#will probably try and work all in the one first and will take a new comparison pic at the end xD

[mayakern]

I honestly don’t know how to write this; I have spent all week attempting to figure out what to say.

Last Monday I was informed by our factory that our merchandiser and direct point of contact with the factory passed away unexpectedly two weeks ago. She was someone who I have spent a great deal of time speaking to ever since we switched factories two years ago. She helped us realize designs for new products, sent us samples of garments extremely quickly and kept track of all our orders. She went to bat for us if something went wrong with our print shop or if I was unhappy with how a garment pattern was interpreted by their team. As their first American client and a brand that focuses on size inclusion, something that is not typical of their other clients, she handled a lot of crazy requests from us without blinking and she was dedicated to ensuring that both us and our customers were happy. We talked nearly every day, and though it was work related she was one of the kindest people I have had the pleasure interacting with daily.

She was beyond dedicated to her work and to working with us. Turkey has an 11-hour time difference from me in California, which means when she was emailing me at 2pm in the afternoon it was 1am there. You can sure bet that I extended her the same courtesy and tried my best to answer her emails at night too, even when I would rather just be sleeping.

It was also clear just how much she loved her job, and now much she loved you guys. She had been silently watching our social media since we first started working with them. She got just as excited as we did on launch days and would often email me unprompted about how she was glad people were leaving such positive comments and reviews. She read your feedback when no one ever asked her to do that or even expected it of her. She did it because she really, really cared.

Even though she was miles away and we never met in person, she was like a coworker to me and the loss of her is like losing someone on our team.

The Maya Kern team, as a whole, has been dealing with a lot lately. I personally just moved (which took far longer than we expected) and Maya and Devin are gearing up to move back to Minneapolis pretty soon. With the loss of our merchandizer, it has taken the wind out of my sails a little bit. I was trying to push through, even though I am exhausted, and carry out the photo shoot for our new products this weekend, but it has become clear that my body just can’t handle it. My arthritis has finally told me to stop moving, so unfortunately, we are going to have to reschedule the shoot for later on.

We are doing everything we can to make sure our next product drop on the 21st still happens. But as of right now, due to this sudden loss, the garments haven’t even shipped from the factory yet and I am not optimistic that they will clear customs and get checked into the fulfillment center in time for the launch. This means the drop is likely going to be pushed back to December 5th and instead of a full photo shoot, we will probably have to settle for taking quick photos of everyone at home, and likely with our phones. 

We work really hard to deliver not just garments we believe in, but also pictures of said garments on bodies that our customers can relate to, and unfortunately I just do not think that is possible this time. As always, we really appreciate your patience and understanding during what has been a very difficult time for us.

Ash

Chief Operations Officer

[catboyieejeno]

gameboy :: p.js — two

genre: gamer! jisung x gamer! reader, college au cw: female reader, fwb to lovers, explicit smut, pervy jisung, male masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, inexperienced jisung, cum play/breeding kink, pet names, slight humiliation kink, size kink, creampie, probably more wc: 14.963k

[one] [two]

18+ minors do not interact!

“Is that my cardigan?” 

Forget distraught, forget embarrassed, forget every possible synonym for the word humiliation. Not a single one would do what he’s feeling in this moment even a sliver of justice. Jisung is convinced his soul has left his body, that he’s passed on or that the ground has swallowed him whole. In fact, he’d prefer it that way. He has never felt more panic in his life as you quickly approach the cum-stained cardigan that he took from you, that he pleasured himself with countless times, that he still hasn’t washed…

“You dropped it in class, and I-I meant to give it back to you, you know, a-after I washed it, but then—” 

As you turn the material over in your hands, taking note of and examining the stains, Jisungs breath completely cuts off. You spin slowly on your heel, facing him. There’s an unreadable expression on your face, and it takes every bit of the little pride he has left to not squeeze his eyes shut. 

“Are these—” His voice is no more than a sputtering squeak, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. Fuck, you must think—” 

“Jisung.” 

“I didn’t mean to keep it for so long, or-or at all, really, it’s just—”

“Jisung.” He’s pretty sure you can hear him gulp. “Were you using my cardigan to get off?” 

“I-” 

“Were you?” You ask sternly. 

He sucks in a breath, unable to look at you any longer as the faintest of yeses leaves his pouty lips. 

There’s a moment of silence. A terribly long, excruciating moment of silence where Jisung can think of no way to make this up to you. He’s beyond ashamed, palms clasped together and sweating, face red with horror, inside of his cheek clamped tightly between his teeth, the whole nine miles. So much for mulling over how he’d reveal who he was to you, and so much for all the overthinking he did, all the times he planned out exactly what to say to you and how. Now, it’s all coming to an end because of this damned cardigan. He should’ve just washed it and given it back to you after the first time—no, he shouldn’t have used it at all. His mind is filled with thoughts of everything and nothing at the same time, and he’s already beginning to mourn the loss of your friendship when you say the unthinkable: 

“Show me.” 

Jisung works his jaw to gather some spit to swallow, since his mouth has managed to run completely dry in record time. His breathing has picked up significantly too, at your words and the way they drip from your lips with silky lust, or venom—he can’t tell which yet, since he’s not entirely sure he heard you correctly in the first place. For all he knows, they may be one in the same, and that would make him quite the textbook masochist; to be so humiliated and simultaneously, so fucking flustered. 

The reddening tint on his face pales suddenly as he realizes that he has yet to respond and the seconds continue to pass. With a shaking voice, he chokes out a single word: “...What?” 

There is no beat, no single pause before you speak. Similarly, there’s no hesitation in your words that spill seamlessly from your smooth lips. “Show me how you get off using my cardigan,” you repeat loudly, clearly. 

There isn’t an ounce of playfulness in your voice, much less in your stature, upright and commanding. Your expression is unreadable as you stand in front of him expectantly, holding out your cardigan with its new (and not so new) decorative additions for him to grab ahold of. 

With a heavy gulp, Jisung lowers his head. “You already got me to admit it. You don’t have to embarrass me any more.” 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” You explain, taking a few cautious steps forward until you’re but a foot away from him where he sits on the edge of his bed, “If you’re feeling embarrassed, that’s not because of anything I’ve done.”

He gulps again. 

“I just wanna know what you did as you…” Your index finger finds the underside of his chin, tilting it up so that he’s forced to look at you, “...thought of me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

For a brief moment, he can’t construct a response, only gawking at you speechlessly as he attempts to process whether or not you really mean the words that are coming out of your mouth and their twisted implications. Then, his length gives a twitch and he fully wishes the ground would swallow him whole because, how could he have so little shame? 

“Ji…” you start, and his attention is fixed on you once more. The heat in his cheeks returns as you brush your fingers through his hair, pushing all the strands back to allow you a clear view of his face. “It’s kinda pathetic, you know. Having me so close and still using my cardigan…”

His stomach churns, his dick leaks, and his hands grip the bed sheets as you use your index finger to push him back on his chest until he’s resting on his elbows against the mattress. 

“If only you would’ve let me know sooner…maybe I could’ve helped you.” 

“You can help me now,” the words are tumbling from his lips breathlessly, “please.” He isn’t above whimpering any more, or begging. You have him wrapped around your finger, you have for the last few months, and he’s pent up and desperate. There’s nothing he wants more than to have you sink down on his length at this very moment—and he can't believe how plausible that reality actually seems. Still, you have other plans. 

“Tell me what you thought about, baby.” 

He gulps, taking a leisurely glance over your body now that the situation allows, each and every thought his imagination previously concocted coming up to the tip of his tongue where it sits idly, unable to be uttered. He’s so embarrassed, so turned on, so conflicted. 

You give him an encouraging nod, casting your eyes down to his lap where his length strains against the fabric. 

“Can I?” 

Jisung nods eagerly, and you pop off the button of his jeans, sliding down the zipper so slowly that the buzzing is the only sound either of you can hear for a second or two. The next sound that echoes around the small dorm room is a hiss from Jisung’s drooling lips, elicited when your hand brushes his hard on. He can tell your actions are nothing less than methodical when you reach for his hand. You place the black cardigan in his fist, then lay it over his lap. 

Then, you spin around, bringing his desk chair over and taking a seat expectantly. 

When he still doesn’t respond, horny and frozen in shock, you smirk. 

“Need me to walk you through it?” 

Oh, God. He could come undone just from that thought alone.

“Please.” He squeaks out. 

“Take off your pants, Ji.” You instruct, leaning forward to rake your nails along his thighs, “I want you to tease yourself as you tell me what you thought about.”

”Fuck, I—” he glances at your hands that rest just inches away from his length, “I wanted you—I want you so bad.”  

You scoff. “Not very obedient, are you?” 

“Sorry—“ he clears his throat, hoping that of all times, his voice doesn’t betray him now. Following your directions, Jisung hurriedly slides his joggers down so that they’re resting at his knees, before speaking up, “I thought about you, what you looked like. Thought about your body in some pretty little outfit like the one you’re in now.” 

“You thought about me wearing clothes?”

”I thought about you taking each piece off, one by one. Just for me,” he adds. 

Perhaps, it’s a reward for his compliance, or maybe it’s a punishment; regardless, you lean back, sliding the shirt he had lent you off so that you’re sitting before him in nothing but a lacy black piece. 

If he thought your breasts were spilling from your top at the party, it’s nothing compared to the way they sit in your bra, constrained by the lace and begging to be held in his greedy palms.

You hum for him to continue, and he has to remind himself he isn’t dreaming. Subconsciously, his hand has begun to squeeze his cock over his boxers and you don’t miss the way the action makes his lips part.

”I pictured you touching me, like it was your hand instead of mine.” As he mumbles this, he slides his left hand into his underwear and gives himself a generous pump, then another, a shuddering breath making his chest heave.

“Like this?” 

Jisung freezes as you reach in to chase his hand, grabbing a hold of his length for yourself. Instantly, he throws himself back onto the mattress, covering his face with his palms as he moans. 

“Nuh-uh, baby,” you scold him, “You have to look, otherwise you’re defeating the purpose.” 

“Feels so good,” 

“I know,” you coo, letting your thumb swipe along his slit. The prettiest sounds leave his lips in the form of whimpers and whines, and he forces his eyes open to watch how you pull him out from his boxers. 

“Can you tell me what I did next?”

”You—fuck,” Despite his best efforts, his voice cracks, “you used your mouth.” 

“My mouth, huh?” You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his head. Some more precum leaks, coating your pouty lips, and Jisung thinks he may have actually died and gone to heaven. 

It takes everything in him to keep his head up, especially when you wrap your mouth around him. Your nails dig crescent moons onto his bare thigh and Jisung croaks out a throaty groan as he feels himself poke the back of your throat. There’s a bit of drool gathering at the corner of your mouth, and he brings his thumb forward to swipe it away. With the salty taste of him

on your tongue, you blink at him appreciatively, coming up for air with a gasp. 

His dick is so red and swollen that you can’t help the praise that leaves your lips. “So pretty,” 

“You should see my view.” 

His reciprocation only makes you more eager, and you kiss him again. Teasing him is creating a mess between your legs and the only relief is the way the friction feels when you roll your hips against his desk chair. 

You hum contentedly, tongue poking out to kitten lick his flushed head. He shudders and rolls his head back for the nth time, gripping his sheets. 

“Shit, you’re driving me crazy,” 

You bat your lashes at him, taking him into the warmth of your mouth again. You hollow your cheeks to suck on his head, eyes fixed on his and watching for a reaction—and boy, does he give you one. His jaw goes slack, brows dipping down to hover over his half-lidded, glossed over eyes. As his thighs tremble, he watches you intently, wary of your every move you make and anticipating your next one. The sensation of your wet tongue, and the inside of your cheek, and your tightening throat that swallows around him—it’s almost all too much, and it has him using absolutely all of his self control to keep from bucking up. He wants to enjoy this, to soak this in; he needs to.

But his balls already feel so heavy and tight, and when you moan around him, he feels the vibrations in the form of tingles at the end of his spine. He can barely get a warning out quick enough before he’s releasing a load down your throat.

“Oh, fuck—I’m coming—“ 

You lift your head off of him with a pop, but not without sticking your tongue out to catch the spurts of white cum that dribble and shoot from his spent cock. A string of strained purrs and whimpers fall from Jisung’s ‘o’ shaped lips as he sees this, right before his vision whites out and his nerve ends go numb. His arms fall limply at his sides as the waves of pleasure drag on and through him, till he’s emptied every last drop into your waiting mouth.

You can tell from the way he’s shaking that he’s starting to become sensitive, but your hands don’t stop stroking him, nor do they let up on their pace—not until he takes them into his own and grips them over his abdomen, chest red and heaving. 

His ears are ringing by the time he comes down, the only feeling being your lips that kiss at his thigh and the thumb that swipes along his knuckles. He blinks down at you in awe and mentally professes his love and devotion to you, courtesy of the insane head, though on second thought, he realizes it might just be a side effect of post-nut-stupidity. 

“You’re too fucking good at that.” He lets out breathlessly, wiping some sweat from his chest. 

“Thank you,” you laugh. The moment you retract your hand from his hold to swipe at the cum and drool that sticks to your chin, Jisung shoots up, cheeks reddening again at the mess he’s left on your face. 

“Shit, sorry. Here.” Somewhat awkwardly, he shimmies his joggers back on after tucking himself into his boxers with a wince, then runs to the other side of his room where he gets you a pack of wipes, some tissues, and a fun sized water bottle from his mini fridge. 

“Are you hungry? I’ll make you some instant noodles or—“

“I’m fine, Ji.” 

“Ji? What happened to Sung?”

You ponder for a moment, then give him a little smile as you wipe away the mess of fluids on your face. 

“Ji suits you more.” You decide, “I called you Sung before I knew you, like, really knew you. And now that I do, I think Ji is more fitting.” 

He’s lost count of how many times he’s gone red in your presence, but he can’t help it. Not after the way the night unraveled, and certainly not when your cheek presses into his shoulder. You’re still not wearing a shirt, and the night’s makeup has started melting off around your cheeks and lips, but for whatever reason, you’ve never looked better. He’s glancing down at you warmly, lost in thought as he tries to decide which feature of yours is his favorite. 

It’s a pointless battle, and a decision he gives up on quickly, because there’s no way he’d manage to decide on an answer. Your eyes that looked up at him from between his legs just moments ago are filled with the most extravagant mix of light and mischief, and every time they meet his, he thinks he could float away. Your lips are velvet, he can confirm since he’s felt them now, albeit not on his own. Nonetheless, they’re pillowy and soft and wonderous, and he can’t wait for the moment he gets to taste them. 

As he watches you rub your legs together, he’s confronted by a mix of emotions: Firstly, he feels relief, because this could only mean you were worked up, and more importantly, because of him. Then, he’s instantly grieving the fact that he hadn’t asked to return the favor, and now you were needy and helpless. But no matter, because he clears his throat, mustering up a bit of boldness from the alcohol that still swirls through his system. 

“Let me eat you out.” 

“What?” 

”Let me eat you out, please.” he tries again, and instantly grimaces at the poor attempt at rephrasing. 

This is why you’re bitchless, Jisung.

You don’t seem to mind, though, letting out a light laugh as you straighten up beside him. “You don’t have to,” you whisper shyly, but you barely get the words out before he’s interrupting you. 

“I want to!” He corrects quickly, and you flash him a sweet smile. 

“Not today,” You can practically see the way he deflates, so you quickly explain,“I’m on my period.” 

“Oh.” 

“But that just means you owe me next time, right?” His eyes instantly light up at your proposition, and you can practically see the way his pupils dilate.

Oh. 

“There’s gonna be a next time?” 

You feign offense, “You’re already going back on your offer?” 

“No!” he answers quicker than he means to, clearing his throat, “I mean, no. Definitely not. Like, really. I can’t wait. I mean I can wait, but—”

He can’t even process the moment your lips press against his because just as quickly, they’re no longer there. A peck, and then you’re mumbling “good” against his mouth and going in for seconds as his brain starts buzzing. 

He acknowledges that this gesture was to shut him up, but he doesn’t care. His mind is numbed by your taste and the way your tongue glides against his teeth. If this is how you intended on getting him to be quiet, he’d never stop running his mouth. It doesn’t help that he can taste himself; that thought on its own is almost enough to give him a semi. 

You pull away with a small smack between your lips and instantly, Jisung feels himself melt, leaning into your hand that comes up to caress his cheek and mess with the ends of his hair at the side of his head. 

“I should head out.” You sigh, and he thinks he’s never been so disappointed after hearing just four words. 

“It’s cold out.” He protests, trying not to sound too whiny.

“Am I supposed to stay here?” He knows it’s a rhetorical question, but he still has to bite back the urge to ask you to do just that. “You can just lend me a jacket. I mean, that would make us even, right?” 

When you pick up the end of your cardigan as a notion, Jisung grimaces, but decides that ultimately, if it wasn’t for this cardigan, he might’ve never ended up where he is now: with your hand in his hair and the taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. 

“You want me to walk you home?”

“Please.” 

And so he does, with his jacket wrapped tightly around you. He drops you off in front of your door, with an endearing wave of his hand and the plan to see you again after class on Monday set in motion. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

“This is convenient.” 

“What is?” he perks up, watching as you sit criss-crossed on his bed, a stack of astronomy books piled up on your lap. You don’t look up, but gesture around.

“We can just study at yours,” you say as if it’s obvious, “we don’t have to worry about booking a lab.”

Jisung hums in agreement, gleeful at the idea that you intend to spend more and more time with him, and even more importantly, in his room.

Here, where he can only remember the way your mouth felt around him, and the countless times he’s pleasured himself to the thought of you. Here where you lay, on his bed, in a skirt that’s definitely too short for the harsh winter season, which could only mean you wore it for him. Here, where if he leans back, he can catch a glimpse of the cotton, light blue panties you’re wearing under the hem of polyester. 

After he returned from walking you home, Jisung collapsed into his bed, overjoyed and buzzing with energy, and so grateful there was no class the next day—Since he was not sure he’d be able to work himself out of bed with his mind still in a haze. By the time he managed to stop kicking his feet and replaying the night in his mind, the clock had striked six and the sun was beginning to peek over the hilltops. 

He can’t stop thinking about what the two of you had agreed on doing the next time you hung out, especially not when your pretty legs are bare and exposed. 

It’s a shame they’re not wrapped around his head. 

Nonetheless, he remains hesitant to make a move because: what if you had forgotten? Or perhaps, it was the alcohol talking that night and you really didn’t intend to do anything else with him—a totally plausible reality, as much as he hates to admit it.

Although he had gotten the go-ahead with you, and his dick is already growing at the thought of how your cunt would taste, his crippling fear of rejection still managed to choke him. A single, suggestive brush of his hand against you could make you uncomfortable, since the line between sexual and friendly intentions is so blurred, and that terrifies him. 

Very quickly, however, he realizes that’s not the case. 

“What do the books say about Castor and Pollux?”

“Well,” you start, “for starters, it’s more detailed than all the stuff we’ve found online.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Like, for example,” your leg unfolds from its position tucked away under you, and stretches out to rub along Jisung’s thigh. That’s how it starts. 

“In the book it goes into a lot more detail about the battle which inevitably leads to Castor’s death.” 

He can barely register what you’re saying, because with each word, your foot, adorned by your tantalizing knee-high socks, is rubbing shamelessly over his bulge. You watch out of the corner of your eye as his jaw goes slack, his gaze tracking every move you make over his lap. In fact, the only time he glances up at all, is when you lay back against his pillows and prop your legs apart, granting him a clear view of your panties that now showcase a wet mark. 

Jisung sucks in a breath, “Y/n, I think we should take a break–“ 

“Did you know that Pollux gave up half of his immortality so that Castor could live?” 

To put it bluntly, Jisung really couldn’t fucking care less.  

“Mhm?” He hums, except it’s practically a moan, because now your legs are fully spread, and your leg is restless, rubbing against him with no remorse. He’s fully hard, so hard that it’s beginning to hurt, but he feels stuck in place. 

“Fuck, we need to stop, I can’t focus if—“ 

“We should add some of this stuff to the presentation.” 

You’re playing some kind of game, and he’s happy to take the bait. Your eyes that hover over the top of the book flicker up to his for a split second, glossed over and sultry, revealing just how needy you actually are. 

And so, he breaks. 

