#and for every miscommunication to be resolved

[wikitpowers]

LOOK! IT’S KITTY AT THE END OF TWP!!🦋🍃🍄🌼

all is well and there is no pain :)

[moonlight-hwa]

That last line got me crying🥲

Ateez Wooyoung — Between the Lines of Us

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut (mdni / 18+), Drama, non-idol au, university au

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x reader (f)

Word Count: 24k

Warnings/content: Mention of cheating (not by Y/N or Woo), jealous Wooyoung, alcohol consumption / bar + club scenes, arguments, sassy Wooyoung, miscommunication / lack of communication, trust issues, emotional scenes, dry humping, clit play, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex for a bit before using protection (don't risk it, use protection always), multiple orgasms, sorry if I missed anything else! Please note that other than Ateez, all other names used here are fictional.

Engineering had a way of chewing you up and spitting you out, leaving behind a weird mix of pride and exhaustion. Senior year was supposed to be the calm before the storm of real life—at least, that’s what everyone told you. “Your hardest classes are behind you,” they’d said. And technically, they were right. But no one warned you about the infamous one-year course known as Senior Design.

You stared at the whiteboard in your team’s lab space, the markers bleeding dry from overuse. A timeline of deadlines and half-finished ideas mocked you from the board. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt ahead.

Being a biomedical engineering student at Ateez University had always felt like wearing a badge of honor. It still did, but lately, that badge felt heavier than ever. Between your part-time job at one of the dining halls, your Senior Design project, and keeping up with life outside of school, you were running on low energy and low motivation.

And then there was your… situationship, Jung Wooyoung.

You met Wooyoung about five months ago at a bar while celebrating your bestfriend’s birthday. It was the middle of summer, and the night hummed with warm air and the kind of energy that only comes when you’ve got nothing urgent hanging over your head.

Chaerin, your best friend and unofficial social coordinator, had chosen one of the trendiest bars in the city for her celebration, and needless to say, it was incredibly packed. The music thumped in your chest, the faint scent of citrusy cocktails and spilled beer mixing in the air. Chaerin had gone off to play darts with a couple of your friends, leaving you at the bar with a drink in hand, effortlessly chatting up the bartender about his favorite local spots.

That’s when Wooyoung slid into the empty seat beside you.

“Do you always charm strangers this easily, or is it just bartenders?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

You glanced at him, your eyebrows raised. He had an easy grin, the kind that said he was used to making people laugh, and eyes that sparkled like he was already planning his next joke. You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the most attractive man you’d ever seen around here.

“Only the ones who give me free drinks,” you shot back smoothly, smirking when the bartender snorted at your response.

Wooyoung chuckled, resting an elbow on the bar table surface. “Fair enough. But if you’re looking for free drinks, you might be wasting your time here. I’m much better at drinking them than paying for them.”

“Oh, good,” you quipped. “I was worried you might actually be useful.”

His laugh came louder this time, and before you knew it, the two of you were deep in conversation. He told you he was a Computer Science major at the same university as you and he’d just wrapped up an internship at a local tech company and was enjoying a brief break before his co-op started in the fall. You matched his energy effortlessly, sharing stories about your summer adventures and making him laugh so hard at one point that he nearly spilled his drink.

By the end of the night, Chaerin was tugging you toward the dance floor, and Wooyoung was scribbling his number on a napkin with a dramatic flourish. “In case you ever get bored of charming bartenders,” he said, slipping it into your hand with a wink.

The next day, you found yourself pacing around your apartment, the napkin still sitting on your kitchen counter. You’d told yourself you weren’t going to text him. He was funny and definitely, well… hot, but he also seemed like the kind of guy who knew exactly how to get people to like him. You weren’t sure if he was just playing around with you, and you weren’t one to waste your time on boys.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d grinned when you fired a sarcastic line back at him, or how easily he’d kept up with your humor. Against your better judgment, you picked up your phone.

You: Hey, it’s Y/N, the one who’s apparently too good for bartenders. Hope you didn’t get kicked out of the bar for spilling your drink

His reply came almost immediately.

Wooyoung: Kicked out? Please. I was the highlight of the night. But glad to see you haven’t forgotten me yet

You: Hard to forget someone who almost ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes

Wooyoung: What can I say? I always make an impression

One text turned into two, then ten, and before you knew it, you were swapping jokes and stories like you’d known each other for years. Two weeks later, you subtly dropped hints that you were going to a popular club near campus, hoping he’d show up.

The bar was alive with energy, music thumping through the walls as groups of friends and strangers laughed and danced under dim, colorful lights. You walked in with Chaerin, ready for the night.

It didn’t take long for Chaerin to spot someone she knew, dragging you along to meet them. While she chatted with her friend, you excused yourself to grab a drink. As you approached the bar, a familiar voice called out over the crowd.

“Y/N?”

You turned, and there he was—Wooyoung, leaning casually against the bar with that ever-present smirk. He looked effortlessly good, dressed in a fitted black shirt that rolled up at the sleeves, showing off his forearms. His hair was slightly messy, like he hadn’t planned to show up but somehow still managed to look perfect.

“Wooyoung,” you said, feigning surprise but already feeling your pulse quicken. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah? Or did you secretly hope I’d be here?” His smirk deepened as he pushed off the bar and stepped closer, just enough to invade your space without being overbearing. Of course you hoped he’d be here.

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at your lips. “In your dreams, Woo.”

“Ah, but dreams come true sometimes,” he quipped, leaning against the bar again. “What are you going to drink?”

“Whatever’s strong and cheap,” you replied with a laugh.

“Cheap?” He shook his head in mock disapproval. “You deserve better than that. I’ve got this one.” He signaled the bartender, ordering something with a sly confidence that told you it’d probably be delicious—and a little dangerous.

You leaned your back against the bar, facing him. “Big spender tonight, huh? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. Just… saw someone worth treating,” he said, his voice low but loud enough for you to catch over the music. His eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, the world around you faded, the beat of the music syncing with the thrum of your heartbeat.

The bartender handed over two drinks, and Wooyoung slid one toward you. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against yours. “To… unexpected meetings.”

“To unexpected meetings,” you said, like as if you hadn’t dropped subtle hints of your whereabouts for the night. The drink was smooth, sweet but with a bite that lingered on your tongue—just like him.

As the alcohol worked its way through your system, you found yourself laughing more, leaning in closer to hear him over the noise. He leaned in too, his voice brushing your ear, his breath warm against your skin. The space between you felt electric, charged with something unspoken but undeniable.

The music shifted, a sultry bass-heavy track taking over, and Wooyoung straightened, holding out a hand. “Dance with me?”

You hesitated for only a second before setting your drink down. “Why not?”

The dance floor was packed, bodies moving to the rhythm, the lights flickering in time with the music. Wooyoung pulled you into the crowd, his hand firm but gentle on your waist. The space between you disappeared as you began to move together, your bodies naturally finding the same rhythm.

His hands lingered on your hips, guiding you closer, his touch deliberate but teasing. You met his gaze, and for a moment, the air between you thickened. His lips curved into a wicked smile, and before you could overthink it, he leaned in, carefully watching your expression to see any hesitation.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he murmured in your ear, causing goosebumps to arise on your skin.

You pulled away to look at him. “Have I ever told you that you do too?” This time, you leaned in, brushing your lips on his lightly, testing the waters. But the moment he responded, it deepened. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you against him, and your fingers found their way into his hair. The music pulsed around you, but it was distant compared to the pounding of your heart.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, lost in the haze of the music and the heat between you. When you finally pulled back, realizing that things were getting hot and heavy and you were still in a public setting, his eyes were dark, searching yours.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice rough and low.

You smirked, still catching your breath. “My place or yours?”

Presently, Wooyoung somehow managed to juggle his co-op, his friendships, and his relentless optimism without breaking a sweat. While you were pouring coffee at midnight twice a week for fellow college students at your job, he was asleep. While he was debugging code at a sleek office desk in the morning, you were asleep. While you were buried in your senior design work and other classes, Wooyoung was busy at his co-op or catching up with his friends. He was supposed to graduate a semester early, but he got this co-op last minute, so he decided to push his graduation to the next semester. He liked it better this way as you and most of his friends were graduating during the spring. His co-op was a 20-minute drive away from campus, so he was glad he didn't have to go through the trouble of finding another place to stay and subleasing his apartment for the semester.

You were proud of him—you really were. But the cracks in your schedules meant seeing each other less and less. The only time the two of you could actually spend some quality time together was on the weekends.

It was late on a Friday night, and you were curled up on the couch in your small one-bedroom apartment. The apartment was quiet except for the low murmur of the TV, where an old rom-com played in the background. Wooyoung sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, his laptop open as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

“You’ve been staring at that screen for hours,” you said softly, reaching out to run a hand through his silky black hair that he’s been growing out. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

He turned his back to look at you, a crooked smile pulling at his lips. “Of work? Constantly. Of being awesome? Never.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, appreciating the glimmer of his usual charm. “What are you working on this time?”

“Just polishing some scripts for a demo on Monday,” he said, his voice tinged with focus. “I’ll be done soon.”

Nodding, you left him to it, but the silence between you felt heavier than it used to. Late nights like this had become routine—him buried in his co-op responsibilities, you juggling your courses and your part-time job. Time together had dwindled to brief moments like this, where the companionship was comforting but fleeting.

After a few more minutes, Wooyoung finally shut his laptop with a decisive click and turned to face you. “Hey Y/N? So… I’ve got something to tell you.”

The seriousness in his tone made you sit up a little straighter. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to Busan next week,” he said, his words careful but casual.

“Busan?” you repeated, curiosity flickering across your face. “For work?”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s this company event—networking, panels, that sort of thing. I wasn’t expecting to go since it’s mostly for full-time employees, but they extended the invite to co-ops too.”

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips. “That’s great, Woo. It sounds like a big deal.”

“It is,” he admitted, though his smile didn’t quite match the excitement in his words. “But it’s over the weekend.”

Your heart sank a little at that. Weekends were precious, the only time you both had to really reconnect amidst the chaos of your schedules. Still, you refused to let the disappointment show.

“Well, you should go,” you said sincerely. “It’s a good opportunity, and you’ve worked hard for this.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened, a small crease forming between his brows. “I was kind of hoping you’d come with me.”

Your relationship with Wooyoung was… straightforward and complicated at the same time. The two of you weren’t dating, weren’t committed to each other, and yet things between you both were exclusive. Your friends referred to him as your “boyfriend,” claiming that’s how he acts. Honestly? You’d be lying if you said you didn’t act like a girlfriend too. There was just no tag for this relationship. Wooyoung only briefly mentioned one time that he doesn’t do relationships but also doesn’t like to fuck around. But feelings? He never really said anything about it. Were you FWBs? Were you… well, let’s just say it’s complicated.

His offer caught you off guard, and you laughed lightly, though your tone was gentle. “That’s sweet, but you know I can’t. I’ve got Senior Design deadlines next week, and one of my teammates is already slacking. If I disappear for three days, I’ll come back to double the workload.”

He nodded slowly, though his smile faded at the mention of your project, knowing how stressed you can get over it. “Who’s the teammate giving you trouble?”

“His name is Minhyuk, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said, “Yongha and I have been picking up the slack for him.” You noticed the way his posture stiffened. “Jina is doing fine too, but she’s taking so any credits and has three hard classes, so we offered to ease her load a bit.”

Wooyoung’s expression relaxed slightly, but the way his jaw tightened when you mentioned Yongha didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Lee Yongha, right?” he asked after a moment, his tone light but probing.

You raised an eyebrow slightly. Your university was huge in terms of the number of enrolled students, and you knew Yongha grew up in the other side of the country, so you wondered how Wooyoung knew of him. “Yeah. Do you know him?”

He shook his head quickly, though the flicker of unease in his eyes told a different story. “Not really. Just heard the name around, I guess.”

The shift in his mood was subtle but noticeable, and it lingered in the air even as he changed the subject by asking if you wanted to go to the mall with him tomorrow. You didn’t press him on it, but something about the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes left you wondering.

-x-x-x-

The weekdays came and went, and you found yourself in the thick of the chaos. Your team’s project was barely hanging by a thread, and Minhyuk’s lack of participation was only making things worse. Despite your best efforts to keep everything together, it felt like you were drowning in deadlines. On top of that, Wooyoung was gone to Busan for his company event, and the days felt longer without him.

Saturday morning, you found yourself in the library, headphones plugged in, buried in your laptop and scribbling notes. You could barely keep your eyes open, but there was no way you could afford to fall behind. Your phone buzzed, a message from Wooyoung lighting up the screen.

Woo: Hope you’re surviving the weekend without me

You smiled, a soft warmth spreading through you. You missed him, even if you hadn’t admitted it yet. After a few moments of deliberation, you replied:

You: Surviving… barely. But I’ve got enough caffeine in me to last until Monday. How’s Busan?

Woo: It’s great. The event’s been interesting. I met some cool people. Don’t drink too much coffee

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You wanted to ask him more about his trip, about his thoughts on the event, but you couldn’t stop thinking about your team, about the mess you were still trying to clean up.

You: I’ll try. I’ll be glad when you’re back!

You hit send and leaned back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head. The library was quiet, but it felt like the walls were closing in. The pressure was mounting, and all you wanted was a chance to breathe.

A few minutes later, your phone buzzed again. You expected a simple reply from Wooyoung, but this time it was a voice message. You clicked on it, holding your breath as his familiar voice filled your ears.

"Hey, I just wanted to say, I know things are tough right now, and I’m sorry I can’t be there to help. But just remember, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got this. I believe in you. And if you ever need a distraction, I’m only a call away. I love—ah, um, the ocean here, I love the sea, yeah, I wish you could see it."

You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in. It was exactly what you needed to hear. There was something about the way he spoke, the confidence in his voice, that made you feel like everything would eventually work out. The end of it made you catch your breath, thinking he was going to tell you he loves you.

Your phone buzzed again, this time a text from him.

Woo: Take a break for me, okay? You’ve earned it. I’ll be back soon, and we can catch up

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart feeling a little lighter. As much as you had to focus on your work, you couldn’t ignore the fact that Wooyoung had a way of making you feel like you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders alone.

You were just about to stand up for a much-needed break when your phone buzzed on the table.

It was a message from the senior design team group chat. You quickly reached for your phone, and your eyes landed on Yongha’s name.

Yongha: Guys, I have AMAZING news!

You couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. With the project feeling like it was slowly spiraling, good news seemed like a distant dream. You tapped the message, intrigued.

Yongha: I just got off the call with the sensor supplier. They confirmed the prototype sensors we ordered will be ready ahead of schedule. We’re good to start testing next week if everything goes as planned!

A wide grin spread across your face. Ready ahead of schedule? That was huge. Testing next week? That was exactly what you needed to keep this project on track and show your professors the progress you were hoping for. For a moment, you let the excitement wash over you, imagining how the timeline would change.

You typed quickly, not wasting a second.

You: No way! That’s amazing! When can we start testing?

Yongha: Next week for sure. We might even have enough time to do a demo for the end of the semester. I’ll need you here to help with the setup. Can you come over to the lab later to go over everything?

Your heart skipped a beat. A demo? That was more than you expected. Things were looking up, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to feel the excitement.

You: A demo before the end of the semester? That’s incredible! Yeah, I’ll come later. Let me know what time works best

You couldn’t stop the smile on your face as you sent the message. This could be the breakthrough you’d been waiting for, the moment everything fell into place. After all the stress and late nights, things were finally moving forward.

But then your phone buzzed again, a message from your slacking teammate.

Minhyuk: Sorry, I’m behind on my part of the project. I’ll catch up soon

You stared at the screen for a moment, the smile slowly fading. Another excuse. It always seemed like it was the same thing, promises of catching up, but no action. You let out a frustrated breath and quickly closed the message. You didn’t have time to dwell on it right now.

You had to message Wooyoung about this though.

You: Good news! The sensors are ahead of schedule! We can start testing next week

You paused, fingers hovering over the screen. You really didn’t want to complain about Minhyuk, but you couldn’t keep everything bottled up.

You: But… Minhyuk is still slacking off

You pressed send and put your phone down for a moment, running a hand through your hair. You couldn’t let this bring you down now—not with the progress the team had made. You had to focus on the positives, on the opportunity ahead.

A minute later, your phone buzzed again with Wooyoung’s reply.

