don’t want to lose you. I love you so much, more than I know how to say.”

The sincerity in his words cuts through any distance that’s been creeping in between you two, and you feel your heart swell. You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, brushing it gently away from his face.

“Oh, Minho,” you murmur, pressing a reassuring kiss to his forehead. “I’m here. I'm not going anywhere.”

Later that night, your naked bodies are tangled around each other on the bed, he has you under him, your hands are tightly clasped as Minho thrusts into you at a painstakingly slow pace. No games, no teasing, no playful, naughty comments in between kisses, it's just Minho making sweet, sweet love to you.

His brown eyes are deeply looking into your eyes, making you feel naked, more exposed than you already are. You know that he loves you but seeing him this vulnerable and openly admitted how much he fears losing you... you endearingly brush the hair falling over his forehead away and smile at him.

“Minho...” you place a tender rub of your thumb on his cheek and whisper, “I love you so much.”

Minho doesn’t say anything but tilts his head slightly to the side and lowers his mouth on you, placing kisses that trails up your neck and eventually finds its way to your lips. Soon, his body closing in the gap between your bodies until they mold into one and move in sync. You feel him relax around you, his arms loosening, but his grip on your hand remains firm. You lay close together in the quiet, his head buried in the crook of your shoulder, the room filled with an unspoken promise—one that feels stronger than ever.

-

You stir, feeling a warm, familiar presence beside you, followed by the softest kisses trailing across your bare shoulders. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming. It’s so rare for you to wake up with Minho still in bed—usually, his early mornings mean you open your eyes to an empty spot beside you, the only trace of him being the faint scent left behind on his pillow.

But this time, as you turn over, Minho’s face is right there, his eyes lighting up as he realizes you’re awake. He leans in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Good morning,” he murmurs softly, his voice still sleepy and fond.

You blink at him, smiling as you pretend to be in awe. “Is this real? You’re actually here, watching me sleep?” you tease. “I have to admit, I could get used to waking up like this.”

He smiles, a playful glint in his eye. “Guess I got lucky and don’t have an early call today,” he says. “Plus, I thought I’d stick around, make you breakfast for once.”

“Wow,” you say, dramatically widening your eyes. “Breakfast in bed? Someone pinch me—I might actually be dreaming.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, then grins mischievously. Instead of pinching you, he leans down and gives your shoulder a playful bite, making you laugh as you push him away.

“Okay, okay!” you say, laughing. “Guess I’m awake after all.”

He chuckles, leaning in to plant one more quick kiss on your lips before he gets out of bed, throwing on a t-shirt and glancing back at you with a smile that makes your heart flutter. You feel so at ease, so light, as you watch him head toward the kitchen. For once, he’s here, sharing an ordinary morning with you, and there’s nothing dreamlike about it—it’s perfectly, wonderfully real.

-

It’s a rare, quiet morning, and Minho can’t help but savor it. He watches you across the table, laughing over breakfast as you share your plans for the day. There’s a calmness in this moment that he rarely gets, and he wants to remember it—the way you smile, the way sunlight falls on your face, the easy rhythm between you.

As he thinks about the upcoming wrap-up party, he realizes it’s the perfect chance for the two of you to step out together, and he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. Setting his fork down, he gathers his nerve and finally asks, “Hey, would you come to the wrap-up party with me?”

Your eyes widen slightly, and Minho can tell you understand the risk—he’s putting his career, his privacy, all of it on the line for this relationship. But he doesn’t care; for the first time, he feels ready, willing to risk the whispers, the stories, the scrutiny.

“Okay,” you answer with a nod, agreeing without hesitation.

Minho feels a surge of warmth and relief. You’re ready, too, and that means everything.

But then you bring up Han, almost out of the blue. “How’s Han doing?” you ask, a casual question, but one that catches Minho off guard.

“He’s doing well,” Minho replies, not thinking much of it at first. He explains a little about the last few scenes they filmed, how the entire crew is working hard to bring the final moments together.

You nod, listening intently, but then you ask another question, one that feels a bit more pointed. “Are you two still filming those... emotional scenes?”

Minho studies your face, sensing something beneath the surface of your curiosity. You’re searching for something, a hint of something you’re not ready to say. He knows you well enough to see it, and while he doesn’t press you, a quiet worry lingers in his mind.

-

The last day of filming feels heavier than Han ever imagined. He should feel relief, maybe even pride—but all he feels is a gnawing sense of urgency. It’s his last chance to tell Minho how he really feels, and though he’s been avoiding it, he knows he’ll regret it if he never says a word.

Taking a deep breath, Han walks over to where Minho stands, chatting with a few crew members. His hands are clammy, his heartbeat loud in his ears as he taps Minho’s shoulder. Minho turns, and his expression lights up with that easy, familiar smile, but seeing it makes Han’s heart ache even more.

“Hey, Han!” Minho says warmly. “We did it. Congratulations on finishing your first drama.”

Han manages a small smile, mumbling, “Thanks... same to you.”

There’s a pause, a space where Han can feel himself teetering between holding back and letting go. He opens his mouth to speak, to say the words he’s been holding onto for so long, but before he can, Minho speaks again.

“You know,” Minho starts, his tone sincere, “I’ve had a great time working with you. Really, Han, we made a good team.”

Han’s stomach tightens, sensing where this is going.

“And what I really appreciate is how professional you were about everything,” Minho adds, a subtle emphasis lingering in his words. His eyes hold a quiet understanding, as if he already knows what Han was about to say and is gently letting him down.

The words stick in Han’s throat, dying on his lips. Minho’s kindness is unmistakable, and his meaning is painfully clear. Han swallows, a bitter taste filling his mouth as he nods, trying to keep his expression neutral.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, forcing a smile. “It’s been... really great.”

But inside, he feels his heart breaking, each beat carrying a weight he can hardly bear as he takes a step back, feeling as though he’s losing something he never even had.

Han manages to keep his expression steady, even as he feels the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Minho, still smiling, extends his hand.

"See you at the wrap-up party later?" Minho says, his tone light and friendly, as if unaware of the ache that’s slowly eating away at Han.

Han hesitates for just a second before he reaches out, clasping Minho’s hand. The handshake feels formal, a sharp contrast to all the warmth, laughter, and quiet moments they shared over the past months. For Han, it’s a goodbye he’s not ready to say, but he squeezes Minho’s hand tightly, holding onto it just a heartbeat longer.

“Yeah... I’ll see you there,” he says, forcing the words out with a nod.

Minho gives him one last friendly smile before letting go, his fingers slipping away, leaving Han’s hand cold and empty. Han watches him walk away, feeling the finality of that handshake settle deep in his chest. This was it—the end of everything they’d built together on screen, and perhaps, a reminder of everything that could never happen offscreen.

As the door closes behind Minho, Han is left standing alone, trying to gather himself for the celebration ahead, all while feeling like he’s quietly mourning a loss that only he understands.

-

The wrap-up party buzzes with excitement and laughter as everyone gathers to celebrate the drama’s success. Minho’s hand in yours is warm and steady as he leads you inside, a small but powerful gesture that feels like a silent promise. This is your first time stepping into his world, publicly, and your heart races with a blend of nervousness and exhilaration. You know what this means—for both of you. Minho glances down at you and smiles, a comforting reassurance that you’re right where you belong.

As he introduces you around, you find yourself meeting the director, the crew, and Minho’s fellow cast members. Each of them is surprised, but warmly so, learning that Minho is dating someone outside the industry. Their welcoming smiles help ease the tension you’ve been holding, though it’s Minho’s presence, steady and unwavering at your side, that really keeps you calm.

Then, across the room, you spot Han. He’s chatting politely with some cast members, appearing as cheerful as everyone else, but there’s a heaviness in his gaze that betrays him. You see through the calm facade, sensing a quiet sadness lingering beneath it.

When there’s a brief lull, you find a chance to speak with Han alone, pulling him aside to a quieter corner of the room. He looks at you, surprised, and then a hint of understanding softens his expression.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” you ask softly, not wanting to intrude, but hoping he’ll confide in you.

Han gives you a sad smile, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Because… I had Minho,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You’re caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He lets out a small, bittersweet laugh, his gaze drifting away as if he’s seeing something distant. “In those scenes, in the drama,” he begins, voice thick with emotion. “I had him. For that time, we were… everything I’d wanted us to be.”

He pauses, taking a breath, collecting himself before looking back at you with quiet acceptance. “It was enough. Because that’s what Minho and I could have been—but what we’ll never be.”

The weight of his words settles over you, a haunting realization of what he’s endured in silence. There’s nothing you can say, so you simply place a gentle hand on his arm, sharing in his sorrow, understanding the depth of his unspoken feelings.