Your leg is flung off his lap as he leans forward, settling his shoulders between your knees and attaching his lips to the plush of your thigh. Wet kisses make a path toward your core before he turns to give some attention to your other leg. It’s indescribable, how soft your skin is under his puckering mouth and how riveting the view of you is from this angle. 

You’ve moved the book a bit to the side, giving him full visibility so he can watch the way your eyes roll back for a split second when his big hands push your skirt out of the way, the material bunching up at the small of your waist.

Despite the fact that you’re clutching the pages of the book so tightly that your hands are turning white, you maintain your composure. “When Castor was revived, Zeus turned them into the constellation. Then–“ 

He tunes you out, squeezing your skin like a stress ball as a newfound determination manifests. You’re only acting unphased—the growing wet patch on your covered folds giving you away—and he’s dead set on breaking your facade. 

As bad as he wants to taste you, he won’t; not yet. Not until you’re writhing and shaking and desperate to be touched. 

He keeps working his kisses up to your center, then pulling away, alternating between using his teeth to nibble and tug at the more giving parts of your skin, and licking at the firm areas, like your hip bones and below your navel. 

Him nuzzling his nose into you tickles, especially since you can feel his breaths as they grow more uneven. Your view isn’t so bad either; you can make out the way his hips rut into the mattress and his hair flops as he moves to kiss across your skin. You only dare to steal a glance when you know he’s not looking; otherwise, you’re reading off the page in the steadiest voice you can muster, though your patience is slowly withering. 

When he finally gives any attention to your core, it’s over the panties, nose digging into your clit and breathing you in. His next breath is full of you, and all he can feel is your thighs as they slightly tighten around his head. 

The slight friction is ruinous, and it almost manages to make you stammer over your words, but Jisung interrupts you with a groan and misses the way you stifle a whine.

“Put that book down so I can make you come on my face, baby.” 

“Y-you’re distracting me. We’re supposed to be studying–“ you argue, but the book is already hanging loose in your hands, moments away from being discarded to meet the rest of the pile. Jisung catches this, and he doesn’t entertain your resistance any longer. You’re about to snap, he can feel it—he can practically taste it. 

And so, his tongue pokes out to lick a long stripe from your entrance, up to your clit. His pace is menacingly slow, he still hasn’t moved your panties aside, but somehow, the action rips a moan from your throat and causes your hips to buck.

Humming in satisfaction, he does it again, and the small whimper you let out the second time around almost makes him bust in his pants. 

“Ji..” 

With his arms hooked under your thighs and his palms situated over your abdomen, he hums in acknowledgement of his nickname and presses his face further into you. Your heels dig into his shoulders to tug him closer, but he tuts, flickering his narrowed eyes up to you. 

“Is something wrong?” His tone is teasing and cheeky, and you take your lip between your teeth. 

“No–I just,” you huff out, reddening cheeks filling with air, “please–“ 

“Please?” The single syllable is dragged out, encouraging you to elaborate, but all you can manage is another helpless moan.

“Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you, angel.”

“I–please, I need your mouth or–or your fingers. whichever,” you pant, “fuck, Jisung, I don’t care–just touch me—“

You don’t have time to finish your babbled plea before he hooks a finger on the material of your panties and pushes them aside. His tongue darts out to lick your clit, and he instantly, both you and Jisung moan in fervor. When he dips the muscle into your entrance, your essence coats his taste buds, and he decides then and there that he’s never tasted anything better. 

He’s also never seen anything better than the sight of you arching your back and digging your hips down to push your aching folds closer to his mouth. And it works, because he gets a mouthful of you and he begins to suck on your bud contentedly. 

Forget reading about the constellations, you were practically seeing them. 

They swirled over your eyelids when you closed them and swam around the room when you managed to peek them open for a glimpse of the boy laying between your legs. Any time his eyes flicker up to yours, the pleasure peaks, and you have to clasp a hand over your mouth to contain yourself. 

He hopes you can’t tell that he’s never done this before; by the looks of it, you have no idea. Your moans are growing louder by the second, with every swipe of his tongue against your slit, and your fingers have long forgotten the book you were clutching earlier. Now, they tug on Jisung’s hair, scratching at his scalp affectionately and pulling on the locks at the root anytime he does anything a tad too well. 

He laps you up again and again, replicating everything he had ever seen work in porn videos, until your toes are curling and you seem to be running out of air. Broken cries fall from your parted lips, with an occasional call of his name that has him rutting into the bed at a pace that almost provides as much friction as he desperately needs. 

“So pretty like this,” he manages to sputter into your core, and you instantly shiver, pressing him closer to you with your heels—if that’s even possible. 

You breathe out a series of phrases, all incomplete and taking after a whine more than anything else: “I’m gonna–“ and “Feels good–“ and “Keep going–“. 

No part of your brain is composed enough to form an actual sentence while Jisung’s tongue buries itself into your hole, but he seems to get the memo. He devours you like he’s famished, and when his hands reach up to grab ahold of your breasts, your efforts to contain your moans become obsolete. 

Your orgasm crashes into you as he returns his attention to your clit. His fingers busy themselves pinching one of your nipples and his deep hums vibrate at your core, and you find your vision going dark until there’s no choice left but to squeeze your eyes tight and reconcile with the ecstasy that has no means of stopping. For a second, your legs begin to shake, but as the feeling of coming from his swirling tongue becomes overwhelming, they fall limp, held up only by Jisung’s shoulders. 

And he doesn’t stop, until he’s completely sure that you’ve taken everything and have started to come down. His face is flushed red from the effort and a bit of sweat shines like gloss on his forehead, when you’re finally able to open your eyes and take him in. 

Secretly, he’s both surprised and proud of himself that he’s managed to make you come—for some reason, he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he might be under this pressure—mostly put on him by him. If he couldn’t manage to give you an orgasm, he’s not sure how he would have faced you again. 

“Holy shit.” Your voice is thinned out and dreamy, and you don’t hesitate to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him up to you for a kiss. He moans into your mouth, slick covered lips disappearing between yours as you make out with him.  

“Damn,” You mumble as you break apart, “You eat out all your friends like that?” 

His eyes that were shut dreamily flutter open at once, and his brows pinch in slight confusion that he refuses to address for the moment.

 Technically, you aren’t wrong. 

Technically, the two of you are friends. 

But that title is the very last one he expected to and wanted to hear right about now. 

He can’t spare it another thought, because just quickly as the words leave your mouth, he’s lost again in your kiss. The feeling of your soft lips is so invigorating that it makes him salivate, and as he situates himself properly between your thighs. A few brushes of your wet cunt against his bulge and he’s releasing into his boxers with a groan, emptying himself as you continue to taste his spit and your release on his tongue, hips grinding down to stimulate him further. 

He comes hard, considering the compromising position he’s in, but just the idea of his member being so close to your pussy, especially after he’s tasted it, is enough to tip the scale. 

“Mmph..” 

“Feel good?” 

“So good,” he nods, rutting until every last drop has been expelled and his tip is too sensitive to touch. Then, he collapses into your arms that wrap around him, palms smoothing through his hair and down his spine. 

“Gimme a kiss,” You plead softly, and he looks up at you, peeking through the strands of hair that cover his eyes until your fingers move them away. He happily puckers his lips to place a gentle peck on yours. He’s almost smiling into it, until then and there, in the back of his mind, he thinks back to your choice of words. Do friends kiss like this? He supposes they do, in a talking stage of sorts. When the lines between friendship and more have been blurred, as they have here, and some sort of romance is blossoming, friends can kiss.

Typically, though, that blur is discussed and some boundary is set. Considering his dick has been in your mouth and he just gave you head until you and him both came from the effort, he figures some of those rules don’t necessarily apply here. 

He decides he’d rather not overthink. It got him nowhere when he wanted to come up to you before, and now that he has you, he’s sure it won’t help him here, either. 

So instead, he melts into your touch and relishes you until the moment you pull away and remind him of the half-written notes on his laptop that lie discarded since long ago. This gets him to regain focus for the rest of the night, and the two of you manage to get a decent amount of work done without ripping off each other’s clothes. He’s only slightly regretful of that, but the soft look of content on your face is enough. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

The project had gone off without a hitch. It seemed that the trick to being productive when it came to you two, was releasing some pent up sexual tension; then, your buzzing neurons would reward your efforts and get to work—like the time you met up at the library, just three days later. 

Barely fifteen minutes of little-to-no productivity had passed before you found yourself bored and pressing your thighs together to give your slick-covered pussy any bit of relief. And Jisung, hyper aware of you as always, noticed. It took one lustful glance from him and you were crawling onto his lap, leaning into his side, and nibbling softly on the lobe of his ear until his dick was so hard it almost hurt. His hands flew to your hips, pinning you down until your cunt was rubbing against him. He had barely half a mind to keep you quiet, because the computer labs had no lock on the doors. With his hand clasped over your mouth, you rolled yourself against him until both of you came in your clothes, eyes rolling back and chests heaving with exasperation. That day, you wrote over three thousand words on the constellation—talk about post-nut-clarity. 

The powerpoint that came hand in hand with the essay was an idea that came to be at your apartment. He found out Karina was your roommate during his visit, and she had invited Heesung over so they could work on their assignment, too. It wasn’t long before Jisung noticed your dissipating patience, and the overwhelming relief on your face when the two of them announced they would go grab coffee as a pick me up. You pulled him into a kiss almost instantly, discarding your notes and forgetting about the due date that was closing in. 

All that mattered in that moment was being close enough to Jisung to breathe him in, and who was he to complain? He wanted nothing more than that sweet bliss—sharing your air, tasting your spit, squeezing your skin, making you come.

He was only denied the last of the four today, because as his tongue sunk into your hole and lapped you up, the door clicked and both of you rushed to straighten out your appearances. Karina and Heesung didn’t seem to suspect anything, only mildly reminded the two of you were in the room after finishing their own sweet interaction. 

Karina gasped when the coffee she sipped burned her lip, and Heesung popped off the plastic cap of the cup, blowing the steam away at once and scolding her for not being careful. The scolding was more endearing than anything, and Jisung found himself being jealous at the way Karina’s pupils practically became hearts, gawking at Heesung as he cooled down her drink before returning it and giving her a kiss on the forehead. It became clear as he watched them that you had never really looked at him that way, though he tried not to think too hard about it or the stinging in his heart would get worse. 

That’s when he suggests the powerpoint, which both of you finished that very same night. As a reward for his ingenious contributions, you dragged him out into the hallway to “say goodbye” later that evening and palmed him until he ruined his third pair of underpants this week. 

Professor Hwang seemed to be more than pleased with your finished product, because when she spontaneously announced the scores for the project would be curved, the two of you got the highest marks in the class—and this called for celebration. 

You had to attend your Literature class, but promised to come by his place later, which left Jisung just enough time to do the absolute bare minimum: clean his room, take a shower, make a playlist. 

After his shower, the boy spent the better part of an hour obsessing over which cologne to put on, or if any of the three he owned were even pleasant enough for you, at which point, Mark knocked on his door with complaints about how the bathroom on his side of the hall got flooded. 

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“You’re an RA, no?”

“Yeah, but like, RA’s don’t fix toilets, you know?” Jisung shrugs.

“Dude–then, at least let me use your bathroom—”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’ll call—“ 

“Hey!” 

Your sweet voice calls out from the end of the hall, making both Jisung’s and Mark’s heads turn your way. You look ravishing today, a huge grin plastered on your face and the newest book you’d be analyzing in your Lit class clutched in your arm. Your hands hold two coffee cups, and you stride down the hall to meet the two boys where they stand.

Quickly, you place a kiss on Jisung’s cheek, direct and short but very bright “hello!” at Mark, then step inside his room with a decisive and upbeat pep on your step. Jisung knows why, of course, but as he turns back to Mark’s dumbfounded, and quite shocked expression, the smile on his lips instantly falls. 

“Was that–“ 

In less than a second, Jisung closes the door to his room and grabs the boy beside him, dragging him down the hall and out of earshot from you as he turns back to glance suspiciously at the wall you stand behind.

Jisung gulps, holding him still, “Mark–“ he knows what’s coming, but even then, he can’t mask the dread on his face.

“It was, wasn’t it? Jaehyun’s ex?” Mark’s eyes are so large, they look like they might roll out of his head.

“Yes, but–“

“Are you crazy?”

“Keep your voice down!” Jisung scolds, but Mark just lands a hit on his shoulder, disbelief written over his features. 

“What the hell are you doing with Jaehyun’s ex? You realize he’ll kill you if he finds out, right?”

With a nervous reluctance to his tone, Jisung begrudgingly sighs out, “We’re just friends.”

“Yeah, cause you and I kiss all the time when we say hello.”

“Okay, we’re a little bit more than friends, but–why does it matter?”

“It matters because you don’t mess with your friend’s ex, dude..” At this, Jisung’s lips press tightly together.  He can’t think of anything to say or argue in an attempt to defend himself, so Mark continues, “If it was Chaewon? Man, I don’t think I could even look at you again.” 

“He won’t find out.”

“Dude, not the point!”

“I know, I know. I’m just–“ I’m in love with her “–nevermind. you don’t get it.” 

“No, I don’t.” He echoes, “Figure it out before Jaehyun puts the pieces together.”

“You don’t think there’s even a slight chance he’ll understand?”

“If i’m being honest with you man…” He pauses, and the hope in Jisung’s eyes dwindles as Mark casts his own eyes away and sighs. “No. I don’t.”

Mark gives him one last look before striding past him and to the bathroom. 

Meanwhile, Jisung drags his feet back to his room, only slightly mulling over Mark’s words and the likelihood of their truth—but the guilt dissipates the moment his hand twists the doorknob and his eyes land on you. You’re sitting on his bed, evidently anticipating his return because you aren’t on your phone, or with your nose in your book. 

You’re sitting up, hair tucked behind your ear, eyes wide and looking his way as he closes the door behind him and moves closer. 

Perhaps, it’s the overwhelming lust or like or even love that he feels every time he looks at you—or maybe it’s a bit of his frustration from the devastating inconvenience of your affiliation with Jaehyun, he’s not sure—but he finds himself taking long strides to close the space between you and him. 

“I got you coffee–“

You don’t manage to finish your sentence before his lips are on yours, swallowing down the surprised whimper you let out before reciprocating his affection. In less than a second, he’s crawled onto the bed with you, hands holding you wherever they can. 

Your thighs grow sticky almost instantly as he draws moan after moan from you, rushing to peel off every last article of clothing that obstructs him from feeling your warm skin. It’s not long before you become as ravenous as him, only breaking your kiss to pull your shirts over your heads or readjust so he can crawl between your legs as you lay back. 

When he finally has expended every last bit of oxygen in his lungs, he moves back to take you in, finding that, for the first time, you’re fully naked before him—and god, are you a sight for sore eyes. 

He can see your chest heaving, the action slightly bouncing your curved breasts that sit prettily, spread from laying on your back. Your nipples are eager and perked up, inviting his tongue to run over them, which he takes a mental note to do in just a second. Your smooth stomach, tightened in anticipation, leads down to your messy wet folds, and your thighs, soft under his big hands, tremble as you grow shy and unsure under his gaze. 

“Ji? W-what’s wrong?”

“Literally, and I mean this with every fiber in my being, baby—nothing is wrong. You are so,” he leans down to kiss you softly, completely unlike the kisses you shared earlier, “so,” he travels down your chest, “so beautiful.” 

“You think so?”

“Yes, baby. God,” he huffs, “I need you so fucking bad.”

“So have me then.”

His movements stutter for a moment, and he snaps his head up to look at you. “You mean?”

“Yes.” You nod, “Please.”

When your fingertips dip into his boxers, he nuzzles his face into your neck and sighs out dreamily, allowing you to pull his fully hardened length out. 

“I want you so bad, Ji… Need to feel you inside of me.”

Your words send shivers down his spine so intense that he practically shudders, and he knows for a fact you can feel his dick twitching incessantly your palm.

Jisung clears his throat, leaving back to look into your eyes. 

“Let me eat you out first, yeah?” 

“It’s fine, I just-“ 

“Please,” he basically whimpers, “I love tasting you so much,”

“Fuck.” 

Your legs spread expectantly for him, but he takes his time, stopping at your lips again as if he can never feel them enough. Then, he makes his way down, licking and nibbling, pausing to lap at your nipples as he so desperately wanted to do earlier. 

“Jisung, holy shit–“ 

“So pretty, so good for me always.” 

“Baby–“ you gasp out as his lips come off your tit with a pop, and in an effort to quiet yourself down a bit, you take his index and middle finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them and muffling your cries of pleasure. At this, he has to peel your moving hand off his cock at the risk of coming into it. 

He can feel how the layer of sweat coating bus skin, and he can feel the way it’s sticking to yours, slick and wet. 

“Your pussy is so perfect,” he purrs, lodging his shoulders under your thighs and settling down between your legs where he belongs. 

He dives right in, molding his mouth over you in a way that has you arching your back and squeezing your eyes shut. He can feel your cunt pulsing under his tongue, all wet and gushing with your arousal. It’s dizzying, your taste, your smell, you, all of it has his mind spinning and him melting further into you. 

You can hear the sounds of him devouring you, as well as the noises he’s muttering into you, indiscernible strings of praises that have you on the brink of undoing. 

The moment his tongue slips in you, you pull his fingers from your mouth, reaching your own towards his hair. “How are you so good at that? Please, Ji, I’m so close–“ 

“Please,,” he echoes desperately, “come for me.” 

That, and his finger slipping into you has you grinding down onto his tongue and hands, dissolving into your orgasm that he so willingly paints out for you, using every little tactic he’s noticed you like so far, like curving his finger to hit your sweet spot, or sucking on your clit until you’ve got tears prickling at your eyes. 

You come on his face, writing and shaking and gripping his locks for dear life as bliss bubbles through your nerves. You’re soaked and breathless by the time he lets up. 

“So good,” he reminds you, making his way back up to your lips so you can find out for yourself just how intoxicating you are. 

Your hands reach for his hips and tug him closer, and the two of you yelp into the kiss as his length brushes your still sensitive folds. Jisung can no longer think straight, especially with the way your glossy eyes blink up at him sweetly. The realization of what’s to come dawns on him at once. He doesn’t intend to tell you you’re his first, because that’s pathetic and embarrassing, but nonetheless, he can’t hide the nerves. 

“Are you sure you still want to… you know? We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. We can do something else, yeah? I’ll just take care of myself really quick in the bathroom and we’ll–“ 

“Ji, baby.” he gawks at you. You smile and brush a few hairs back from his eyes, not even minding when your hand brushes against his slightly sweaty hairline. “Who’s the talkative one now?” His cheeks glow at your attempt to lighten the mood, and you kiss them generously.

“I’m so sure I want this,” you start, “I’ve never wanted anyone this much.” 

And that makes his heart beat so fast and swell up so much inside his chest, he thinks it may just burst from within his ribs and land right in your hands where it belongs. 

His head bobs in a soft nod, and he swallows down the spit in his drying mouth. Between your bodies, one of his hands spreads your legs a bit while the other guides him towards your slick. He rubs his head between you, lathering his dick up in your cum, eyes never leaving yours in fear of missing the way your jaw goes slack at the sensation.

“Okay,” he nods again, “Then I’m all yours.”

“Good.” You whisper back.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, yeah?”

Unlike some of his friends, Jisung has never been addicted to porn—addicted to masturbating? Maybe, but that was partly due to his addiction to you. For the first time ever, he realizes how useful a porn addiction might have been right about now, even if it did build unrealistic expectations. Simply because then, he’d know what to do in this situation. The expectation part doesn’t concern him, you’ve already surpassed all of his anyway; the only thing eating him up is whether or not he’ll be able to please you. 

For his own sake, he gulps down his nerves and focuses on the pretty girl lying before him, with watering eyes and drooling lips who’s shaking in anticipation each time his head teases her entrance. He’s twitching in his own hand, clumsily bumping into your clit, but you seem to like that, reaching for and squeezing his arms with every accidental brushing.

And finally, when he sinks into your sopping walls, it’s like a breath of fresh air. 

Your hands slither around his shoulders, willing him closer until the two of you are chest to chest, and his hips push in far enough to bottom out within you. 

“Oh, my god..” The words leave you in a whisper, cock stuffing you full and balls pressing against your ass. The stretch is notable, though not painful, and given that you already came once today, you can’t help the way you clench down on him, making him hiss. 

“You okay?”

“Yes.” you nod, leaning up for a kiss.