Wooyoung: I’m proud of you, seriously. But I get it. You’ve been pushing so hard. Take it one step at a time, okay? And if you need a break, just call me. I’m here for you

The words were simple, but they grounded you. You felt a little lighter, like you could breathe again. With the good news about the sensors, maybe there was a way forward after all.

You: You’re the best, Woo! I’m heading to my lab now

You grabbed your jacket and stood up, ready to head out to the lab.

As you walked across campus, the air felt crisp, and a quiet energy hummed through your steps. Campus was relatively calm as it’s a Saturday. Normally, you’d be half-dragging yourself through the day, but today felt different. Today, something good was happening. You couldn’t remember the last time the project felt like it was on the right track.

When you entered the lab, you were greeted by the familiar sound of the soft whir of machines, but the place was noticeably more organized than usual. Yongha was already there, pacing by one of the tables, a laptop open in front of him. He looked up as you walked in, his face breaking into a grin.

“Y/N,” he greeted you with enthusiasm, “Glad you could make it. I’ve got everything ready for us to go over the prototype designs.”

You smiled, nodding as you dropped your bag on a nearby counter. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re telling me we’re actually getting these sensors ahead of schedule?” Your voice almost had a note of disbelief in it, but you were genuinely excited. It felt like you’d been waiting forever for a breakthrough, and now it was finally here.

Yongha laughed, clapping his hands together. “Yes, ahead of schedule. It’s almost like everything we’ve been working on is finally paying off. I mean, look at this!” He gestured to the sleek-looking box on the counter, a small screen and a set of wires connecting it to the main unit. You walked over to get a closer look.

“Is this the sensor prototype?” you asked, leaning in.

“Yep! This is the first iteration. It’s not perfect, but it's a start. The suppliers said they’ve managed to miniaturize everything, so it should be portable. We’ve got everything we need to start testing today.”

You ran your fingers over the surface of the device, inspecting it closely. It was smaller than you expected, much more compact. The potential was clear. A wave of excitement rushed through you again. This could be the thing that would make your project stand out.

You turned to Yongha, eyes bright. “So, what’s the plan? How do we get started with testing?”

Yongha gestured to the table, where several test tubes, samples, and the rest of the lab equipment were laid out. “First, we need to calibrate the sensor, make sure the readings are accurate. I’ve got some control samples here. We’ll run a few tests and make sure everything works before we try with real biological samples. I’ve already set up the software—just need to input the parameters for each test.”

You nodded, walking over to the table to take your place beside him. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get this show on the road.”

As you both dove into the work, the lab began to feel alive with purpose. You were no longer bogged down by the frustration of Minhyuk’s lack of effort. The pieces were finally falling into place. For the first time in a long while, everything felt like it was moving forward in the right direction.

As you calibrated the sensor, the rhythm of your work was interrupted by a soft buzz from your phone on the counter. You glanced over, seeing that it was another message from Wooyoung. You smiled briefly, thinking of him in Busan.

Wooyoung: How’s the lab going?

You quickly tapped out a response, not wanting to lose focus on the task at hand but appreciating his check-in.

You: It’s going great! The sensors are ahead of schedule. I’m at the lab with Yongha now, testing everything. Hopefully, we’ll have good results today!

After a beat, another message popped up.

Wooyoung: That’s awesome

You: Yup, I’m gonna get back to work now

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, refocusing on the task at hand. You and Yongha continued working through the calibration and fine-tuning of the sensor, running test after test. There were some hiccups along the way—a few misreadings here and there, a few software glitches—but with each iteration, it became clearer that the sensor was working exactly as it should. The readings were more accurate with each test, and the excitement in the lab built with every successful result.

By the time the afternoon stretched into the evening, you were both buzzing with energy. The data was promising. The prototype sensor was functioning very well. This could really be the breakthrough you needed.

“I think we’re ready for the real samples next week,” Yongha said, leaning back in his chair and wiping his brow. His voice carried a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. “What do you think?”

You stepped back, surveying the lab table strewn with equipment and data printouts. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close—closer than you’d dared to hope. “Yeah,” you said, a grin spreading across your face. “I can’t wait to see it all come together.”

Yongha chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re more patient than me. I’d start testing tonight if I could.”

You laughed. “That makes one of us. I’m ready to celebrate getting this far without setting something on fire.”

“Well, speaking of celebrations…” Yongha stretched his arms over his head and stood up. “I’m heading to that café down the street for a frappe before I call it a night. Want to join me? My treat.”

The mention of caffeine perked you up instantly. “A frappe sounds good, but I’m paying for my mocha cream bread,” you said, grabbing your bag.

“Deal,” Yongha said with a smile. “Let’s go before they sell out.”

The evening air was crisp as you and Yongha stepped out of the lab. The café wasn’t far, just a short walk down the cobblestone path lined with trees that rustled gently in the breeze. You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, glancing at Yongha.

“So, how are your other classes going?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Not too bad,” Yongha replied, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Biomechanics is killing me, though. I can’t tell if it’s the material or the professor’s monotone voice.”

You laughed, nodding knowingly. “Dr. Kim? Yeah, he could make winning the lottery sound like a tax seminar. I survived his class last semester with copious amounts of caffeine and an unhealthy attachment to Quizlet.”

“That sounds about right,” he said with a grin. “How about you? What’s your least favorite class this semester?”

“Easy. Biostatistics,” you groaned. “I get the concept, but the actual analysis makes me want to curl up and cry. It’s like the numbers are personally attacking me.”

Yongha chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re handling Senior Design, work, and Biostatistics? You’re a masochist.”

“Or just really bad at prioritizing my sanity,” you joked, earning another laugh from him.

Before long, the café came into view, its cozy interior lit by soft, warm lights. The rich smell of coffee and freshly baked goods greeted you as you stepped inside. You both ordered—Yongha sticking to a frappe, while you opted for your favorite mocha cream bread and a white chocolate frappe. You found a small table near the window.

The conversation shifted as you sipped your drinks, veering between shared frustrations about classwork and lighthearted teasing about your group’s quirks. You were genuinely enjoying yourself—it wasn’t often that you got to talk to Yongha outside of project stress, and it was nice to connect on a more casual level.

Then the door swung open, and you heard a familiar voice.

“Y/N?”

You turned to see Wooyoung’s friends, Yeosang and San, walking in. Their laughter trailed off as they spotted you. They looked surprised, their gazes flickering between you and Yongha.

You’ve hung out with them a couple times and they were genuinely amazing people. You weren’t very close to them yet, but your friendship was blossoming. You knew Chaerin had a thing for San and planned to make a move on him soon.

“Yeosang! San!” you said, smiling. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Grabbing a bite after the gym,” Yeosang said, his tone light but his eyes curiously scanning the scene. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Ah, yes,” you gestured to Yongha. “This is my classmate and senior design teammate, Yongha.” He smirked, and you noticed San and Yeosang didn’t seem… impressed. “Yongha, these are my friends, San and Yeosang.”

Yongha nodded. “Pleasure to meet you.”

San raised an eyebrow, but there was a serious expression on his face. “Likewise.”

“Well, we should let you get back to it,” Yeosang said after a beat, nudging San. “Catch you later, Y/N.”

“Yeah, see you around,” San added, giving you a wink before following Yeosang to the counter.

As they moved away, Yongha exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “Your friends are… interesting.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “They’re good guys. Don’t take it personally… I think they’re just exhausted from the gym.”

“I won’t,” Yongha said with a small smile, though his eyes followed the pair as they ordered their drinks.

You remembered how Wooyoung tensed up when you mentioned Yongha before. Taking a sip of your drink, you watched Yeosang and San grab a table on the other side of the café.

You didn’t really know what was going on, but you had a feeling that they all knew each other.

-x-x-x-

The open group floor of the library buzzed with life, a mix of chatter, the tapping of laptop keys, and the hiss of the nearby espresso machine filling the air. You sat cross-legged on a worn couch, sipping a frozen hot chocolate drink as Chaerin scrolled through her phone beside you. Siya perched on the armrest, her legs swinging slightly, her energy as vibrant as her orange blazer.

“I’m telling you, it’s perfect,” Siya said, holding her phone out to show a picture of the dress she’d been obsessing over. It was a sleek, floor-length black gown with a thigh-high slit and an intricate beaded neckline. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Classy but with just enough wow factor to make people remember me.”

Chaerin leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “It’s beautiful, but are you sure it’s appropriate for a business club event? The slit is a little… daring.”

“Exactly!” Siya beamed, clearly unbothered. “What better way to make an impression? I’ll be memorable and professional. Win-win.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Siya, you’re not making an impression; you’re making a statement. Don’t be surprised if someone asks you for a red carpet interview.”

“That’s the goal,” she said with a dramatic hair flip. “Honestly, we were going to call this event ‘The Business Ball’ but our club’s president didn’t like it. Besides, this event is less about stuffy networking and more about showing off and rubbing elbows with people who matter.”

“Who matter… like Song Mingi?” Chaerin teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

Siya gasped, clutching her chest. “How dare you call me out like this! But, yes, I might want him to notice me. You don’t just let a tall, sexy man with a voice like that go unnoticed.”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes, smirking. “If Mingi doesn’t notice you in that dress, he’s blind and not worth your time.”

“Exactly!” Siya pointed at you triumphantly. “See, Y/N gets it.”

Chaerin grinned, leaning back on the couch. “Fine, but if you end up stealing the spotlight from the guest speaker or get caught in an oops moment with that slit, don’t come crying to us.”

“I won’t!” Siya waved her hand dismissively. “I’m a professional. I know how to handle a slit.”

That sent the three of you into a fit of laughter, drawing a few curious glances from nearby students. You didn’t care—this was one of the few times you could let loose after a weekend of work and lab stress.

When the laughter died down, Siya sighed wistfully, looking at the dress on her phone again. “Anyway, I still need to buy it. It’s a bit expensive, but it’s worth it, right?”

“Totally,” Chaerin said, nudging her. “Think of it as an investment in your future—and your love life.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Just make sure you don’t outshine the actual event. We wouldn’t want the business club talking about your dress more than the keynote speaker.”

“Let them talk,” Siya said with a grin. “Isn’t that the whole point of black-tie events?”

Siya set her phone down and leaned forward, clasping her hands dramatically. “Okay, enough about me. What’s new with you two? Chaerin, have you figured out what to wear for your cousin’s wedding yet, or are you still pretending you’ll find something last minute?”

Chaerin groaned, dropping her head back against the couch. “Ugh, don’t remind me. My mom keeps sending me links to these over-the-top hanboks that make me look like a walking flower arrangement. I love her, but I’m not trying to outshine the bride.”

“Just go modern,” you suggested. “There are some stunning minimalist designs that would make your mom happy and still let you breathe.”

“Easy for you to say,” Chaerin retorted, poking your arm. “You’re not dealing with a family that’s convinced weddings are the Olympics of fashion.”

“Touché,” you said, grinning.

Siya smirked, nudging Chaerin. “You’re stressing for nothing. You could show up in a potato sack, and people would still talk about how good you look.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” Chaerin said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, what about you, Y/N? Anything exciting from your end?”

You hesitated, swirling the remains of your iced coffee. “Not much, honestly. Just the usual—Senior Design, work, and trying to stay sane.”

Chaerin raised an eyebrow. “No drama with your Jung Wooyoung situation? You both have been unusually quiet.”

Siya’s eyes lit up. “Girl, how are you surviving that? He’s fine as hell. If it were me, I’d catch feelings in, like, a week.”

“Oh she has feelings for him, that’s for sure,” Chaerin chipped in.

You laughed, but the mention of Wooyoung brought an odd flutter to your stomach. “It’s not that deep,” you said, brushing it off. “We both know what it is, and we’re keeping it casual.”

“Hmm,” Chaerin hummed, unconvinced. “And how’s that working out for you, really?”

“Honestly? It’s fine,” you said, leaning back. “We don’t get to hang out much because of his co-op and my schedule, so it’s not like we’re in each other’s faces all the time. It works.”

“Does it, though?” Siya pressed, tilting her head. “I mean, you’re cool with it now, but what happens when one of you starts wanting more? It’s been a couple of months already and y’all low-key act like a couple anyway.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I think we’re both too busy for that kind of drama.”

Chaerin exchanged a glance with Siya, who smirked knowingly but let the topic drop.

“Alright, if you say so,” Chaerin said, sitting up.

You glanced at the time on your phone and sighed. “Speaking of busy, I should probably head out. I’ve got a ton of work to do before lab tomorrow.”

Siya groaned dramatically, flopping against the couch. “You’re leaving us? Who am I supposed to talk to about my fashion emergencies?”

“You’ll survive,” you said with a grin, grabbing your bag. “And for the record, buy the dress. It’s a power move.”

Siya beamed, giving you a thumbs-up. “Knew you’d come through for me.”

Chaerin nudged you lightly as you stood. “Don’t work too hard, okay? And let us know if you need help with… well, anything.”

You hesitated, her words making you pause. For a second, you thought about telling them everything—about Yongha, the awkward café encounter and the way it seems like there’s some sort of history between the boys. But the thought of unpacking all of that now felt exhausting, and you weren’t even sure where to start.

“I will,” you said instead, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “See you both later.”

As you stepped out of the library, the cool evening air hit you, a welcome contrast to the stuffy warmth inside. The conversation about Wooyoung lingered in your mind as you walked, mingling with the memory of Yeosang and San’s frosty reception toward Yongha.

You shook your head, as if physically trying to dispel the thoughts. It wasn’t your problem, you reminded yourself. Whatever happened between them was their business, and you had more pressing things to focus on—like preparing for tomorrow’s lab session and making sure the project stayed on track.

When you got to your apartment, you were surprised to see Wooyoung leaning casually against your doorframe, his phone in hand. He looked up as you approached, a grin spreading across his face.

“Woo? What are you doing here on a Tuesday night?” you asked, punching in your passcode to unlock the door.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied smoothly, slipping his phone into his pocket.

You gave him a skeptical look as you pushed the door open, taking your shoes off. “Seriously. Did you lose a bet or something?”

He followed you inside without answering, kicking off his sneakers by the door. The moment you turned to close it, he was on you, pressing you gently but firmly against the wood.

“Woo, what—”

“I just had to see you,” he interrupted, his voice low and breath warm against your cheek. His hands rested on either side of you, caging you in but not making you feel trapped.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you refused to let him see that. Instead, you smirked, sliding your arms around his neck. “Can’t wait three more days, can you?”

His laugh was soft and breathy, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, their usual mischief laced with something heavier. “Maybe not,” he admitted, his tone teasing but edged with sincerity.

You tilted your head, brushing your lips lightly along the side of his neck. “You’re lucky I don’t mind breaking my no-midweek-visits rule.” A rule you had in place solely because you had to get up quite early on Wednesdays and you would struggle if you didn’t sleep early due to certain… distractions.

“Lucky?” He let out a soft scoff, his lips curving into a smirk as he dipped his head closer. “I’d say I’m very lucky.”

Before you could retort, his mouth found yours, the kiss warm and demanding. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, as if daring him to show you exactly how much he’d missed you.

Wooyoung’s hands tightened on your waist as the kiss deepened, his body pressing against yours in a way that made it hard to think straight. His lips trailed along your jaw, down to your neck, leaving a trail of warmth that sent shivers down your spine.

“Woo,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady despite the haze settling over your thoughts. “I thought you were busy with work this week.”

“I am,” he said between kisses, his voice a little breathless. “But I needed a break. And you.”

The bluntness of his words made your chest tighten, though you weren’t sure if it was because of how easily he said it or how much you liked hearing it.

You tugged lightly at his hair, making him look up at you with those dark, teasing eyes that always seemed to know exactly what you were thinking. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He grinned, cocky as ever. “Impossible to resist?”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, his hands sliding up to frame your face. When the kiss broke, you rested your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath. “You’re such a distraction,” you muttered, though there was no bite to your words.

“Good,” he said softly, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “You work too hard anyway.”

You couldn’t argue with that, but you also couldn’t let him think he could just show up and derail your week. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” you teased, poking his chest lightly.

“Or maybe you’re just always in a good mood when I’m around,” he shot back, smirking.

“Don’t push it,” you warned, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

He stepped back reluctantly, giving you a little space. “Okay, okay. I’ll behave… for now.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Behave? That’s new for you.”