Han gives you a small, grateful nod before he glances away, quietly pulling himself back into the celebration. Watching him go, you’re left with a mix of empathy and sadness, understanding now just how deeply he loved Minho—and how he’s finally letting him go.

As the party winds down and you and Minho leave, his hand finds yours once more, intertwining your fingers as you walk into the quiet night. There's a warmth to his touch, an unspoken reassurance that grounds you, yet Han’s words still linger, leaving a bittersweet ache in your chest. You feel torn between the happiness of being with Minho and the weight of knowing what Han silently gave up.

Once you’re inside the car, sitting beside Minho on the passenger's seat, you can’t shake the feeling that tonight has left a lasting mark, especially on Han.

Minho notices the quiet contemplation in your expression and turns to you, eyebrows raised with a gentle curiosity.

“Ready to go home?” he asks, reaching to gently trace his thumb along your hand.

It seems like he's just snapped you out of your trance as you get a bit startled by the gentle squeeze on your knee. “Mmh, yes, I'm ready.”

You offer a convincing smile as you lean into him and try again. “Let’s go home.”

As the car launches forward, you find yourself holding onto Minho’s hand with a newfound appreciation. Han’s journey may have ended in heartbreak, but in some way, it brought you and Minho closer, and you can only hope that one day, Han will find someone who will give him a real happy ending, but more importantly, he find a story that’s all his own—a story that doesn’t end when the cameras stop rolling.

-

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[neiptune]

this town is fake but you're the real thing

cw: 11k wc, female reader, social media relationship, suna downloads an app that randomly matches anonymous users with each other because osamu thinks it'll help him open up more, strangers to lovers, romance, pining, so much texting, suna is as emotionally constipated as it gets

Against all expectations, it’s Osamu who managed to get under his skin.

An innocent night out to celebrate the new Onigiri Miya branch in Shizuoka, a few beers shared on a bench by the port, what started as innocent conversation about each other’s dating life soon turning into a painfully precise evaluation of why he can’t seem to find someone worth keeping around.

“You don’t really open up to them”, his friend shrugged.

“I open up to them plenty. I’ve been with Yuki for three months”, Suna refuted such harsh remark with a scowl.

“Yeah”, Samu mused, “have you ever shared anything about your friends and family? What’s the most vulnerable thought or feeling you discussed?”.

Rintaro took a moment to reflect, begrudging silence weighing more each second spent quiet.

“She met Motoya”.

Osamu rolled his eyes, “Shit, you’re right— can’t believe ya didn’t propose. Meeting Komori’s the real deal”.

“You know, if I wanted to hang out with the twin who’d be a pain in my ass, I would’ve called your brother”.

With a snort and a handsome grin, Osamu lightly bumped his shoulder against Suna’s. “Ya love us”, then his gaze softened as he took a swig from the bottle, “I’m just sayin’. Maybe a relationship is not what you need right now”.

“Then what do I need?”, despite a fiery remonstrance, Rintaro found himself leaning onto Osamu’s judgement. He’d always been very good at reading people, much like his brother, but Samu’s approach was always balanced and, most importantly, sincere. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps there was something he’s missing about himself, something that shined bright for his best friend to catch instead.

“A connection, dumbass”, Osamu lightly pat his shoulder, “it doesn’t have to be romantic. It definitely doesn’t have to be sexual. You need to find someone you can talk to”.

“I talk—”

“Someone who isn’t us. Not me, not ‘Tsumu”, he ignored Rintaro’s indignant scoff, “not Shinsuke, not Aran. You need to get out of your comfort zone with someone new. A stranger!”.

“A stranger? You want me to stop someone on the street and casually ask them to listen to whatever trauma is tied to my fear of flying?”.

“Start small”, Osamu’s eyes glinted with the excitement that a good idea usually brings, “try that app Bokuto was trying so hard to get Sakusa to download. Matchpal, was it?”.

“Sounds like a great way to have a fifty year old creep flash me with a dick pic. No, thank you”.

“I’d think about it. Ya know, we’re not getting any younger. Like ‘Tsumu said, you—”

“I should hurry up before I grow old with only my emotional unavailability to keep me company, I remember”, Rintaro finished his beer with a grimace. Osamu chuckled, eventually dropped the topic, but the suggestion remained unpleasantly hanging over his head both like a succulent fruit and a risky presage.

So now he’s slumped in the living room of the spacious apartment the EJP provides, a quiet Friday evening spent cooking some stew for dinner and facetiming his family. The tv is on as a distraction and an easy way out should things get uncomfortable. Surely Dwight will keep him grounded.

Suna’s already downloaded the app but it takes one episode and a half to muster the courage to actually tap on it. 

The interface is pretty easy to navigate. It seems he’s supposed to create a minimalist profile first and then he’d be free to start a new, random chat. Users can opt out anytime or, if they wish to keep a specific person as their anonymous match, add them as a friend and pin the conversation within their personal directory. Nothing too complicated.

Suna’s patience wears thin easily and after a few attempts at picking unavailable usernames, he settles for crysnoopy. Finally, original enough at last.

Since not revealing one’s identity seems to be the point of the entire thing, he can’t upload a profile picture and instead has to select one random avatar from the default library. He picks a cartoon frog with big eyes and no mouth on a light green background.

There he is, an anonymous online presence on a stupid app. His profile only contains a nickname, he/him pronouns, age and a cute icon. No interests listed, no boundaries, not a single space where he could leave a polite note— please don’t send unsolicited dick pics. Not that he ever plans on requesting one.

Suna starts a few new chats, faceless identities either ending the conversation right away upon his dry and unoriginal hey or being as odd as one would imagine strangers in an anonymous community could be.

Lavenderhaze

-> Hi.

Lavenderhaze

-> How are you?

He sinks deeper into the nice couch pillows Atsumu forced him to get.

crysnoopy

-> hey. all good, wbu?

Lavenderhaze

-> Good, bored.

Lavenderhaze

-> Should we exchange nudes or something?

Rintaro sighs. Hesitation is laced into the delay of his thumb but eventually he taps the skip option, Osamu’s ominous words still ringing loud and clear in his head. It’s not what he downloaded the dumb app for, it’s not what he needs right now. Fuck, maybe he really should’ve called Atsumu instead.

A new chat opens after a short loading time and his nose wrinkles when he realizes that he’ll probably have to send the first message this time. The username staring back at him is original enough to make Suna take a few seconds to think of something equally entertaining to say. The whole thing is never going to work if he doesn’t take it seriously and actually puts some effort in it, right?

He looks up from his phone for a second. Then, a loud ping makes him jump.

Unfinishedusernam

-> When you shower, do you actively wash your legs or just let soapy water rinse down on them?

Rintaro almost huffs out a laugh. Original username and approach? A good enough start to ignite the hope of finally be talking to someone sane.

crysnoopy

-> I don’t shower.

A beat passes, then the small animation of a hand idly scribbling with a pencil indicates that you’re typing something back.

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s hot.

-> Why the username?

Suna’s lips twitch, not a smile but almost. He wants to type an equally sarcastic reply, brush the question off and maybe ask something more interesting instead. But then he remembers what he’s doing and forces an honest reply out of his fingers.

crysnoopy

-> my little sister used to scream like an eagle when she cried, the one thing that always shut her up was a snoopy plush I won at the arcade.

Suna barely registers that his leg starts bouncing lightly as he watches the little hand appear on the screen once more.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I’m glad it’s something cute :)

-> Lowkey thought you were an incel

This time he really does snort out half a laugh.

crysnoopy

-> if I was I would’ve asked why your username is edging me.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fair. So… you do shower, right?

crysnoopy

-> I promise I do.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Damn, my incel detector has truly failed me.

-> You seem suspiciously normal btw, I feel like we could have a conversation that doesn't involve dicks

Suna’s hand blindly reaches for the remote to lower the volume of the show he currently doesn’t seem to need as additional emotional support.

crysnoopy

-> likewise. wanna make it official?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Jeez, at least buy me dinner first

Rintaro’s beat to it, before he can even click on the option there’s already a colorful notification popping up on his screen, informing that he has a new friend request.

He accepts it.

It took some convincing for Samu to agree but, eventually, the spot on the pull-out couch became his. Between Hyogo and Shizuoka, with imminent plans of further expanding in Tokyo, he’s always travelling to make sure the shops are keeping their top quality standard high. The Shizuoka branch is still too recent for him to retreat back to his hometown for good, so he’s there most of the time. Suna had to call him an idiot a million times before Osamu accepted his hospitality, never one to ask for anything, always first in line to help others instead. Suna thinks he still didn’t call him an idiot enough times.

They’re both gone most of the day anyway, between the restaurant and training. The season is about to start and the trip to Osaka feels more imminent than ever, Suna knows he has to be at the top of his game to perform exactly how he’s expected to. Which means, no distractions. He does a good job at avoiding those, dating apps left unopened and the way home now shorter than usual, to circumvent his favorite bakery. Those blueberry muffins will have to wait. Samu’s healthier alternative with gram oats and bananas is one hell of a substitute anyway.