Slowly, he starts rocking his hips, reminding himself to slide almost all the way out of you before thrusting back in. That’s what he’s supposed to do, or so he thinks. Your moans start as little hiccups, soft and airy, but as his rhythm continues, they get louder and whinier, and so he matches their pace and enthusiasm, speeding up in tandem. 

After leaving a wet kiss on your neck, Jisung sits up and looks down at where the two of you meet, pushing your knees up until they’re together on your chest. Every time he glances up at you through his brows, you squeeze him instinctively, and the new position just amplifies the pleasure for both of you.

Each graze of his fingers on your face or boob or arm, the weight of his hands keeping your thighs still, it’s all so satisfying that you feel your inevitable orgasm well on its way. It only takes a few more seconds of him fucking your soft, warm walls, before his fingers find your clit and start rubbing it. Instantly, your head is thrown back and you’re calling out for him in pleasure. 

As you come again, Jisung has a moment to take you in. 

You’ve infiltrated all of his senses: he can see you, hazed and fucked out and staring back at him with an infatuated look—the same one he saw on Karina’s face when she looked at Heeseung, and the very one he’s been longing to see on you. He can smell sex in the air—taste you still on his tongue from when it was in you just moments ago. He can hear your loud moans and pleas, every syllable of his name as it slips from your lips. And finally, finally he can feel you, stretching out around him and sucking him in deeper still with every thrust. You’re gushing so much that your thighs and his are covered, and his sheets have grown darker in the spot below where you’re connected. 

“Ji, please–“ 

“Please what, baby? Just tell me and it’s yours.”

“Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t stop, please.” 

He wouldn’t dream of it. 

Each drag of his cock through you solicits a new wave of pleasure, and you’re coming so hard that you’ve gotta grip his arms to keep from floating. Your nails dig into his skin and Jisung moans, pounding into you faster and keeping his fingers at work until he’s sure you’ve begun to come down. Only then does he slow with you, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss. 

“Good?”

Through tear-brimmed eyes, you blink up at him, feeling drunk. “ So good.” 

He hums into your mouth when your tongue finds his, fingertips losing themselves in your hair. 

“Mm, lay down,” you start, slurring, though he catches every syllable you utter with ease, “I wanna ride you.”

His eyes snap open to find you giggling at his reaction, and he doesn’t realize his mouth is hanging wide until your gentle palm reaches up to hold his chin and close it. 

“Is that something you’d like?” your thumb tugs on his bottom lip, and he presses a kiss to it before answering quickly.

“God, yes.” 

You laugh again, giving him a kiss for his endearing reaction. When he doesn’t budge, still slightly in shock, you prop yourself up on your elbows, pushing him back and guiding him to lay down where you were just a second ago.

The moment your plush thighs settle on either side of his, his hands go limp by his sides. It takes your patient ones to grab ahold of them and place them on your body, one by your waist, the other holding your boob. You keep your hand over his and squeeze, encouraging him to the same, and he does, letting his fingers swipe over and play with your pretty buds. 

“You just dicked me down and suddenly, you’re nervous?” You hum, swirling your hips over his length. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop being nervous around you.” 

“Baby…” You coo, wiping some of the sweat from his cheeks, “You think I don’t get nervous around you? Every time I know I’m gonna see you… You should see how long it takes me to pick what to wear.” 

“I mean, you look perfectly fine like this, too.” 

“I’m sure you think so.” 

Jisung starts to laugh, but it turns into a hiss as you sink yourself down on him. The feeling, he realizes rather quickly, is absolutely incomparable to anything he’s even felt or anything he might ever feel. He’s balls deep, completely hugged by your gummy, wet walls. Your skin pressing against his and your weight on his lap feels so, so right. 

“You feel amazing,” he whispers, and you ready yourself to move but he stills you, “God, hold on. Please, just—“ 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing—It’s just,” he pauses, looking anywhere but at your eyes. “I-If you move right now, I might...” 

“Oh.” The skin on your cheeks goes hot. Part of you wants to teasingly roll your hips anyway, but the furrow in his brow tells you he’s not bluffing and he really will blow his load if you so much as clench. So, you give him a few seconds, leaning down to kiss his chest until he bucks up into you as a go-ahead to start moving. 

“So good,” he repeats, and you moan back a similar phrase. Each time you take the entirety of his length, his tip kisses the smooth spot inside you and you can’t help but mewl into his neck, giving him back every babbled praise he manages to spew to you though his tightened voice. You start bouncing yourself on him, with your hands resting on his chest for balance, until you feel the pit in your stomach begin to turmoil again. 

”I’m really close,” he warns you. 

“Me too..” 

“Shit, I have to pull out or I’m gonna-“ 

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill.” You whisper, and his eyes widen, “I want you to come for me.” 

He can barely mold his mouth to form the beginning of an “Are you sure?” before your walls squeeze him and he’s spilling himself inside of you. He lets out a guttural groan as he does so, clutching your hands in his as you milk him for all that he’s worth. The sounds you’re making are absolutely delectable and the grip your pussy as on him makes his ears start ringing so bad, he’s convinced he might pass out. 

“Ji, I’m-“ his release triggers your third one of the night, just as you lose yourself in his arms and in the whimpers he’s releasing as he grows more sensitive. You can see his eyes through a sliver, finding them to be dazed and adoring and admiring all that is you.

So you grind against him until you’re both left sweaty and spent, holding on to each other until the pounding in your chests simmers down. 

You naturally collapse on top of him, face near his neck with his hand petting the back of your head. For a few minutes, the two of you stay like this: breathing in each other’s scent and basking in the aftermath of what happened. Both of you are sticky with sweat and cum and spit, but neither seem to mind for the time being. 

It’s only when your ringtone blasts through the room that either of you move to get up. With a heavy sigh, you pull yourself off of him and waddle over to your bag to find the disturbance. 

“It’s Karina.” You announce, and Jisung lays back down with his arm tucked behind his head, admiring your naked body pacing around his room before you swipe to answer and tuck your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, reaching for his shirt to slip it on. 

“Hey… Tonight? Oh, you mean like right now? Uh… Yeah, it should be fine.” You glance over at him to find him raising a brow, “Oh… Oh. Okay, I see. Yeah, no worries. Tell me about it after, yeah? Alright! Bye!” Your shorts are tugged on as you spin around to face him. 

“Um…” You start, and Jisung sits up instantly. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, it’s just…” The corner of the mattress dips as you take a seat, “Heesung is over.” 

“Oh.” 

“And he and Karina are gonna…” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

He remembers the layout of your room, two beds in one open space. It’s a standard room, like Mark and Chenle’s or Jeno and Jaemin’s. The only reason he scored a solo dorm is because he’s an RA for the floor, a blessing at times like this, where he can confidently say: 

“You can stay the night here.” When you don’t answer, he clears his throat. “You know, since they’re gonna…” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, of course,” his hand reaches for yours, pulling you towards him. “We can watch a movie, or study…” 

“Or…” you tease, “we can do something else…” The moment you climb on his lap, it clicks for him—what you mean. And when your lips find themselves on his neck, a shudder goes down his spine. 

“Thank you, though.” You smile and he looks down at you and quirks a brow. 

“For what?” 

“For letting me stay over. You’re such a good friend.” 

It’s instant—his stomach dropping before the last syllable leaves your mouth. His hands are on your shoulders to push you away and his stomach is tied into a dozen knots as he blinks, repeating what you’ve just said over and over in his mind. For a moment, he thinks his lunch is starting to come back up, too, and he’s sure he’s gone drastically pale. 

You’re absolutely oblivious and confused as you meet his eyes. “What–” 

“You don’t mean that.” He insists.

“Ji–” 

“You can’t mean that. Right?” When you tilt your head, still lost, he purses his lips, and this time, his question comes out with much less assurance. “Right?” 

The disorganized sheets are shoved off of him in an instant, and he’s up and tugging his sweats back on, spinning around as to not look at you for a second. His heart, which he holds his hand over, starts beating faster. 

“Y/N. Please tell me you’re joking.” 

“I–You are a good friend. I do mean that. But–why– I’m so lost, Ji. What’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

‘Was it something I said?’

He hates this. He hates everything about this. The look on your face, the nerves in your voice, the way your hand is shakily reaching for him—there’s nothing he wants more than to forget how that word feels each and every time you utter it. He wishes he could brush it off, and crawl back under the sheets with you and mess around until the sun rises the next day. 

But it stings, and it burns, and it fucking aches that you insist he’s nothing more than a friend, reminding him for the second time now that he can’t have you as his—and that’s the only way he intends to have you, for the sake of his poor heart that beats only for you. 

He didn’t hallucinate. You looked at him the same way Karina looked at Heeseung that night; he saw it, there was something there. 

He thinks back to what Mark said earlier. Friends don’t kiss—and they certainly don’t fuck the way you two just did. If he could just get you to admit that…

“Do you do that with all your “friends?”” 

“No, of course not!” You shake your head quickly, and he can see the offense flash across your features at his implication. Still, he insists.

“Then what are we?” 

He sees you physically deflate, but he retains his composure. “Ji…” 

“You’re telling me that after all that, and after everything we’ve done this semester–”

“Jisung–“ 

“–and after all the time we’ve known each other.. You don’t see me as anything more than a friend?”

“I…” That’s it. That’s the only word you manage to mutter, because your thoughts are tangled together and working against you to, for the first time since he’s known you, render you speechless. “I don’t know what to say.”

A pricking sensation in his eyes commands him to turn around, because simply put: he refuses to cry in front of you. 

“I like you. A lot, in case it wasn’t painfully obvious.”

“I-I like you, too but—“ 

“But you still like Jaehyun?” Truthfully speaking, he doesn’t even know where that came from. But the words have already left him, and even though he can’t see your face, the fact that you’re hesitating tells him all he needs to know.

“It’s not like that,” you start after a pause, “It’s just—how do you even know about that?” 

“It doesn’t matter. I-“ He takes a shaky breath, “Fuck.”

“Jisung…” You mumble cautiously, quietly, too nervous to approach him any more. 

“I like you,” he repeats, “so, so bad.”

“I do, too.” You whisper. It’s no use, and you discover that quickly—the moment you see him tear his doubtful eyes away from you and towards the ground.

“Stay the night here. I’ll be down the hall.” 

He grabs a random shirt from his drawer, since you’re occupying his, and puts it on as he makes his way towards the door.

“If you need anything,” he adds quietly, “just message me.” 

He steps into the hall and shuts the door behind him as you call out his name, storming down the ugly carpet that looks uglier than usual today, until he’s reached Mark and Chenle’s.

He hesitates before knocking as he realizes the tears he’s been fighting to hold back really will start rolling any second. So he passes their door angrily and barges into the bathroom.

He’s careful not to step on the filthy water that covers most of the floor, verifying Mark’s claim that the bathroom had indeed flooded, and navigating the dry patches with his slides to get to the sink. He turns on the faucet and washes his hands, then cups them and brings a decent amount of water to splash some on his face. It washes away the stray tears that managed to escape, and he repeats the process over until his eyes are no longer bloodshot, but not without a few broken sobs escaping his parted lips. 

Whether it’s hurt, frustration, or both, he doesn’t know, but before he knows it, he’s fully crying over you, until his throat is dry along with his eyes. 

After a lazy once over in the mirror, no longer regarding his looks, he treads carefully back to the exit and toward his friends’ room. 

He can hear them through the wall as he gets closer, tapping his knuckles on the wood. They sound like they’re watching the play-offs. He’s not sure, but anyway, he’s never cared about basketball, and he can’t bring himself to care about much now. 

It takes him knocking one more time before one of them hears him, and the door opens. 

“Oh, it’s you. Hey did you call about the toilet—“ 

“You look like shit.” Chenle interjects. Jisung just rolls his eyes and walks past them. 

“Can I stay the night?” 

The two boys look at each other, then back at him. 

“Uh… Not that I don’t wanna have a slumber party but… Why?” 

“Y/N is staying in my room.” 

At the same time, both of their eyes bulge. 

“Oh.” Mark says, but Chenle quickly shakes his head. 

“You have a girl in your room? Like a real one? No way.” At this, no one cracks a smile, “Why do I know that name, though… Y/N… Y/N…” 

”I thought it was going well, though,” Mark inquires, “How did you get kicked out of your own room?”

”Y/N…. Y/N who…” 

“We fucked and I asked her what we were.” Jisung regretfully admits. He had no time to mull over how much detail he wanted to share, but confiding in his older friends sounded more helpful than not. 

At this, Mark doesn’t reply, but the way he purses his lips is more than enough for Jisung to let his head swing down and he catches it in his hands.

”Y/N… Wait.” Having reached an epiphany, Chenle shoots up from the couch, “Y/N as in Jaehyun and Y/N?” 

“I don’t get it…” Jisung sighs, muttering mostly to himself, “everything was fine.” 

“So what went wrong?” It takes him a second to ponder Mark’s question, but the answer sits at the tip of his tongue. The hesitation in actually speaking it out loud—a sliver of embarrassment that shows in the way he stutters. “She k-kept calling me a friend and well, I don’t know. I just… ran my mouth.”

“If she made it clear you guys were friends then why would you ask her if y’all are a thing?” Chenle wonders, raising a curious brow. Mark gives him a shove.

”Because,” he starts, “We’ve been hooking up almost the whole semester. And not just hooking up. Talking all night, flirting… meeting up between and after classes.” 

“Yeah, that’s not friendly.” Mark agrees. 

“She does like you.” Chenle says with some level of astonishment, earning another shove from Mark and a gesturing glare that alerts him of Jisung’s obvious dishevelment.

“Chenle’s right.” Mark says, in a more gentle way, “She wouldn’t do any of… that if she didn’t. Maybe,” he puts a hand on Jisung’s shoulder and the younger boy looks up through wet eyelashes, “she was just a little overwhelmed by your confession.”

“She called me a friend.” He shakes his head, “I just had sex for the first time and she called me a friend.”

Mark quickly interjects before Chenle considers saying something insensitive, “Okay. But you have to remember: her and Jaehyun dated for two and a half years—“ 

“That’s not what I wanna hear, man.”

“—And,” Mark continues, “they only broke up earlier this year. You and her are new, and she’s probably just getting used to that. Besides, you only confessed after you guys… hooked up—nothing was established before.”

“If you liked her, you should have asked her out first.” Chenle sighs..

“So this is all going wrong because I didn’t do things by the book?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Mark glares at Chenle who at this point, gives up, leaning back to watch his game in silence. “I think if you would’ve made your feelings clear before, she might have reciprocated. She assumed you two were still friends because… you technically are still friends. Maybe she didn’t want to assume and have you freak out or something.”

At this, Jisung nods slowly, processing Mark’s words. 

“What are you studying?” Chenle pokes the older boy.

“Engineering. Why? Also, we’ve lived together for two years and you don’t know my-“

“Drop out. Become a relationship counselor.” Chenle pats him on the back. Mark quickly shoves him off and turns to Jisung again who has shot out of his seat with a newfound confidence. 

“I’m gonna go and apologize.” He decides. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Chenle replies without looking up from the screen. Mark just sighs.

“Yeah. Let me know how it goes.” 

When Jisung knocks on the door to his room, he hears no answer. When he pushes the door open, he finds his room empty, with you and your things nowhere to be found. 

The first thing he feels is worry, because where did you go? Not back to yours, because Heesung was there. He knows you have other friends, but he doesn’t know if you’re close enough to any of them to stay the night at theirs, and it was almost 11PM at this point. 

He considers calling you, but if you didn’t answer, he would be shattered, more than he is already at the thought that you might have been hurt by what he said. So he settles into his bed that still smells like sex and you, and curls up on his side, legs restlessly shifting in a failed effort to get comfortable.

He spends the better part of an hour planning what to say to you tomorrow after class, or the next day, or whatever day you decide to give him a chance to explain himself and apologize for some of the things he said. Eventually, he drifts off, clutching to his chest the pillow where your head laid. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Absent.

You were absent. 

You have never been absent from astronomy before. Your seat besides his is empty, and you’re absent from class. 

All morning, Jisung went over his speech as he paced around his room. He changed his sheets after finding some cum stains on it as he recited his confession, his apology. He planned how he would explain his mistake and how he would relay his understanding for your confusion. 

He went over scenarios in his head on how to possibly get you back, because truthfully, that’s all he wanted. You were all that he wanted.

And now, you weren’t here. 

Karina and Heeseung were, but the two didn’t even look his way, and had sat near the front of the class—an act which worried him, because: had you told Karina what happened? Did you go back home upset and interrupt them? Were they mad at him now, too?

Inevitably, class went by slowly. Painfully slowly. Unable to focus, all that Jisung could think about was you, so when the bell rang and all the students left the lecture room except him, he didn’t notice. The only thing that caught his attention finally, was your name being called out in Professor Hwang’s sharp tone. 

“Huh?” He looks up from his laptop.

“I asked,” she starts, not too happy about having to repeat herself, “If you knew the reason for Ms. Y/n’s absence.”

“Oh.” He mumbles. As he looks around and notices the lack of classmates at his side, he starts packing his things. “No. Why do you think I would know?”

“Because, Mr. Park, the two of you are attached at the hip.”

“Well, I don’t.” He swings his bag over his shoulder and jogs down the stairs, “Maybe Karina does.”

As he’s about to pass her, Professor Hwang points her pen at his chest, stopping him. 

“When you run into her, let her know her absence will count against her unless she has an excused note. And,” she slides her glasses off, folding them and tucking one of the legs to the neckline of her shirt, “I hope the two of you make up.”

“I-“ He’s speechless, “H-how did you know?”

“Educated guess.” she states simply. 

Jisung nods once, and she lifts her pen to allow him to pass. He heads for the door, pushing it open and making his way to the quad so that he can go home. 

He’ll just message you. That’s what he decides. He’ll just ask you to meet up with you, he thinks, that shouldn’t be too hard. 

But the moment he hits the send button on a message he so carefully crafts for you and looks back up, he sees you from across the huge field of green. 

A smile almost breaks out on his face, because he sees your hair and the pretty outfit you’ve chosen today, layered to keep you warm with a scarf tucked under your chin. But he doesn’t quite get to smile, because you’re accompanied by the last person he’d like to see you with right now. 

You pause your conversation with Jaehyun to look down at your phone, presumably to check the message Jisung just sent you. Without replying, you quickly tuck it away into your pocket. 

Jisung watches as you and Jaehyun stop and sit at a bench on the quad, engrossed in what looks like a serious conversation. 

Now: he doesn’t want to be dramatic. It’ll get him nowhere and he knows that. That being said, he still pulls your contact up again, and writes you another message, rereading the one from earlier, too. 

To: Y/n :3 

hi. i noticed you weren’t in class today…  i hope you weren’t avoiding me. i want to apologize to you in person for what happened last night. can we meet up if that’s okay? Sent at 2:10 PM.

To: Y/n :3 

i’ll be at my dorm in 10 so just pass by when you have a chance. please. 

Sent at 2:17 PM

He presses send and watches, as you pick up your phone again, read the message at lightning speed, and put it away. 

Fuck. 

•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ

Jisung feels absolutely fucking ridiculous. 

Why time seems to circle around you and waiting for you to come over so can apologize, he doesn’t know. The rest of his day is meaningless; he doesn’t eat, doesn’t study, doesn’t shower, doesn’t play video games, doesn’t call his mom, doesn’t do any of the things he normally does. 

You don’t pass by today, meaning you read his messages, and willingly ignored them or put them off. Doesn’t mean he didn’t think about you or thought about you less; your continuous absence gave him more time to think and dwell. 

He’s tired and feeling wide awake at the same time, missing your scent that he can no longer find on his sheets. Maybe he shouldn’t have washed them, even if they were filthy. He’s done worse things, like go to class with dried cum on his stomach, or used your cardigan to jack off. Your cardigan, that’s still by his desk, would have remnants of your scent, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up to retrieve it. And, even if he did, he would probably get hard and he definitely did not have the energy to jack off right now. 

So he tosses and turns restlessly until he passes out with his mouth half open and his leg half hanging off the bed. 

That night, he dreams of you. The next morning, he wakes up to someone continuously knocking on his door. 

“I’m coming,” he grumbles into his pillow, quite literally rolling out of bed and in the process, getting tangled up in his comforter and falling on the carpeted floor of his dorm with a thump.

Jisung lets out some sort of distressed moan before struggling to his feet and wobbling over to the door. His left hand rubs his elbow which braced his fall, while his injured arm reaches out for the doorknob.