He laughed, the sound filling the room with a warmth you hadn’t realized you needed. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, walking into your kitchen to grab something to drink. You took this opportunity to hang your jacket and freshen up a bit in the bathroom, changing into a new sleepwear set you ordered online.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the faint sizzle and savory aroma of something cooking drew you toward the kitchen. You stopped in your tracks as you turned the corner, your breath hitching just slightly. There was Wooyoung, standing at your counter, sleeves rolled up—well, lack of sleeves entirely, as he’d taken off his hoodie and was now wearing a loose black tank top. The fabric hung low enough to hint at his toned chest, and his arms, lined with prominent veins, moved with practiced precision as he chopped up whatever vegetables he could find in your kitchen.

He didn’t notice you at first, focused on his task. His brow furrowed slightly as he tossed the freshly chopped vegetables into the sizzling pan with a flick of his wrist. The sound of the oil crackling filled the air, mixing with the scent of soy sauce and garlic. You stood there, watching him cook. You couldn’t help but blatantly check him out. You wanted to run your hands over his veiny arms and watch his abs harden while he’s fucking you, and— the sound of running water interrupted your thoughts. Wooyoung finished cooking what you were certain of was fried rice and was now washing his hands.

Mentally reminding yourself to pull it together, you walked into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” you asked, leaning casually against your small, 4-seater dining table, trying to appear unaffected.

Wooyoung looked over his shoulder while drying his hands with a towel. For a moment, you swore you saw his jaw tighten, like he was trying to hold something back. His eyes scanned you slowly, from head to toe, and you could feel the weight of his gaze lingering just a second too long on the way your sleepwear clung to your body. The shorts were undeniably short, and the crop top left a little too much exposed skin, but you didn’t expect his reaction to be this… intense.

The look in his eyes shifted, almost imperceptibly, as if he was battling with something inside. His fingers tightened on the towel, and you could see the slight twitch of his jaw as he tried to keep himself composed, his usual cocky smirk faltering for just a second.

Taking a deep breath, Wooyoung made his way towards you. He placed his hands on the dining table on either side of you, trapping you in between his arms. “I think the question is what are you doing to me, Y/N?” he said in a low tone. You moved slightly to sit on the edge of the dining table.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said innocently, though your next action of pulling him closer by the waistband of his sweatpants was anything but innocent.

“I—fuck, Y/N. If you keep doing this to me,” his hand moved into your hair, gently grabbing it to tilt your head back to look at him, “I won’t be able to behave anymore.”

“Then don’t,” you said daringly, spreading your legs to give him the space to stand in between them. Wooyoung wasted no time in crashing his lips onto yours. Your hands were around his neck, trying to pull him even closer if that was even possible, while his hands were moving up and down the exposed skin of your thighs. He broke the kiss to trail kisses down your neck to the exposed skin of your chest before he came back up.

“May I?” he asked, his fingers at the hem of your top. You nod and try to take it off, but Wooyoung stops you. “Keep it on, it looks so good on you.” He pushes your top up only enough to free your boobs so that he could latch onto them. His tongue swirls around your nipple while his hand plays with your other boob, giving it a gentle massage. He switches sides and mimics his actions. Once he’s done, he trails kisses down to the waistband of your shorts and looks up at you for consent.

“On the dining table?” you ask with a raised eyebrow. Wooyoung smirks. “Dessert on the dining table, why not? Besides, you never use it anyway.” That was true since you always eat on your couch while watching something. “Now lean back and relax for me, sweetheart.”

You did as he said, and he slid your shorts along with your underwear down your legs. “So eager for me,” he states, noticing the wet stain on your panties before tossing it onto a chair. He gets down on his knees to be at eye level with your pussy, and moves your thighs to rest over his shoulders. He trails kisses along your inner thighs before reaching your heated core. Your hand moved into his hair and your body feels so warm. Wooyoung licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, letting out a small moan at your taste. He repeats his actions a couple of times before latching onto your clit, gently sucking the nub. You squirm, bucking your hips up. Wooyoung smirks, moving his arms around your thighs to hold you down in place so you couldn’t move.

“Woo… god, fuck,” you moan. He hums before lapping at your clit in a faster pace that had you gripping the sides of the table. He let go of one of your thighs to bring his hand to your hole, slipping a finger inside while continuing to lap at your clit. Your free thigh moved to squeeze his head once you felt the pressure building up in your lower abdomen. Wooyoung added another finger and pumped it in and out in a similar pace to the way he ate you out. “I… Woo, I’m—” Before you could finish your sentence, your orgasm crashed over you, rattling your body. Wooyoung slowed his pace while you rode out your high, savoring the taste of your cum on his tongue. He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean before lifting you up, grabbing your clothes from the chair, walking to your bedroom.

Wooyoung set you down on your bed and took his tank top and pants off, leaving himself bare in front of you. He reached for the drawer on your nightstand, taking a condom from it. He set it aside as usual since you both went a little raw for a bit.

He pumps his hard cock in his hand before running it along your wet folds to lubricate it. You whimper when the head of his dick rubs against your sensitive clit that was still pulsating from his previous actions. “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” he asks and you buck your hips, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“I want to ride you,” you say and Wooyoung felt like he would bust at your words.

He moved to lie down on your bed, and you straddle his lap. You reconnect your lips to his, kissing him in a heavy way, slipping your tongue in his mouth. He matches your pace while his hands move along the sides of your body, feeling every inch of your skin. Without breaking the kiss, you take his dick in your hand, aligning it with your hole before sinking all the way down. You moaned at the stretch and the mild sting you felt. You gave yourself some time to adjust, pulling away from the kiss. Wooyoung’s hair was disheveled and his lips were swollen, and he looked so, so sexy. You rolled your hips against his, placing your hands on the wall in front of you while you moved up and down his length, your warm walls squeezing his cock.

“Always so tight no matter how much I fuck you,” he comments, his hands grabbing your ass. “I’m gonna need that condom now, Y/N.”

You smirk, ignoring his words to move faster on him, teasing him dangerously the way he teases you. Wooyoung’s bites his lip, the thrill of letting you him raw brings goosebumps to his skin every single time. But you had to get off him, and you quickly ripped the square packet, taking the circular item out, wasting no time in unrolling the condom onto his dick. You climbed back onto his lap and sank back down on his cock. This time, you placed your feet flat on the bed and bounced on his dick, your bed squeaking at the movement.

“F-fuck Y/N,” Wooyoung moans, his hips bucking up to meet yours halfway, skin slapping hard against each other. He reached between your legs to rub your clit in circular motions while you slammed down hard on his dick, chasing your orgasm.

“Woo, you feel so fucking good.” Your core tightened and you let go, moaning loudly while letting yet another orgasm wash over you.

“Almost there,” Wooyoung groans, fucking up into you faster before coming to a still, spilling inside the condom in you. You felt his dick pulse with every load he shot, and you slumped down against his chest, breathing heavily. He kissed your forehead, letting you lie down on his chest until you moved to get off him.

“You good there?” he asks and you hum in response, getting up to go pee and wash your hands. Wooyoung follows you to the bathroom to clean up and dispose the used condom before throwing his clothes on. He waited for you to get dressed before engulfing you in his arms.

“Let’s have dinner now, hmm?” he says, kissing your head before taking your hand in his, dragging you to the kitchen.

-x-x-x-

Chaerin’s apartment smelled faintly of vanilla candles and coffee, the cozy vibe a perfect contrast to the slightly chaotic retelling of your night with Wooyoung. You were curled up on her couch, legs tucked under you, while Chaerin sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from a steaming mug of tea.

“So, let me get this straight,” Chaerin began, her tone dripping with exasperation. “He shows up unannounced, cooks for you, fucks you, and then stays the night on a Tuesday? And you’re still not dating?”

You shrugged, twisting the edge of a throw pillow between your fingers. “It’s not like that. We’re just… having fun.”

“Having fun?” Chaerin repeated, raising an eyebrow so high it practically disappeared into her hairline. “That man is head over heels for you. And you’re just letting it slide because…?”

“Because we’re busy,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “He’s got his co-op. I’ve got my own stuff. Adding dating into the mix would be like asking for trouble.”

Chaerin gave you a pointed look, her tea forgotten on the coffee table. “Y/N, you’re literally living the plot of every rom-com ever. Boy likes girl, girl pretends it’s casual, drama ensues, and then—bam! You realize you’re in love with each other. Just skip the drama part and go straight to dating. Y’all already act like a couple, so I don’t see how things would be any different.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is, though!” Chaerin leaned forward, her enthusiasm contagious. “You already spend all your free time with him. He clearly adores you. What are you waiting for, a neon sign?”

Before you could argue, she shifted gears, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Speaking of signs, I made a move on San. I, um, waved at him at the east dining hall.”

You chuckled. “That’s it?”

Chaerin tossed a throw pillow at you, laughing when you barely dodged it. “Shut up! It’s not that easy, okay? San’s… intimidating.”

You raised a brow. “San? Intimidating? He’s like the human embodiment of a golden retriever.”

“Yeah, but a hot golden retriever,” Chaerin argued, her cheeks flushing. “Every time I see him, my brain just… short-circuits. It’s embarrassing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, sitting up straighter. “You’ve got to shoot your shot, Chaerin. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He says no? I doubt it though.”

She groaned, flopping onto the floor dramatically. “Why do you have to be so reasonable?”

“Because someone has to be,” you teased.

Chaerin propped herself up on her elbows, giving you a sly grin. “Fine, I’ll make a… stronger move on San if you admit that Wooyoung is more than just a hookup.”

You rolled your eyes, getting to your feet. “Not happening.”

“Then I guess we’re both cowards,” Chaerin called after you as you headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

“Guess so!” you shouted back, though your chest tightened a little at the thought of Wooyoung and everything he made you feel—feelings you weren’t quite ready to unpack just yet. You knew you had strong feelings for him, but you didn’t know if he felt the same and for now, you liked the way things were between the two of you, so why ruin it?

After spending an hour with Chaerin, you headed to the dining hall for your work shift. Then, you made your way to the engineering building, the familiar buzz of fluorescent lights and faint hum of lab equipment greeting you as you entered.

You glanced at your phone, checking the time. 6:06 PM—not bad. You weren’t expecting much from today’s meeting; it was supposed to be a quick check-in with the team to discuss next steps, but you were going to stay back for a while with Yongha to get some data collected.

As you approached the door of the lab, you noticed Jina walking in at the same time. She gave you a polite smile, clutching her laptop to her chest.

“Hey, Y/N,” she said, holding the door open for you.

“Hey, Jina,” you replied, stepping inside, thanking her for holding the door for you.

Your eyes immediately landed on Yongha, who was already seated at the lab bench, scribbling notes in a notebook. His sleeves were rolled up, and his focus was so intense he didn’t even look up when you and Jina entered.

What surprised you, though, was seeing Minhyuk in the corner of the room, fiddling with a piece of equipment. It was a rare sight.

“Minhyuk?” you said, raising an eyebrow.

He turned at the sound of his name, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Hey. Thought I’d show up for once.”

You exchanged a glance with Jina, both of you equally stunned. Minhyuk had been the notorious ghost of your team, always finding excuses to skip meetings or leave work undone. Seeing him here felt almost surreal.

“Did the universe shift while I was gone, or are you actually here to help?” Jina teased, setting her laptop down on the table beside Yongha.

Minhyuk laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I deserve that. But seriously, I’m here to pull my weight tonight. Promise.”

Yongha finally looked up from his notes, his expression unreadable as he glanced between you and Minhyuk. “Guess miracles do happen,” he said dryly, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckled as you set up your laptop, the tension easing slightly. “Well, it’s good to have all hands on deck. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

As the team settled into work, you couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. With everyone present and seemingly motivated, maybe—just maybe—tonight would actually be productive.

The hum of the centrifuge joined the soft clatter of keyboards as everyone found their rhythm. It was almost unsettling how focused Minhyuk seemed, diligently taking notes and double-checking calculations with Jina. For once, it felt like a proper team effort.

Yongha stood by the biosensor prototype, carefully adjusting the settings on the connected monitor. He looked up, catching your gaze. “Hey, Y/N, can you double-check the calibration? I think we’re close, but I don’t want to risk any errors.”

You nodded, moving to stand beside him. The device gleamed under the lab’s fluorescent lights, the culmination of weeks of late nights and stress. “Sure. Let’s see.”

As you worked, Yongha leaned slightly closer, his focus entirely on the screen. “By the way,” he said softly, “I’m glad Minhyuk showed up, but I’ve got to admit, it’s a little suspicious.”

You chuckled under your breath, keeping your eyes on the screen. “Suspicious? Or are we just not used to seeing him do actual work?”

“Probably both,” Yongha replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Still, I’ll take what I can get.”

You hummed in response, working on adjusting the calibration.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, glancing at you as you adjusted the monitor. “How is it that you’re so good at this? Makes the rest of us look bad.”

You shot him a look, half-amused, half-skeptical. “Flattery won’t get you out of work, Yongha.”

He grinned, leaning just slightly into your space as if to check the monitor, though there wasn’t really a need. “Who says I’m trying to get out of work? I love being here. Or… maybe I just like watching you work.”

You paused, fingers hovering over the controls, your brain scrambling to process his words. Was he being serious, or was this just Yongha’s way of lightening the mood?

“Uh-huh,” you said, trying to sound unaffected. “Maybe you should focus on not breaking anything.”

He chuckled, his voice low enough to make your stomach flip. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dare ruin your work.”

You smile, quickly shaking his words off, choosing to focus on the calibration instead of the sudden shift in his tone. It wasn’t the first time Yongha had been playful, but tonight it felt… different. You were his teammate in a couple of shared classes before and he never really said anything out of the ordinary. Maybe he was more comfortable with you now that you had to work with him for two whole semesters.

Once the calibration was complete, you stepped back. “Numbers look good. We’re ready for the test.”

“Nice work, as always,” he said, his voice softer now, almost private despite the others being in the room.

“Thanks,” you replied, not quite meeting his eyes. You could feel his gaze lingering, and it sent a weird feeling in your stomach. Not butterflies, no, but uneasiness. You hoped he was just being friendly today.

Jina and Minhyuk joined you at the bench, their chatter breaking the moment.

“Calibration’s done?” Jina asked.

“Yep,” you said, grateful for the distraction. “Let’s run the test.”

As the prototype whirred to life, everyone fell into their roles. Yongha stayed close by your side, occasionally brushing past you to adjust something. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable—except you noticed.

When the results appeared on the monitor, a wave of relief washed over the team.

“Detection’s on point,” Jina announced, her excitement evident. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”

“Finally,” Yongha said, glancing at you with a smile. “I’d say that calls for a small celebration.”

Minhyuk laughed. “If by celebration, you mean heading home to sleep, I’m all in.”

The group chuckled, and Jina clapped her hands together. “Let’s call it a night. We can fine-tune everything tomorrow.”

As you packed up, Yongha lingered nearby, helping you put away the equipment.

“Good work tonight,” he said, his tone softer now that the others were preoccupied.

“You too,” you replied, trying to keep things casual.

He hesitated for a moment, then added, “I’m glad we’re on the same team. Makes the late nights easier.”

Your breath caught, and you gave him a small smile, unsure how to respond without reading too much into his words.

“See you tomorrow, Yongha,” you said instead, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“See you, Y/N,” he replied, his eyes lingering on you as you walked out the door.

As you stepped into the cool night air, your mind raced. Was Yongha just being friendly, or was there something more to his words and lingering glances? You shook your head, brushing the thought aside. You didn’t have time to overthink this—not with everything else on your plate.

Your feet faltered when you noticed a familiar figure leaning casually against his car parked at the curb.

“Wooyoung?” you muttered, blinking in surprise, wondering what he was doing here. Was he waiting for you?

He straightened up as soon as he saw you, a grin spreading across his face while you walked up to him. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. “How was your—”

“Y/N!”

The sound of Yongha’s voice made you turn, catching sight of him jogging toward you, a blue notebook in his hand.

Wooyoung immediately stood taller, his expression sharpening as his eyes landed on Yongha. You didn’t miss the way his posture shifted, suddenly alert.

“I forgot to give this to you,” Yongha said, stopping in front of you and holding out the notebook. “It’ll help with your part of the write-up for the paper. I made the notes… especially for you.” His tone was light, but there was a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His gaze flicked briefly to Wooyoung, and you felt the tension between them before a single word was exchanged.

“Oh, um, thanks,” you said, accepting the notebook. You glanced between the two of them, the air growing heavier by the second. “You two know each other?”

“No,” Wooyoung replied coldly, his voice a stark contrast to the easy warmth he’d shown earlier.

Yongha chuckled, tilting his head slightly as if sizing him up. “Oh, but I believe I’ve seen you around. Jung Wooyoung, am I right?”