Suna loves his friend, he really does. The house feels less empty when he’s around and there’s always a homemade meal tucked somewhere in the fridge. They share breakfast when they get up at the same time and night conversations at the kitchen table if Rintaro manages to stay awake late enough to wait for Osamu to be back.

But sometimes, being alone is easier. No explanations owed for the one distraction he seems unable to give up, no curious raise of the eyebrows he’d have to confront when the familiar ping from his phone prompts an immediate reaction the wrong twin would tease him endlessly for.

He’s always been a dry texter or so his friends, teammates and relatives have always told him. Suna didn’t ever think he was supposed to make an effort to become better at written communication, or communication in general. But now, there’s you. A faceless, perhaps not entirely sane someone who makes him check his notifications way too often, insides spasming when the message doesn’t come from one of his groupchats and the Matchpal icon flashes across the screen instead.

Suna likes talking to you, so much that he often finds himself being the one to text first. It’s okay if you’ll take hours to get back to him sometimes, he knows for certain that the message is eventually going to light up his screen and that’s enough to make him smile. Sometimes you text first, at either ungodly hours in the middle of the night or during the day, if you’re bored at work. He doesn’t know what your job is, you don’t know precisely what Suna does either because, again, anonymity. The only detail he’s familiar with is that you’re often around “wearing but rewarding humans”, as you’d once put it. The one thing you know about him is that he’s an athlete, something you had briefly teased him for.

When he’s not talking to you, when parts or even the entirety of days that used to belong to him and his routine alone are devoid of your messages, Suna finds himself thinking. Or rather, imagining. There’s a lot he doesn’t know and he refuses to overwhelm you with questions, therefore his mind desperately tries to fill in the gaps to no avail. Are you spending the evening reading a book, watching a tv show? Did you cook dinner or order takeout? How happy are you that it’s been raining for three days straight on a scale of ‘I can only function if it’s sunny and bright’ to ‘leave me in a storm and watch me flourish’ ?

Most times, Suna simply plugs the charging cable into is phone, switches off the bedside light and hopes to wake up to one of your texts. They seem to be making an increasingly dangerous difference between a good day and a bad one. He’s not entirely sure it’s ideal.

Unfinishedusernam

-> The humans are testing me today. Whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re having fun!

-> Ah, look what my mom baked yesterday. Told her I have a friend who’d love these :)

-> [IMG_65209]

Rintaro, elbows resting on his knees and towel haphazardly thrown around the neck, smiles at the screen. God, he hasn’t had a blueberry muffin in over a month, but what he’s really focusing on is that you’ve mentioned him. To your mom. There’s a low, static buzz in his ears now, punctuated by the thumps of his heart growing louder. It makes you feel more real, it also makes something simmer in his stomach.

crysnoopy

-> I’m at training.

-> They look really good. Send me one immediately. How was family dinner?

He’s enabled auto-capitalization for the first time in his life, for god’s sake. The Inarizaki groupchat was so disturbed Atsumu decided to apply the same additional authenticator method used by his online banking and forced Suna to reply to a secret question. One only the real Suna would know the answer to.

He successfully demonstrated the needed personal knowledge concerning the color of Aran’s lucky underwear in high school and thus confirmed his identity.

Unfinishedusernam

-> It was nice! I love spending time with them

-> How’s training?

Rintaro finds himself wanting to give his identity shape too. It’s the first time he’s seen your hand, holding that tupperware underneath the dim light of your mom’s kitchen. He wants to feel more real for you, too.

He snaps a picture of his hand holding a half-empty water bottle, careful to hide his shoes. Not that you’d be able to immediately tell he plays volleyball from those, but just in case. You do get to see part of his legs though, shorts and their very recognizable colors kept out of frame.

crysnoopy

-> [IMG_65209]

-> Almost done, very tired

He watches as the little hand scribbles, then stops. It resumes the writing, then stops once more. His leg is bouncing again, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. He straight up jumps when, suddenly, someone loudly falls on the empty spot next to him and the bench creaks.

“We’re on a roll today, my blocks are almost as good as yours”, Washio grins, temples shining with sweat. He briefly glances down at the phone Suna almost drops when it vibrates against his palm.

“You okay?”.

“Yes”, Rintaro clears his throat, makes a show of shoving the phone right back into his bag, “you’re in shape today. Motoya too”.

“Ready for Osaka!”, Komori fist-bumps Tatsuki right before sitting next to him with an exaggerated groan, “hey, is your friend still in town? The Miya twin. We could go out tonight, get some drinks”.

“We literally leave in three days”, Suna’s fist lightly lands on his teammate’s head.

“Mocktails”, Motoya sticks his tongue out.

“I feel like I already see your faces enough. And I’m about to see them even more”.

“Rintaro don’t be a grumpy asshole, challenge once again failed”, Tatsuki rolls his eyes, “you’re always glued to that damn phone when you’re not playin’. Let’s go out, have fun, possibly get laid?”.

Suna sighs heavily. “Fine. I wanted to visit Samu’s new shop anyway, we can have dinner and take him with us afterwards”. He should get Osamu a gift, a nice plant or a maneki-neko. He’ll stop by a few shops on the way home, he decides.

“Now you’re talking!”, Washio smacks his shoulder with way too much energy, “let’s ask Nagito too, he’s gonna love some free onigiri!”.

“Hey, we’re payin’ for those”.

“Sure we are!”.

“I’m serious, you ass—”

“That’s enough gossiping, boys. Get back to work!”, by muscle memory, their legs react to coach’s boisterous voice and all three men jump up from their seats. Suna spends the rest of the late afternoon training thinking about the text message hidden in his gym bag.

It’s way past 6PM when training ends, the last half an hour was spent studying opponent videos and then simulating different match scenarios. Suna’s brain feels fried and on any other day he’d be so ready to get a massage, eat a well-balanced dinner and melt on his couch in front of a good tv show until his eyelids would grow heavy.

Instead, he takes the long way home, legs heavy as he explores different shops in search for the perfect gift. He settles for a very beautiful, handmade, porcelain maneki-neko, left paw raised instead of the right one because Suna knows Osamu will always care about having more customers who trust his restaurant rather than having more money.

The shop owner puts the gift in an elegant box and seals the bag with a delicate ribbon, he thanks the old lady with a deep bow and despite his limbs feeling heavy with fatigue, as he breathes in the cool air of the evening, Suna is content. He thinks of the message sitting pretty in his pocket as he heads home.

Unfinishedusernam

-> You have really nice hands

He didn’t open it, not yet. It’s reassuring to have the notification sitting there, untouched and polished against his lockscreen.

It shouldn’t matter that a stranger on an app is complimenting his hands, it really shouldn’t. Then why does it, somehow? Suna is happy you find his hands nice, which feels like a recipe for disaster. As he walks past his favorite bakery, he remembers you mentioning how you enjoy grabbing croissants for breakfast at times. When he told you that he was about to leave for a retreat with his team, after asking if their destination was one among Tokyo, Osaka and Yokohama, you proceeded to list all your favorite cafes, bakeries and restaurants for each of them. Just in case he had the time and wanted to check them out. As much as he tries to keep his distance, something as trivial as mentioning the correct city possibly resulting too risky, you always seem to go out of your way to reach closer. Taking the time to prepare three separate lists of suggestions while simultaneously respecting his boundaries is an effort he deems… unexpected. It feels weird in the best way. He almost wants to tell you it’s Osaka after all, give you something real, something new to hold on to. Maybe he’ll even tell you it’s volleyball.

“Coming home from another bad date?”, the unexpected quip startles Suna as he looks up from the sidewalk to find his not so friendly neighbor directing a saccharine smile at him, trash bags in hand. Not too long ago, he would’ve asked if she needed help with those.

“At least I still go on dates���, he purposefully eyes her attire, hoodie and sweatpants. Suna knows she’s just trying to annoy him, she can see the gym bag.

“With women who are blind, deaf, mute and desperate?”, she offers a sly smile and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s not a very flattering description of yourself, now”.

She huffs out a sarcastic laugh but Suna can see right through it: the irritation and the embarrassment.

“Always a pleasure running into you, Suna”.

“Likewise”, he smirks, “careful with those bags”.

Suna says goodbye with an unbothered wave of the hand despite her giving him the finger, positively happy that for a good while the chances of running into his neighbor will be reduced to zero. Osaka can’t come fast enough.

The thing is, he was surprised she lived so close when they first started chatting on a regular dating app. When Suna confirmed they were essentially in the same neighborhood, she was the one to propose a dinner right away.