The knocking hasn’t stopped, so when he opens his door, his eyes are narrowed with sleep and annoyance. 

“What?”

“Dude, why haven’t you called about the bathroom? I had to take a piss in the middle of the night and I stepped on toilet water. In my socks.”

Jisung only rolls his eyes at Mark, turning back to his bed and plopping down on it with a hiss as the rest of his body feels the damage of his fall. 

“Have you talked to her?”

“No.” Jisung grumbles.

“Okay.” Mark sighs, “Well, when are you supposed to see her again?”

Jisung looks at his phone for the time. “Right now.”

“What? Is she coming over? Should I go?”

“No, you’re good. I have astronomy with her right now.”

“When?”

With a pause, Jisung rubs his eyes as he calculates, “47 minutes ago.”

Mark huffs, “so you just didn’t go to class?”

“Nope.”

Mark steps further into the room, looking around. “Is she supposed to come over at all?”

“Hopefully.”

“Alright, then. Get up.” His eyes bounce around the room until he finds a trash bag behind a clutter of Jisung’s things, then repeats himself a little sharper. “Get up and start cleaning.”

Instantly, Jisung groans, rolling over and getting under his comforter that seconds later, is yanked off of him. He starts to complain but Mark just shoves a bag in his hands.

“Non-negotiable. You think you’re gonna win her back with your room looking like a rat’s nest? Tidy up a bit, man.”

“Okay, mom.”

Reluctantly, he follows Mark’s lead, throwing away empty water bottles and cans that littered his room, as Mark focuses on any other pointless trash like empty packaging boxes. 

“Where’s your hamper?” He asks, and Jisung extends a finger towards his closet. 

“Dude.” Jisung turns to him. “When’s the last time you did laundry? This shit is overflowing.”

“Haven’t had the energy.”

“You had plenty of energy before this week. Here,” he kicks it over carefully so it doesn’t tip, then points at the clothes that litter his room, “Put it all here and go wash it. I’ll make your bed and throw out the trash.”

Jisung has never missed his mom so much. Sure, she’d nag him about his mess for days on end, but she was his mom, so eventually, he’d come home and everything would be tidied up for him. He definitely took her for granted,  that much is painfully clear now as he gives Mark a long look of disdain. The older boy doesn’t budge; he only shoos Jisung away from the edge of the bed so he can get to work on spreading out the comforter. 

Jisung does as instructed, too tired to argue or form a fuss, especially when all Mark is doing is helping him. That being said, he does do it in a very Jisung fashion: shoving all clothes, clean or dirty, into the hamper and literally dragging it down the hall to the laundry room. That includes your cardigan, which he gives one last glance to before tossing in the washing machine. It’s about time he gave it back to you anyway.

He watches his clothes spin around and around in the cycle for two different reasons, the first being that he’s generally zoning out, thinking about you. The second being that he’s making time before going back to his room, cause despite his friends best efforts and even better intentions, he does not want to clean. 

But eventually, those two mix together, and he realizes Mark does have a point—if you came over and his room was a mess, that’s just one more thing he’d be embarrassed about. 

So, he leaves his things in the washer and sulks all the way back to his room where he finds Mark accommodating the clutter at his desk. 

“What a difference, huh?” Jisung wishes he could just shrug, but Mark’s eyes are filled with expectation. 

“Yeah, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it!” He grins, grabbing his phone from the dresser. “I’ll leave you to it. Take a shower and try texting her again.”

Jisung nods once. 

He checks the time and notices that you’d be out of class shortly, and if you didn’t come over, he’d have to stop by yours later. Regardless of how, the plan is to talk to you today, because Jisung simply can’t keep existing with his even-waking thought being you. The minute that class wraps up, he types out a message to you as he walks over to the shower. He makes a quick call to maintenance for the bathroom down the hall before turning on his ringer in case you reply and stepping into the shower. 

For a while, he lets the water run over him, hissing as the temperature fluctuates between an acceptable barely-warm and an icy cold that matches the weather outside. The building’s heating system isn’t consistent or reliable, especially as the temperature drops more and more in the winter months, so he ceases his stalling and washes himself quickly before the water decides to stop cooperating.

He types away into his phone after wrapping the towel around his waist. 

“We… really… need… to,” he reads out his text as he writes it, sighing out the last word, “talk.” 

But as he walks down the hall to his room with the towel still hanging loosely and his hair dripping over his chest and shoulders, and consequently, the innocent carpet of the hallway, his feet skid to stop. Just as his finger presses send, he hears the ‘ding’ of the receiving end. 

Both of you look up from your screens at the same time. As Jisung jumps in surprise, his towel drops, and you yelp. 

“Sorry!” You spin around and cover your eyes as frantically looks around the hall to make sure no one else saw the mishap. He picks it up and ties it around himself again, securing it in his grip this time. 

“No– I–It’s fine. You… You can look.” It’s not like you haven’t seen it before. 

Cautiously you spin around, peeking through your fingers to check before peeling your hands from your face and dropping them at your sides. The air between the two of you is thick for a minute, until you sigh dejectedly. 

“I got your texts.” You smile weakly, and Jisung can’t help but mirror your slightly embarrassed expression. The moment is awkward and bittersweet, and neither of you move until Jisung realizes he’s still standing naked in the dormitory hallway. 

“Oh, right.” He shakes his head and moves to unlock his room door. “Here,” he gestures, and follows you inside. 

You move cautiously through the small space, glancing over at his bed and chair before deciding you don’t wanna take a seat. 

“I came over because…” you sigh again, “well, because we have to talk.” 

The only word he can utter is “yeah.” as he watches the way you shift your weight between your feet, not knowing he was doing the exact same thing. 

“Do you wanna wanna maybe…” 

He follows your gaze as it reaches his towel, and he almost jumps out of it again. 

“Right! Sorry! I-” he huffs, “could you just…” 

Wordlessly, you turn around and opt for twiddling your thumbs as he waddles over to a drawer and finds a pair of shorts and shirt to slip on, but not without glancing over his shoulder to make sure you aren’t looking. 

There’s no hiding the red in his face and ears as he spins back around with his lips pursed. “I’m done.”

There’s a pause as you spin around slowly… and another pause as both of you debate the right moment to speak up. It’s so awkward that his skin crawls and his mouth runs dry. There’s no noise, only the creaking of the floor as he walks to his bed and offers you a seat beside him.

“No, I-I’m okay with standing.”

Another pause.

“Jisung–”

“Y/n–

“You first.” You both reply, and you sigh as you realize you should probably go first, seeing as you’re the one who came over to talk in the first place. 

“Okay.” With a shaky breath, you nod to yourself once before speaking, your voice coming out quieter than intended. “I came to talk to you because… Well, I saw your messages and… I don’t like how we left things off, Ji.” 

“Me either.” He admits, looking down at the floor as his mind swarms him with all the possible things you may or may not say. 

“I talked to Jaehyun earlier. He’s my, uh,”

“Ex.” He says at the same time as you, and both of you make eye contact.

Jisung’s heart pounds as you stand before him, voice tentative and unsure. When you say, “It wasn’t fair of me to downplay everything between us. I just… I got scared,” he can’t help but clench his jaw. He wants to be understanding, to remember that you’re figuring things out too, but the memory of you calling him just a friend gnaws at him. How was he supposed to take that?

“So… was it just comfort for you, then? Convenience? A quick fuck?” he blurts, his voice tight. “Because I thought I meant something to you.” He doesn’t intend for it to sound so raw, but the words slip out anyway, his vulnerability laid bare.

You look up at him finally, eyes wide. “You do. You mean more to me than anyone ever has, Jisung,” you say, looking at him with a mixture of guilt and longing. His heart stutters. 

You take a shaky breath. “I talked to Jaehyun about us.” Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up. You talked to Jaehyun, that much he knew. But about him? He swallows thickly, nodding for you to continue, bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say.

“He told me that… that you’re a good guy,” you continue, voice soft. “He said I’d be lucky if you… if we…” You trail off, biting your lip, and Jisung’s heart tightens. 

“So… Jaehyun’s okay with what happened between us?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, looking at him with an intensity that makes his heart race. “He is. And he’s right, Jisung. You’re good to me, and I don’t want to push you away. I didn’t want to call it something more because I was afraid I’d mess it up. But now… I don’t want to ignore it anymore.”

He lets out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of your words. He takes a small step toward you, closing the distance, his hand lifting almost on instinct to brush against your cheek.

“Are you serious?” he asks softly, his voice barely steady. “Because if you’re in, I’m in. I’ve been in this whole time. I’ve wanted us to be more, and if you’re ready, I’m… I’m here.”

You nod, relief and a hesitant smile lighting up your face. In that moment, Jisung’s fears and doubts melt away slowly. He pulls you into his arms, holding you close, as if he’s finally found his way through the maze of emotions you both have been lost in.

In the warmth of his embrace, you whisper, “I’ve got you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Jisung holds you close, but there’s a hesitation in his touch, like he’s afraid this might disappear if he lets himself fully believe it. His fingers press into your back, grounding himself in the feeling of you, warm and real against him. He swallows, his heart heavy with the months of wanting, wondering, hoping, and fearing. Finally, he lets his eyes close, murmuring, “I thought I’d have to keep pretending forever, you know? Like maybe if I just waited long enough, I’d be okay with just… us as friends.” He laughs softly, the sound more fragile than he intends. “But I was never okay. I don’t think I ever would’ve been.”

You pull back slightly, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice.  You search his eyes, looking for the hesitation, the doubt that lingers in his gaze. 

“I know,” you say quietly, your voice soft but full of sincerity. “I wasn’t fair to you. I didn’t give you the chance you deserved. I was so afraid of what it could mean, of what I could lose, that I… I pushed you away.”

Jisung’s jaw tightens, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. “But now you’re here. Saying you want this… with me,” he whispers, his hands shaking slightly as he cups your face. “How do I know… how do I know you won’t change your mind again?”

“I don’t know,” you admit softly, your voice quivering. “But I do know that I’m not running this time. I’m here.”

And then, almost imperceptibly, you both laugh. It’s soft at first, a tiny giggle that slips out between the quiet, and it catches both of you off guard. The sound is shaky, like it’s laced with the bittersweet relief of finally breaking the tension that’s been building between you for so long. 

“God,” Jisung chuckles, his hands moving down to your shoulders, giving you a soft squeeze. 

The smile between you both widens as you inch closer, drawn by the gravity of each other’s presence. Slowly, almost cautiously, you lean in. And when your lips finally meet, it’s tender and slow. 

The kiss deepens, and this time, there’s no hesitation. Jisung pulls you closer, his hands resting at the small of your back, guiding you into him as if he wants to feel every inch of you, to make sure this is real. You respond just as eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck, allowing yourself to melt into the warmth of him, the gentleness that’s always been there beneath the surface.

His lips move against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart swell, as though he’s savoring the moment, soaking in everything that’s been unsaid for so long. The kiss is slow, deliberate, and full of promise. There’s no rush—just the sweet, simple taste of your mouth on his. 

When you pull back, both of you are breathless, grinning at each other. His hand gently cups your face, his thumb brushing over your lips, still tasting the lingering sweetness of the kiss.

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his. “I’ve always been here. I just needed to realize it.” You tilt your head back slightly, locking eyes with him.

With a gentle pull, Jisung brings you in for another kiss, this one more playful, less tender, but just as full of emotion. 

You pull away first, your lips tingling, and look at him with a teasing smile. “So, what now?” you ask, a little shy.

He raises an eyebrow, his grin matching yours. “Now, we take this one step at a time, but together.” He wraps his arms around you once more, pulling you into him with an ease that feels natural, “And maybe…” he starts, voice teasing as he buries his face in your neck, “we make up for lost time.”

You gasp out softly, tilting your head to give him room to continue to kiss and lick at your throat, “sounds… good to me.” 

He turns his head, his lips brushing the edge of your ear, “Let me lay you down, yeah?”

You nod, ‘Mhm…”

Jisung pulls you closer, his hands sliding down your back as the space between you both shrinks. The air feels thick with anticipation, and the playful teasing that once filled the room fades, replaced by something deeper, more pressing. His touch is gentle yet urgent, guiding you toward the bed with a quiet confidence, the two of you knowing exactly what comes next. 

The world outside this moment feels distant, irrelevant. There’s nothing but the heat of his skin against yours, the way your bodies fit together so naturally, as he realizes, he finally got you. 

*. * ·

[sunsherbet]

Got Milk?

In which you ask your neighbor to borrow a glass of milk for a recipe.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

CW: None

You wish you could say there was a first for you.

That deep down you were some uber-responsible twenty-something who made their grocery list and checked it twice, but you weren’t. This was the third time this week you’d forgotten something from the grocery store and only realized when it was that exact ingredient your recipe depended on.

It wasn’t even like you cooked often. You were a habitual air-fryer indulger whose culinary portfolio consisted of elevated cup ramen and just-add-water pancakes. 

But your sister was coming over, and you wanted to surprise her with her favorite chili oil pappardelle pasta. Hence, you needed a few more ingredients than your usual frozen dinners required, one of which was milk—an ingredient you realized, as you looked in your fridge, you were completely out of.

The minute hand ticked loudly, and your head snapped up to glance at the cupcake-shaped clock, which was slowly approaching 8:30—giving you less than an hour to finish your meal.

With time counting down, you had two choices for getting the milk: First, you could run down to the corner store and hope the creepy cashier wasn’t working tonight. That normally wouldn’t have been a massive concern, but it was winter, which meant it was dark outside already. And honestly, your sister's pasta just wasn’t worth the risk of dealing with someone who gave you the shivers. That left you with the second choice: flashing your best smile and begging your neighbors for a cup.

To the right of your apartment were Mrs. Hyde and her wife—two sweet old ladies who smelled like vintage perfume and flabby wine. Unfortunately, they went to bed at 7 p.m., so that was out. On the left were Mikael and his daughter Erin, but you two never quite got along, so that wasn’t an option either. Which left the one who lived across the hallway. He was supposedly a 'charming young chap' (according to the Hydes) and had lived there longer than you, but you’d never seen him.

Six months ago, when you first moved in, you’d baked some muffins and left them at his doorstep, but you’d forgotten to write a note and had been too embarrassed to try another introduction. So, this would be your first encounter with him. But it was an emergency, you swear! Otherwise, you wouldn't be bothering him with your trivial milk problems (even though they weren’t so trivial—after all, you'd already started the noodles and needed the cream base. Fast).

You grab a pair of neon Crocs, their bright contrast to your wine-red dress a jarring reminder of your frantic state, and rush out of your apartment, making sure to turn off the boiling water and secure the lid.

When you reach the door, you’re not sure why your heart is pounding in your chest or why your arms are covered in goosebumps. It’s probably just the nerves of meeting someone new, you decide, shaking yourself a little to readjust.

You curl your fingers to tap against the door, but just before your knuckles rap against the sturdy wood, it swings open. Standing in the frame is a tall guy with wire-frame glasses. He’s got a slimmer frame than his baggy plaid shirt can fill out, and a brown cardigan button-up rests just above his slacks. His bronze-like hair and matching doe eyes give you a not-so-subtle once-over, full of curiosity.

You jump in surprise, balancing yourself on the tacky wallpaper of the hallway. He quirks an eyebrow in a way that’s frankly adorable but you’re just a bit too stunned to fully appreciate just how attractive your neighbor happens to be.

“Can I help you?” 

“Uh, yeah, do you happen to have any milk?” 

He quirks his eyebrow again and this time you take note of the way his hair flops in front of it, “Yeah just not like grain or anything.”

You wave a hand in front of your face and shake your head, "Oh don't worry I'm not a hipster or lactose intolerant." The joke is rewarded with a small chuckle and you quickly decide it’s endearing. Dropping your hand from in front of him you stick it out, “Uh I’m your neighbor by the way. Not some random looking for milk handouts.” 

“I’m Spencer.” He provides, though he lets your hand hang between the two of you awkwardly, "Did you know the number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering? It's actually safer to kiss."

Dropping your hand to your side you pucker your lips dramatically, and tease, “Are you asking for a kiss?” 

“W-What? No!” He leans back and you erupt into a giggle, shaking your head at his grimace.

“Well if you don’t want a kiss do you mind if I get that milk?”

“Yeah, of course, I can help you with your..?" He trails off, seemingly not knowing what to call your predicament.

But you certainly know what it should be called, and answer without hesitation, "My life or death dilemma? The reason for my current milk escapades."

Spencer seems to relax a bit more at your rambling, his posture less stiff and more calm, "Hm, seems like it's pretty important." He quirks an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame.

"Well, I did say life or death didn't I.” You look over at his watch and tap a foot impatiently, "Hey um I'm kinda in a rush, my sister is coming over and I'm not even half done with the stupid sauce. Though in my defense, I didn't know she was coming until like a week ago and I'm an avid cereal eater so the likelihood of me even having milk when she came over is slim to none - but I took the risk and now I'm milkless and totally screwed because cooking is hard and god I think I burnt the noodles for this stupid chili oil pappardelle pasta-which by the way I don’t even know how to make." 

Spencer is biting his cheek because he can’t laugh. He can’t laugh because it’s rude to laugh at someone he’s only just met, even if you’re blabbering and blushing and wearing adorable chartreuse platform Crocs. 

When you moved in across the hallway, Spencer Reid had admittedly looked into you. It wasn’t that he meant to be intrusive—it was just in his nature. He’d always been wary of new people, especially given his line of work. So when the long-vacant apartment finally filled and the scent of Yankee Candles began to waft through the hall, he might have asked Penelope to do a little digging.

Though her extensive report didn’t do justice to the person standing in front of him now. 

"Oh my god, you're laughing!" You exclaim, positively mortified at his audacity to laugh at you in this time of need.

"Sorry! Sorry!" He catches his breath after a moment and licks his lips with a flick of his tongue, "Maybe I can make it up to you?"

You smile but your foot is still tapping, "Do tell."

“While I’ve admittedly never made chili oil pappardelle pasta I’m quite quick to pick things up. If you need any help I could-?”

"Oh please thank you!" Letting out a sigh of relief you go to grab his hand, only pulling back when you remember his tangent about germs,  "She'll be here in thirty minutes so we have to hurry."

"Okay, let me go get the milk, and uh we can start."

"Thank you, Spencer.”

"Oh ... you're welcome."

You don’t notice the blush.

[retroaria]

Hello! I'm not sure if you write for Karasu from Blue lock but if do you can I request first time hcs for him? If you don't write for him, Sae works too :D

✶ first time!

itoshi sae + karasu tabito x fem!reader

a/n: i definitely wanna do these for all the other guys after my event ends!

˗ˏˋ written for aria’s 1.5k follower event! ˎˊ˗

➜ itoshi sae

when you and sae first started dating he was quick to try and initiate sex, feeling a bit confused if you were to tell him you wanted to wait.

once you are ready to have sex with him he plays it off like it’s no big deal but he secretly is fighting back his own excitement.

it shows in his eagerness to have you undressed beneath him. he takes your clothes off like a savage and immediately aims to mark you up, kissing and nibbling at your skin as his hands graze your body up and down squeezing and gripping at certain areas. sae is the kind of guy who gets off on the feeling of soft clean skin, so he takes his time appreciating your entire body.

normally he’d be more rough, but for your first time he decides to be a bit more gentle with everything. instead of eating you out like a madman he laps at your clit with a leisurely pace and curls his fingers into you slow but still striking.

he’d fuck you in standard missionary so he can moan softly in your ear and have you moaning in his. also likes to nibble at your neck and jaw.

his pace is at a comfy medium. he just doesn’t have it in him to make his thrusts slow and steady, but he enjoys slowing down a bit if only for the ability to make each thrust hit hard against your sweet spot to ensure your nails keep digging into his shoulders and biceps the entire time (his favorite fucking thing omg).

pull out > condom, unless you ask him to wear one which he would be fine with but he prefers not to. keeps his cock snug between your walls for as long as he possibly can. when sae’s close to orgasm he fully nuzzles his face in your neck and wraps his arms underneath you to pull you impossibly closer. he isn’t a loud moaner but his soft low groans are like audible porn.

sae’s aftercare doesn’t feel like he put in a lot of effort but it’s still good bc he basically just has you do all the stuff he would want to do himself after sex. shower, water, snuggle up.