His cocky tone made Wooyoung’s jaw tighten, and you quickly stepped in. “Uh, Yongha, thanks again for the notes.”

Yongha didn’t move, his smirk deepening as he looked at you, though his eyes softened which Wooyoung immediately noticed. “How are you heading home, Y/N? I drove here, so I can drop you back if you’d like.”

Before you could even open your mouth, Wooyoung let out a low, dark chuckle that made your stomach flip. “That won’t be necessary,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with an unmistakable edge. He stepped closer, positioning himself between you and Yongha. “I’m here to take my girl home. Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

The words hung in the air, thick with unspoken challenge. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden tension crackling in the air and the way Wooyoung claimed you as his. Yongha’s smirk widened, clearly relishing the moment, while Wooyoung’s jaw tightened, his stance growing more assertive.

“Your girl?” Yongha repeated, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. He crossed his arms, the smirk never leaving his face. “Interesting. I don’t think she mentioned that during our late-night lab sessions.”

Wooyoung took a step forward, his posture calm but his eyes sharp. “Funny. I don’t think she mentioned you at all,” he shot back smoothly, his voice steady but tinged with a dangerous edge.

Your eyes darted between the two of them, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. “Okay, that’s enough,” you said firmly, stepping between them before things could escalate.

Yongha held up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, Y/N. I’m just making sure you’re taken care of.” His gaze flicked to Wooyoung one last time, his smirk fading into something more serious. “Guess I’ll see you in our lab tomorrow.”

He gave you a final glance before turning and walking away, leaving the tension thick in the air.

Once he was out of sight, you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “What the fuck was that, Woo?”

Wooyoung turned to you, his expression softening slightly, though the irritation lingered in his eyes. “I could ask you the same thing, Y/N. What’s with him?”

“He’s just a teammate,” you said quickly. “We work together. That’s it. I’ve literally told you this before”

Wooyoung’s gaze didn’t waver. “He doesn’t look at you like it’s just it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Woo, you can’t just show up out of nowhere, act territorial, and pick a fight with someone you don’t even know.”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “I wasn’t picking a fight. I just don’t like the way he talks to you.”

You tilted your head, giving him a pointed look. “And why do you care so much? We’re not—” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. Dating, you wanted to say. And he knew that all too well.

His eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. “Because I do,” he said simply.

The weight of his words hung between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, he let out a small sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Come on. Let me take you home.”

You hesitated but nodded, knowing it wasn’t the time to push the conversation further. As you got into his car, you couldn’t help but glance back toward the building, wondering what Yongha’s smirk and Wooyoung’s reaction really meant.

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of your jacket as you adjusted uncomfortably in your seat. Wooyoung’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles faintly white under the dim glow of the dashboard lights. You wanted to say something, to break the heavy quiet between you, but every time you opened your mouth, the words died in your throat.

When he finally pulled into the parking lot of your apartment, he parked in one of the guest spots and pressed the button to turn the engine off. Neither of you moved right away.

You sighed. “Woo, we need to talk about—”

He unbuckled his seatbelt abruptly, the click echoing in the confined space, and turned toward you. Before you could say anything more, he leaned over, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was intense, urgent, as if he’d been holding back all night and couldn’t anymore. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer as he poured everything into the way his lips moved against yours. Your breath hitched, but you didn’t hesitate to respond, your hands gripping his red hoodie as if to ground yourself.

His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss, and you felt the heat radiating off him as his body leaned closer. The world outside the car faded, leaving only the sound of your quickened breaths and the electricity buzzing between you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths uneven. “I couldn’t wait,” he admitted, his voice low and gravelly.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “I can tell.”

A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but the fire in his eyes remained. “He gets under my skin,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “The way he talks to you, the way he looks at you—”

“Woo,” you interrupted gently, your voice soft but firm. “It doesn’t matter. He’s just a teammate.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze searching, before nodding slightly. “I know, and I’m sorry for the way I acted earlier. But I just… I needed him to know you’re mine.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and though a part of you wanted to protest the possessiveness, another part couldn’t deny the thrill it gave you.

You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his again in a softer, lingering kiss. “Do you want to come inside?” you whispered against his mouth.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Lead the way, beautiful.”

-x-x-x-

Chaerin’s living room was cozy as always, with its mismatched throw pillows and faint scent of vanilla candles. You were curled up on the couch, nursing a cup of hot cocoa while Siya sprawled out dramatically on the rug. Chaerin sat cross-legged in her oversized armchair, scrolling aimlessly on her phone.

“So,” Siya began, her tone teasing and suspiciously triumphant. “Guess who got a ride home from Song Mingi last night?”

You and Chaerin turned to her at the same time. “No way,” Chaerin gasped, leaning forward.

“Details,” you demanded, pointing at her with mock seriousness.

Siya grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying the attention. “Well, we were at the business club event, right? We got all chatty and flirty and he offered to drive me home after. You know, all polite and gentlemanly.”

“Uh-huh,” Chaerin interrupted, narrowing her eyes. “Cut to the good part.”

Siya pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Fine. We started talking about music on the way back, and I wanted ice cream, so he took me to this place up the hill. He parked at a viewpoint, and we were sitting in the truck of his car. Next thing I know, we’re making out.”

“Making out?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Siya’s grin widened. “Okay, fine. He fucked me in his car.”

Chaerin clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. “You didn’t!”

“Oh, I did,” Siya said smugly, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “And let me tell you, Mingi is not shy once he’s into it.”

“Girl!” Chaerin exclaimed, half-scandalized, half-impressed. “In public?! In his car?”

“Well, I mean it was pretty late and there were no cars around and the area was dark too. No clothes were taken off though, ugh. He lifted my dress and pushed my thong aside. He’s got a big dick though as I expected.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Okay, Siya wins this week’s tea spill, hands down.”

“Obviously,” Siya said with a wink. Then, her gaze flicked to you. “Speaking of tea, what’s going on with you? Anything juicy?”

You hesitated, your mind flashing back to last night: the tense encounter with Yongha and Wooyoung, followed by the way Wooyoung has kissed you in the parking lot.

“Y/N,” Chaerin prodded, leaning forward, sensing you did, in fact, have something to share. “Don’t make me beg.”

You sighed, setting your mug down. “Okay, fine. Something kind of… weird happened yesterday.”

Both girls straightened up immediately, their attention locked on you, a look of concern evident on their faces.

“So, I was leaving my lab, right? And guess who’s waiting outside for me—Wooyoung.”

“Wait, Wooyoung?” Chaerin interrupted, her eyebrows shooting up. “Since when does he wait for you?”

“Exactly,” you said, gesturing for emphasis. “It totally caught me off guard. But before I could even process it, Yongha called out to me.”

“Oh no,” Siya groaned, already sensing drama.

“Oh yes,” you said with a nod. “He came up to give me some notes for our project, but he was being all… flirty about it.”

“Flirty how?” Chaerin asked, narrowing her eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “You know, the usual. Saying he made the notes especially for me, smirking like he’s the king of the world.”

Siya whistled low. “Bold move. What did Wooyoung do?”

“That’s the best part,” you said, your lips twitching into a smile despite yourself. “He just steps in, all dark and broody, and says, ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m here to take my girl home.’”

Both girls gasped, Chaerin practically sliding out of her chair. “He didn’t!”

“Oh, he did,” you confirmed.

“That’s… kind of hot,” Siya admitted, fanning herself dramatically.

Chaerin leaned forward, her eyes wide. “And? What happened next?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Honestly, I was worried they might start a physical fight. But Yongha backed off, and Wooyoung drove me home. End of story.”

“Yeah, right,” Chaerin said, crossing her arms. “We know you. There’s no way that was the end of it.”

You hesitated for a split second too long, and the knowing look they both gave you made your cheeks heat up.

“Spill,” they said in unison.

“I mean… he got kinda possessive and kissed me in his car. We had sex and he stayed the night again,” you said, your cheeks heating up and both the girls squealed loudly.

You leaned back into the couch, feeling the weight of your thoughts as you looked between Chaerin and Siya, trying to explain the unease you were feeling. “But girls… Something’s off,” you said, your voice quieter now, more serious. “It’s like... I don’t know how to put it, but everything’s been weird lately.”

Siya tilted her head, intrigued. “What do you mean ‘weird’?”

“Okay, so the other day, Yeosang and San were acting super weird when I introduced them to Yongha,” you started, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’ve never seen them act that way before. It was as if they knew him—like, knew him well—but they didn’t acknowledge it.” You leaned forward, your eyes scanning their faces for understanding. “And then Wooyoung? He... his reaction was weird too. It felt like he was trying to hide something, like he didn’t want me to get involved with Yongha.”

Chaerin raised an eyebrow. “Wait, so you think Wooyoung and the others know each other? Like, they’ve all met before?”

You nodded slowly, the confusion in your mind spilling out. “Yes! It’s like there’s some secret, and no one’s telling me. I mean, Yeosang and San were cold, but they were still polite. And then there was the way Wooyoung... I don’t know, he just shut down when I mentioned Yongha. Like, something snapped in him. I thought it was weird, but I didn’t want to push him.”

Siya’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, but that’s suspicious. Why wouldn’t they just tell you if they knew each other? It seems like they’re hiding something.”

“I don’t know. It’s like a weird tension between them,” you said, exhaling a frustrated breath. “And I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of something I don’t understand. It’s all so strange.”

Chaerin gave you a reassuring look. “Well, you’re right about one thing: something is definitely going on. They’re all acting like they’re trying to keep their distance from each other, but it’s clear that there’s history.” She tapped her chin, thinking. “But what if this is more than just them being weird around you? Maybe there’s something deeper there. Something... they don’t want you to know about.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I want to trust them, especially Wooyoung, but it’s hard when everyone’s acting like there’s something I’m not supposed to know. I’m caught in the middle of this... thing, and it’s driving me crazy. I have to work with Yongha for a couple more months until we graduate, so I really don’t want to be in this weird situation.”

Siya pursed her lips, her eyes glinting with curiosity. “If something’s off, there’s a reason for it. If Wooyoung’s keeping something from you, or if he’s acting shady, you need to find out what it is.”

Chaerin nodded in agreement, looking at you seriously. “But don’t stress yourself out. If you want to get to the bottom of this, you have to stay calm. Don’t let them pull you into something you don’t want to be part of.”

“I know,” you said softly, but the knot in your stomach remained. “It’s just... I’m starting to feel like I’m missing something big, and I’m not sure if I want to know what it is.” You looked at your friends, the weight of it all sinking in. “But I also feel like I don’t have a choice but to find out. How I will do that, I do not know… yet.”

After hanging out with the girls for a while, you decided to head to your lab instead of going home despite it being nearly 8PM. You weren’t expecting anyone else to be here so late, but as you turned the corner, you spotted Yongha, seated at one of the workbenches. His head was bent over a stack of papers, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, setting your bag down on the table across from him.

Yongha looked up, startled, but quickly composed himself. “Oh, hey. I could say the same to you.”

“I’ve completed my work for the day,” you admitted. “Figured I’d get a head start on next week’s data.”

He nodded, setting his pen down and leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing his words. Then he spoke, his tone softer than usual. “About last night... I wanted to apologize.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Apologize?”

“For the way I acted. Outside the lab, with Jung Wooyoung.” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “It was out of character for me, and it definitely wasn’t fair to you. I guess I just... lost my cool a bit.”

You tilted your head, studying him. Yongha wasn’t one to show vulnerability often, and the sincerity in his voice threw you off. “It’s fine,” you said slowly. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what was going on, but... it’s not a big deal.”

Yongha gave a small, humorless laugh. “Maybe not to you. But to me...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

You frowned, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying. “Yongha, if there’s something bothering you, just say it.”

He hesitated again, then leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw some sort of worry flash through them. “It’s just... Are you two… you know…” He let the question hang in the air, his meaning clear.

You felt your face heat up. Honestly, you didn’t know what to say since Wooyoung preferred to keep his… situation with you strictly between his friends and yours. “Uh, we’re not dating, if that’s what you’re asking,” you said quickly, though the words felt awkward on your tongue. “Why?”

Yongha’s lips quirked into a small, almost wistful smile. “No reason. I was just curious.” He leaned back again, crossing his arms. “He’s protective of you. I noticed that much.”

You shifted in your seat, unsure how to respond. “Wooyoung’s just... like that. He looks out for the people he cares about.”

“Hmm.” Yongha’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked away, grabbing his pen and pretending to focus on his notes. “Well, I’ll leave it at that. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Right,” you said, suddenly feeling the need to busy yourself with something. You pulled out your laptop and started typing, but your mind was racing.

You had your messages linked to your laptop, and a notification popped up from Wooyoung.

Woo: Are you home yet?

You: I’m at the lab

Woo: Oh. With Lee Yongha?

You: Yeah, he is here. Why?

Woo: No reason. I’m sure you’re having a great time.

You stared at the message on your laptop, the tone unmistakably sarcastic. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your stomach twisting. What was his problem?

You: What’s that supposed to mean?

The typing indicator popped up immediately, and then his response came through like a slap.

Woo: Nothing. Just seems like he’s got everything handled. Don’t let me interrupt your night.

You let out a sharp exhale, your jaw tightening as you reread the message. The passive-aggressive tone wasn’t like him—or maybe it was, but it was usually cloaked in humor. This wasn’t funny.

“Everything okay?”

Yongha’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to see him watching you, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. He had his hands tucked casually in his pockets, but there was an edge to his expression, like he was waiting for an opening.

“Yeah, all is well,” you muttered, locking your laptop.

Yongha tilted his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Ah. Trouble in paradise?”

“There’s no paradise,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “And definitely no trouble.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his smirk widening. “He seems pretty bothered, though. Can’t imagine why.”

You glared at him, feeling your frustration bubbling over, mentally reminding yourself not to open your texting app on your laptop while he’s around again. “Why are you so interested?”

He shrugged, his gaze steady. “Just curious. He’s not usually the kind of guy who loses his cool. But then again...” He paused, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly. “I can see why he might.”

You froze under the weight of his words, your heartbeat quickening. Was that a compliment? A challenge? You couldn’t tell, and it only made the tension in the room worse. The fact that he mentioned that Wooyoung wasn’t the type to lose his cool was enough to confirm your suspicion that they, in fact, knew each other and were pretending otherwise.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice quieter now, but firm.

Yongha stepped back, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just making an observation.”

You didn’t respond, turning your focus back to your notes in an attempt to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. After a moment, Yongha grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, pausing in the doorway, “I don’t think he’s mad at you. He’s mad at me.”

Before you could ask what he meant, the door swung shut behind him.

You stared at the closed door, your thoughts spinning. What did Yongha mean?

When you glanced back at your laptop, the last message from Wooyoung still sat there, burning into your mind.

No matter how much you wanted to ignore it, you knew you currently were caught in the middle of it all. You decided to push your thoughts away for now while you walked back home.

When you got to the hallway outside your apartment, you spotted Wooyoung waiting, leaning against your door. He was dressed in business casual attire today and you knew he came straight from work. His arms were crossed, but his posture was stiff, his expression unreadable.

You sighed as you approached him. “Woo?”

“Just wanted to talk,” he said casually, but there was an edge to his voice.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open for him to follow. He did, shutting it behind him, the click echoing in the silence.

Dropping your bag on the couch, you turned to face him. “Okay… talk.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the floor before meeting yours. “What’s going on with you and Yongha?”

You blinked, thrown by the question. “Seriously? We’ve been over this, Wooyoung. He’s my teammate. Nothing is going on.”

He scoffed, his jaw tightening. “You say that, but it’s like every time I turn around, you’re with him. At the lab, at the café...” Of course, Yeosang and San would tell him about the café. You were surprised he’s only bringing it up now when he clearly has an issue.

“Of course, I’m with him!” you shot back, exasperated. “We’re working on a project together. A project that will take a whole academic year. You knew this from the beginning!”

“And he’s making it more than that,” Wooyoung snapped, stepping closer. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re blind to it.”

“And what if I’m not?” you countered, your voice rising slightly. “Why does it matter to you? You’ve made it pretty damn clear we’re not together, so why do you care so much?”

He flinched at your words but recovered quickly, his frustration mounting. “You know why I care!”

“No, I don’t!” you said, the emotion bubbling over. “Because you keep dancing around it, Woo. You act like I belong to you, but you’re the one who set the rules. You’re the one who doesn’t want this to be anything more than... whatever this is!”