Truthfully, it had been a bad day for him, for a number of reasons. Training was terrible, he was worried sick about his little sister’s sprained ankle, his own tendinitis was giving him hell and Atsumu had decided to call him to talk his ear off for an entire hour about the surprise party they were supposed to throw for Kita’s birthday. Yet, he didn’t feel like bailing on his date, so he forced himself out of the house with the worst mood.

Dinner was terrible. Awkward, tense, her growing increasingly impatient about his lack of responsiveness, him snapping at the tiniest, dumbest inputs. The entire night ended up being such a disaster she left halfway through her creamy salmon pasta, a few banknotes tucked underneath a glass of water, enough to pay half the bill. He remembers deflating in his seat, feeling terrible for five minutes, finishing his own dinner and then leaving as if nothing happened.

Suna thought about texting, maybe even apologizing, but he just never found it in himself to actually do it. It was just a bad date, bad dates happen. He’d never seen her before, or maybe simply didn’t pay enough attention to notice her presence, so there was no way he could’ve anticipated just how fucking often he’d run into her from that day onwards. She never failed to remind him of her resentment and, frankly, that ended up igniting his.

Of course Osamu’s leftovers are on his kitchen counter, neatly wrapped in tin foil. He remembers how hungry he’d feel after training, so when he knows Suna’s going to be busy until the late afternoon, he always makes sure to cook an extra portion.

Rintaro lets the gym bag fall onto the floor, right next to the couch he drops on with a groan. He’s already showered, he simply needs to change clothes and head out once more. When he checks the latest messages, his brows furrow in confusion.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Still at training?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fuck, sorry, that was probably weird.  

Unfinishedusernam

-> I really didn’t mean to sound like a creep

Suna really, actually smiles at his screen. You’re insecure about complimenting him, which is sweet. He should’ve complimented you first.

crysnoopy

-> Just got home

-> You didn’t sound like a creep, I like your hands too :)

His heartbeat picks up in pace when the hand starts scribbling shortly after, indicating that you’re online and were probably waiting for his reply.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Ugh, see? Now you feel like you’re forced to compliment me

crysnoopy

-> No I don’t?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Liar. Here, if you’re sincere, compliment these.

-> [IMG_98279]

A laugh bubbles from his throat when he opens the picture of your feet in a pair of fuzzy fox slippers.

crysnoopy

-> They’re beautiful. I’d kill to have an identical pair

-> So you have nice hands and cool slippers, good to know.

Unfinishedusernam

-> You’re a flirt in your everyday life, aren’t you?

Once again, Suna hesitates. He is, clearly he is. In all likelihood, if he knew you in real life, he would be. You’re nice, intelligent, funny, someone he can easily see himself being interested in. But it’s not what he downloaded the app for, he shouldn’t wander in flirty territory, he really shouldn’t.

crysnoopy

-> Only if they own a pretty set of slippers

When has he ever been good at following judicious advice?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Knew it. Flirt.

-> Can I ask you something?

crysnoopy

-> Ask away

Unfinishedusernam

-> Why are you on this app?

He sighs. Flirty territory is easier than honesty territory. A quick glance at the clock on his kitchen wall instills a sense of urgency as he types a reply, as raw and sincere as it gets.

crysnoopy

-> I wanted to find out if I could open up to strangers more than I do with people I actually know

He really fucking hopes Osamu is proud. Let it be known that he’s trying.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Do you think you could open up to me?

Suna exhales from his nose. This is definitely not the type of conversation he wanted to have while on a rush.

crysnoopy

-> Maybe

-> I’d like that.

He waits for a few seconds, chat gone silent. Maybe you logged off, maybe you don’t know how to reply, either way Suna feels a weight lifting from his chest. It’s true, he thinks he might have a deeper conversation with you of all people. A faceless someone who sends him pictures of stray cats and nice sunsets, who makes him smile at silly jokes. He shortly wonders if you’d like to open up to him in the same way, if being vulnerable will ever be on the table. For now, he’s okay with simply letting you know.

Osaka ends up being extra motivating.

The EJP Raijin players have been training hard, religiously respecting their schedules: there’s no time for slacking off, days punctuated by a disciplined sleep routine, physical and tactical training, cool-down exercises, refuelling afternoons and evenings spent cross-training. The synergy within the team is off the charts, they have won every single practice match played so far and the excitement is palpable as the game with the Black Jackals approaches.

Their training sessions are usually shorter. Atsumu insists it’s because they’re in better shape, Suna’s almost punched him in the face over dinner.

When he’s not too exhausted, against all odds, he enjoys spending some time with old friends and acquaintances. He knows it’s going to be a difficult game, Sakusa is a pain in the ass to block and Inunaki, their libero, is very talented. But he thinks he’s ready.

As they stroll through the city when their free days or breaks coincide, Suna is sometimes hit with pangs of a sentiment not entirely foreign. Nostalgia, regret? He can never tell for certain. He misses having his friends around, being in the same place at all times, travelling less. As he thinks of Osamu currently being the only occupant of his large, painfully empty apartment, while he shares a portion of takoyaki with an ever annoyingly loud Atsumu, when he listens to Bokuto enthusiastically detail his relationship with Keiji, he thinks he’s missing out on too many things and he’s past feeling unperturbed about it.

“Shoyo says he’s very happy in Brazil, asked us to visit soon. Ya should come”, Atsumu lightly bumps Suna’s shoulder with his as they walk by the river, in search of a good viewing spot. The colorful procession carrying portable shrines is quickly filling up the boats to be paraded up and down the Okawa river. While it’s still early for fireworks, oh and bunraku performances are about to begin on different stage boats, and the air is filled with fragrances coming from the endless rows of festival food stalls. What an unexpected fortune, to be in town for the Tenjin Matsuri.

“Not gonna crash on your friend’s couch”, Suna’s peremptory tone makes Atsumu roll his eyes.

“Why are you being so pissy today? What’s up, scared you’re gonna lose?”.

Rintaro searches for something in his friend’s annoyingly familiar, limpid gaze as Bokuto snickers next to him. He finds his own affection, honed by years of joint quarrels, reflected in it.

“Rin?”, Atsumu’s worried now, head slightly tilted to the side. Suna offers a tiny smile.

“Do you ever miss Hyogo?”.

“No”, the answer comes quick, “I miss my family, I miss my friends. Yer ugly face especially. Places are just places”, he shrugs and Suna feels his shoulders relax.

“We’re lucky, we still get to catch up”, Bokuto smiles, “it’s okay to feel sad sometimes though”.

“I’m not sad”, Suna grimaces, “t’was just a question. Shut up”.

“Aw, don’t be shy! Keiji always says owning how we really feel is important”, Bokuto offers him one of his dangos and he begrudgingly takes it.

“I feel like… you should shut up”, he gruffs out. Atsumu snickers at that and Bokuto pouts. Suna doesn’t pay attention to any of them, too preoccupied with taking a decent picture of the boats. He wonders if he’ll be able to make the fireworks look as pretty as they’re in real life, to show them to you.

He doesn’t care that you’ll know where he is, it isn’t but a small part of himself he wishes to unravel for you. It’s what you two have been doing, no? Occasionally sending each other messages that go beyond jokes and memes. You now know he has twins as friends, just how much he loves his little sister, his favorite dish. Suna knows you live close to your family and visit them as often as possible, that you always bring a can of tuna in your bag should you come across stray cats on the way to work. He knows you’re scared of the dark and can’t look at blood without feeling dizzy. You’re trusting, extremely indecisive, a fierce procrastinator, you spend too much time on tiktok and are scared to death you’re not going to be able to keep those who are important to you in your life, forever. Suna gets it, really.

He hasn’t been able to say much, you opened up to him as if it was nothing and he still can’t bring himself to share much more than comforting words and feeble details. Who cares if he likes yakisoba? He hates how detached he feels from everyone else. He feels lonely. He wishes he still lived in the same town as his friends. Sometimes he goes to sleep with the tv left on, to simulate someone else’s presence in a cold, empty apartment. He misses his family, like, all the time. The thought of getting on a plane paralizes him. He doesn’t think he’s good enough at volleyball, his team may lose and it would be his fault. He doesn’t think he’s good enough.

“Taking cute pics for your mystery girl?”, Atsumu grins widely. Suna keeps a composed facade, calmly snaps a few additional shots, but internally he’s screaming. It’s his fault for expecting a twin to keep a secret, really.

“How d’you know they’re not for my instagram?”.

“You haven’t updated your feed in a year”, Bokuto points at his phone screen, sunarin profile open to prove a point. Rintaro almost snatches it from his hand to throw it into the river below.

“She’s not my girl”, he grumbles instead, “just a random person I talk to. It was Osamu’s idea”.

“It was a good idea. I’ve been trying to get Kiyoomi on that app too, you’re both so closed off”.