➜ karasu tabito

he’d be so patient if you wanted to wait for the relationship to get more serious! he’s a player for sure but when he’s locked in he’s locked in.

he would want to make it a romantic and intimate experience for you, but he wouldn’t go all out. he’d take you on a beautiful date before hand and he’d run a nice bath for you after, sweet but not too sweet.

loves foreplay omg don’t get me started.

i headcanon him as a beast in the sheets but on the low he loves slow sensual sex. wants to kiss and lick your entire body, have his face smothered between your legs for as long as possible, rubs his cock between your folds so long he almost cums right then and there before stopping himself. loves the way you whimper for him as his tip glides back and forth against your sensitive clit.

he’s got a cheeky smirk on his face the entire time, even while his eyes flutter shut as he slides his cock between your warm wet walls for the first time.

this might be an odd opportunity but i feel like for your first few times with him he’d really amp up the dirty talk and probably drop it later into the relationship unless you happen to really like it lol. he’d drop himself down so he can speak directly in your ear, telling you how good you’re taking him and how incredible you feel wrapped around his cock between his low groans and thrusts.

look at me trying out new themes!! :D

mdni divider creds: @adornedwithlight so cute :3

[foldingfittedsheets]

Here's their blurb about Milo and one of the sites he's listed on:

Milo is a loving, snuggly, happy dog. He has a lot of energy outside, and sleeps and snuggles inside. His favorite place is curled up beside a human on a loveseat or bed. If he's missed us, he might curl up in our lap or chest. He thinks he's smaller than he is! He has a gotten a very large amount of training, especially for loose leash walking. He loves all people and most dogs, though gets really worked up over new people. It can be hard to have guests over who don't love dogs, as he will spend the first hour demanding pets and trying to lick their face.

The reason we are looking to rehome Milo, is we recently had a baby. Unfortunately, Milo is not behaving safely towards the baby, and extensive training and meds have not made a lot of progress. We have been living with the in-laws while coming home daily for periods of training. It absolutely breaks our heart, but we need both Milo and baby to be happy and safe, which could mean living in separate homes.

We will pay all costs: food, medical, insurance, etc. for his life.

Milo has no health problems. He does take anxiety meds, as he can be jumpy about noises. The meds don't do much though and aren't necessary. It would be best if he were in a single family home, because in an apartment he might bark at neighbor/hallway sounds. He doesn't bark at sounds when his people are home, just when he's home alone and therefore less brave. He doesn't have separation anxiety. He doesn't bark at night (unless a stranger tries to break in). He doesn't need walks every day to be happy, though it's good for his health to get walks. He loves going on hikes!

Because of his over excitement around guests, he would be best with someone who doesn't have a lot of people over. If someone did frequently have guests over he would probably get used to it, as he was chill with guests before 2020 when he went for a while without guests.

He is fine around older kids. Outside he is totally fine with babies, new people, etc. it's just indoors that he gets over excited. He has too much prey drive to be around cats, rodents, or chickens. He doesn't always get along with dominate male dogs or squished-face dogs like pugs. But he loves gentle wrestling with most dogs, or just chilling at a coffee shop with them.

Hey, kind of a long shot but figured it never hurts to ask:

Do any of my followers live or know someone in Oakland, CA who’s looking for a dog? Our friend Richard and his wife just had a baby and they’ve tried so hard but the new baby and dog are just not compatible.

He’s about nine, very high energy and affectionate. Not a good fit with kids or cats as he’s pretty high prey drive but very friendly and well socialized otherwise.

Here’s Milo

Shoot me a DM if interested. They’d love to be able to see him sometimes if you’d also like to make friends with some cool nerds.

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

shen yuan, dragon god of cang qiong mountain sect, has a new mission.

[Mission {Master of Masters} at 2% progress. Subquest {Master of One} begins now! USER_002 must obtain protagonist [Luo Binghe] as a personal disciple! Continue to work hard!]

there are steps between, of course. shen yuan comes back down the mountain once he’s calmed down—just to check on binghe, not to make a scene! but yue qingyuan was alerted that their sect’s god had descended his peak, and a meeting of all cang qiong’s lords was called. every peak lord is called back to cang qiong. it’ll take a week for everyone to arrive—liu qingge is off on a night hunt, and shang qinghua is accompanying his head disciple to negotiate contracts for fabrics and dyes (and, shen yuan thinks resentfully, probably off doing traitor-to-the-sect business. fuck that guy).

while they’re waiting, shen yuan is invited to stay on qiong ding—as if he doesn’t have a perfectly good mountain he can ascend again until the peak assembles. but yue qingyuan seems anxious to have him, and shen yuan is kind of internally geeking out over getting to properly meet this sect leader. so he agrees, and he’s arranged in a manor fit for a visiting sect leader, which is kind of insane. rich, dark woods; silks in qiong ding’s deep blues and grays; night pearls illuminating every room. is this how people live in this world???

yue qingyuan…hovers a fair bit. surely he should be busy with sect-leader-y things, but apparently having shen yuan come down is a huge deal that requires yue qingyuan’s constant attention. bringing tea and snacks, accompanying him to meals on each peak with all the lords in residence (except shen qingqiu), escorting him to and from qing jing every day when he goes to check on binghe.

that always seems a little uncomfortable for yue qingyuan. shen yuan is still rightfully pissed about binghe’s treatment, but he hasn’t gotten that horrible feeling that his territory is under threat again, so he assumes binghe is alright. the first time he tells yue qingyuan that he’s going to qing jing to check on ‘that young disciple your shidi thought it right to whip,’ yqy gets this constipated look on his face before—before fucking defending sqq.

saying sqq isn’t a cruel man, really—or, he is, but not without reason. all of cang qiong’s disciples are disciplined when it’s appropriate, he says. shen shidi has had problems with that disciple before, and lord canglong shouldn’t judge him too harshly before he hears the full story.

the furious energy crackling around shen yuan is enough to cut yue qingyuan’s entreaty for leniency off. yue qingyuan always seemed like the kindly big-brother type in the novel, if a bit too indulgent of sqq. and shen yuan always wondered why he would turn a blind eye to sqq’s abuse of lbh when he knew it was going on. now he’s seen it with his own eyes, and yue qingyuan still has the audacity to try to cover for sqq, and it kind of makes shen yuan sick.

he’s been doing his best to play the part of the great immortal now that the upset of his initial descent from the mountain has passed. but when yqy defends sqq like this, shen yuan can’t help but drop all pretense of formality and glare, eyes blazing, at this sect leader. ‘do you think i’m fucking stupid?’ he spits. and yqy pales, horror in his eyes, trembling more as shen yuan lays into him.

to discipline a child is to teach them the way they should go. what does whipping a thirteen-year-old boy teach him? shen yuan knows what luo binghe has learned from his shizun’s instruction. that he is stupid, incapable, unworthy of his martial family’s care. that the sect who took him in—the sect shen yuan himself established centuries ago—only took him so it would have something to beat.

shen yuan is pissed. he doesn’t wait for yqy’s escort to qing jing; he takes his sword there himself, finds luo binghe, and brings him back to the guest manor yqy set him up in. binghe is confused, of course, to be faced with his savior’s fury, but when lord canglong makes a request of him, he’s all to happy to comply. and if he buries his face against lord canglong’s robes as they fly back to qiong ding, it’s only to protect his face from the wind.

there’s warmth in his chest whenever he walks near lord canglong, and as he’s led by a hand on his shoulder into lord canglong’s guest quarters, binghe feels like he might combust (in one part, from the overwhelming, humbling joy he feels at being the subject of his sect’s god’s attention; in the other part, because lord canglong’s grip is imbued with so much spiritual power it makes binghe’s skin tingle all the way down to his toes).

binghe follows lord canglong into the main room and, when it’s clear they’re done walking, he sinks to his knees in gratitude.

‘enough of that, luo binghe,’ shen yuan splutters, reaching to pull binghe up from his kowtow. honestly, he’s going to be the emperor! none of this prostration; it’ll only be a debt on his head later on! ‘get up. i won’t see you humble yourself to this—uh’ shit! System, help! What do gods like this call themselves?!!

[Answering USER_002, his title is {Lord Canglong, Shen Yuan, Grand Master of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect.} ‘This Grandmaster’ would be expected and appropriate.]

god, that feels so pretentious. shen yuan swallows his millennial sensibilities and does his best to thicken his face a little. ‘—to this grandmaster whose sect has treated him so poorly.’

binghe looks up with stars in his night-dark eyes, and it takes every shred of shen yuan’s self control not to soften at the awe in this child’s face. how come no one told him little lord luo would be so cute?! of course he’s adorable; he’s the protagonist.

‘this—this lowly disciple wouldn’t dare—that is, he wouldn’t presume to, um—lord canglong is—”

poor thing! too cute, too cute!

‘luo binghe is not lowly,’ shen yuan says first, because that feels like the most important part to address. no humbling yourself in front of this old dragon, ah! no debts to this sect! ‘didn’t this grandmaster say in front of everyone that luo binghe is uniquely gifted?’

‘this disciple thought…’ luo binghe’s eyes are already trained on the ground, but he shrinks into himself at this. in this grand room, luo binghe looks so small, so unlike the menacing demon lord shen yuan knows he’ll become. ‘this disciple thought that perhaps, in his anger, lord canglong…exaggerated… to make a point to shizun.’

‘if i have anything to say about it,’ shen yuan mutters, ‘he won’t be your shizun much longer.’

at that, luo binghe’s gaze snaps up, his shoulders tight. ‘this stupid disciple doesn’t understand.’

‘not stupid,’ shen yuan says immediately. ‘what this grandmaster means to say is just that. luo binghe will not be a qing jing peak disciple for much longer. this grandmaster does not trust qing jing peak’s lord to raise luo binghe well, so he will do it himself.’

[daenysx]

Okay blurb req for old money!Aemond who is ALSO a model for really expensive brands and his gf is a photographer👀 inspired by the photoshoot and that one specific blue leopard print pic🙂‍↕️🤭

oh my god i hope i did well, thank you, rue !! <33333

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader

cw; modern!aemond being a hopeless romantic, suggestive, kisses, no but he's really so in love it hurts, photographer!reader and model!aemond can be a new favorite wow

"are you sure this is professional?"

aemond has no shame, honestly. you don't think you can be expected to be 'professional' when your boyfriend looks like he'll ruin your entire existence by looking like the most charming being in the entire universe.

his blue eyes sparkle in the latest photos you take, a stark contrast with his platinum blonde hair. flowy strands make you want to pull aemond to yourself enough to give him a good kiss on his neck as your fingers travel in his hair. maybe you can do that when you get to be alone with him. oh, you'll definitely do that when you're alone.

"i believe i'm extremely professional." you murmur, holding his hand to make him pose the way you want. "if you stop being so distracting, it'll be even better."

he smirks. a small quirk of lovely lips, he's handsome and he knows it. he leans into your space and your hold on your camera tightens. you will not kiss him. you can't, there are other people here, and this is business. you take a step back.

"i'm only doing what you tell me to do." he says like he's the most innocent man. "you can't say i'm not being good."

you give him a small smile. he's in the mood for playing.

"i didn't say that." you say, quietly. "come on, a few more for me and we'll be done."

aemond fixes his posture, your one hand still holding his. "of course." he says, coolly. "you know i can actually be good for you. as many as you want, you'll have it."

you lick your lips to control your face expressions. not the time, not the place. just like you say to him, only a few more and you'll be done.

the clothes he's wearing make aemond look taller as if it's actually possible. you admire his poses, his confidence and his awareness of how good he looks. he turns his head for another picture, his eyes following your every move. it's like a wordless conversation between you two.

"can i get one with a smile?" you ask him, your hand directing his last pose. "not too wide, just- a subtle one, please."

"i'm afraid that's not possible if i'm going to give you a smile." he flirts. "maybe you should let someone else take the photo if you need a subtle one."

you hear two girls giggling at the corner. he really thinks he's so fun, doesn't he? it's his world here, he knows how to charm his way and he certainly knows how to be a flirt. you're thankful he's already yours, it would be impossible to handle him otherwise.

after another fifteen minutes, you're all done. you go next to aemond, leaving your camera. people around you move quickly to clean up the place, and fix all the mess that has been made. aemond takes your hand to brush a kiss on your knuckles. his eyes are warm this time, so clear under this lights.

"what do you think?" he asks. "good?"

you nod softly. "probably the best in a long time."

"kind of hard not to." he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer. "i had the best photographer."

you give him a kiss on his cheek but that's all. he's been teasing you all day long. "do you flirt with all your photographers like this, mr. targaryen?"

"absolutely not." he answers, cheekily. "my flirting skills are reserved for only one person."

"i think you owe me a drink." you tell him. "even working is easier than trying to deal with your incessant teasing."

"we'll have dinner first." he says, kissing the side of your head. he doesn't say, but he's tired. "think of what you want to eat when i'm changing, okay? i have a few options if you can't decide."

[mr-cha-n]

Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike. 

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor. 

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect. 

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live. 

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client. 

Except. 

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse. 

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that. 

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil.  Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into.  "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss. 

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time. 

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets. 

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken. 

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

[diodellet]

try wishing for it: magical girl au (scarabia x gn!reader)

inspired by @ceruleancattail's magical girl au and @yan-lorkai's yandere genie fic. note: i also imagine scarabia's mascot form to look like this. title is ripped from tohma's magical girl eudaemonics. content warnings: -yandere (if you squint, since scarabia's taking the role of kyubey in this fic. references of manipulation and general moral grayness.) -fic uses "magical girl" but means it in a gender-neutral sense (reader is referred to with they/them pronouns) word count: 2.7k words

Being a magical girl means gaining the power to do virtually anything you can dream of.

The first time you defeat a wraith, you stare in awe at your hands, breathing heavily from sheer excitement rather than exertion. With one final roar, the beast falls to the ground, before dissolving into black smoke.

“Woah, you did it! You really took it down!” Kalim barrels into you, gushing praise after praise. “See, Jamil? I told you they were going to be powerful!” 

Jamil is more mindful of you, instead floating over to land on your other shoulder. “Nice job.”

“You’re a natural!” Kalim’s bouncing with joy in your palm, waving his little stubby arms. “You probably won’t even need to use your three wishes!”

Right, there was that. In the case that you were against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, you could draw on your familiars’ magic—a ‘wish,’ they called it.

“Don’t jinx them, Kalim.”

“...What happens if I asked for more wishes?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” The stitches of Jamil’s plush smile don’t change, but there’s a note of something foreboding in his words. “Though, you don’t seem like the type to squander them. Don’t worry about it too much.” Despite their cartoonish appearance, your familiars’ words and warnings carried a grave weight

Your gaze drifts to the slain wraith. All that remains is the tarnished metal collar that hung around its neck, until it too crumbles into dust.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful in that faint shimmer of gold as it gets blown away by the wind.

Being a magical girl means toting around two innocuous round plushies of your familiars to class.

With your new double life, you get two new companions following you around. It means bearing Kalim’s excited chattering as you take notes, dealing with Jamil’s snide teasing as your classmates point out your new bag charms.

What you don’t expect is to see the two of them sitting in your living room the next morning, clad in your school’s uniform.

“Good mor—oof!” Your book bag collides with Kalim’s chest and you use the momentum to drag him and Jamil by the elbow out of your house, ignoring your dad’s concerned calls with a loud “I’m heading out!”

You didn’t get the memo that being able to transform was part of their repertoire as magical familiars, but you should’ve expected this. Between Kalim’s thousand-kilowatt smile and Jamil’s calculating gaze, you very much prefer them as small round plushies.

(It’s strange that your schoolmates and teachers don’t question the two new additions to the class, but you appreciate that your cover wasn’t blown with this curveball. You suspect it might have to do with the red glow in Jamil’s eyes. You decide to question them at the end of the class day.)

“It’d be better if one of you stayed as a plushie.”

“Then that means it would be Jamil since he’s better at keeping attention off of us.”

“By that logic, they’re talking about you, Kalim.” Is it you or is that a hint of a smile on Jamil’s lips?

“Oh.” Kalim’s expression falls into a pout. “But I like attending classes with you!”

He probably wouldn’t like it as much during exams week. “I wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile if people noticed you…guys following me around.”

“Aw, I guess so…Thanks for treating us to ice cream, though!”

You offer to buy them another one, just to make their one and only day at school special. You start heading towards another freezer, there’s a special lottery on these soda popsicles.

Jamil’s attention turns toward the counter. He’d been eyeing the person at the cashier. “Wait, something seems—” 

And that’s all the warning he can give before a group of wraiths crashes through the convenience store wall. Ending up in a sprawled mess of tangled limbs was not ideal. It’s settled, you definitely preferred them in their plushie forms.

Being a magical girl means getting woken up by Kalim in the middle of the night to patrol the city.

As a hand-sized plush ball, he’s already pretty strong. But under the cover of night, he can shed his disguise and drag accompany you around to see you deliver justice to evildoers. 

Your drowsiness fades away as you leap from rooftop to rooftop, dispatching fledgeling wraiths hiding in narrow alleyways, stopping drunken confrontations, watching over lone pedestrians traversing through seedier parts of the city.

“There’s another one, it’s a low-ranking wraith!”

“I’ve got it!” Magic gathers around your weapon, bathing it in golden light as you swing and cleave the monster into two.

It didn’t even get a fighting chance to writhe or fight back. All it can do is dissipate into nothing.

Which is for the best.

“That was so quick!” Kalim bounds over to you as your weapon fades out of view. “You’re getting better and better at fighting!”

“Well, you did say it was a weak one…” You tug at the collar of your outfit. His praise feels like staring into the glare of the sun, straight on. “I’m probably not that much better than those other magical girls before me.”

“Still! It doesn’t make you any less amazing—Are you hurt anywhere?” Kalim starts looking you over for any injuries that he might have missed.

Too close. “Not a scratch. Come on, let’s head home.”

Though you should’ve expected things would go sideways at some point, that the night would bring untold horrors instead of passing peacefully. In a mix of your carelessness and Kalim’s overexcitement, an avian-like wraith appears and catches you both offguard, talons closing around his midsection and carrying him into the sky, each powerful beat of its wings taking him farther and farther away from you.

Adrenaline surges through you and the asphalt of the sidewalk cracks underneath your soles as you leap to the sky in pursuit. “Kalim!” Just before you can close the distance, he screams at you to get back, making you falter. A long shadow whips through the air—a prehensile tail of sorts—preventing you from approaching. 

Switching tactics, you aim for its wings. Better to bring it to the ground.

(Miraculously, Kalim got the cue to turn into his plushie form to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. You manage to catch him before the both of you crash. Though, Kalim’s awed gushing was probably going to give you a sunburn.)

Being a magical girl means Jamil takes your healthcare into his own hands, sometimes.

“It’s the sleep deprivation.”

“No, it’s not.” A coughing fit strikes you at that moment, betraying the extent of your sickness.

“It’s because you’re overexerting yourself with your ‘nightly escapades.’”

“Fine—so what if I am? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? To protect helpless people day and night?”

“Obviously, not at the cost of your own wellbeing!”

You didn’t think you would ever end up in this kind of situation, being yelled at by a floating plush ball while confined to your bed of messy blankets and used tissues.

The angry heat in your face is making your headache worse, makes you see gray for a moment before you could fire back.

“...I’m sorry,” you spit without an ounce of penance.

Jamil sighs. “Well. There’s no use in pressing the matter any further.” Just before he disappears, he tells you to get some rest.

Easier said than done.

The minutes inch by agonizingly slow. Your room is so silent, magnifying the buzz of your own thoughts. Up until this point, your life became a whirlwind of academics, extracurriculars, and fighting evil monsters. But at this moment of standstill, you can’t help but come to the realization that he was right. With your rashness, you basically incapacitated yourself. Sure, your familiars were also capable magic users. Sure, they could hold off wraiths from doing any major damage, but the thought that this entire situation could have been avoided, that this was entirely your fault—

A tear slips down your cheek, then more and more, until you’re quietly sobbing, frustrated, into your palms.

The mattress of your bed dips with the added weight of another person. “Mom—”

Jamil shushes you. “Drink this first.” You hear the rustle of plastic—did he go to the pharmacy?—and feel him press two tablets into your hand. As you swallow them, he hands you a glass of water. His other hand rests against your sweat-covered back, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.��

(It is a stark contrast to his rough words from earlier.)

“I thought you…” They probably had other magical fighters to watch over, didn’t they?

It’s probably the fever messing with your senses, but there’s an uncharacteristic softness in Jamil’s voice. “Shh. No more of that, now.”