He stared at you, his chest rising and falling as he processed your words. “You think I don’t want more?” he finally said, his voice low but heated.

“Then why aren’t we dating?” you demanded, your voice cracking, though you’re the butterflies in your stomach were fluttering around in a rapid pace. “Why are we stuck in this limbo? If you care so much, if you want me the way you act like you do, then why won’t you just say it?”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “It’s not that simple, Y/N.”

“It is that simple!” you fired back. “You’re just too much of a coward to admit what you want. Or maybe you don’t know what you want at all.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, his tone dropping to a whisper.

“No, what’s not fair is you showing up at my door, acting possessive, and then refusing to give me anything real,” you said, your voice trembling. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Woo.”

“You agreed to be with me like this, Y/N,” he muttered, taking slow steps towards you before resting his forehead against yours. The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Wooyoung pulled away after a moment to look at you, his eyes softening slightly, but the anger was still there. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “Then stop. Stop confusing me. Stop... God, Woo, I know there’s some history between you and Yongha and you won’t come clean to me about it. You’re all acting like you don’t know each other and it’s tiring me out. Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

He didn’t move, his gaze locked on yours. “I can’t, Y/N.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to lose you,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I don’t know how to... I don’t know how to… I would rather you not know. I don’t know what to do.”

His confession hung in the air, heavy and unsteady. You swallowed hard, your emotions swirling. “Then figure it out, Wooyoung,” you said softly. “Because I don’t want to be caught in this. I do not know what’s going on. I have to work with him for couple more months. Please… don’t make things difficult for me.”

You turned away, leaving him standing there in the middle of your apartment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Y/N,” he called after you, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop.

“Lock the door on your way out,” you said, disappearing into your bedroom, shutting the door.

And with that, the conversation was over, but the unresolved tension lingered, a storm waiting to break.

-x-x-x-

You didn’t hang out with Wooyoung over the weekend like you usually do. For the first time in months, you found yourself with nothing but your own company and an endless list of tasks you had no desire to complete. You went to work, cleaned your apartment twice, even reorganized your closet, and attempted to binge-watch a show, but your mind refused to focus. Every time your phone buzzed, you checked it instinctively, but it was never him.

By Sunday afternoon, you gave up pretending you didn’t care and texted Chaerin instead.

You: Free? I need to get out of this apartment

Chaerin: Always free for you babe. Lunch at the kimbap place near campus?

You: Sounds good, see you in 30

You arrived at the small restaurant, spotting Chaerin instantly. She waved you over, already halfway through an iced tea. “You look exhausted.”

You sighed, sliding into the seat across from her. “I am.”

She arched an eyebrow. “This is about Wooyoung, isn’t it?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “Is it that obvious?”

“I mean, what else can it be when you look like this?” she said, sipping her drink. “So, what happened?”

You told her about the argument, the frustration bubbling back to the surface as you recounted every word. Chaerin listened attentively, her expression growing more serious as you went on.

“And then he said he didn’t want to lose me,” you finished, slumping back in your chair. “But he still couldn’t give me a real answer. He said he doesn’t want me to know what’s up with him and Yongha, and he said he doesn’t know what to do. So I told him to figure it out.”

Chaerin shook her head. “Wow, that boy is a mess.”

“I know,” you said, exasperated. “But I feel like I’m losing my mind. I keep thinking maybe I was too harsh, or maybe I should’ve pushed him more—”

“No,” she interrupted firmly. “You said what you needed to say, Y/N. He’s the one who needs to get his act together.”

You nodded, though her words did little to ease the ache in your chest.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, leaning forward.

“The plan?”

“Yeah,” Chaerin said. “Are you going to wait for him to figure it out, or are you moving on?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. The truth was you had feelings for him. You were in love with him. You wanted things to work out.

“I guess I’ll see what he does,” you said finally. “But I’m not putting my life on hold for him.”

“That’s my girl,” Chaerin said, raising her iced tea in a toast. You smiled faintly, but the knot in your stomach remained.

After lunch, you took the bus to Jina’s apartment to work with your team on one of the project reports. Jina lived in the same building as Wooyoung, and you couldn’t help yourself from wondering if he was home right now and if you should go to his place after. A part of you wondered if that was a terrible idea, considering the fact that he hasn’t texted you at all since the argument.

When you reached the lobby of the building, you noticed Yongha had just arrived too. You greeted him while waiting for the elevator. “Hey, you’re here a lot earlier,” you said, remembering that he said he would be an hour late on the group chat.

“I got off my shift early,” he replied with a grin. “Did you see the graphs on the report? If Minhyuk mixes up the axes on one more graph, I might just lose it. I swear he’s trying to set a record for how fast he can make me question humanity.”

You laughed, a genuine belly laugh that echoed through the quiet lobby as you both stopped in front of the elevator. “It’s the way he does it so confidently that kills me,” you said between giggles. “Like, ‘Oh yeah, that Y-axis? Totally accurate.’”

Yongha joined in, chuckling softly. “At least it keeps things interesting. Who needs peace of mind when you can have chaos?”

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open—and your laughter abruptly died when you saw who was standing inside.

Wooyoung.

He was leaning casually against the elevator wall, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. His sharp eyes immediately landed on you and Yongha and his casual demeanor shifted ever so slightly, tension creeping into his stance.

“Y/N,” Wooyoung greeted, his voice calm but unmistakably cool.

You blinked in surprise. “Wooyoung?” Why haven’t you texted me at all, you wanted to ask, but remembered Yongha was here too.

“Hey,” Yongha chimed in, stepping into the elevator with you, his confidence undeterred. “Didn’t know we’d get the pleasure of running into you here.”

Wooyoung’s lips twitched into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Life’s full of surprises.”

As the elevator began its ascent, Yongha leaned slightly toward you, his head tilting as his eyes zeroed in on your hair.

“Hold still,” he said softly.

“What?” you asked, confused, glancing at him as Wooyoung’s gaze sharpened.

Yongha reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your temple as he plucked something from your hair. His movements were deliberate, almost slow, as if savoring the moment.

“There was a leaf stuck,” Yongha explained with a small grin, holding it up for you to see.

“Oh,” you said and smoothed your hair reflexively. “Thanks.”

Wooyoung, who had been watching the exchange with a darkening expression, shifted his weight slightly, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“A leaf, huh?” Wooyoung said, his voice low and edged with sarcasm. “Good thing you were here to save the day.”

Yongha chuckled, clearly amused by the tension. “What can I say? I’m observant.”

The elevator dinged, signaling your floor, and you stepped out quickly, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. Before the doors closed, you turned back to Wooyoung, who hadn’t moved from his spot. His dark eyes met yours, a storm brewing in his expression that sent an uneasy shiver down your spine.

“See you around,” he said, his tone clipped. The doors shut, and you exhaled slowly, the knot in your stomach tightening as you walked toward Jina’s apartment.

Yongha, however, seemed completely unaffected, his usual easygoing grin still in place. “That guy has quite the glare,” he commented casually.

You shot him a look, but he only laughed.

“Let’s just get to work,” you muttered, though your thoughts were already tangled in the intensity of Wooyoung’s gaze—and the unspoken tension that seemed to grow heavier with every passing moment.

-x-x-x-

5 days later

It was a typical Friday night, and you were more than ready to unwind. Chaerin, Siya, another friend named Maya, and you had decided to head to your favorite bar for a much-needed girls’ night. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and the energy was just the kind of distraction you needed from the stress of school and all the drama. Wooyoung had ignored your messages, and you honestly did not know what to do anymore. For now, you decided to focus on girls’ night.

Chaerin laughed as she raised her glass to make a toast. “To surviving the week and pretending we have it all together!”

Siya clinked her glass against yours. “To good times and great friends!”

You joined in with a grin, feeling the weight of the week start to lift as the alcohol started to take effect. You weren’t sure how much you’d had already, but you were definitely starting to feel more relaxed. You weren’t a lightweight drinker and sobered up pretty quick too. Sometimes, you hated it.

The night continued with music, laughter, and the comfortable camaraderie you’d come to expect with Chaerin, Siya, and Maya. You were enjoying yourself, letting go of the stress for a while—until you noticed a familiar face entering the bar.

San.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. It wasn’t unusual for people from your university to end up here. But then came Mingi, Yeosang, and Yunho, and finally, Wooyoung.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. You hadn’t expected to run into him here tonight, especially not after everything that had happened the past week. You tried to look away, but your gaze was drawn back to him again.

“Y/N?” Chaerin called out before following your gaze. “Oh… Fuck, he looks so hot!”

“Who?” Maya asked following her gaze. “Oh Kang Yeosang? I agree.”

“I meant Choi San,” Chaerin said with a chuckle. “But well… I suppose all the men of their group are quite the eye candy.”

“And so are we!” Siya squeaks out, her face flushed pink from the alcohol. “Look at us, girls! We’re so sexy! We’re so stunning! We’re so smart! We’re so beautiful!” The three of you laughed at drunk Siya’s words, and you patted her head affectionately. “Hey! Could I get a chocolate martini?!” she called for the bartender.

“I’ll have one too, thank you,” you told the bartender who nodded and headed off to make your drinks. You decided not to turn back and look at Wooyoung, not wanting to ruin your night by feeling sad over the fact that he chose to ignore you.

But moments later after having yet another drink, you turned back to see where he was. You caught sight of the booth where the rest of the guys were, but Wooyoung wasn’t there. Your eyes scanned the area, trying to find him, but struggling due to the flashing-colored lights.

And then you saw him standing against a pillar… with a girl. She was leaning so close to him and from the angle where you were at, it appeared that she could be… kissing his neck? You watched them more carefully. It seemed like they were just talking.

“Uh oh. Double trouble,” Chaerin announced, catching your attention.

Before you could ask her what she meant, you heard someone call out your name. “Y/N!”

You turned toward the source of the voice, your heart already sinking. Standing a few feet away, wearing his usual confident smirk, was Yongha. Flanking him were his two friends, Jaehyun and Taemoo who you’d briefly met once when they were waiting for Yongha outside one of your shared classes.

“Yongha?” you blurted.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, stepping closer with that familiar air of nonchalance. His eyes, however, scanned your face like he was trying to read your mood.

Jaehyun and Taemoo greeted your friends with easy smiles, and soon enough, introductions were exchanged. Chaerin immediately latched onto Jaehyun’s arm, chatting him up like they were old friends, but she was just sociable like that. Siya, meanwhile, was too occupied with her martini to pay much attention, but Maya caught Taemoo’s attention after recognizing that they were in the same major.

“Jung Wooyoung’s back with his ex again?” You heard Taemoo say to Jaehyun, causing the girls to glance at you. You didn’t react, though your stomach dropped. So that girl was his ex?

“Are you surprised?” Jaehyun said with a laugh. “Dude should move on. I can’t imagine running to the same girl that cheated on me thrice.”

You immediately glanced at Chaerin who looked at you. Wooyoung was cheated on thrice? If that’s true then why is he talking to his ex again?

Yongha kept his focus on you. “You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear, but still loud as the music was blasting.

You hesitated. It was clear he’d caught onto your distracted state, but you weren’t about to spill your emotions in the middle of a bar. “I’m fine,” you replied, forcing a small smile.

His eyes narrowed slightly, like he didn’t believe you, but he let it go. “Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said, leaning in just enough to make the gesture feel intimate.

Before you could respond, Chaerin called out, “Y/N, you have to come dance with us!”

You glanced back at Yongha, who gave you an easy shrug. “Go. Have fun.”

You allowed Chaerin to pull you toward the dance floor, but as you moved with the beat of the music with the girls, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in your chest. You tried to focus on the rhythm, the lights, the energy of the crowd, but your eyes kept drifting back to that pillar where Wooyoung had been.

He wasn’t there anymore. Neither was his ex.

Frustration and something sharper—jealousy, maybe—pricked at your thoughts. Was this really what you were to him? Someone he could ignore all week and then end up with another girl, his ex of all people, at the club?

Chaerin pulled you closer to her. “Can you come with me to the bathroom?” You nodded, letting Maya and Siya know you were headed there before Chaerin dragged you along. You waited in line, grateful that it was moving faster than you’d expected. Once you and Chaerin used the bathroom and washed your hands, she took a picture of both of you at the mirror.

“Let’s go take a shot before we hit the dancefloor again. Be a bad bitch, Y/N, come on,” she said, making you raise an eyebrow. “Wooyoung noticed you. I saw him looking at you and Yongha.”

You sighed. “Yeah, he probably thinks I’m here with Yongha. But… I can’t believe he was with his ex.”

Chaerin chuckled. “Well… take advantage of that. Make him jealous and he’s gonna come crawling to you. Besides, I saw that girl leave, so I take it that maybe she was trying to go after him again.”

You sighed, leaning against the bathroom wall for a moment, though Chaerin’s last sentence relieved you. “I don’t know if I want to play those games, Chaerin. He’s been ignoring me all week. What if it doesn’t even work? What if he doesn’t care?”

Chaerin gave you a pointed look as she fixed her lipstick in the mirror. “Oh, he cares. The way he was staring? Trust me, he cares, and let me tell you girl, that man has always had feelings for you. He just doesn’t want to admit it yet.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you hoped she was right. “Still. This whole thing feels... exhausting. I don’t know if I have it in me tonight.”

Chaerin put her hands on your shoulders and spun you to face her. “Y/N, look at me. You’re hot. You’re smart. You’re fun. If Wooyoung can’t see that, then screw him. But trust me, he does see it. And if making him sweat a little gets him to step up, why not? Worst case, you have a good time, take some shots, and enjoy yourself with your girls.”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself. “You always know how to hype me up.”

“Damn right I do,” she said with a grin. “Now come on, let’s grab that shot and show everyone—including Wooyoung—how bad bitches have fun.”

With renewed energy, you followed her out of the bathroom and back to the bar. Chaerin ordered two tequila shots, handing one to you with a wink. “To being the main character,” she said, raising her glass.

You clinked your shot glass against hers, downed the tequila in one go, and let the burn energize you.

As the two of you made your way back to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but glance around the bar. Your eyes automatically sought him out—and there he was. Wooyoung was back at the booth with the rest of his group, but his focus wasn’t on his friends.

It was on you.

You felt Chaerin nudge your arm. “Told you,” she whispered before grabbing your hand and pulling you into the crowd of people dancing.

The music pulsed around you, and for the first time that night, you allowed yourself to let go, swaying to the rhythm and matching Chaerin’s energy. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Yongha and his friends near the bar, watching you with amused smiles.

And somewhere in the mix of lights, music, and glances, you realized Chaerin might’ve been right. Maybe it was time to make Wooyoung sweat.

Yongha was making his way toward you, the smoothness of his steps betraying his drunk state. His friends remained at the bar, chatting amongst themselves, but Yongha was solely focused on you.

Chaerin grinned, noticing his attention on you. “Looks like someone’s got their eyes on you,” she teased, nudging you playfully. “Let loose, my girl. Be the bad bitch you are. Show Wooyoung what he’s missing!”

You laughed loudly, running a hand through your hair while you danced to a remixed upbeat song that had the whole dance floor moving.

"Mind if I join you?" Yongha asked, his voice slightly slurred but still carrying that flirty edge that made you think he wasn’t exactly sober.

You raised an eyebrow, but with a playful smirk, you stepped closer to him, the music pumping louder as it filled the space between you two. "I suppose so." You were playing a dangerous game, but you had too much to drink and at this point, you did not give a fuck.

Yongha didn’t waste any time. His hands found your waist with a confidence that almost made you forget the tension earlier in the night. You let him guide your movements as the music shifted into a new song that had the crowd cheering, his grip firm yet gentle. You could feel the heat from his palms on the exposed skin of your waist. As you both moved together, his eyes never left yours. He pulled you in closer as you swayed together, and you were reminded of the way you had danced in this very club with Wooyoung before.

But amidst the heat of the moment, your eyes flicked to the side, catching sight of Wooyoung. He was standing in the same spot near the booth with his friends, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture tense. The slight furrow of his brows was all you needed to see to know he wasn’t happy. However, San looked incredibly amused and he leaned in to whisper something in Wooyoung’s ear.

Something shifted inside you, the cocktail of emotions from earlier mixing with the alcohol buzzing through your veins. You knew it was very petty, but in this moment, you didn’t care. You weren't about to let him have all the control over this situation. You weren’t going to be the one left wondering what could have been, while he played his little games.