On any other occasion, Suna would’ve denied that and retorted with an abrasive remark. Not this time, though.

“Yeah. Trying to improve there”, he huffs, to which Atsumu’s ready-to-take-the-piss expression softens.

“Right. So how is she? Can’t remember the last time you texted with a stranger for more than a week before they were either ghosted or became your girlfriend”.

“She’s okay. I don’t know much”.

“Everyone on Matchpal is anonymous”, Kotaro fills in Atsumu’s knowledge gaps.

“She has to be more than okay if you’ve been talking for over a month”, the older Miya insists, prodding mercilessly at Suna’s discretion.

“She’s funny”, he finally concedes, “and smart. Makes opening up to a stranger look too easy”.

“Smart? Okay, ya definitely wouldn’t be her type then”, part of the tightness in Suna’s chest dissipates as his fist collides with Atsumu’s arm.

“I think that’s the point, though. You don’t know each other and will never meet, so you can admit things you wouldn’t normally mention. Be vulnerable”, Bokuto finishes his dangos and crumples up the small disposable cardboard box they came with.

“Yes but at this point she doesn’t really feel like a stranger anymore”, Suna pauses after saying that out loud, surprised by his own words. When has he stopped considering you a faceless someone on a random app, exactly? He realizes he’s given you a voice in his head. A smile he imagines reacting to his lame jokes, when he deflects tentative personal questions. He’s given you a routine, shared most of his. You don’t feel like a stranger anymore but you’re not exactly a friend. What are you, then?

“Uh-oh”, it takes a moment to realize that the teasing sound comes from Bokuto. Crap.

“And we could meet”, Suna pushes, “Shizuoka is not that big”.

“She’s from Shizuoka? Christ”, Atsumu lets out a low whistle, “does she know you live in the same city?”.

“She never asked”, if the justification sounds odd, his friends are kind enough not to point it out. He doubts Osamu would be as lenient. Truth is, he didn’t ask either: after some time, you had just randomly disclosed the information, probably because you perceived him as a very discrete person. Which, for the record, he is.

“I’m going to ask you this question just once. Do ya like this girl?”.

“No”, obviously not, “I don’t even know her”.

“Oh? But you just said she doesn’t feel like a stranger?”, Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot up.

Suna sighs. His limbs feel heavy but it’s a different feeling than the one he gets after practice, more draining.

“He’ll figure it out”, the weight of Atsumu’s hand on his shoulder feels weirdly comforting.

I don’t know what she feels like, Suna wants to say. He settles for saying nothing, as the hold on his shoulder grows tighter for a split second.

Coach is going to have an earful ready for Motoya if he doesn’t show up on time at practice, in the morning. He’s still out celebrating-drinking with other teammates, their first Tenjin Matsuri an excuse good enough to be late. Suna doesn’t mind having the hotel room to himself for the evening, a welcome novelty: he just hopes he won’t have to drag his friend out of bed the following day.

His hair is still wet, the bed way too comfortable to consider getting dressed. You, a distraction that fills his stomach with fuzzy warmth, something that for a second makes him forget why his phone has been exploding with notifications.

It’s that stupid instagram post he decided to share after a year of semi hiatus, online presence proven only by the occasional story he’d upload. Suna feels particularly caught in his feelings today, so why not post the selfie Atsumu took by the river? His comment is pinned at the top of the section, with over 8k likes.

miyatsumu brothers ❤️

Bokuto left a heart too, Samu and Kita some of their usual simple but genuine comments. Love you guys. Miss you :). It’s easy for them, a skill he wants to master as well. It’s not enough for the people in his life to simply know that he loves them, Suna wants tell them more.

He takes a look at other comments, smiling faces with heart-eyes emojis and inappropriate compliments from strangers that make him laugh. He shortly wonders what your instagram looks like. Filled with pictures of you with your friends and family, no doubt. A feed that showcases your favorite food and places, creative outfits, witty captions and sometimes no captions at all. It’d fit you.

His phone pings again.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Osaka!!!!

-> Fuck I’m so jealous, I never got to see the festival :( did you have fun?

crysnoopy

-> I did. Some old friends are in town too, we’re playing against each other soon

Unfinishedusernam

-> Your friends are also athletes???

-> Now I feel bad, this is literally how I’m spending the evening

-> [IMG_62371]

Suna smiles upon opening the picture. You’re sitting on your couch and the hand not holding the phone is doing a V sign, a lidded tray balanced on your legs, tv channel set on a show he’s never been interested in. The lights are dim, the room doesn’t seem too big but it feels so cozy. The way a home should feel. He sees a coffee table and some lit candles by the tv unit.

crysnoopy

-> Looks like a perfect evening to me

Unfinishedusernam

-> I only walked 200 steps today.

crysnoopy

-> I’m like trying really hard to find something nice to say

-> Every morning is an opportunity to create a masterpiece called life?

-> Stop surviving, start thriving?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Fuck you for making me laugh, I almost dropped my dinner

He laughs as well, out loud, then double taps your message to like it so that you know he’s still acknowledging it, despite something more urgent suddenly prompting the quick movement of his fingers.

crysnoopy

-> Hey, remember when we talked about how you’re really scared of losing the people you love?

Suna can almost sense your surprise, it’s evident in the way the little scribbling hand appears and disappears repeatedly as you probably try to think of something appropriate to say.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Yeah?

crysnoopy

-> I feel that too

-> Most days I wake up thinking I’m a bad person

Another pause. This must be the most exposed he’s ever felt and Suna is grateful your replies are not as fast as they usually are because his hands are suddenly cold, palms clammy and disgusting.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Why do you think that?

crysnoopy

-> I don’t do enough to show how I feel and one day that could make them leave

-> Maybe stability isn’t for me and that scares me

-> I get bored easily, I don't want to commit. What if what’s regular, easy for everyone else will never be my thing?

Well, that’s a whole lot of fucking baggage he just dropped on you. His first instinct is to apologize, to ask you to just forget it, deflect with some joke about having had too much to drink and being in his feels. But he doesn’t do that. Why? What makes him want to trust you with all that? Perhaps it’s just curiosity, wanting to find out what a complete stranger would think of the thoughts that eat him alive at night. Maybe he’s hoping for some miraculous solution offered on a silver plate. Or he just wants to check if he’s able to even do the whole being vulnerable thing in the first place.

Your response comes after a couple minutes and Suna doesn’t remember the last time he felt so nervous.

Unfinishedusernam

-> How did you meet your current friends?

He furrows his brows.

crysnoopy

-> Most of them I met in school

Unfinishedusernam

-> So they made the conscious decision of being your friends every single day, all this time

-> Btw getting bored easily is okay. A bad person wouldn’t be asking those questions about himself :)

-> You can always work on what you want to improve

crysnoopy

-> You make it sound too easy

Unfinishedusernam

-> Sometimes it really is tho

-> You’re not too late, you know. Tell your friends that you love them, tell your family that you miss them

Unfinishedusernam

-> It doesn’t have to be easy right away

-> You get to make your own regular. Create your new normal

Suna exhales, reads your messages over and over again. It’s oddly comforting realizing that he is, in fact, not too late yet. Why does he always think that he is?

His phone pings again.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I think you’ll find a person you’ll want to commit to

-> That’s what I tell myself after all my failed dates anyway lol

-> Remember, be the change that you wish to see on tinder

Suna snorts, heart lighter in the hotel room he sits alone in. He could get drunk on the relief suddenly filling his chest, it feels like the touch of a cool hand over a feverish forehead.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Still there?

crysnoopy

-> I’m here

How could he not be?

crysnoopy

-> Thank you

Unfinishedusernam

-> How’s opening up to a stranger feel? :)

Good, if the stranger is you. Apparently.

crysnoopy

-> Mysteriously comforting

-> How are you failing those dates? Do I have to beat anyone up?

Unfinishedusernam

-> Nah

-> It just seems the guys I’m into are never into me

crysnoopy

-> That sucks for them

It really, truly, actually does. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt as comfortable sharing something so personal over text, it’s all so natural Suna is convinced he’d be able to do that in person as well. How would it feel to meet you? Would the magic wear out, is this so easy only because an anonymous profile on a silly app?

Sure, Suna doesn’t know your name or what you look like, but that doesn’t make you a stranger. He knows you enough for the words to almost spill out of his hands, words that press threateningly against the pads of his fingers.

He’d be into you. He’d date you. That’s what he wants to say: there’s no need to know how you look or the name printed on some documents, he knows enough. It’s a weird feeling that scares him and clouds his mind for a brief moment, as he waits for your reply.

Unfinishedusernam

-> That’s sweet of you to say!

-> Last time I went out with a guy I really liked it was a disaster

-> He also lived pretty close to me, thank god he moved now

crysnoopy

-> Well, joke’s on him. He’s missing out big time

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop being cute, I’ll fall for you

Suna takes a sharp breath. Reading the words does something funny to his stomach, something Atsumu would tease him for.