“...then why?” Were you really the only one?

“Just focus on getting better.” 

“But—”

“Your mom’s making soup for dinner, she will come to check on you in an hour. I’ll stay with you until then. Rest.” 

His words are not enough to placate your worries fully, but there’s a soft glow of red in his irises that makes you acquiesce and close your eyes, all while clutching onto Jamil’s wrist.

Being a magical girl means thinking up new ways to explain your many conversations “to yourself.”

Your parents are easy, it’s just the angst of youth. But your siblings are a little more difficult to convince. In addition to your moments of listlessness, they can hear your frantic back and forth pacing and the thump of you throwing your plushies against the paper-thin walls of your room. It can only mean one thing—

“Get out! I’m not having romance issues!” You slam the door behind your sibling’s cackles.

Your familiars remain still, seated on your bed until the sound of footsteps is sufficiently out of earshot.

“Are you really seeing someone?” Kalim pipes up.

“No!” You bury your face into your hands. “I—How would I have the time for that?”

“Besides,” Jamil chimes in, “we’re the only ones who’ve been accompanying them. Unless—”

Your body moves of its own accord, snatching Jamil with both hands and giving him a threatening squeeze, an unspoken ‘don’t you dare finish that sentence’ left hanging in mid-air.

When he stays quiet, your death grip lightens up. Just a little bit. A heavy exhale leaves your frame. “Look, for all that we’ve gone through—”

(A part of you is hesitant to admit it but, having gained them as new companions made your journey as a magical girl feel less daunting. You felt safe knowing that you could rely on them to watch your back, in spite of the close calls you’ve had. 

As for whether or not you’d started looking at them differently, well, you’d need more time to think on it. There. End of conversation.)

“I guess… I’m glad I met you. The both of you,” you finished lamely.

The silence that followed was deafening. For once, you’d wished their plushie forms could emote more instead of giving you that placid smile. 

With a pop! and shower of golden sparks, Kalim’s arms close around you in a tight hug. A bright grin splitting his cheeks. “I’m happy we’re friends too!”

“Stop squeezing me!” Jamil grits out.

Being a magical girl means double checking your word choice, especially for any quips and retorts.

The first time you transformed, you commented offhandedly about your footwear and Jamil made a little adjustment to your attire. 

With a snap of his fingers, a golden bangle clasps around your ankle. Lightweight, no doubt it would look beautiful when the light hits it at the right angle, but—

A frown pulls at your lips.

“Would you like another one? Just for some…symmetry,” Jamil suggests. 

You decide better against responding to that. 

“Think of it as a gift from me and Kalim.”

Was this something they bestowed to every magical fighter they took under their wing? “...Some gift this is.”

“Relax, you still have three wishes left. I won’t trick you into wasting them.”

Well, that diminished most of your initial doubt. “How can I be sure of that?” you question.

Jamil’s head tilts to the side, appraising you with an eerily-observant gaze. “All you have to do is ask. Anything that your heart desires, anything your mind can conceive.” 

You don’t like how his eyes are trained on you, making you feel small. You pick at an imaginary speck of dirt on your top, straighten out the already-impeccable fabric.

A thick silence falls over the both of you.

“...Will you—will you both ask me if I’m sure, before granting my wish?” It’s such a stupid thing to worry about, to fuss over the intricacies of your arrangement as Magical Girl and Familiar.

“Of course.” Jamil gives you a smile. “Shall we head to where Kalim is?”

“Yeah.” Your weapon appears in your hand with a flash of gold. “Let’s destroy that wraith’s nest.”

(More than desires you want fulfilled, there are anxieties you want quelled, fears you want silenced. Miracles to the myriad of unfortunate catastrophes that plagued your home—the flawed world that you lived in. So what if you contained untold power at your fingertips? You were only one person tasked with the protection of hundreds. At the peak of your distress—in the midst of sirens and flashing lights—you call for Jamil and utter your first wish through choked sobs.)

Being a magical girl means not relying on your powers, sometimes.

The trapped kitten gives another pitiful wail, thrashing against your grip as you clamber down the tree. In holding onto it tightly, you earn a set of angry-red scratch marks along the backs of your hands before reaching solid ground. The kitten bounds away with a final hiss.

“Why didn’t you transform?” Kalim asks.

You shrug, running a finger over one of the scratches. “I guess it’s ’cause I didn’t wanna mess up the outfit.”

“What do you mean?”

Bashful, your gaze ducks to your shoes, worn from years of use but sturdily hanging on. “It’s just, lately, the wraiths have been getting more and more powerful. And I…” Feel weak? Pressured? Alright, maybe you were still hung up over leaving a little crater at a major intersection, but it was either that or letting the ursine wraith lay waste to the nearby shopping center. There wasn’t any time to dwell on those shortcomings.

(But your mind liked to circle back to it. Was there any more you could do? Why couldn’t you do more?)

They warned you about this, that at some point, you would end up facing more destructive wraiths. That you would have to choose among innocents.

He takes your injured hands. “You can always make a wish.” Kalim’s healing magic washes over you, cool and gentle, like a stream of water. You watch the scratches slowly close up until they become nothing more than a set of faint white lines. “That’s what me and Jamil are for.”

“That’s true…”

“Anything you want.” Kalim repeats. “I’ll make it happen.”

It’s those simple words— and the sight of him cradling your hands in his palms—that grant you the courage to speak your next words, your second wish.

Being a magical girl means weighing your soul against the lives of people, friends and strangers alike.

“Come on, you have to get up.” Tears are streaming down Kalim’s cheeks, his hands hover by your prone and bloodied form, unsure of which wounds to heal.

Wearily, you gaze cranes upwards as if every bit of movement caused pain throughout your body.

Jamil has witnessed this scenario a thousand times. He keeps a stoic face. “Are you just going to let them destroy everything?”

“...I can’t let them…”

“You’re hurting yourself! Jamil, you have to do something!”

“It’s not my choice to make.”

When in the face of an unstoppable threat—a horde of chimeran wraiths that will lay waste to your home, will you make that final third wish and trust in them?

Jamil knows how you’ll answer. Rather than using them as quick and easy schemes, your first two wishes were—in some way—made for the good of others around you. For someone who won’t even know or care about that small bit of kindness. At the core of every human is a desperate self-preservation instinct that pushes them to make a final wish. And like clockwork, you will follow like the rest of the magical girls that they created. It’s a strategy that has benefited him and Kalim. And he has been fervently waiting for this moment, for a powerful one like you to—

“I’m...not giving up…!”

Or not? 

His lips curl into a smile. “Then give them hell.”

They can wait this out. Compared to their infinite lifespan, your emotional fortitude was only a drop in the ocean.

a/n: aaaa thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic with ur fresh eyes. this au rlly gave me brainworms of the feral variety, i think i liked leaving most of the details ambiguous and free to interpretation, but i might come up with a separate author's note post about worldbuilding bits i couldnt fit in? eh we'll see! i hope yall enjoyed reading this! tagging some jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @mama-m1na @crystallizsch @sillystr1ngs (lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies)

[kiyo-cant-write]

Welp, I'm kinda back to request the guy again(y'know the RSA Silver anon). Tho you can call me as 🎵 anon. Thanks tho.

So I kinda have some little new idea pop in my head, I got the idea when I read some old scenarios. About Silver and Sebek, having a crush on Yuu. Then tries to fight over Yuu's attention. Just imagine they fight over Yuu and Yuu accidentally getting squish between their chest I mean check their PE uniform card, while they get too busy having a staring competition to notice Yuu got squish. Yuu intensely blushing, probably almost fainting

I hope you don't mind this.

silver and sebek fighting "over" yuu/reader ✧･ﾟ

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Name change initiated, tags updated.

Hello! I don't mind this! I like Silver and the rest of Diasomnia (though my personal bias is Malleus xD) And I hope I interpreted your idea well! My sincere apologies for taking a longer time to get this out, my health is not doing well at the moment.

Note to anyone looking to request that I currently have a very big request for all the first years in the works and it is taking me some time to complete. That said, requests will be slow to go out but are open, actually.

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Summary: [Name] is swept up in an argument between Silver and Sebek Zigvolt during flight class. Were they always this built?

TW/CW: None

Notes: pre-relationship, the reader is described as smaller than Sebek/Silver, the reader is the Ramshackle Prefect/Yuu, they/them pronouns for the reader

Guest Stars: Grim, Malleus Draconia (mentioned)

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Silver & Sebek Zigvolt

Silver did not plan to be in the argument in the first place.

He isn't a very confrontational personality to begin with.

That, and his father raised him better (or he says that).

And meanwhile, Sebek is just Sebek-ing, that's how it starts.

The argument doesn't begin with Malleus but it's sure about Malleus now and Silver kind of wants to punch Sebek.

Sebek throws the first punch and Silver is defending himself.

The two of them are airheads sometimes and forget they're in a joint class and there are people everywhere.

[Name] is smaller than the two of them and ends up caught between them but neither of them cares to notice.

[Full Name] you are about to experience being smooshed between two guys who have trained as guards since childhood.

Sebek is still more or less yelling.

Silver effectively politely conveys "Shut the fuck up."

[Name] and the other students are BAFFLED.

It seemed that it would be a while before this is resolved...

Silver is the one to point out this is a ... position.

Sebek gets offended that Silver is protecting [Name].

But why? WHAT IS THIS HUMAN DOING TO HIM?

Silver chooses to repress his feelings.

Trauma responses or something (Book 7 did things to me)

Then [Name] fainted and both boys began to p a n i c !!

"This is all your fault, Silver!"

"Sebek, be quiet."

Silver's expression might have seemed neutral to anyone in Vargas' PE class who was watching but Sebek recognized this type of expression from his childhood. Silver was glaring daggers at him from his group's area.

But! This was a fight and Sebek would win (for Malleus).

"HOW DARE YOU INSULT WAKA-SAMA?!??" Sebek roared, ignoring the class around him as all of his senses focused on that cat.

It would be good to note that while it was a "fight." it was a fight that Silver did not want to be in. How had it even begun? Silver wasn't sure. He was trying to talk to one of his classmates about something and then Sebek started yelling (really, who decided to let joint classes be with the first years?) and soon after, this had started.

"NYA! WHAT DID YOU SAY EYEBROWS?" Grim fired back at Sebek.

Raised by General Lilia Vanrouge, Silver has some quirks that others are quick to point out. He grew up in Briar Valley, after all. His "human skills" leave much to be desired. Still, Lilia instilled a sense of justice in Silver, and the knowledge that you should not say nasty things about others if they are your friends.

Silver sighed. This was why he decided to keep his thoughts on today's PE incident to himself. It would be better for everyone that way. But his emotions, the ones he tried to ignore, made things harder for him sometimes.

[Name] is being a bit daft, though. Why did they get involved?

As Sebek yelled at Grim, the cat jumped into his human half's arms and caused Sebek to, as he was trying to grab Grim, get much too close to the Prefect (for safety and for Silver to accept).

He sighed again as he took several steps over to the trio and attempted to intimidate Sebek away from [Name].

"Sebek, cease this at once. This is unbecoming," Silver told him, standing just behind the Prefect and staring Sebek down.

"Silver, stay out of this!" Sebek hissed at him, not realizing how close he was to the Prefect, "I need to finish this."

"Malleus-sama would not approve..." Silver continued slowly.

He took a step closer.

"I am doing this for his honor, that cat insulted him!!"

Sebek pushed closer and Silver couldn't mask his irritation. Sebek would not listen to Silver and the light-haired man knew this.

"Even if he did, you're much too close to [Name]," the second-year added.

As each boy moved closer, they had [Name] cornered.

"Are you insinuating that you have some kind of claim over this human?" Sebek asked, nearly scoffing as if insulted by the concept.

"No, I am saying you're too close to them. Be polite."

"Silver, you speak and act so boldly for someone taken in off the streets," Sebek told him, bringing up a longstanding issue between them.

He had to ignore this. It wasn't supposed to be something shared with others, that he was taken in by Lilia, that Lilia was his father.

"This isn't about that. You're being rude."

Silver had never wanted to punch Sebek more than he did at this moment.

Smushed between the two guards, [Name] held Grim close to their chest. They could spell the faint scent of flowers from Silver whereas Sebek smelled like tea. They were able to see now, up close and personally, that Malleus' guards were strong, built young men, not as lean as some of the other students at Night Raven.

A few moments passed as Silver and Sebek attempted to stare each other down, other students beginning to watch the interaction, waiting for a fight to break out. It was a miracle that Vargas did not notice the commotion but he was busy telling some poor student about his great and important very heroic deeds.

"... Grim, I think I am going to die," [Name] whispered to the cat.

Startled, Grim looked up at them with such a sudden motion he jostled their spot between Silver and Sebek slightly.

"Nya?? Don't die, [Name]!!"

But the Prefect could not hear them anymore, they were dead to the world for the foreseeable future. With a bright red face, they looked somewhere between embarrassed and feverish.

"Oh no. [Name], are you okay?"

Silver moved away from Sebek as the green-haired boy did the same. Sebek noticed the state of the Ramshackle Prefect instantly.

"AAH! THE HUMAN NEEDS MEDICAL ATTENTION!!" Sebek shouted

For a moment, Silver wished that Sebek had a volume button he could (politely) turn down. It would save everyone a lot of grief.

All of this attracted the attention of Vargas who shipped around and sprinted over to them, forgetting his discussion of heroism with that poor, poor unsuspecting student.

"Don't yell," Silver told Sebek as he noticed Vargas speeding in their direction, his voice sounding like a whisper in comparison to Sebek's yells.

"HAH? This is all your fault, Silver!"

"Sebek. I said... Quiet down."

Today would be a long day for everyone...

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Imagine the rest for yourself~

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✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

Thank you for reading! Likes and reblogs are appreciated! Do NOT repost my writing/headcanons as your own >:c Check the top of my blog for the inbox status and read the rules before requesting. This is not a twst-only blog! ^^

[inksandpensblog]

Somehow I got this idea of Chosen, left alone after the season conflict again, wandering away from the site of the final battle and then stumbling upon Victim’s abandoned farm.

Obviously by the time he finds it it’s a little run-down, because the property owner hasn’t been back in a while.

(Not that Victim had been spending much time there anyway, recently. As the lab grew, they started spending more time at their office, and their own house became more of a retreat. Though the neighbors would still lend a hand every now and then, at first.)

But when Chosen finds it, it’s been long enough that the neighborhood is pretty sure the original owner won’t be coming back.

Not that Chosen is aware of this, at first. It starts with him squatting in the barn.

He gets a good nap in, but eventually the farm animals notice there’s a person in the barn again and begin vying for his attention.

He figures out what they want, in the hopes that making them happy will get them to leave him alone, and then goes back to resting.

Rinse and repeat a few times, until Chosen realizes that the only way to get the animals off his back more permanently is to get a bit more involved and make some changes to the space.

So he starts fixing the barn up. Which leads to him fixing up the property around the barn. And he starts paying attention to what the animals’ regular needs are, instead of just their needs in the moment.

(The neighbors have become aware that Victim’s property is no longer abandoned. The new guy doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing, but he’s good to the animals and he’s trying to fix the place up so they all pretend he isn’t technically trespassing. He looks similar enough to Victim for them all to figure he’s probably family, so they figure it’s alright that he’s there if he’s gonna take care of the place. Nobody approaches him though; he seems to not want anyone to know he’s there…and, again, he looks similar to Victim.)

Eventually enough changes have been made that anyone who spent a lot of time in the area would have to know somebody was there, even if they hadn’t seen Chosen himself. So Chosen decides to check out the actual house.

I don’t think he moves in, exactly. He’s gotten used to the sheep snuggling up with him, the barn cat purring on him, the horses’ quiet solidity, the chickens’ constant quiet clucking, the cow’s lowing, the hutch rabbits’ fluttering heartbeats. But there might be a few nights when he needs quiet and solitude, so he’ll slip into the house for the evening.

But even if he isn’t completely moving in, he still starts to fix up the house. It’s something to do.

(He was wary, when the neighbors began looking his way. But aside from the occasional greeting or acknowledgement, most seem content to pretend they haven’t noticed him. He relaxes a little more.)

Eventually it becomes clear that nobody is going to dispute his occupation of the farm. His presence has been accepted in all the ways he can discern.

He begins to think that maybe, he can find contentment here.

(The neighbors have grown comfortable enough with him to call advice to him over the fence, in passing. He has clearly not quite grown comfortable with the idea of having neighbors yet, but he recognizes that help is being offered; and little Toby found his ball back on his front steps the day after he kicked it over the fence, so the guy can’t be that bad.)

So time passes, and Chosen truly begins to settle into farm life.

One day, as he’s working on the interior of the house, he hears footsteps on the porch. Nobody has ventured so far as to visit him on the farm grounds yet, but they aren’t the heavy footfalls of aggression so he cautiously opens the door.

Only to see a roughed-up Victim fumbling for their spare key.

Chosen is immediately tense. But...Victim is favoring one leg, and their hands are shaking, and breathing seems to hurt, and frankly they look like one good punch might kill them. So he waits.

Victim’s initial reaction, after freezing in place, is simply a flatly nonplussed “what are you doing here.”

“…I live here.”

“…this is MY house!”

[lj-lephemstar]

Progress Checkup! (Nov. 2024) | Scratchin' Melodii Devlog

​​Hey again guys! Sorry if it's been a bit since the last devlog. With how much I've been up to, it sure feels like it!

Let's get right into it. For starters, the 3rd rival battle of Act 2 is complete! I'll likely be showing a gameplay preview of it sometime soon. This is the first song to use the new framework that I'll be using for all the other stages going forward, which also means I've had to spend the past couple weeks getting the previous songs working with this new system too... Did you know that in the demo builds, if I wanted to change something about the gameplay, I'd have to manually go back and change it for EACH individual song one by one? Well now, imagine all the songs had like a peace treaty to just share one good, clean, and organized system that I can easily tweak and add to as I please. So development is gonna be smoother than ever from here! This is how most games are SUPPOSED to work, but I was a liiittle too stupid to figure out how to do this until recently!

While I was moving Cream Cheese Icing over to this new system, I took the opportunity to make the chart a bit more beginner-friendly! For example, the first line went from this...

To just this!

As you can see, it has less notes, therefore it is less scary for new players. Believe it or not, I actually never intended for Cream Cheese Icing to be so difficult for new players in the first place! Naturally, being too good at my own game can make gauging the difficulty curve a bit tricky at times, but I think I'm figuring it out!​

You may have also noticed that the characters have new UI icons too! I felt like the old ones were too flat and boring, so I did a new take on them, aiming for more dynamic shapes and angles, not to mention how my art style's just kinda grown a bit in general since I last drew the icons. I also ended up leaving out the circles behind them. I was a little worried I was gonna run out of unique colors for all of them at some point, plus SOME of these guys can have really big hair and/or hats that pretty much just cover up the whole circle anyway. (hi rensa)

Speaking of artwork, here's a little look at some of the updated animation I've done for Stir & Mix! (Try to imagine it in not highly-compressed-gif-form. I promise it looks better in-game!)

When working on Stir & Mix related stuff, I can't help but feel a bit of a sense of dread knowing how people may react to it... Honestly, sometimes I kinda wish it never got as popular as it did in 2022. But hey, doing my own thing regardless of what's expected of me is the most Scratchin' Melodii thing I could do!

Speaking of which, Mia learned a ton of new stuff while doing the VOCALOID tuning for the last rival battle we worked on, so we might revisit Stir & Mix's vocals again at some point before release to give it even more style! (By the way, Mia and 2cada are the same person! Sorry if I refer to both names interchangeably! She's been the one doing all the VOCALOID tuning and vocal mixing for the game since 2023.)

Well, I think that's all for now! Here's another friendly reminder that there will NOT be anymore demos of the game. Any new content will be saved for the full game's release. I know I've said it before, but I probably won't stop saying it until people stop getting confused about it LOL. Thanks for reading!! I appreciate you. - LJ

[junktastic]

Hi everynyan,

Some of you will remember that I was taking names/addresses to send out free stickers in September. I am almost done sending them out now, so here's a quick update on that.

The Good!

I like this a lot! It's fun to do. For reference, I'm printing, laminating, and cutting these myself at home, so I'm learning a lot about my machine. I like being in charge of the quality control, I like doing the logistic work. Idk. It's fulfilling to me.