Without breaking eye contact with Wooyoung, you dropped it down low, your body moving in sync with the rhythm of the music, your movements slow and deliberate as you bent at the waist, inching down to the floor. The look in Wooyoung’s eyes shifted immediately—surprise, anger, maybe even a flash of jealousy—but you didn’t look away.

Yongha’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you back up, and as you stood upright, you let your back press against his chest for a brief moment. The heat of his body against yours, combined with the thrill of making Wooyoung watch, sent a surge of adrenaline through you.

You let your gaze hold Wooyoung’s for just a few seconds longer before you finally broke away, returning your attention to Yongha, who was still grinning at you, clearly enjoying the game that was unfolding.

Wooyoung, though? He wasn’t smiling. The tight set of his jaw said it all.

As soon as the song finished, you excused yourself. “I’m going to get a drink upstairs,” you let Chaerin know. The club had a mezzanine floor that was a lot less crowded and didn’t have a dance floor.

“Good job out there, babe!” she drunkenly yelled, pulling you into a hug before you pushed through the crowd to make it upstairs.

You moved to where a window was open, and you relaxed when you felt the chill air hit your heated body. You took a deep breath, trying to calm down your racing heartbeat.

When you felt a presence behind you, you turned around, surprised to find that Wooyoung actually followed you upstairs. The white button up shirt he was wearing had most of the buttons unbuttoned, exposing his toned chest.

Wooyoung’s eyes flashed with something dark and unreadable as he stepped closer to you, making you take a step back, your back hitting the wall beside the window. The tension in the air thickened, and you could feel your pulse quicken, though you didn’t want to admit it. He stood inches from you, his presence overwhelming.

“What the hell were you doing with him?” Wooyoung’s voice was low, rough. The irritation, the jealousy, all bubbling to the surface now that he had you cornered. And yet you found it hot.

Hot that he definitely cared about you. Hot that there was a vein popping on the side of his neck from the clear anger he was feeling. Hot that his eyes were scanning your body the same way it does when he wants you.

You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm despite the fire burning in your chest. “You’ve been ignoring me all week, and now you want to get all possessive?”

His lips curled into a tight smirk, but it was empty, edged with frustration. “I wasn’t ignoring you, Y/N. I was giving you space.” He emphasized the word, his eyes flicking over you. “But it looks like you moved on from me already, huh?”

You chuckled in an unamused tone. “Moved on? I could same the same about you, Wooyoung. Weren’t you chatting up another girl?”

“She means nothing to me,” he said quickly. “I don’t care about her.”

“She’s your ex girlfriend.”

His eyes darkened at the mention of her, and he stiffened, clearly not expecting you to know that much. “Oh, so I guess your precious little Yongha told you about her and I, hmm?”

You felt a sharp sting in your chest at the way Wooyoung said ‘your precious little Yongha.’ The bitterness in his voice, the way it rolled off his tongue, left you with a sour taste in your mouth. You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure, but your patience was running thin, and the anger was bubbling in your chest. “What, are you jealous now?”

Wooyoung’s jaw clenched, but instead of answering you directly, he took a step closer, reducing the space between you two. “You wanna know why I’m pissed?” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “Because I can’t fucking stand seeing you with other guys. Especially him. Especially anyone who isn’t me.”

You froze, feeling your heartbeat skip. This was the first time he was being this... honest. Vulnerable, almost. But instead of giving you comfort, it made everything feel more complicated. “You’re the one who’s been avoiding me, Wooyoung,” you said, frustration creeping into your tone.

Wooyoung sighed, his eyes darkening as he reached out to touch your arm, his fingers barely brushing your skin. “You think I want this? Think I wanted to let you go all week without talking? You think this is easy for me?”

You were about to respond, but the words got caught in your throat when Wooyoung stepped closer to you. His body was suddenly right in front of yours, invading your personal space, and all you could do was look up into his eyes, the fire in them burning bright. The heat between you two was palpable, thick enough that it made it hard to breathe.

“I’m not blind, Y/N,” he continued, his voice more intense now. “I saw the way you moved with him. You looked good together. Too good.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at the possessive edge in his tone, but it only added to the frustration that was now boiling over inside you. You couldn’t help but feel the same anger—anger at yourself for letting him get under your skin, and anger at him for pushing you to this point.

“Stop making this about him,” you spat, stepping closer to him, your body finally reacting to the proximity. You jabbed your finger into his chest. “You’ve been acting like I’m nothing to you, and now suddenly, I’m supposed to be okay with—”

Wooyoung didn’t give you time to finish. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward him, his lips crashing down on yours with an intensity that stole your breath away. For a moment, you froze, but it didn’t take long before you kissed him back, your hands fisting his shirt, pulling him even closer. The kiss was hot, desperate, the frustration and the jealousy all pouring out into this one explosive moment.

He pulled away just long enough to look at you, his eyes dark with something dangerous, something you weren’t sure you could handle—but you didn’t care.

“Tell me you don’t want this, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

You shuddered at the intensity in his words, but you couldn’t deny it. You wanted him. You wanted all of it. “I do,” you breathed out. “I want you, Wooyoung. I only want you.”

A low growl escaped him, and before you could react, he pressed your back against the wall and his lips were back on yours. His hands were on your hips, pulling you into him, grinding against you in a way that made your pulse race.

The heat between you two was undeniable now, a wild, consuming thing that neither of you could fight. The tension, the unresolved anger, and the attraction all mixed together in a way that had your body aching for more.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his lips trailing down your neck as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer, the friction between you making your head spin. The music in the club faded as you focused on the way Wooyoung kissed you with such urgency, such intensity.

But as much as you wanted this—wanted him—the words were still hanging in the air, thick with meaning.

He pulled away after a moment, setting you back down on your feet, holding you steady. “Why’d you pull away?” you whispered, your hands still tangled in his hair. “Why don’t you just tell me what this is, Wooyoung?”

He stopped for a moment, looking you dead in the eye. “Because I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared of what this means. I don’t know how to make this work between us, but God... I want you.” His voice cracked slightly, but the raw honesty made your heart skip a beat.

Your lips brushed against his again, more gently this time, but still charged with the same intensity. “Then stop overthinking it,” you whispered against his mouth. “Let’s just figure it out.”

“I can’t, Y/N. Not when you’re around him most of the time.” You stared at Wooyoung, his words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

Your chest tightened, frustration flaring in your veins. “What the hell does that mean?” you snapped, shoving him back just enough to create space between you. “Are you seriously blaming me for working with Yongha? For doing what I’m supposed to do for my project?”

“It’s not about the project,” Wooyoung shot back, his voice strained as he ran a hand through his hair. His eyes darted away for a moment before locking onto yours again. “It’s about him, Y/N. I can’t stand seeing you with him. I can’t stand knowing you’re laughing with him, spending time with him—letting him get close to you.”

Your eyes narrowed, the anger bubbling over. “You’re acting like I have a choice, Wooyoung! He’s on my team! What am I supposed to do? Avoid him? Quit my project? Is that what you want?”

“No,” Wooyoung growled, his voice dropping low, his frustration palpable. “I just... I don’t trust him, okay? He’s not who you think he is.”

You froze for a moment, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “And what does that even mean? If you have something to say, then just say it, Wooyoung. Stop dancing around the truth!”

His jaw tightened, and for a second, you thought he might finally spill whatever he’d been holding back. But instead, he shook his head, his fists clenched at his sides. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered.

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “You’re unbelievable. Do you know how exhausting this is? You can’t just drop cryptic hints and then expect me to read your mind. I’m not a damn mind reader, Wooyoung!”

“I’m trying to protect you, Y/N,” he snapped, his voice rising. “I’m trying to keep you from getting hurt, but you just don’t see it!”

“Then help me see it!” you shouted back, stepping closer to him. “Tell me why you hate him so much. Tell me why this is such a big deal to you. Or are you just too scared to be honest with me?”

Wooyoung’s eyes burned with frustration, but underneath it, you caught a glimpse of something else—pain, raw and unfiltered. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something, but then he stopped, shaking his head again.

“I can’t,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand. You don’t need to know.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “You can’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “How do you expect this to work, Wooyoung? How can we have anything if you keep shutting me out?”

“It’s not about trust,” he said quickly, his voice desperate now. “It’s about me. About what I can’t deal with. I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. But I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” you pressed, tears threatening to sting your eyes. “Can’t let yourself care about me? Can’t let yourself get close because you’re too scared of what might happen?”

Wooyoung’s silence was deafening, and the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

“This isn’t fair,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “It’s not fair to me, and it’s not even fair to you. If you can’t trust me, if you can’t let me in, then what’s the point, Wooyoung? What are we even doing?”

His hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m sorry I can’t give you what you need.”

You swallowed hard, the ache in your chest almost unbearable. “Then maybe we’re better off letting this go,” you said softly, turning away from him. “If you can’t communicate with me…” you shook your head with a sigh, “then let’s stop whatever this is, Woo. I… I’m done trying.”

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back, hoping—praying—that he’d stop you. That he’d fight for this, for you.

But he didn’t. He just stood there, his head bowed, his silence cutting deeper than any words ever could.

-x-x-x-

Nine days had passed. Nine long, agonizing days since you last spoke to Wooyoung. Since you walked away from him—since he walked away from you.

You tried to keep yourself busy, pouring your energy into school, work, and anything else that could distract you from the gnawing ache in your chest. But no matter what you did, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. About his words, his silence, his absence.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and you had just finished your shift at the dining hall. Your body ached from the long hours, and the emotional weight you carried didn’t help. You trudged home, trying to focus on mundane tasks to keep the sadness at bay.

In your apartment, you loaded the washer with your laundry, throwing a detergent pod into it when you heard the doorbell ring. Frowning, you quickly start the washer, the sound of the machine filling the silence as you headed to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, and it was rare for someone to show up unannounced. When you opened the door, you froze.

Wooyoung stood there, looking like a shadow of himself. His hair was disheveled, covering most of his eyes, and his face was pale, his usual sharp features softened by exhaustion. The dark circles under his eyes told you he hadn’t been sleeping.

Before you could say a word, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You could smell his usual perfume, and you couldn’t help but take in a deep breath. His body felt heavy against yours, as if he was on the verge of collapse, and the way he clung to you made your heart ache.

“Wooyoung…” you breathed, your voice shaky.

He didn’t respond right away. His head rested against your shoulder, and you felt the uneven rise and fall of his chest as he tried to steady himself.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard, your hands hovering for a moment before you let them rest gently on his back. “What are you doing here?” you asked softly.

“I didn’t know how to face you after everything. I thought if I stayed away, it’d be easier,” he said, his voice barely audible. “But it wasn’t. It only made everything worse.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, his face inches from yours. His eyes were red, like he’d been crying—or fighting not to.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he continued, his hands trembling as they gripped your shoulders. “I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it. With you. With… everything.”

Your heart broke at the sight of him like this, so vulnerable, so raw. But the hurt you’d felt over the past week wasn’t something you could just ignore.

“I was scared,” he continued, his voice cracking. “I’m still scared. But I can’t lose you, Y/N. I can’t.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, all you could hear was the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the washing machine.

“What are you scared of?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Of history repeating itself,” he said finally, his voice trembling. “Of you being around him. Of him… taking you away from me, just like before.”

You felt a pang of confusion mixed with sadness as you pieced together his words. But before you could respond, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t give up on me. Don’t leave me, Y/N.”

His words hung heavy in the air, the rawness of his plea cutting through the ache you’d carried for days. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a shuddering breath before moving slightly away from you, just enough to meet your gaze fully.

“I’m in love with you,” he finally admitted, the vulnerability in his voice making your breath catch. “I want this to work. I’m ready to talk to you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his confession settled in. For a moment, the weight of everything—the silence, the confusion, the pain—seemed to dissolve in the warmth of his words.

“You’re ready?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He nodded, his eyes searching yours. Without a word, he gently took your hand in his, his touch warm but hesitant. He led you to sit on the couch with him, and for a moment, there was only silence as he seemed to gather his thoughts.

Wooyoung exhaled deeply, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t even know where to start,” he said, his voice low. “But if I’m going to do this, I need to tell you everything. No more hiding.”

You nodded, your heart pounding.

“When I started college, Yongha and I were roommates,” he began, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “It was a random assignment, but we clicked almost instantly. He was funny, easy to talk to, and we had so much in common. It didn’t take long for us to become best friends. We did everything together—parties, late-night food runs, you name it.”

He paused, looking down at your hand in his, as if drawing strength from your touch.

“At the time, I was dating my ex, Sohee, the girl you saw me with,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “We’d been together since senior year of high school. She goes to another university nearby, but we made it work. Or at least, I thought we did.”

You felt the tension radiating from him as he tightened his grip on your hand slightly.

“The first time she cheated on me was during her freshman year,” he said bitterly. “She got drunk at a party and hooked up with some random guy. She swore it was a mistake, begged me to forgive her, and like an idiot, I did. I told myself it was just a one-time thing cause she was drunk.”

You stayed silent, letting him continue at his own pace.

“The second time was during spring break,” he said, his jaw clenching. “She hooked up with one of her friends while I was visiting my family. I didn’t find out until weeks later when her other friend accidentally told me about it. By then, I was already questioning everything, but I was too scared to let her go. She was my first love, you know? I thought I could fix us.”

His eyes darkened as he continued, his voice filled with pain and anger.

“But the third time…” He trailed off, swallowing hard. “That’s when everything fell apart. It was during the start of junior year. I came back to campus earlier than planned after a weekend trip. Yongha had texted me saying he’d be at Yeosang’s place, so I figured I’d swing by and hang out. When I got there…”

His voice cracked, and he looked away, his eyes glistening. “I walked in on them. Sohee and Yongha. They were making out in Yeosang’s living room, like I didn’t even exist. Like what they were doing wasn’t the ultimate betrayal.”

Your heart ached as you listened, the rawness in his voice cutting deep.

“I ended it with both of them right there,” he said firmly. “I told Sohee we were done, and I told Yongha I never wanted to see his face again. Yeosang had gone to the nearby convenience store to get beer and when he came back just as I was about to leave, he told them to get out.”

He turned to you then, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and fear. “That’s why I’ve been so distant, Y/N. That’s why I’ve been so scared to let you in. Because I know what it feels like to be betrayed by the people you trust the most. And when I saw you with Yongha constantly…” He shook his head, his voice breaking. “I couldn’t handle it. It brought everything back.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you absorbed his words, the weight of his past hitting you like a tidal wave. “Wooyoung…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I’m not saying this to make excuses,” he said quickly, his gaze locking onto yours. “I just… I needed you to know. I needed you to understand why I’ve been such a mess. But I swear to you, Y/N, I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want my past to ruin what we could have.”

His vulnerability broke something inside you, and without thinking, you reached out, wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. “You won’t lose me,” you whispered fiercely. “But you have to let me in, Wooyoung. I can’t fight for this alone.”

He held onto you like you were his lifeline, his head buried in your shoulder. “I’ll try,” he promised, his voice muffled. “For you, I’ll try.”

You gently pulled back from the hug, your hands still resting on his shoulders. Wooyoung’s eyes were heavy with emotion, his vulnerability laid bare in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“Wooyoung,” you began softly, your voice steady but full of feeling. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. No one deserves to be betrayed like that, especially not by the people they trust most.”

His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested on his lap. “It’s not you I don’t trust,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I trust you, Y/N. I do. It’s him I don’t trust.”

You nodded, understanding his perspective. “I get that. What Yongha did to you was unforgivable, and I’m not here to defend him. But Wooyoung, I need you to know that whatever he and I share—it’s strictly professional. I’m his teammate. Nothing more.”

“I know that,” he said quickly, his eyes darting back to yours. “But it doesn’t stop me from… hating that you have to be around him. It’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve to be anywhere near you.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “I can’t change the fact that we’re on the same team,” you said gently. “But I can promise you this: Yongha doesn’t mean anything to me. You do. And I would never let him come between us.”

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on your hand as if anchoring himself to you. “I want to believe you,” he admitted, his voice strained. “And I do. I trust you. But the thought of him…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You’re allowed to feel that way,” you said softly. “I’d probably feel the same if I were in your shoes. But this—what we have—it’s worth figuring out, isn’t it?”

His gaze softened, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease just slightly. “It is,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re worth it. I’m just…”

“Scared,” you finished for him, a small, understanding smile tugging at your lips.

He nodded, his eyes glimmering with the weight of unspoken fears. “Yeah. Scared of losing you. Scared of… him trying to ruin this.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said firmly, cupping his face with your free hand. “And as for Yongha, I’ll handle him. He doesn’t get to ruin anything—not for you, not for us.”