Shit, Atsumu. The game is so close. When’s the last time volleyball disappeared from his brain like that, with the snap of invisible fingers? Can he afford being this distracted?

Unfinishedusernam

-> This dinner fucking slaps btw

-> They opened a new place in my city, add that to the list of spots you have to visit if you swing by shizuoka

-> It’s called onigiri miya

Suna chokes on his own spit so badly he thinks he’s gonna die as he abruptly sits up, coughing fit that brings tears to his eyes. He stares at his screen in disbelief, sudden reminder of how tangible and close you actually are burning like a slap in the face.

Samu picks up after a few rings, it’s late enough for him to be either still in the shop or getting out of the shower.

“Hey, what’s up? Saw your pic with that scrub—”

“Did a girl come to the shop today?”, the question is uttered with so much urgency the line goes silent for a few seconds.

“My day was great, thanks for asking! I’m okay, eating dinner on your couch right now”, the fake singsong tone makes him roll his eyes.

“I’m sorry, this is an emergency. She just told me she was at your shop today”.

“Really? Did she like it?”.

“Osamu”.

He chuckles lightly.

“Okay. First, please tell me why we care so much that she came to the shop today?”.

Suna loves his friend, he really does. Sometimes he wishes he was close enough to be punched in the face. “Stop being a dick”.

“Fine. A girl did come to the shop today”, Suna’s heart almost stops, “… along with a million others”, he deflates against the pillow once again, defeated. He knows it’s something he really shouldn’t do but he still sends the picture to Osamu, slightly cropped to leave out everything that’s not useful to the investigation. The two things his friend gets to see are your dinner and a V sign.

There’s a pause, one Rintaro swears is filled by the loud pounding of his restless heart.

“I know who she is”, Osamu speaks quietly, in a tone that leaves no room for sarcasm.

“What?”, Suna’s voice comes out thin, incredulous.

“I remember her. Came in as I was about to close the shop, bowed and begged for whatever leftovers I might’ve had. She looked like she had a horrible day, so I just…”.

“Put something together for her”, as you always do.

“Yeah! I usually don’t use those trays but I didn’t have any of the regular ones left”.

“Well, how is she?”, Suna cringes at the impatience vibrating in his voice, it makes him sound desperate. Osamu hums, it’s a voluntarily prolonged sound that makes him scoff.

“She’s really sweet. Apologized a million times, left a generous tip. I think you’d like her”.

“Yeah?”.

“Yeah, Rin”, he’s smiling, “I also think you should tell her”.

“Tell her what?”.

“That you want to meet her, dumbass”.

Suna runs a hand through his now dried hair, lightly ruffles it. This feels dangerously real now, something he could grasp if he so much as decided to hold out a hand. You’re so close. There’s something else simmering underneath the fear and Rintaro recognizes it easily. It’s an almost forgotten eagerness that he’s not entirely stranger to.

“Samu”.

“Hmm?”, he’s smiling again. The asshole.

“I think I like her”.

“No shit”, Osamu full on laughs now, jovial and relieved. Despite the annoyance, Suna feels the exact same way.

Shizuoka seemed different upon his return, an endless pool of possibilities where something would inevitably remind Suna of you. He’d made peace with the fact that he had a crush on someone he’s never met and with that truth also came an endless list of associations his brain couldn’t help but make.

Texting you first, whenever he wanted, became natural. What’s more, it was almost as if you were encouraged by his newly loosened state, that one evening in Osaka opening the floodgates of something else, something different. You trusted him with your most intimate thoughts and so did he. There was no more wondering if you were bothering each other or texting at an unconvenient time. You’d once told him you felt self-conscious about that specifically.

Unfinishedusernam

-> Sometimes I feel like I’m too much

-> Would you tell me if I was too much?

crysnoopy

-> What do you mean?

Unfinishedusernam

-> You know, if I was pestering you

crysnoopy

-> You’re not too much

-> And even if you were, I could handle you :)

You were the happiest when he had told you they’d won the game in Osaka. Heck, you baked blueberry muffins (“to celebrate!”) and asked him to go get himself one so you could pretend he was there to eat yours. And Suna did: he got up from his bed, grabbed a jacket, put on some running shoes and made his way to his favorite bakery with a dopey smile on his face. He then suggested a toast and, what a coincidence, you happened to have a bottle of white wine left unopened for the longest time. The occasion seemed worthy.

And so you both ate and drank and celebrated until his cheeks felt hot and your texts started lacking proper grammar. Suna remembers how it felt, slumped on his couch, lights low and mind dizzy as his eyes blinked and blinked and then blinked again while the message sat on his screen, black against white. He just stared at it, not entirely able to discern reality from fictitious.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I wish you were here

-> I’d probly just kiss you

Suna remembers staring at his screen as a wild joy exploded in his heart and took over his entire chest, scorching and vibrant like festival fireworks. He stared at it for so long he still doesn’t quite recall if he wrote the reply or if the reply wrote itself, because the only other solid memory in relation to that moment is drifting off with an empty bottle of wine precariously balanced on his lap.

He woke up the next morning with a sour taste in his mouth, a throbbing headache and sore neck. His phone had fallen to the floor and when he picked it up, it was with a heavy heart that he noticed you hadn’t replied.

crysnoopy

-> I want nothing more

-> I’m from shizuoka too. let’s make it happen?

It wasn’t unusual for one of you to leave the other on read and it wasn’t like Suna to hyperfixate on not receiving a reply but this time, for some reason, it felt different.

As he got up with a groan and shuffled to his bathroom to take a shower, a strange feeling of dread strangled his body from the inside, his mind running a million miles a minute. Were you disgusted? Mad, that he had kept his location a secret? That would’ve been unfair, though, and you had always proved to respect his boundaries. Maybe it was all a joke, then. You thought of all that flirting as nothing short of a game, something stupid to pass the time with a stranger online. Something that wasn’t real. Worse, something you’d never want to be real, especially if given the chance to make that happen. Fuck.

Suna succeeded in keeping himself fairly busy for a few hours that day: he cleaned his whole apartment, did some meal prep, called his mom, called his sister, even called Atsumu. Your silence kept throbbing at the edges of each minute, it became so unbearable he ended up sending you a picture of an aspirin package with a funny caption, to test the waters.

You never replied. Not that day, not the following day, a week later your chat is still painfully empty. Or rather, filled with all the messages he’s sent before giving up.

crysnoopy

-> Killer headache town, population: me

crysnoopy

-> How are you feeling?

crysnoopy

-> Hey, everything ok?

crysnoopy

-> I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

-> I was really tipsy, I didn’t mean it

crysnoopy

-> Or at least I didn’t mean to sound so pushy.

-> I’d never pressure you into doing anything, let alone meet me

crysnoopy

-> I’ll give you space if you need it, can you just please tell me that you’re okay? It’s been three days

crysnoopy

-> Okay. I’ll be here if you ever come back.

He’s so mad at you. Weren’t you the first one coming forward with all that stuff about wanting to kiss him? Why would you disappear? He’s apologized, what else can he do? Was it all seriously worth so little to you?

Suna feels as if the days are longer now, training unbearable. Instead of keeping his mind occupied, all it does is remind him of how badly his blocks suck lately. He doesn’t pick up when Osamu calls, he’d read everything there’s to read in his seemingly inexpressive tone. He’s mad at himself, for not noticing how stupidly attached he’d become. Is it normal to miss you so badly? He doesn’t remember the last time he missed someone just as much. The world is cruel in relentlessly reminding him of you: an advert you’d find funny, that movie you’d recently discussed making a comeback in cinemas, sunsets painting the sky in orange and lilacs so similar to the ones you’d send him, a pair of fuzzy fox slippers on display in a shop window on the way to the gym.

The toxic part of his brain is ruthless in reminding him that this is why he refuses to open up to new people. That this is why he never lets himself be actually vulnerable and simply plays along: it’s because he’d be left with nothing but mockery, humiliation and loneliness.

But Rintaro doesn’t want to give that part of his brain any more solidity. What he wants, is to be proud of himself. Relieved, even. He wants to feel happy for having been brave enough to take a risk, to trust, to open up. He wants to relish in the joy that the brief encounter with you, anonymous and all, gave him. So what if you never come back or talk to him again? That’s on you. He’ll miss you for a good while, will probably always wonder what you’re up to from time to time, but he’ll be okay. You gave him much more than what you’re probably aware of and truth is, he’s grateful. He just hopes you’ll always be okay too, he hopes life will treat you well. He hopes you don’t regret trusting him with your most intimate thoughts, ever.