It's also really delightful to see names on the list who I've known of for a long time. Old and new faces, people all over the world, I love seeing people adopt a catgirl. :3 And for free! I'm by no means making a lot, but being able to provide something fun and physical to the people who enjoy my art for free is just! Wow!

The Bad!

Everything that could have gone wrong during this process did, which is why they're going out so late. The at-home manufacturing process was relatively simple but the materials kept being funky, or I'd do something wrong, so I'd have to toss something that I'd completely fucked up, OR I'd just miscount how much stuff material I had left. It's been a pain in the butt, so I'm glad it's done and that I've learned so much from it. I ALMOST FORGOT, I DESTROYED ONE CUTTING MAT MAKING THAT ROGER STANDEE FOR MY WEDDING LOL SO I HAD TO SPEND TIME CONDITIONING THE NEW CUTTING MAT! UGH!

There's also: the money. I know it's gauche to talk about it, but doing this was pretty expensive. I live in Canada now, and most of the letters were going out of Canada, so that postage added up. Materials cost, time, it's a pretty good chunk of change, but I didn't go broke so I want to do it again.

The Other?

I definitely want (and plan) to do this again very soon. I'm talking within this month. I'm making Christmas cards! I've already set money aside for this so it's all good, and it involves less at-home manufacturing since I can just reach out to a local print shop.

I know some people were wary of the google form, but I can't really find a better alternative at this time. MailChimp has had at least one major information leak in 2024 alone, so I am not sure where else to turn for collecting addresses at this time. I had a few people who did not give me towns/zip codes, and the street address would have three or four towns in that state alone with that address. Since I didn't collect e-mail addresses, I didn't have any way to reach out to entrants about this. If you don't see your sticker in the next few weeks, this might be why! I also plan on adding a checkbox just to confirm that the person requesting the sticker is over 18, NOT because I plan on sending anything saucy, but I know what it's like to be a teen with parents who open you mail, an I don't want to cause problems for anyone because Mom and Dad think fairies are satanic or something.

Most people I've talked to about all of this have really emphasized that I need to reopen my Patreon. I'm not saying anybody is wrong on this, but it just makes me feel so uncomfortable. I think anyone who's followed me for a while has seen me try and fail to do art full time or, hell, even have a schedule for something, and I've failed every time. I'm so scared of failing people again. How can I ensure that I'm producing things on time, to a standard I am happy with, that anyone willing to support me (in this economy?) would also be happy with? It will probably happen, but I'm just so... Plus, with all honesty, I have a commission backlog that I need to finish first! I'm bad at the business part of this whole thing, I think. I'm a blue-collar labourer in my heart.

That's my update! I wish you all well, please stay safe and take care of yourself and those around you. I'll post again when I'm collecting addresses for the Christmas cards.

[maxwell-grant]

I'm seeing several popular react to the Penguin show with "God I wanna see Batman kick his ass in the next movie". Which, for a show about a Batman villain, is probably an indication of succeess

Are you kidding me it fucking rules, there's no "probably" here, the show couldn't possibly have achieved what it set out to do harder.

I've talked with people, as Episode 7 was coming out, that they've managed to strike this perfect balance between making Oz the fun engaging protagonist to watch, and making him a villain that we'll want to face justice, opposite Sofia who tread the line between his Batman Villain arch-nemesis as well as the closest the show has to a hero. The camera loves her, the costume designers and hair stylists love her, the showrunner calls her the hero of the show, production folks who go on the podcast talk about how she was their favorite character to work on, while Oz, the protagonist, only grew darker and more despised and more fucked-up as the weeks passed, as we sit through 8 hours chipping away at all of his fun and charm and wacko comedy antics and motivations and all the scruples and principles that he turns out to have less and less of, that become less and less useful to him, until he butchers them all in the very end along with the heart of the show.

As I saw it around week 6, by the time this thing was over, Sofia would demand to be received with tragic applause and heartbreak and whooping cheers and love, but Oswald would have the children of the world booing and hissing and throwing eggs and tomatoes at him, and then asking him to come back so they can do it again. AND I WAS RIGHT, and also I WILDLY underestimated the degree to which that would be warranted, and I certainly didn't expect that, for the first time in my life, I would be unconditionally and enthusiastically on the same side as everyone who posted that Arkham scene, where Batman picks up Penguin and smashes him against a mirror, as something Battison has to do in the next movie. I couldn't believe what a stab to the heart that last episode was.

I'l get into the specifics of why this worked more on the Episode 8 breakdown and, granted, it's a lot to conciliate still, it's genuinely a strange feeling to be onboard with everyone else who wants Penguin to be flattened and crushed and humiliated, to truly hate him as a loathsome monster for the first time ever even as I love him in so many new fucked-up ways. This is, make no mistake, the good version of the Joker's Asylum one-off, Pain and Prejudice, Bullies, all those modern stories that are ultimately about nothing more than reminding you of a super-duper serious evil bastard this funny little man is, stories I generally just find too dumb and reductive and ugly and tasteless and trying so very damn hard to be scary without working for it. This was Lauren LeFranc slam dunking everyone who's picked up this character since Jason Aaron in 2007, including Jason Aaron himself, and wherever they take him in the next movie, or if they can justify another season of this, they've fully set him up more than ever as a guy we will want to be exploded by the Batmobile, that he not only fully deserves it, but must, be defeated for good.

Beyond impressed, don't think I could have ever anticipated how much I wanted this.

[zomtart]

Unknown (Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader)

Hey y’all! So one of my favorite things to do writing wise is pick one of my favorite songs, listen to it on repeat, and write a fic to it lmao. So here’s that with Matt Murdock and my favorite song of all time, Unknown/Nth by Hozier. All writing is mine but of course the italized words are lyrics from Unknown/Nth, which belongs to the one and only Hozier (and Matt Murdock and co belongs to Marvel) <3 

I’m so sorry for the ending this was not supposed to end angsty but I had a prophetic vision I had to listen to it

Warnings: religious imagery to describe love, canon typical injuries/violence, death

Word Count: 1.2k

It ain’t the being alone

It ain’t the empty home, baby

You know I’m good on my own

You know, it’s more the being unknown

Sometimes, you terrified him.

You would say something, or do something, and he felt so…seen. Naked, stripped of any mask that protected him. You would never lay a hand on him, he knew that, but it didn’t make it any less horrifying. The fact that you could reach past any suit of armor, beat him to any punch, because you knew him. Sometimes it felt like you knew him even better than he knew himself. You saw past his attempts to push people away, to act cold and be alone. He’d try, time and time again, to convince both of you that he was better off by himself. It never worked. You weren’t scared away, and you had a way of making Matt feel like he…deserved to be in the company of you. To not be some anonymous figure drifting through the city. 

It was a shitty morning. It was too cold outside, numbing the edges of his fingers and the tips of his ears. He could feel the blood rushing to his nose, his body’s futile attempts to keep him warm. He was so cold he almost missed the scent of freshly brewed coffee coming from the office.

“Morning,” you say nonchalantly, gently taking his left hand and wrapping it around what he knew was a coffee cup. He felt frozen in place, but forced his mind to blame it on the weather. He could already smell it, but he took a sip before commenting.

“Peppermint mocha?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You hummed in response, already looking over the new papers on your desk.

“How’d you know?”

You just laughed a little, taking a sip of your own drink. “We’ve gotten coffee before, Matthew. My memory isn’t that terrible.”

It wasn’t the fact that you said his full name. It was how you said it. Softly and…reverantly. He’d compare it to a prayer, but it was more holy than that.

He murmured a thanks and tried to relax. Wow, he felt like it was losing it, and for what? Because you knew his coffee order? The four of you have gotten coffee together before for company meetings. You probably remembered Karen and Foggy’s order just the same. It meant nothing.

~

You called me “angel” for the first time, my heart leapt from me

You smile now, I can see it’s pieces still stuck in your teeth

And what’s left of it, I listen to it tick

Every tedious beat

When you discovered he was Daredevil, he expected a lot of things. Confusion. Betrayal. Anger, most of all. He never expected you to…laugh.

He was exhausted. Far too exhausted to do anything but stumble into his apartment, not realizing you had snuck in to surprise him for his birthday. It was a bit past midnight and you stood in his living room with a cake, confused at his absence. You were about to call Foggy to make sure he was okay when he stumbled in with a broken nose and too many bruises to count. You shrieked and dropped the cake, rushing to grab the knife on the counter to defend yourself against…

“...Matt?” you said incredously, setting the knife down and inching forward. He was in too much pain to realize the consequences of what ensued, and he could only let it happen, limping to the couch before he collapsed on top of it. 

You set the knife down and ran to kneel in front of him. You looked him over, at all his injuries and the way his exhausted eyelids drooped downwards. 

“You stupid man…” you whispered, cradling his face upwards, drops of his blood sinking into your palm. “You…you’re…”

“Halloween costume.” he managed, and you laughed, a watery, broken, sound that echoed throughout the apartment he lived alone in. 

You shook your head. “T-the Devil doesn’t take breaks? Even on his birthday?”

“Heard someone…they needed help.”

“You’re blind.” you whispered, looking back to his sightless eyes to confirm. “How…?”

He didn’t answer, just leaned into your hand that still held onto his jaw. After a moment his nose twitched. “Did you..get me cake?”

“Yeah. Happy birthday.” you said quietly with another laugh. The sound was like a balm to his wounds. It was better than any gift he could have asked for. “How did you know?” “It’s a…a lot to explain. We’d be here all night.”

“Don’t tempt me, angel.” you winked. Then you simply got up and left to get a first aid kit, as if you hadn’t left his heart beating out of his chest. 

That night, you didn’t ask anymore questions. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was so beat up, or because you were in shock, or because of what day it was. You bandaged him up and got him to bed. When you were satisfied with the amount of blankets he had you lit a single candle and sang Happy Birthday. Your soft voice was slightly off-tune, and the melody was occasionally interrupted with little laughs by the both of you, but to him it was perfect.

It meant everything. 

~

There are some people, love, who are better unknown. 

He had learned to regret that night. In hindsight, he should have known. He should have known that letting you find out his true identity would put you at risk. He should have known he wasn’t able to protect you, wasn’t able to protect anyone who got close to him. He had put on the suit to help people, but he knew now it only made him an omen. If the Devil was near, death would ensue. 

He should have known.

He should have heard the gun reloading and your footsteps pounding to jump in front of him. He should have never let you be there in the first place. You were dead, and the beating of his fists against your murderer could do nothing to bring you back. He killed for the first time that night, and he was all too aware of the irony. The person who knew him best was gone, and if she weren’t she would not even recognize him.

[quojae]

 - Where your roommates male bsf changes your life forever - 

f!reader x sunghoon - college au - kissing - living together - mutual feelings - fluff  

a/n: hello loves 𖹭 i really hope you enjoy this cute and fluffy short story (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

wc 7.2k

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

starting college will always be  nerve racking. of course you look forward to it - its a step into a brand new world, who wouldn't be excited. yet at the same time, leaving behind everything you've known to move in with a stranger, its a strange feeling to describe. for some extroverts its thrilling, and for some introverts its downright terrifying. you aren't quite sure how to feel about it. the tangle of nerves in your stomach has yet to unwind itself, so you sit on your new bed, in your tiny dorm room, staring at a blank wall unsure what to do next. your life that you managed to pack into four boxes is all laid out in front of you. clothes, stationary, that one blanket you've had for as long as you remember, all in front of you waiting to be placed in its new spot in this unfamiliar room. the clunk of a door opening startles you out of your thoughts. you jump a little, instinctively straightening up on your bed as the door creaks open. in the doorway stands a figure, the silhouette of someone about your age, holding a few bags, a backpack slung over one shoulder. they look just as unsure as you feel, glancing around the room with a mixture of curiosity and hesitation.

"uh... hey," they say, their voice sounding friendly, but there's a hint of nervousness. "i guess this is my room…"

the air between you both feels awkward at first - like neither of you knows quite how to break the ice.

you both probably have a million thoughts running through your heads, each of you wondering what this new chapter is going to bring. but here you are, in the same boat, just two strangers trying to figure out how to make this work.

you clear your throat, “im… y/n, it’s nice to meet you.”

the girl standing in the doorway smiles and steps further into the dorm, dragging a large suitcase behind her, “wonyoung, jang wonyoung,” her voice is sweet, making you feel instantly more comfortable.

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after the initial awkwardness things were simple, easy. despite the fact your new roommate, wonyoung looked quite literally like a fairy princess, she was approachable and friendly and you easily grew close. things were surprisingly simple. the early days were full of small talk, the nerves slowly settled as the days passed, and you found yourself laughing more than you thought you would.

wonyoung was, as your first impression suggested, impossibly pretty - like someone who belonged in a fairy tale. Her hair was always perfectly styled, and she had this effortless grace about her that made you feel like you were in the presence of royalty. But for all her beauty, she was so fun to be around, charming, funny, and completely approachable. it didn't take long to realize that behind the porcelain skin and delicate features, there was a real person - someone warm, and wonderful. after meeting her friends you fit in immediately, they were so welcoming to you it was like finding another family. your social circle expanded daily as she introduced you to new people. it was fun, it was what college was supposed to be and you were enjoying every minute.

college was fun of course, but college was also a lot of work. You would often find yourself sitting at your small desk that was crammed into a corner of the room writing essays into the late hours of the night. sometimes wonyoung would stay up with you, also writing an essay, other times she would just chat with you, simple conversations to help make work feel a bit less like work. it was one of these nights, you were writing a paper, wonyoung was lounging on her bed, in frilly pink pajamas, as usual. yet tonight she was a bit distracted, still chatting with you, but sometimes there would be an awkward break in conversation as she thought deeply about how to respond to a text she had gotten.

after rushing through the conclusion of your paper and throwing on pajamas, ready to collapse and fall asleep for the next few hours until your painfully early 9am class you realized wonyoung was still awake, still laying on her bed, staring at her phone.

"what's up?" you ask, your voice tentative.

she hesitates for a moment before responding, her tone a little strained. "Oh, sorry. i'm just having a bit of an argument with my mom."

you sit up a little, concern rising. "well, what's going on? maybe i can help."

"the thing is," she begins, her voice quiet, "one of my childhood friends is coming to campus for a seminar or something - it's not a big deal - and my mom wants him to stay with us so he doesn't have to pay for a hotel." she finishes speaking and quickly types a response to a text, her brows furrowing as she does.

“that doesn’t seem like a big deal,” you respond, “i wouldn't mind”

She lets out a sigh “i wouldn't mind either, the real problem is my friend who she wants to stay with us, is a guy, and knowing his personality im afraid he would make you uncomfortable.”

your mind processes that for a moment before responding, “well, he is your friend, i'm sure it won't be too bad, why not let him stay with us for a bit, he can sleep on our couch.”

wonyoung pauses her furious typing to look at you with a worried expression “are you sure?”

you smile “yeah, why not!”

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a month had passed since that late-night conversation with wonyoung, and it had almost slipped from your mind entirely - until a knock at your door startled you out of your thoughts. you sighed and set down your textbook, walked over to the door, expecting a delivery or a neighbor needing something, but when you opened the door, you froze.

a man stood there, holding a duffel bag. he wasn’t someone you recognized, but that wasn’t what left you speechless. it was his appearance, the sheer perfection of it, that took your breath away. his hair was perfectly styled, framing his sharp jawline and angular features in a way that seemed too flawless to be real. His thick brows arched perfectly above his eyes, which held a sharp, almost intense gaze. the contrast between his dark hair and pale skin made him look like something out of a fashion magazine, or maybe a dream.

you stood there for a moment, completely frozen, unable to process anything other than the fact that this was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. his presence seemed to fill the cramped hallway, his features so striking it almost felt like you were staring at a sculpture.

and then it hit you - how disheveled you must look standing in front of him. you were wearing an old graphic tee, the one you’d picked up from a random bin in a clearance section years ago, paired with old shorts you used to use for painting, that you found at the back of your closet, because you didn’t feel like putting any effort into your appearance, you were supposed to be alone, at home it shouldnt have mattered. your hair, which you hadn’t bothered to style, hung messily around your face, and you hadn’t even washed your face that morning. the contrast between the way he looked and the way you felt was almost too much to bear.

for a few seconds, there was nothing but awkward silence as you stared at him, trying - and failing - to hide the sudden wave of self-consciousness. you could feel heat rising in your cheeks. in that moment, you wished you were somewhere else, anywhere but here.

finally, you managed to find your voice, stumbling over your words. “hi there… i think you have the wrong room.”

he just stood there, like a model, with his duffel bag hanging by his side. then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice smooth, “you’re wonyoung’s roommate, right?” His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it that made you pause.

"wonyoungs roommate?" you repeated, still feeling disoriented. How did he know wonyoung? you racked your brain, trying to make a connection. had Wonyoung mentioned someone like this to you? but nothing clicked.

you nodded, your voice shaky as you confirmed, “yes…” you glanced at him again, unsure what to make of this strange encounter. His presence was both overwhelming and oddly comforting, as though you were in the presence of someone who didn’t belong in the same space as you—but at the same time, something about him felt… familiar.

the man seemed to take in your reaction with a slight, almost amused smile, as if he could read the confusion on your face. Without saying another word, he shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder, waiting for you to respond or make sense of the situation.

after realizing you really had no idea what was going on he decided to save you by finally saying “im her friend, im staying with you for a few days, she was supposed to mention it to you.”

at that moment you remembered your conversation with wonyoung from a month ago, “oh, right, yeah, she mentioned you…. please come in” you smiled, to be welcoming, but also because you were happy you managed to form a complete sentence without stuttering. you rarely stutter, but for some reason just being around this man made your brain get all jumbled up.

he stepped in and put his duffel on the small sofa that was shoved against a wall, “im sunghoon park by the way,” he paused, “figure we should introduce ourselves considering we will be living together for a bit.”

you smile, “im y/n, its nice to meet you sunghoon.”

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later that night, wonyoung insisted on taking you and sunghoon out to dinner. with a bright smile, she told you both that she wanted her two closest friends to get along, and that this dinner would be the perfect opportunity for that. you agreed, though part of you was still a little unsure. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to get along with sunghoon, it was just you hadn't had any interaction with him after the initial encounter that morning, and you were still embarrassed over how you had presented yourself.

wonyoung led the way to a small, unassuming family restaurant tucked away on a quiet street. The place was a little hidden gem - one of those hole-in-the-wall spots where the food was always good, but the decor was simple. the moment you walked in, the warmth of the place, along with the smell of freshly made food, made you feel comfortable. You had been to places like this before, but this one felt special in its own way. the atmosphere was cozy, with wooden tables and the faint hum of conversation around you. 

the food came out quickly, and you couldn’t help but notice how much wonyoung seemed to enjoy every bite. she was talkative as always, offering you both recommendations, and even playfully teasing sunghoon when he hesitated over what to order. sunghoon rolled his eyes but smiled, it was obvious that this was a common interaction between the two of them. there was a comfort in the way they interacted, an ease that made it clear they had known each other for a long time. the way Sunghoon would tease wonyoung about anything and everything - whether it was her ordering too much food or her inability to sit still during a movie - always seemed to make her laugh, and she’d respond with exaggerated reactions, her eyes widening and hands gesturing dramatically as though hed just committed the most heinous of crimes. you couldn't help but smile as you watched them. 

as the evening wore on, you found yourself feeling glad wonyoung had invited you to this night out, appreciating the warmth of the night and the way both wonyoung and sunghoon made sure you felt included. even though sunghoon and wonyoung were so close sunghoon still made an effort to talk to you and be kind, he truly was like a prince charming, he was kind, a bit awkward and so fun to talk to. despite the fact you were having such a fun time, there was an odd tightness in your chest that you couldn’t quite explain. every time wonyoung and sunghoon would get close - whether it was during one of their teasing exchanges or when they laughed about something that only the two of them understood - it was like a knot was slowly forming in the pit of your stomach. you didn’t have a reason to feel that way, but every time they’d share a private joke or lean in to whisper something to each other, the feeling only seemed to grow stronger.

the more you observed them, the more you noticed just how comfortable they were with each other, how they seemed to have this unspoken understanding that made them look like they had their own little world. you didn’t want to be the third wheel. you wanted to be part of the group, part of the laughter and lighthearted teasing. and yet, the longer you sat there, the more aware you became of the small, quiet ache inside you.

you pushed the thought away as you took a sip of your drink, trying to focus on the conversation and join in, but no matter how hard you tried, that tightness in your chest wouldn’t fade. something about the way they interacted—so effortlessly, so naturally—stirred something inside you. as the evening came to a close, and the three of you made your way out of the restaurant, wonyoung turned to you, clearly happy that the night had gone so well. 