Wooyoung let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now.

You smiled back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Well, too bad,” you whispered against his mouth. “You’re stuck with me.”

For the first time in days, the tension between you seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but genuine sense of hope.

“So… you want to date me?” Wooyoung asked in a sheepish tone, though there was a tinge of insecurity and vulnerability to it.

“I do, Woo. I’m in love with you too,” you admitted, and his eyes widened. “But I’d rather not rush into anything right now.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his widened eyes softening as he absorbed your words. There was a flicker of relief, though it was quickly accompanied by a slight furrow of his brow. “Not rush into anything?” he repeated carefully, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You nodded, keeping your gaze steady. “I want to make sure we’re both ready for this, Woo. I’m in love with you, and I know you feel the same, but after everything that happened, I don’t want us to start something that might get tangled in unresolved feelings or doubts.”

His lips pressed together as he considered your words, his thumb unconsciously stroking over your knuckles. “I don’t doubt how I feel about you,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking the vulnerability in his voice.

“I know,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand gently. “But it’s not just about feelings. It’s about making sure we’re in a good place—both of us.”

Wooyoung’s gaze dropped for a moment, his lashes casting shadows against his cheeks. When he looked back up, there was a flicker of determination in his eyes. “You’re right,” he admitted, though his voice was tinged with reluctance. “I just… I’m scared that if I wait too long, I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, leaning closer so your foreheads nearly touched. “I’m not going anywhere. We can take things slow, figure this out together. There’s no rush, Woo.”

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, though the vulnerability lingered in his gaze. “Slow, huh?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “Does that mean I still get to kiss you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound lightening the mood between you. “You already kissed me, genius,” you teased, brushing your nose against his.

“Yeah, but that was before the whole ‘taking it slow’ thing,” he countered with a grin that was quickly becoming more playful.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Does that answer your question?” you whispered when you pulled back.

Wooyoung grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Crystal clear,” he said, his voice warm and teasing, though there was a new softness to it—a promise of patience and understanding.

-x-x-x-

2 months later

The rooftop of Wooyoung’s apartment building was a winter wonderland, blanketed in fresh snow that crunched under your boots as you ran. Your hectic semester had just come to an end, and with it came heavy snowfall, much to your delight.

Wooyoung had been relentless, pelting you with snowballs and laughing with childlike joy as you tried to dodge them. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, his grin wide and mischievous as he chased you.

“Truce!” you called out breathlessly, holding up your hands.

“Truce?” he echoed, feigning suspicion but dropping his snowball nonetheless. He stepped closer, his dark eyes glimmering under the soft glow of the rooftop lights.

You nodded, smiling as you tried to catch your breath. “Yeah. I surrender.”

“Good,” he said with a smirk, leaning in close. “Because I was going to win anyway.”

“Oh, shut up,” you replied, laughing as you playfully shoved him.

His arms wrapped around you in a swift, warm hug, pulling you against him. “You’re freezing,” he murmured, his breath visible in the icy air.

“Whose fault is that?” you teased, but your words softened as you looked into his eyes.

He smiled at you, tender and full of something deeper. “Let’s go inside.”

The elevator ride down was quiet, your hands still entwined as warmth slowly returned to your fingers. By the time you reached his apartment, your cheeks were pink from the cold and from the way Wooyoung’s gaze lingered on you.

Once inside, he guided you to the couch, handing you a blanket before sitting down beside you. “I, uh… have something for you,” he said, his voice a little unsure.

You raised an eyebrow. “Something for me? What’s the occasion?”

“Just… stay here,” he said, quickly getting up and disappearing into his room.

When he returned, he was holding a small box wrapped neatly in silver paper. He sat down beside you again, his knee brushing yours as he handed it to you. “Open it.”

Your fingers were slightly trembling—not from the cold anymore—as you carefully unwrapped the box. Inside was a delicate necklace with a small heart pendant wrapped in the infinity symbol, the metal catching the light beautifully.

“Wooyoung…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I wanted to give you something that shows how much you mean to me,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “The heart is for… well, my heart, because it’s yours. And the infinity symbol… it’s because I want this to last. Forever.”

Your throat tightened, and you looked at him, your eyes already glistening with emotion. “Wooyoung…”

He reached out, gently taking the necklace from the box. “Can I?”

You nodded, turning so he could clasp it around your neck. His fingers were steady, but when he finished, he let them linger on your shoulders.

“I love you,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his words. “I’ve loved you for so long, Y/N. And I want to ask… will you be my girlfriend?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you turned back to face him. “You’re such an idiot for even having to ask,” you whispered with a watery laugh.

His face fell slightly. “Wait, is that a no—”

You didn’t let him finish, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss. He froze for a moment before melting into it, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you closer.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, and you smiled. “It’s a yes, you idiot. Of course, it’s a yes.”

His grin broke out like sunshine, bright and pure, and he kissed you again, more passionately this time.

“Good,” he murmured against your lips. “Because I’m never letting you go.”

The warmth of Wooyoung’s embrace enveloped you as you sat together on his couch, the delicate weight of the necklace now resting against your collarbone. His kisses softened, turning into small pecks on your lips, your cheeks, and even the tip of your nose, making you giggle.

“You’re in a good mood,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair out of his face.

“I just secured the best girlfriend in the world,” he said smugly, his arms tightening around your waist. “Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”

“Flatterer,” you replied with a mock roll of your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” His tone shifted slightly, becoming softer, more sincere. “These past two months… you’ve been my light. Even when I was being a coward, you stuck by me. I don’t deserve you, but I’ll spend every day trying to prove myself wrong.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you cupped his face in your hands. “Wooyoung, don’t say you don’t deserve me. We both have our flaws, our scars, but that’s what makes us stronger. And I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re stuck with me.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Stuck with you, huh?” He opened his eyes, a playful glint returning. “I think I can live with that.”

“Good,” you said with a grin. “Now, how about we celebrate? Hot chocolate and a cheesy rom-com?”

“Cheesy rom-com?” he groaned dramatically, though his lips twitched with amusement. “I thought we were celebrating, not torturing me.”

“Hey, I’ve endured enough action movies for you,” you shot back. “It’s your turn to compromise.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But I’m picking the snacks.”

“Deal.”

As you both moved to the kitchen to prepare for your cozy night in, you couldn’t help but glance down at the necklace again, your fingers brushing over the pendant. It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry; it was a promise, a symbol of the love you both were willing to fight for.

And as Wooyoung pulled you into another unexpected hug, whispering “I love you” into your ear, you realized that this was it—this was the beginning of your forever.

The End.

A/N: Precious readers, you have made it to the end! I want to sincerely thank you for taking the time to read yet another fic of mine, or if this is your first one, I hope you enjoyed it! I am working on a new story that will come out this month, so stay tuned! <3

[100vern]

while he's gone | ksy & hvc

𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 // 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓.

★ pairing: vernon x f. reader; established hoshi x f. reader ★ genre: open relationship, fwb to lovers au; smut, fluff, lite angst ★ summary: your boyfriend's on tour, but vernon's still in town. ★ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ★ warnings: i am reiterating that this is an open relationship so there is NO CHEATING!! i don't wanna hear it!! soloist hoshi, producer vernon, i wax way too poetic about music and interior design, swearing, alcohol, use of pet names, one miscommunication, one tiny argument that gets resolved, discussions about polyamory. everyone being in love and down bad for one another. ★ smut warnings: mentions of threesomes, voyeurism (over the phone), dirty talk, oral sex, dry humping??, protected vaginal sex, marking/biting, multiple orgasms, sex toys, cuckolding, recording (photos/videos), masturbation, teasing, cum play/eating, lingerie. please tell me if i forgot anything! ★ wordcount: 12.6k ★ credits: cam (@highvern) for spreading the "hoshi holding vernon's head down" agenda far and wide. bee (@imnotshua) for telling me when my words don't make sense and fixing them. jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over. ★ author's note: more cursed thoughts thanks to a conversation about monsta x with @aeristudios. i've been wanting to write a fic based off "got my number" for ages, so here we are! a lil treat dedicated to @sailorsoons for girlbossing her ass off these last few weeks (and pulverizing her knee). i would also like to apologize to all the hansol truthers. i typed it out once and had a visceral reaction, much like i did using hoshi's government name, so he's just vernon.

Your boyfriend’s flight departed from Incheon just shy of four p.m., though he’d left the apartment long before that.

Needed time to make the hour and a half drive. Fix his hair and makeup before he hopped out and posed for Dispatch. Push his way through the horde of fans and to security, get his face scanned and passport checked. Needed time to make it to the privacy of his terminal lounge where he could catch his breath and lock himself in the bathroom. Needed time to send you a mirror selfie: hoodie unzipped to the middle of his bare sternum, hat pulled low to cover his eyes, tongue just barely peeking out from between his lips.

Made it 😘, it said.

Beneath that, even though the two of you have been through this exact scenario more times than you can count—even though it’s the same every time and he said all the same things as he was fucking you into the mattress last night and again this morning, as he was kissing you goodbye at the door hours ago:

Soonyoung: Love u babe. Gonna miss u sooo much~ I’ll text u every chance I can !! Soonyoung: Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do ㅋㅋㅋ just kidding don’t u dare behave Soonyoung: Send me pictures tho. What if I get lonely 😔

There was a thought: your boyfriend on tour, all alone between the cold, crisp sheets of his hotel bed, no one to occupy all that extra space. You’d snorted at that. Replied with the eye-roll emoji and wondered, privately, if he was going to meet up with the same old flames; if he was going to send you pictures with faces and bodies you recognized. Anticipation clawed its way up your spine and settled in your gut, left behind an insurmountable want.

Saying goodbye was always hard, but this part? It felt like Soonyoung held the forbidden fruit in his hand, sliced and fed to you on the point of a paring knife.

Delicious, in other words.

Whatever you and Vernon have fallen into can best be described as a foregone conclusion: Soonyoung leaves, Vernon arrives, and there’s no need for the discretion or the habit, but you can’t deny there’s a certain allure to it. It feels scandalous, dirty—something that only happens in a dark corner away from prying, garrulous eyes—even though it isn’t. Not really.

Soonyoung will be in Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand; he’ll be in Berlin, Paris and London; he’ll go across North and South America. In every one of those places, someone will keep him company until he comes home to you. And, after every single time, you’ll have something in your inbox to mark the occasion—a text, some pictures, a video—because your boyfriend is nothing if not a pervert.

So no, the discretion isn’t necessary. You and Soonyoung are free to do as you please, both separately and together, which is how all of this started, anyway: his album release party, prod. by VERNON in the credits, you safely sequestered on the other side of a velvet rope. Not a secret, just… not out in the open, either, which was both a little embarrassing and difficult to explain to Vernon over the deafening, teeth-shattering background noise as he unabashedly hit on you.

He’d known, of course, that Soonyoung had been writing love songs about someone, but he hadn’t known it was you he’d helped him write about.

Not that it mattered much in the end. Soonyoung had slunk over, drunk on the spotlight and the status it afforded him, the most important man in the room, and looked Vernon dead in the eye. Pushed his tongue into the fat of his cheek, looked like a real sleazy piece of shit, and said, “You wanna fuck my girl?”

He did, admittedly, and Soonyoung had rewarded him for his honesty. Took both of you home and held Vernon’s head down as he told him how to eat you out, wet and messy and filthy. You came in record time, and a man that made you come in record time was not one you were itching to get rid of.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions you don’t have answers to. Doesn’t mind your unconventional relationship and definitely doesn’t mind recording the way you suck his cock: the way spit pools in the corners of your mouth and glistens under the flash; the way you moan around him as he rasps out husky praise; the way he says shit—fuck, baby, just like that, cock’s so far down your fuckin’ throat, huh; how wet your eyelashes are and the tears tracking down your cheeks.

Vernon fucks you right and doesn’t ask a lot of questions and calls Soonyoung hyung even though they’re colleagues, but that’s the sort of relationship you naturally fall into after you have a threesome and fuck said colleague’s girlfriend, you suppose, and Soonyoung doesn’t mind it. Because he’ll go away for whatever it is he gets called away for and Vernon will come over and tell you to ride him as he pulls out his phone and says shit like, “God, hyung, she’s about to come all over my cock. I don’t think she’s thinking about you at all. You aren’t, are you, baby? You’re not thinking about Soonyoung-hyung at all, are you? Only me,” between gasping, fractured moans.

And Soonyoung knows how that feels, is the thing. Knows the feeling of being suffocated in your tight, wet heat and how it can drive a man nearly to madness, and all he feels is pride. That’s his girl, bringing another man to his knees.

Hence the routine.

Normally you’d go out—a swanky new rooftop bar, a nightclub owned by a friend of a friend. Your drinks would glow neon blue under the blacklights, skinny red straw stuck in a plastic cup that matched the cherry at the bottom. Your skin would glisten with sweat as one of your friends twirled you around, kaleidoscope shapes behind your eyelids, both of you laughing breezy and sweet.

At some point throughout the night, Vernon would text you. You’d send him your location. He’d show up in an outfit contradicting the exclusivity of wherever you were, shower-soft, Sauvage on his wrists and neck, and he’d lean in close, ask if you wanted to stay or get out of there. Discarded on your bedroom floor, pooling at his feet in the club bathroom—it no longer mattered what he was wearing, because it never stayed on very long.

So here you are. While Soonyoung’s 800 kilometers away, undoubtedly trying to charm someone into his bed, you’re at home biding your time until the inevitable, no urge to go out. Instead, you indulge in yourself, work yourself up. Soonyoung, Vernon, both of them together—regardless of who you think about, the results are the same: you pinpoint the anticipation in your stomach and press, let your body sink beneath the weight of it.

Your boyfriend has only been in Osaka a handful of hours when the inevitable happens.

Vernon’s name lights up your screen. Transforms the slow simmer of expectation into full-blown wildfire. Has you squeezing your thighs together, bottom lip tugged between your teeth, when you open the text thread. Before tonight, the last time he’d texted you was three months ago: two o’clock in the morning, a video with a completely innocent thumbnail belying its content, already sent this to hyung but figured u might want it too written underneath.

Vernon: heard soonyoung hyung’s out of town for a while Vernon: what are u doing tonite

You exhale a soft laugh. As if Vernon just happened to stumble upon this information. As if he doesn’t already know what you’ll be getting up to tonight. As if he also isn’t falling victim to the desire. As if his lowercase letters and disregard for his ego with a double-text aren’t feigned nonchalance.

But just because you both know exactly where this is heading doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

So you pull your shirt over your head and toss it aside. Open up your camera and angle your body the way you like: glossed lips parted, the bruise Soonyoung sucked into your skin this morning just beneath your collarbone, cleavage framed perfectly, curve of your ass center frame, both covered in cheeky forest green lace. You snap a photo and another one with a painted-on pout; snap a third as the tips of your fingers delve beneath the waistline of your panties.

You: [Attachment: 3 Images] You: Hopefully you?

At the receiving end, Vernon swears, drops his phone. Of course you’re bathed in his favorite color. Of course you’re wrapped in sheets he’s lucky enough to know the feel of. Dizzy, his breath catches in his throat; tries to stave off feeling like he’s in free-fall. He’s no stranger to this kind of insatiable hunger—becomes reacquainted with it every few months, in fact—but it always catches him unaware. Always comes back with such a vengeance, as if all the times before had simply been the prefix.

He grabs his jacket.

Vernon’s barely been at your place twenty minutes when your phone rings.

You groan as he rolls his cock against you, jeans undone but still sitting low on his hips, zipper biting into your skin every time he presses you further into the mattress. The next sound you make he swallows with his mouth. Moves his lips to the column of your throat, the underside of your jaw, the spot just beneath your ear. Takes your lobe between his teeth, asks, “Is it him?” and lets you feel the way he smirks.

Blindly, you reach toward the sound, that horrible scattering across your nightstand that makes your teeth ache. It must be Soonyoung because it’s relentless, another call just as the first one ends, and you’re trying, you really are, but Vernon’s relentless, too. Abandons your space, takes your common sense and all his heat with him as he sits back on his haunches and moves his hands beneath your ass; drags you closer until your cunt—still covered in that dark lace and growing darker the wetter you become—is back against his cock and ruts.

You’re speechless, head thrown back against the pillows, the synapses of your brain misfiring and coming up empty. Both of you are still clothed and Vernon’s still having his way with you; still smirking dirty and arrogant out of the side of his mouth. Almost looks like he’s sneering a little as he asks again, “What’s the matter, baby? Not gonna answer him?” At your continued silence, he amends, “Oh, or maybe you can’t?”