It’s not like he doesn’t reread some of your messages, to keep himself company. The most recent ones still have the not entirely pleasant effect of twisting his insides. He’ll have to delete that folder of screenshots eventually.

Unfinishedusernam

-> I’m so glad I stumbled over you on this stupid app btw

Unfinishedusernam

-> You’re sweet, snoopy :)

Unfinishedusernam

-> Today was shit

-> Sometimes I think about how it’d be to have you here, at the end of shitty days

Unfinishedusernam

-> Stop flirting with me, it’s working

Unfinishedusernam

-> I feel so slilly

-> can you evne like someone you nevee met?

Turns out, you really can. He just never fully got around to telling you properly.

And then, one day, Suna’s blocks don’t suck anymore. In fact, they’re just as good as they’ve always been. He speaks with Osamu on the phone, a little bummed that his friend doesn’t have another trip to Shizuoka planned anytime soon: the shop is doing great, his presence is no longer required as often.

“I’ll miss you”, Rintaro still remembers the stunned silence following his words, “come back soon, shop or not”.

The younger Miya twin paused his ministrations, hands sticky with rice, and offered a surprised chuckle, “I’ll be back. Ya can also take a train every now and then, ya know?”.

“Maybe I will. Hey, next time you plan a trip to Osaka, can I come too?”.

“Hell yeah. I wouldn’t have to endure that dickhead alone”.

He talks to Kita and Aran way more these days: when he thinks of one of his friends, he simply grabs the phone and reaches out with a text, a meme or a funny reel. It seems to make them happy.

When his mom tells him that Kaori has been relentlessly asking about visiting her older brother, Suna assures her that he isn’t too busy to accomodate her for a week or for however long she wants to stay. Even if he was, he’d make it work. His mom clicks her tongue, gives her approval for a weekend only, less her daughter falls behind her homework even more. He grins when he hears Kaori scream MAKE IT TWO WEEKENDS in the distance.

Suna hasn’t seen his little sister in months and despite their relationship being exhaustingly conflictual (they are way too similar to each other and she gets a kick out of pissing him off), he loves her deeply and she trusts him just as much. Sometimes being home without him can become a lot and it’s not like she ever directly admits it but he’s pretty sure Kaori misses him, the little gremlin.

He was already 14 when she was born and little Rintaro had faced the news of a new addition to the family (a female, no less!) with infinite crankiness. He huffed and puffed and complained about having to share a room and a bathroom throughout his mom’s entire pregnancy, then a pink little bundle of dark hair and eardrum demolishing shrieks held his pointer finger in her tiny fist for the first time and he swore to guard her with his life, forever.

Suna wakes up extra early to clean the bathroom and his room, which he’s going to give to his sister, and make it girl-appropriate. He always goes on a tiny shopping spree before she visits: kitchen cabinets are now filled with her favorite snacks, there’s a colorful set of strawberry handcream, lotion and lip balm on his nightstand, a sweatsuit set neatly folded on his bed, the expensive vanilla body scrub their mom wouldn’t get her sits pretty in the shower.

He texts her before heading out for practice, demands she keeps him updated about her position. Kaori send a thumbs up and the picture of the blurred view outside the train window.

Unfortunately, as it often happens, coach announces the team is required to stay longer than he had anticipated and Suna doesn’t dare explain that he’s actually in a terrible rush because Motoya has been playing like shit and, of course, that becomes everyone’s problem.

“Get it together, man”, he hisses, way less patient than usual. Komori pouts.

“I’m trying”.

“Try harder!”, Washio snickers from the other side of the court.

It’s not until an hour later that Suna can dash through the gym doors, already forty minutes late to the appointment his sister had agreed on in the morning. When he notified her about the extra training, she didn’t falter.

-> No worries, I’ll find the house.

The train station isn’t at all far from his apartment, a mere 15-minute walk, but Kaori hasn’t visited in a few months and she’s not exactly known for her acute sense of direction. She’d get lost in her own house if it wasn’t impossible to achieve that in a small two bedroom apartment.

“Why is your damn phone going to voicemail?”, Suna grumbles to himself in the middle of the street, torn between running to the station or straight home. It’s not dark yet but the sun has set and Kaori knows very well the one thing she’s never allowed to do is turn her phone off, especially if him or their mom are not aware of where she is.

Right as he decides to head to the train station first, he hears her voice. There’s someone taller with her, which makes the hairs behind his neck stand up right away.

“Kaori!”, he damn nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes towards his sister in the opposite direction, gym bag almost falling off his shoulder while she chats with god knows who without a care in the world.

“Rin”, she stops right in her tracks, “sorry, kinda got los—”

“Why the hell is your phone turned off?”, as if to underline his point, he impatiently taps on his phone screen a few times, another call interrupted by immediately going straight to voicemail. He only now realizes how breathless he sounds.

“Battery died, I forgot my charger at home”, Kaori juts her bottom lip out. She’s the spitting image of her brother. “I was lucky to meet your friend right outside the station”, she looks up and so does he, features morphing into a horrified expression. Out of all people.

“You… what?”, Suna doesn’t know what to say. Was his neighbor even capable of smiling like that?

“It was nothing! We had fun, didn’t we?”.

Kaori nods. “We fed some stray cats on the way here. It’s so weird that you had canned fish in your bag, though”.

“I always carry some! Didn’t you see how hungry Mochi was?”.

For the following seconds, Suna is incapable of uttering another word. It becomes weird enough for his neighbor to wave a hand in front of his face, brows furrowed.

“Suna?”.

“Yeah”, he replies on autopilot, “Yes. I mean, thank you. Kaori, let’s go”, he eyes his sister’s large, pink, glittery backpack. Hanging from his neighbor’s shoulder.

“Uh, actually”, his sister coughs.

“What now?”.

“I kinda need to use the bathroom”.

“You can use it at home? It’s a ten minute walk from here, let’s get going”.

“I kinda need to use it now”.

“Kaori”, he sighs, “it’s ten minutes”.

“I live right here”, the woman from his nightmares indicates the house behind her, “wanna make a pit stop?”.

“Absolutely not”, Suna clears his throat, “she can hold it”.

“She can’t”, Kaori shrinks in herself a little, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“Fine, I guess we are making a pit stop”, he mutters and his sister exhales in relief, grabs his neighbor by the sleeve and urges her to open the door, quick quick quick please.

Suna watches his sister dash upstairs with a snort as he takes her backpack. It’s heavy as a rock. The hell did she put in there?

“You’re not gonna catch fire if you come in, you know”, his neighbor fixes him with a sarcastic glare as she takes off her shoes, letting her own bag fall to the floor.

“Sorry for the trouble”, he steps in at last, with a low grumble that allows a chuckle to surprise him.

“Don’t be too hard on her. She was panicking, I offered my phone but she didn’t remember your number. I asked where she was supposed to go and when she mentioned the neighborhood, I inquired about her brother’s name. Pretty lucky, huh?”, she’s not looking at him, busy taking off her jacket as well. Suna’s gaze softens.

“Yeah, really lucky. Thank you for taking care of her”.

“I also have a younger brother, I know what it feels like”, she smiles, looking at him at last, “one time we went to a festival without our parents, he thought it’d be funny to play hide and seek without telling me. I think I aged ten years that night”.

“She also used to run away so much as a kid. It’s in our blood, I was the exact same”.

“Doesn’t surprise me for some reason”.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”.

“I’m done, we can go now”, Kaori hops down the stairs, two steps at a time, then glares at her brother. Golden, foxy eyes narrowed. “You’re not being rude, are you?”.

He rolls his eyes but, before he can reply, someone beats him to it.

“He’s never rude to me. We’re friends, remember?”, Suna watches her wink with a smile so warm. Is that really the same person he runs into almost on a daily basis?

Astonished, he witnesses that little, usually quiet, reserved gremlin smile back at his neighbor. Then, remembering how important formalities are in their family, she thanks her with a deep bow. It’s only then that he notices them: fox slippers. Cute, pointed ears, bushy tales and everything.

They both jump when the steel water bottle hits the parquet flooring, Kaori dramatically clutching her chest. “Can you not be a weirdo for five seconds?”.

His neighbor (could it be…???) furrows her brows in genuine confusion. “I think volleyball finally started affecting his brain. Better take him home”.

“Yeah. Let’s go, loser”.

“Shut up, be thankful mom’s not here”, he fires back, fake annoyance to cover the fright that gnome’s actually caused. Suna’s heart is racing for an entirely different reason as he takes another furtive look at those slippers while pushing Kaori out the door, mind racing.

He is completely, absolutely unable to focus. Over dinner, he distractedly listens while his sister paints vivid pictures of boring classes, the art course their mom wants her to give a chance to, the latest fight she had with her best friend. He asks questions and fails to register the answers he gets, over and over again. It’s a relief when Kaori sprints to the bathroom, calling the shots for who gets to shower first. Suna is left rinsing the plates, with a brain that can’t think.