“i’m glad you two got along!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright a smile stretching across her face. “See? i told you it wouldn’t be awkward.”

you smiled back, truly happy with how the night went.

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the rest of the week passed in a blur, marked by the usual mix of classes, assignments, and the general hustle of daily life. Nothing particularly exciting happened, but it wasn’t a bad week - it just felt... routine. you and sunghoon barely crossed paths, which wasn’t unusual. you were both busy with your own responsibilities, and with the way your schedules lined up, there were days when you didn’t even see him at all. you found yourself buried in textbooks and lecture notes, trying to keep up with assignments, while sunghoon was often caught up with his own seminar work or running errands. it was easy to slip into the regular rhythm of solo study sessions and late nights hunched over your desk despite the new presence in your dorm. Still, there were moments - small, fleeting moments - that made everything feel a little more... charged.

there was the time when you were sitting in the kitchen, focused on an assignment, when sunghoon had come in to grab a snack. you hadn’t even noticed him at first, too wrapped up in the words on your screen, but when you glanced up, he was standing there, looking at you with that quiet smile of his. 

“do you need help with that?” he’d asked, his voice soft and casual, the kind of tone that seemed to put you at ease instantly. There was something comforting about the way he spoke, like his words wrapped around you in a way that felt effortless but sincere.

then there was the time you were both sitting side by side on the couch, flipping through TV channels, both of you tired and looking for a distraction after a long day. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but when his hand brushed against yours as he reached for the remote, you felt a jolt of warmth rush through you. you hadn’t meant to linger, hadn’t meant to let the moment stretch out, but you couldn’t help it. your heart fluttered in your chest, and for a second, you wondered if he’d felt it too. 

sunghoon never said anything, he just went about his business, as if the casual touch meant nothing at all, and you did your best to pretend it didn’t either. yet, even after he’d moved his hand away, the feeling lingered, and you found yourself unable to focus on the TV or the conversation. it was like your pulse was a little faster, a little more alive.

then there were those small, unspoken interactions - the moments when you’d both find yourselves in the same room, but you didn’t need to fill the space with words. Whether it was passing each other in the hallway or sitting at the kitchen table eating dinner, there was a quiet connection that seemed to hang in the air, just under the surface. every now and then, you’d glance up to find him already watching you, your eyes meeting, and in that fraction of a second, something unspoken passing between you. 

you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was like a quiet tension that seemed to weave itself into these tiny, everyday moments, and it wasn’t just the brush of hands or the small gestures - it was the way Sunghoon spoke to you, the tone of his voice, the slight curve of his lips when he said something sarcastic or playful. there was an effortless kindness in the way he treated you, a gentleness that you didn’t see in everyone. it wasn’t overwhelming, but it was enough to make you feel... seen, in a way that felt different from what you were used to.

the thing was, you weren’t sure if you were reading too much into it. it was easy to get caught up in the little things, the glances, the words, and let your mind wander into places it shouldn’t. even so, you couldn’t help it. every time he spoke to you in that calm, reassuring tone, or when his presence filled the space beside you, your heart would flutter - sometimes so quietly that you’d almost wonder if you imagined it, but other times with enough force that it made it impossible to ignore.

you knew it was a silly thing to feel—after all, you were just temporary housemates, maybe friends, but there was something about Sunghoon that made everything feel... different. even in the quiet moments, the ones where nothing particularly noteworthy happened, your chest would tighten in a way that was unfamiliar. his kindness, his subtle presence, the way he made you feel like you mattered - it all had an effect on you that you weren’t sure how to handle.

by the end of the week, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was shifting, that these small, seemingly insignificant moments were adding up to something more, what that was, you weren’t sure. for now, you pushed those thoughts aside, telling yourself that you were just overthinking it. after all, sunghoon was just being himself - kind, polite, and friendly, like he always was. 

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"sunghoon is leaving in a few days, you know," wonyoung remarked casually one afternoon.

that simple statement immediately shattered your focus. your mind went blank, your heart sinking like a stone in your chest. you’d known this was coming, of course. it wasn't like he had moved in permanently - it was always just a temporary arrangement from the start. yet hearing it out loud, made something tight and uncomfortable coil in your stomach. you weren't sure what this feeling was, but it was definitely unsettling. 

“oh, really?” you finally managed to say, trying to sound casual even though your pulse had quickened. "So his seminar is over now?"

wonyoung nodded, but there was a knowing glint in her eyes. A look that made you feel like she was holding some secret. she didn’t say anything for a second, just giving you a soft, almost teasing smile.

"yeah, and because he's leaving in a bit... if you're going to say anything, you better do it soon."

her words hit you like a cold splash of water, and you froze, a little caught off guard. "what would i say?" you asked, confused. your mind was trying to catch up, but you were too tangled in the unexpected wave of emotions that had come up at the mention of sunghoon leaving.

wonyoung’s smile widened, and she leaned in a little, lowering her voice in that familiar playful way of hers, the one that made her seem both impossibly wise and annoyingly knowing at the same time. "well, it’s not like you two are subtle about it. there’s clearly something going on between you two. there’s like this... electricity that keeps zapping between you guys." 

she giggled lightly, clearly amused by your reaction, but you were too stunned to laugh with her. instead, your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. the words hit you harder than you expected. your mind raced. so it wasn't just you. wonyoung had felt it too. The way things seemed to shift between you and sunghoon whenever you were in the same room, the strange moments when you'd catch each other’s gaze and feel that spark of something you couldn’t name. it wasn’t like you’d been outright flirtatious - at least, you didn’t think you had - but it seemed like it had been more obvious than you’d realized.

“w-wait, what?” you stammered, feeling your heart race. You tried to compose yourself, but it was impossible. “you think there’s something going on between us?” you couldn’t quite suppress the nervous laugh that followed, as if somehow distancing yourself from the weight of what she was saying.

wonyoung raised an eyebrow and gave you a mischievous smile, "oh, don’t play dumb. it’s pretty obvious, you know. the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you - even the way you two sit next to each other. it’s like there’s this... i don’t know, magnetic pull? and i can feel it in the air when you two are together."

her words hung in the air, lingering, and your mind was swimming. did sunghoon feel it too? that same strange energy that seemed to buzz when you were around him? you had always thought it was just your mind playing tricks, creating tension where there was none, but hearing wonyoung so casually acknowledge it made you question everything. it was almost like she’d peeled back the layers of your feelings and laid it all out in front of you, leaving you exposed in a way you hadn’t expected.

your stomach did a flip as you tried to make sense of everything. sunghoon was leaving soon and wonyoung was giving you a chance to do something, as if you had any idea what to do with the feelings swirling inside you. you had often laid in your bed wondering what exactly was going on, but now that wonyoung laid it out for you like this, you knew. you knew you were in love with sunghoon, hearing that he was leaving made your heart sink and now all you wanted was to run to him and beg him not to leave, because despite the fact you hadn't spent much time together, you became dependent on sunghoon, used to him, and you wanted him to stay.

you swallowed hard, looking down at your hands as you tried to hide your growing embarrassment. "i... i don’t know," you muttered, more to yourself than to her. "… i don’t know if it even matters, right? i mean, no matter what happens between us he still leaves," you could feel the heat rising in your face, and you silently cursed yourself for how obvious your feelings were.

wonyoung’s expression softened just a little, her tone turning more understanding. "i get it," she said gently. "it’s not exactly easy to spill your heart out to someone. i can’t tell you what to do, but i think if you feel something, maybe you should at least say it before he leaves, because once he's gone, it'll be harder to figure out what you might’ve missed out on, you know?"

she didn’t push any further, your mind was reeling, and you could feel the uncertainty clouding your thoughts. you weren’t sure what was happening between you and sunghoon—how deep it went, or what it even meant - but the pressure of this conversation, combined with the reality that he would be leaving soon, made everything feel like it was happening too quickly.

as wonyoung gave you one last knowing smile, she added, "i’m not saying you have to do anything drastic. just think about it, kay?"

you nodded, your thoughts were already a whirlwind. you knew you couldn't just let it go. it would always be one of those things where you would sit in bed wondering ‘what if’ for too long. love, this was a new feeling for you. love always seemed difficult, but this, this was so easy to fall into you hadn't realized what it was until it was too late. sunghoon had made it so easy.

wonyoung’s words echoed in your head, and suddenly, nothing felt certain anymore. You had a few days left. just a few days. the clock was ticking.

 ‧₊ ˚  ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋  ‧₊ ˚  ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

it was later that night, after dinner, when the weight of wonyoung's words hit you again, reverberating through your thoughts, refusing to let you go. Sunghoon was leaving in just a few days. you knew this, but somehow it felt like a punch to the gut now that it was so close. 

you sat on the couch next to him, the dim light of the TV flickering across his face as he absentmindedly scrolled through netflix. the air between you was easy, like it always was, the kind of comfortable silence that felt almost too natural. but tonight, with the knowledge that his departure was soon, the air felt heavy. Every small movement, every quiet gesture, seemed to be marked with an invisible countdown.

you watched him for a moment, feeling the tightness in your chest you had gotten used to. he was relaxed, his posture slouched slightly as he clicked through show after show, clearly not expecting you to say anything. but you wanted to say something. you needed to say something. the words wonyoung had planted in your mind, coupled with the overwhelming feeling of knowing he was leaving, made it impossible to just sit there in silence. your heart was pounding, your nerves a jumbled mess.

As you opened your mouth to speak, you realized it wasn’t that simple. telling someone you loved them was hard. so much harder than it seemed in movies or in your daydreams. you had thought, at some point, that the words would just spill out naturally, like they were meant to be said all along. but now, facing the reality of it, the vulnerability felt like mountain. 

So instead of speaking, you did something else. something quieter, something that felt less like a declaration and more like a question. slowly, almost hesitantly, you reached your hand out, just brushing your fingertips against his. you didn’t look at him; you kept your gaze fixed forward, pretending to focus on the TV, as if you hadn’t just made that small, brave movement. the room seemed to shrink around you, the silence between you both suddenly stretching out, more palpable than ever.

for a moment, you weren’t sure if he’d even noticed. Maybe it was too subtle, too small a gesture to register. But then, from the corner of your eye, you saw his head turn, his gaze flicking down to where your hand rested next to his. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, everything inside you stilled.

then, without saying a word, sunghoon’s fingers curled around yours, gently but firmly. He didn’t pull away. he didn’t hesitate. he just... took your hand. It wasn’t a dramatic gesture, but it was more than you had expected. your stomach did a somersault as warmth spread through you, starting at the point where your fingers touched, and radiating outward. your skin burned, and you could feel the flush creeping up your neck, your face. 

the world around you seemed to fade as you sat there, hand clasped in his. you were so acutely aware of everything—the warmth of his touch, the soft pressure of his fingers against yours, the slow, steady rhythm of your breath. It was the closest you had ever been to him, in every way that mattered, and it felt like both everything and nothing at once. the simplicity of the act, his hand in yours, was enough to make your heart race. the gentle squeeze of his hand seemed to echo through you, sending a ripple of something warm and unspoken deep inside your chest. 

but you didn’t move. you stayed frozen in place, not daring to disturb the moment, not wanting to break whatever fragile connection you had just forged. your heart pounded in your ears, and the more you sat there, the more everything inside you seemed to tighten—like a knot pulling at your insides. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so vulnerable, but you couldn’t seem to pull away either.

for a few seconds, neither of you spoke, and you weren’t sure if you even wanted to. The silence felt like it was filled with a thousand unspoken words, each one hanging between you like a delicate thread. finally, Sunghoon shifted slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a slow, soothing motion, as if to confirm that this was real. That he wasn’t going anywhere. 

you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but when you did, just a quick glance to the side, you saw him watching you—his eyes soft, the usual calm expression on his face now laced with something else. something deeper. maybe he could feel it too. the electricity that wonyoung had mentioned, the tension you hadn’t known how to name.

the words you wanted to say felt even further out of reach now, lodged in your throat like a lump you couldn’t swallow. but somehow, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. in that moment, you weren’t sure if you needed to say anything at all. maybe the feeling, the connection between you, spoke louder than anything you could put into words.

still, with your heart beating faster than you thought possible, you squeezed his hand back, just slightly, in response. And though neither of you said a word, it felt like the start of something new—something quietly, beautifully uncertain, just hanging there in the air between you both.

it wasn’t a promise, not yet. but it was enough, for now.

 ‧₊ ˚  ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋  ‧₊ ˚  ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

the days had ticked by, each one blurring into the next, the anticipation of sunghoon’s departure hanging over you like a storm cloud. it was the night of his departure now, and you couldn’t escape the feeling of dread gnawing at your stomach. despite all the time that had passed, despite everything that had happened - the moments of shared glances, the way his hand had felt in yours - nothing had come of it. you hadn’t been able to find the courage to say the one thing that had been consuming you. 

the night had crept up so quickly, and now here you were, standing on the precipice of something you were too scared to face. his luggage was already packed, sitting by the door, ready to go. the knowledge of his impending departure made the air feel thick, suffocating. he was leaving soon, and you were still standing here, frozen in this quiet, impossible space between wanting to say something, anything, and not knowing how to. 

you had never felt so lost, so desperate, so deeply in love with someone and completely clueless about what to do with it. Your heart ached every time you thought about the distance that was about to grow between you. 

sunghoon walked into the main living area, a smile on his face as he picked up his bags, but as soon as you saw him, something felt off. that smile, it was there, but there was something sad about it, something weighing him down. for a moment, the rest of the room disappeared, your gaze was locked on him, and the reality of him leaving hit you harder than you thought it would. 

behind him, wonyoung trailed quietly, her usual fuzzy energy subdued tonight, as if she could feel the heaviness of the moment too. she looked at you as she walked by, and gave you a look, as if trying to signal you to do something. then, almost as if on cue, she quickly excused herself, making some excuse to go greet a friend in the hallway. it was a subtle, unspoken thing, but you knew. you knew she was giving you the space, the time you needed, and probably a nudge to do something. 

Sunghoon stood there, his eyes searching yours as he adjusted the straps on his bag. The silence between you felt like it stretched on forever. He gave a quiet, almost melancholy sigh, and then, in a soft voice, he said, "This was fun." 

the words were simple, but they hit you like a brick to the chest. you could hear the weight in them, the bittersweet finality of his departure hanging in the air like smoke. ‘this was fun.’ It was the kind of thing you’d say when you didn’t know what else to say, but in that moment, it was more than just that. It felt like an ending. a goodbye.

your legs felt shaky as you stood up from your seat, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, your heart in your throat. every inch of your body screamed to move, to do something, anything, to make this moment more than just a quiet exchange of words before he walked out the door and disappeared from your life. 

you walked over to him, your steps uncertain, but each one felt like it was pulling you toward something you couldn’t ignore anymore. you stopped just in front of him, close enough that you could see every detail - the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the soft brown of his eyes that you had gotten so used to over the past weeks. he was standing there, looking at you, and for a moment, everything in the world seemed to disappear except the two of you. 

tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, as your chest tightened. how could you let him leave when you hadn’t even told him how you felt? you tried to speak, but your throat closed up, the words tangled somewhere in the back of your mind. you could barely think straight, your mind a mess of emotions and the rush of adrenaline flooding your body. 

before you even realized what you were doing, you reached out, pulling him into a tight hug. you buried your face in his chest, your whole body shaking with the force of the emotions crashing through you. the tears that had been threatening to fall finally broke free, hot and heavy, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. 

at first, he stiffened in your arms, and you felt a pang of regret, like maybe you’d done something wrong—like maybe you were crossing a line. then, to your surprise, he melted into the hug. his arms wrapped around you, warm and solid, pulling you closer as though he had been waiting for this too. you could feel the steady thump of his heart beneath your cheek, his breath warm against your skin. 

you stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, just holding each other, the world outside fading into the background. your tears continued to fall, but now it wasn’t just sadness. There was a strange sense of relief mixed in with the pain. like finally, something had been said between you, even if it wasn’t with words. 

you held onto him tighter, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt like you were trying to hold onto him for dear life. The feeling of him, of his warmth, of his presence, made everything feel raw and real. you had no idea what was going to happen next, but for this moment, for this breath in time, you didn’t care. you couldn’t bring yourself to let go.

he didn’t say anything. he didn’t need to. his arms around you, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, said everything that needed to be said. the ache in your chest was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp anymore. In this embrace, it was softened by the connection between you both. 

as the minutes passed, you couldn’t help but think - this wasn’t the end, not really. It couldn’t be. not with everything that had been left unsaid, not with the way you felt when you were near him. 

he lowered his head slowly, pressing his lips to the top of your head, his breath warm against your skin. it was gentle, like he was trying to hold on to the moment as long as possible. then, without pulling away, he lifted his head just enough to whisper softly, almost as if he were sharing a secret with the world only meant for the two of you: 

“I think I’m in love with you.”

the words were quiet, but they hit you with the force of a thousand unspoken emotions. it wasn’t grand; it wasn’t a loud proclamation. It was simple, gentle, and so incredibly, him, and somehow, it was perfect. When picturing a confession of love you always imagined more, a dramatic confession like one in the movies. despite your imaginings as a child, this quiet, intimate confession felt like everything you needed, it was perfect. 

as his words settled around you, something inside of you released. that knot of emotions - of fear, of longing, of the weight of everything you’d been holding in - unraveled all at once. the tension that had been building for so long, the feeling that something was always just out of reach, was finally gone. you felt lighter, as if a great weight had been lifted from your chest. 

for a long moment, you just stood there, staring up at him. your eyes were red from crying, but in that moment, all you could feel was an overwhelming rush of relief, and joy, it felt like you could finally breathe again.

“i love you too,” you whispered, the words spilling out more easily than you’d expected, like they had always been sitting on the edge of your tongue, just waiting for the right time to escape. 

it was simple. there were no grand gestures, no sweeping speeches. it didn’t need to be anything more than this. the words themselves held so much power, so much weight, that nothing else could compare. 

his eyes softened as he looked down at you, and you saw the way they flickered with emotion, something raw and real in the depths of his gaze. he didn’t say anything. he didn’t need to. the silence between you was filled with everything you’d both been too afraid to say until now. 

then, he leaned down, tilting his head ever so slightly, and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was soft, almost tentative at first, as if he was making sure you were really there, really with him in that moment. then it deepened, and the softness turned into something more needy, more urgent. 

your hands instinctively reached up to run through his hair, threading your fingers through the soft strands, pulling him closer. His hand slid around your back, tracing the line of your spine with a tenderness that made your breath catch. his lips moved against yours with a quiet desperation, a sense of longing that seemed to echo the way you had felt all this time but had never known how to express. 

every cell in your body seemed to come alive. the kiss felt like everything you had been waiting for - every moment, every touch, every word that had been left unsaid - it was all pouring into this one instant. in that moment, you knew. you knew that this was where you were supposed to be. There was no question. No uncertainty. Everything about this felt right.

your heart raced in your chest, and your whole body seemed to hum with the intensity of the kiss. it was as if the universe had aligned in this perfect moment, pulling the two of you together in a way that felt inevitable. you were no longer two separate people standing on the edge of something unknown. you were together, and nothing else seemed to matter.

you didn’t want to pull away. you didn’t want this feeling to end, the heat of his body so close to yours, the way everything seemed to fall into place with every soft press of his lips. The world outside didn’t exist anymore. There was only him, only this moment, and the overwhelming certainty that everything had changed in the best way possible.

as the kiss deepened, you felt the warmth of his hands moving down your back, his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt. The way his touch sent sparks through your skin, igniting something deep inside you, made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t known you could. you pulled him closer, wanting more, wanting to stay wrapped in the feeling of being so completely connected with him.

when you finally, reluctantly, pulled away for a breath, your foreheads rested together, both of you panting lightly, still caught in the aftershocks of the kiss. his eyes were closed for a moment, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and when he opened them again, the look he gave you was full of something unspoken - a promise, maybe, or just the overwhelming weight of everything that had passed between you.

"i don't want to leave," he said, his voice low, rough, as if he were still processing everything himself.

you smiled, your thumb brushing over the side of his cheek. "then don’t," you whispered, your heart daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to this story than either of you had realized.

for now, though, this moment - this kiss - was everything, and it was perfect, just as it was.