Would it be possible? You’re from Shizuoka. You have those exact slippers. You always feed stray cats. God, the fucking slippers. What are the chances?

He could call Osamu, ask a few questions. Instead, his sister’s voice keeps chipping away at what’s left of his sanity.

Your friend’s cool. I wish my teacher was that nice.

A teacher. Could kids be the wearing but rewarding humans you often mentioned?

He goes back to that disastrous dinner, desperately trying to recall how the conversation felt. What did they even text about prior to that evening? Was that woman as charming as you are? Fuck, he doesn’t remember a single word exchanged that evening. He just remembers being an asshole.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes”, from her comfortable spot on the couch, Kaori watches her brother march to the front door, then bend down to put on the same shoes he wore a few hours before, “lock the door, don’t burn the house down”.

“Where are you going?”, her brows are knit in confusion, never in worry.

“None of your business. Lock the door”.

“Sure, sure, bye”.

“Right now, Kaori”, something in his weirdly brisk tone makes the fourteen year old pause the show she’s watching, not without a dragged groan, and get up from underneath the blanket she had stolen from her brother’s room.

You’re so ready to go to bed early and declare the day officially concluded.

Work was tough, managing a new classroom of overexcited kids had proven to be particularly difficult. Between the increasing pressure from school administrators and the daunting task of creating engaging lesson plans for the new semester, you felt a heavy weariness threatening to swallow you whole.

As you brush your teeth, tired reflection staring back at you, he worms his way back into your thoughts once more. Saying that hearing his name and then seeing him again was unexpected would be an understatement: you were absolutely convinved (and thankful) he had moved. Where the hell did he disappear for over a month? Just to come back and show up like the annoying, irritating nuisance he is. One you can’t seem to whisk away.

Your date was one of the most disappointing nights of your life. Suna, the guy you had talked with for days, the same Suna who was so witty, intelligent and nice, was also just so blatantly uninterested. Bored. He didn’t even make the effort to ask about your day, eyes distant whenever you tried to initiate a conversation. And of course, because life hates you, you have to be reminded of that night every single day because you now see him every single day.

What’s more, you had failed the one person you’ve been able to feel interested in after that big, fat disappointment. Someone who just found himself trapped in the crossfire of your thoughts and stupid, stupid fears. Someone you were selfishly not ready to have so close. Someone wonderful who didn’t deserve your self-serving worries.

You’re already in your pjs when the doorbell rings multiple times, so insistent you almost trip down the stairs as you hurry, terrified that you’re gonna have to face an emergency with pandas printed on your pants.

“What the hell?!”, you instinctively step back as he leans forward, his entire weight resting against the doorframe.

“Sorry, I know it’s late”, Suna takes a deep breath but it’s not really needed. Prior warmup or not, he isn’t at all affected by the sprint through which he covered the distance between his house and yours. “I just had to… hey, can I come in? I’m probably gonna have a heart attack if I don’t sit down”.

You’re staring at him wide-eyed, completely startled.

“Yeah? Sure, come in! Is your sister okay? Did something happen?”, you’re quick to push the door closed as he heavily flops on your couch.

“No, no…”, Suna seems distracted for a moment, eyes scanning the room and zeroing on your tv, which is currently turned off. He stares at it for a while, then lets out a small laugh. “Actually, maybe it’s better if I stand up”.

“Suna, are you on drugs right now?”, the question is serious but his eyes, now fixed on you, don’t reveal any particular emotion besides genuine… amusement?

“I need to tell you something”.

The odd idea that he might be hiding a knife somewhere underneath that leather jacket crosses your mind for a split second.

“Sure…?”.

“When my sister was a baby, she’d cry a lot. I legit thought my ears would explode at some point”, he weighs the words carefully as he approaches you and, for some odd reason, you don’t take a step back. “She’d cry so much, all the time. And then, one day, I brought home a snoopy plush I won at the arcade. It became the one thing that would always shut her up”.

It feels like someone’s toppled a bucket of ice cold water over your head. Suna is standing so close while looking at you in a way you’ve never witnessed, a way so uncommon for him. You can’t focus on the desperation in his eyes and you’d never guess the hopefulness simmering behind a gaze that seems to be discovering you for the first time.

“It’s you”, barely a whisper, but it’s all the confirmation he needs. The relief in Suna’s exhale is intense as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in. Thank god he does, because your knees feel so wobbly.

It’s a weird sensation, being pressed against him, hanging onto his shoulders for support. He’s warm and smells so good, of bergamot and musk. Your brain can’t quite comprehend that he’s the person you’ve been talking to for the past months.

“I missed you. I’m sorry”, he confesses in the curve of your neck and the words dissolve underneath the thin fabric of your pjs, slowly sink into your skin and bones. “I’m so sorry”, he says again, carefully pulls back to look at you, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort. Mirth flashes across his features for a moment. “Hey, are you about to throw up?”.

“No, of course not!”, you take a tentative step back but he doesn’t trust your stability and keeps a gentle hold on your arms, “why are you apologizing? I disappeared. I should be the one… I should be…”, Suna’s gaze softens, one hand rising up to touch your face but then freezing mid-air, deciding against the risk of freaking you out even more.

“Please don’t cry”.

“What?”, you retort, “I’m not crying. Ew”, but when you touch your cheek, it’s shocking to find it wet. What the fuck.

“Oh, god. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me”, a dry chuckle bubbles up from your throat, “listen, there’s no pressure on you. I’m sure this is a real disappointment so, like, we can pretend it never happened and just go on with our lives. I won’t—”

“Are you sure it’s you? The person I’m looking for is pretty clever”, he attempts a smile when you frown, familiar at last. “You think I’d leave my sister alone and race all the way here for a real disappointment?”.

“I think you just wanted to corroborate”.

Suna rolls his eyes, incredulous. “Well, I corroborated. I’m only gonna pretend it never happened if that’s what you want, because it sure as hell isn’t what I want. If you even care about that”.

You angrily wipe your tears, cheeks burning scorching hot with embarrassment. “I didn’t expect you to be so close. I freaked out. I’m freaking out right now because you’re even closer, apparently”.

“Are you disappointed?”.

You look at him, really look at him. His dishevelled hair, naturally narrowed eyes, the bridge of a perfect nose, full lips forced in a severe line. He’s searching for something in your gaze, with fierce determination. How can one person’s eyes be so penetrating? You feel naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

“No”, you reply, sincere, “no, I’m not”. If only you could feel the relief taking over his chest. “But… what now?”.

Suna feels as if he’s seeing you for the first time and, at the same time, it’s like he’s recovering something important, something precious. He’s already trusted you with some of the most important, hidden parts of himself. He hasn’t liked someone that way in such a long time and he’ll be damned if he lets this chance pass by. Again.

He’s not too late. Why does he always think he is?

You curiously watch as Suna takes his phone out and spends a few seconds tapping on it with a smile he can barely hide.

The familiar ping of a notification you haven't heard in weeks makes you stutter.

crysnoopy

-> Now we do this right.

[endemiccharm]

The whole "DNI" thing began in fandom as a way to say: "here's an opinion I have, and I know the opinion is not universal, and I don't really want to hear people disagreeing in the tags so like, please just leave it." It was not a way to say "hey, I dislike this whole subsection of humanity and if you engage with my work I'm going to scream."

example: "God I get so frustrated with the whole thing where Aragorn doesn't struggle not to take the ring like, at all, as though his line wasn't the reason Sauron still reigns. As though him being 'king' somehow shields him. It didn't shield Isildur! (I know, I know. Aragorn stans DNI)"

It's frustrating that it's moved to a position of purity and judgement. Like, the above example isn't "I'm right, you're wrong, fuck off" it's just "I know it's not a universal opinion, let me vent". It was a signal to the readers that the OP wasn't going to get involved in certain discussions, and if someone reblogged with "but Aragorn is the best because...", the OP would just not engage with that post, because they'd already indicated they didn't want to. Or they'd block that person and move on. They wouldn't (in my experience) dogpile on the person and run them through the coals.

Tl;dr: tags are to tell your readers something about your own viewpoints, not to control their behavior. If you tag "Men DNI", then you are decidedly telling me something about your viewpoint. And it's rancid.

"xyz DNI" blocking people is YOUR job, sorry. You cannot ask the world to simply move around you, you have to take control of your online experience or you will be fucking miserable forever. Most people don't read your bio/pinned/carrd before touching the posts that cross their dash anyways.

Also maybe worry less about if someone who likes something you hate clicks on your tumblr post. I promise it is not that fucking serious.

Also-also if you have this DNI because your friends/moots said or implied you have to otherwise you're somehow Bad and/or will be punished by them if you don't, that's kind of fucked and maybe you need less controlling friends.