You want to roll your eyes, shut him up with some sharp retort, but he’s got you exactly where he wants you. It’s a place you don’t mind being, either, because whether it’s the way his thick cock feels rubbing against your clit or the result of months of waiting, it doesn’t matter, it all feels divine. Has your breathing labored and heavy, has sweat pricking at your skin, has Vernon staring down at you with a gaze so pointed it cuts through the haze.

So he makes the decision for you. Reaches over and grabs your phone, tucks it between his ear and his shoulder. Keeps his hands free so he can keep moving you against him and greets your boyfriend with a, “Sorry, hyung, she’s a little busy right now.”

You can hear Soonyoung’s bark of laughter from where you’re laying, and then more muted chattering. He must give Vernon instructions, because Vernon puts the phone on speaker and tosses it somewhere on the bed. “Hello, princess. Are you having fun?” All you can manage is an uh-huh that’s fractured in the middle, punctuated with another roll of Vernon’s hips. “Mm, you sound so good, baby. Miss hearing you like that already. Can I see you, too?”

Vernon catches your eye as he reaches for your phone again. Waits for your nod before he points the camera at you and switches it to FaceTime. You hear Soonyoung suck in a breath. Wonder what he looks like. If the low light of his hotel room casts amber shadows across his face that intensify his stare, sharpen it to a point. If he’s got his arm tucked behind his head, laissez-faire in that way that drives you crazy, sensual without having to try. You almost ask Vernon to see, but then Soonyoung clicks his tongue and says, “That set is your favorite, isn’t it?”

The man he’s addressing looks down at you, eyes full of stars. “Yeah, hyung,” Vernon says, and it’s breathy, barely counts as separate words. Through the camera, Soonyoung watches as Vernon runs his fingertips over the hickey he’d left, over the swell of your breast and the space between each rib. Watches as Vernon grips at the meat of your thigh; as his hands flex before he grabs at you again.

“You want to touch her, don’t you? Properly.” He watches as Vernon nods, the camera wobbling with the intensity of it. “Put your mouth on her, Vernon-ah—she loves that so much.”

You can hear the shit-eating lilt to his tone and you know he’s enjoying this. That he loves watching you. Loves that Vernon’s always so fucked up over you and that he gets to direct these scenes. Loves what he gets to experience with you: something enduring and impenetrable, something that grants him freedom and indulgence. Loves you, most of all, but there will be time for that later.

Right now, he wants to watch Vernon make a mess of you. Wants to watch him pull those little lace panties to the side and eat you out, fervent and messy. Wants to hear it when he starts sucking at your clit and you keen high in your throat. Wants to watch the way you grab at his hair and force him closer as you roll your hips and seek out your own undoing.

Right now, Vernon hands the phone to you. “There’s my pretty girl,” Soonyoung says, and your face grows hot—as hot as the hands that skim over your skin and move to take off your panties. Soonyoung loves this part—loves watching someone unwrap you like a present; loves the tension even when isn’t there for it—so you flip the camera so he can see. “Leave them on,” your boyfriend instructs. Vernon’s brows pinch together. “You know she wore that set just for you, so leave it on when you fuck her. Make a mess of it. Cum all over it and ruin it, and then maybe I’ll let you take my card to buy her a new one.”

Vernon’s eyes flutter closed, long lashes fanning across his ruddy cheeks, so fucking pretty.

Anticipation sinks its claws into you again. Feels like an eternity passes before Vernon’s hands start moving again. Before he presses the pads of his thumbs into your hips and the contact makes both of you gasp. Before he leans in closer and kisses all the places he’d left fingerprints. Kisses your stomach, hips, the tops of your thighs and down, down, down until he’s where you want him—until you can feel his breath against your cunt, goosebumps rising from the warmth.

You only tear your eyes away from him to look at Soonyoung. Even through the screen you can tell he’s growing restless: pupils blown wide, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, breathing unsteady. You reach for Vernon, thread your fingers through his hair and tug, and at his resulting whine Soonyoung flips his own camera. What greets you is an expanse of familiar tan skin, his defined abs, legs spread wide, cock curved and hard.

There isn’t an ounce of shame to be found as he palms at himself. Just a ghost of a touch before he squeezes at the base and groans. All the times you’ve watched him do this… you can imagine the way his head rolls back, lips parted, muscles tensing.

“You look so good,” you murmur, and there’s no telling who it’s directed at—because Soonyoung looks good, just as he always does, but Vernon is a vision.

Especially when he’s between your legs.

There’s a glimpse of a half-cocked smile before he flattens his tongue and delves between your folds, stealing the breath from your lungs. One stripe and then another, all parallel lines as he works you over. Wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you closer to his mouth, doubles his efforts, doesn’t pay any mind to the mess he’s making, both of the sheets and of you.

You tug harder at Vernon’s hair. Roll your hips in time with his tongue, both of you endlessly noisy. Vernon groans as he sucks at your clit and you feel the sparks like lightning. Feels like he’s making a mockery of you. Feels like all he knows is your pleasure. Feels like an eternity has passed since he’s worked you over like this, and Soonyoung must agree because he almost sounds whiny as he says, “God, I missed this. Missed seeing you two together.”

You dare a look. Soonyoung jerks himself slowly with a loose fist, drags it out, savors every second and shiver that dances up his spine. Hisses through his teeth when he gathers the precum at the tip and spreads it along the length of his shaft. You want to see his face. Want to see the way his dark hair falls into his eyes when he shudders and curves into himself, the crease that forms between his brows, his eyes when they’re glassy and unfocused.

But then Vernon does something with his mouth that has you crying out—a strangled sound halfway between shock and gratification. Has you mirroring the exact image you expected to see on Soonyoung’s face. There’s poetry in that, you think, and that’s the last thought you have before Vernon drags your orgasm from you and your world tilts on its axis.

When you come to, vision still out of focus and fuzzy around the edges, you’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your phone is lost somewhere in the duvet, and Vernon’s still between your legs.

You choke. Feel around desperately for your phone and can barely hold onto it, weak and trembling, all your energy drained. Try to clamp your thighs around Vernon’s head for some reprieve but he knows you too well, knows you can take it, so he forces them back open.

Bliss spreads like wildfire. Starts in your toes and works its way into your bloodstream. Feels like you’ve been carved out of kerosene and matchsticks. It’ll be Vernon, you know—he’ll be the catalyst, light the spark that consumes and overwhelms you.

Especially when he’s like this.

When you’re the only thing that exists to him. When he’d forego pleasure for the rest of his life if it meant drowning in your pussy and getting you off. When he pays no mind to your boyfriend’s obscene goading—“Can you taste me, Vernon-ah? Did she tell you I filled her up this morning? That it was so much it was leaking out of her?”—and stays focused on you. When he runs two fingers through your mess and presses them inside, right against the spot that nearly folds you in half, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, pressure mounting.

“Oh my god. Vernon, please, it’s too much, I’m gonna—”

You feel him smile against your cunt. Pulls back only far enough to bite at the juncture of your thigh and say, “I know you can take it,” in his hoarse voice. With lips that are covered in you. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you, baby? And you’re gonna be a good girl and soak through these fucking sheets while your boyfriend has to jerk himself off.”

That’s exactly what happens.

The cord inside you snaps. Soonyoung swears as he watches you come again, body pulling taut, Vernon’s name spilling from your lips like a mantra. Vernon’s on you immediately, setting the phone on your nightstand and kissing you senseless. Lets you taste yourself and the way you claimed him. Slots his body between your legs, careful as he presses against you because he knows how oversensitive you get. Waits until the tremors subside and he can feel you tracing shapes against his back before he murmurs a quiet okay? into your ear.

It takes a second for you to nod, but you do.

Vernon looks to his right at your phone. “Still want her fully dressed, hyung? She’s made a pretty big mess already.”

Soonyoung laughs, breathy and a little disbelieving. He loves this part, too, when Vernon dishes back as good as he gets. Both of them know it’s not a competition and would never treat it as one, but Soonyoung can’t help himself sometimes. Loves to stir shit just because he can—because Vernon is younger and looks up to him, but also because you like Vernon and he enjoys teasing you just as much.

So Soonyoung laughs. Asks, “How are you feeling, pretty girl? You want him to fuck you?” and continues stroking himself, pace leisurely, cock glistening with spit and precum, balls tight.

He’s always affected.

And so are you. You nod. Readjust your body beneath Vernon’s so he can press in tighter, so you can wrap your legs around his waist and delight in the sounds he makes—first like the breath’s been punched out of him, then more intentional as the electricity ebbs away and settles into his bones. His fingers grip at your thigh, movements fluid as he rocks his hips, unconcerned with the stickiness seeping through the fabric of his briefs.

Vernon wants you every second of every single day, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

You move your hands to his face. Let your thumbs rest on the high points of his cheekbones and settle into the contours there. Press your lips to his and lick into his mouth, all teeth and tongue and no savoir-faire. Vernon responds in kind. Starts moving frenetic and mindless, vehemence making up for his lack of composure, swallowing everything you give him.

Fucks you up a little that he still tastes like you—that you’re not all that easy to rinse out.

“Shit,” he swears, slurring the word against your mouth, lips bitten red and swollen. “Need you so bad, baby, please.”

Your vision swims, the raw urgency in Vernon’s tone making everything look like television static. All you can do is nod, spread your legs wider, press your body into him and hope he knows what to do with it, but he needs you to say it. “Tell me,” he says, settling a hand around your throat. Not tight—just so he can feel your words, just so he knows they’re there. “Tell me you want me. Tell me how you want me to give it to you.”

“Want you. Wanna ride you,” you answer. “Wanna be able to look at you. So pretty, Nonie—you look so pretty when you cum, I wanna see it.”

Vernon swears again. Sits back and has his jeans and underwear pulled off before you can process what’s happening, rolls on a condom, and that’s where you meet him, in the center of the bed. You move into the space between his spread legs, drape your arms over his shoulders as your knees bracket his hips, spit into your hand and work it over his cock, thumbing at the head just to make him whine.

“Babe—”

And then you’re pulling your panties to the side and sinking down on it.

The stretch is overwhelming. Steals the air from your lungs. Has Vernon pressing his forehead to yours, sharing your breath, dimpling your hips with bruising fingerprints. “Slow,” he pleads, and you’d give him anything, so you kiss the spot just beneath his eye, say okay, okay, and turn your attention to Soonyoung.

Not far off from how you’d left him: touching himself with reverence, not an ounce of shame to be found; sounds spilling from his lips that sound like home. He doesn’t notice you watching, but it doesn’t matter, he’s a performer in every aspect of his life. Thrives when he’s under the spotlight, demanding everyone’s attention, all eyes on him. Sex is no different. Always goes into it with eyes wide open, so you’re not surprised when he feels yours on him. When he says, “What’s the matter, princess?”

Beneath you, Vernon’s starting to gather his bearings. Thrusts slow and shallow and groans. “Did you bring it?” you ask Soonyoung, trying to keep your voice steady as Vernon fucks into you.

“The—”

“Yes,” you interject, already knowing what he was going to ask. Shit, Vernon feels so good. “Get it out. Use it. Wanna see you cum that way.”

Soonyoung swears. Says, “Fuck—god, yeah, I’ll get it,” and disappears from the screen. Vernon’s lips move to your chest, your neck, your mouth. He’s moving in earnest, now—doesn’t care what he sounds like, that he’s devolved into staccato whines and half-syllables. Doesn’t care about the mess between your legs.

Doesn’t care that when Soonyoung comes back onto the screen, you’re wholly focused on him, grinning pleased and wicked. If you want him to work for it, he will. If you want him to give it to you so good you’re not even thinking about your boyfriend, that’s what he’s going to do. If you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t even speak, well, that’s the goal.

So he doubles his efforts. Plants his feet on the bed and uses the leverage to bury himself as deep in you as he can. He’s done this enough to know his angles, know how to have you dripping and shaking, but he wants to savor this. Wants to drag it out for you. Some sick, selfish part of him wants this to be the fuck you’re thinking about later as you’re about to drift to sleep even though you aren’t his to claim. Not like that, anyway. He can still paint you in bruises that match Soonyoung’s, undecipherable from one another. No telling what’s his work and what’s Vernon’s.

“Tell me what to do.”

Vernon glances sideways. Watches as his hyung dribbles lube all over his cock, slicks himself up. Glances at you and sees you watching. Sees the way your jaw ticks, your eyes darken. Can feel how endless your love is for Soonyoung and he wants to burn up.

But then you say, “Fuck yourself the way Vernonie’s fucking me,” and the words soothe over him like a balm. Even more so when Soonyoung listens; when he grabs the pocket pussy and works it slowly down his shaft, moaning long and drawn out the entire way.

“God, I’m about to fucking bust.” Soonyoung laughs. “Tell me how he’s fucking you, pretty girl. Bet it feels even better than this, huh? Bet he’s making you feel so good.”

Everyone’s about to make an early exit at this rate. Vernon tells (begs) him to shut up in so many words. Tries to focus on himself, thinks about every terrible thing in the world to stave it off, but the way you’re nodding along with Soonyoung’s words are hurtling him towards the end at record speed. The way you look at Vernon with constellations in your eyes. The way you’re reduced to mindless babbling, all your words slurring together as you say, “It’s so good. So good, Soonyoungie, he’s so deep, fucks me so good, god I’m gonna come again—”

Vernon panics, bites at your collar bone, knows he wouldn’t survive feeling you clench around his cock. Tells you, “Not yet,” even though he’s barely able to choke out the words; even though he can barely endure you now, cunt spasming, walls fluttering around him. The unbelievable white-hot heat, the vice grip. Fuck, he wants to do this every day. Wants to do this for the rest of his life.

And you must be able to tell. Must see how spaced out he looks, because you move your hands to the center of his chest and dig your nails in, urge him backwards until he’s propped up on one elbow. This is what Vernon sees when he closes his eyes, when it’s been months since he’s seen you and he’s cumming all over his fist: the lines of his own body, the coarse strip of hair that leads from his stomach to where your bodies connect; you on top of him, hips sinuous and sinful as you circle them.

You put on a show of your own. Move your hands to his knees and spread your legs wider. Vernon’s cock looks obscene inside of you, trapped beneath your lace panties, so he grabs your phone, makes sure Soonyoung can see what he’s seeing. Makes sure Soonyoung can see the sheen your wetness leaves on his skin as you grind back and forth on him. Makes sure Soonyoung can hear the slapping of your and Vernon’s skin, the way your pussy squelches, how lewd everything sounds in the still air of the bedroom the two of you share.

“Jesus—fuck,” Soonyoung says down the line, voice metallic and fucked out. “You two are so goddamn hot together. Make her come, Vernon-ah, and then I wanna see her covered in you. Wanna see you ruin my pretty girl.”

Vernon shudders and nearly folds in on himself. Grabs your hip to slow your movements, refusing to get off before you, but you’re determined. Your grin is devilish as you move his hand to your clit and tell him to get to work. As you lean forward briefly to kiss him before you’re moving in earnest again, more intentional than before, and it’s all Vernon can do to stay conscious. All of it’s too much: the way you look above him, head thrown back, the marks he’d left on your throat; the way you’re able to handle both of them at once, riding Vernon into the mattress while you talk Soonyoung over the edge, the most filthy words spilling out of your mouth.

The way you gasp as Vernon thumbs circles against your clit and reach for his hand, trying to ground yourself as your pussy clenches, as you barely have time to stammer out the words before you’re coming on his cock.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Vernon pulls out, almost cries at no longer being enveloped in your heat, pulls off the condom and fists his cock once, twice, and then watches, entranced, as he does what his hyung said and covers you in cum.

Your tits, your stomach, the fabric of your panties.

For a moment, everything is quiet, everyone still coming down and trying to catch their breath. You’re spent, exhausted and satiated in ways you haven’t been in months. Every muscle in your body feels overworked. Your throat feels raw. Every inch of skin that’s bruised feels like a branding iron, and it is, you suppose.  Soonyoung’s, Vernon’s, it doesn’t matter—you wear them both.

“Don’t wash those,” comes Soonyoung’s voice.

It takes you a second to realize what he means. “My panties?” you ask, shock apparent. You’d known he was a freak, of course, but the depths of his perversion continue to surprise you. “Soonyoung…”

“Don’t kink shame me, princess, I’m covered in my own jizz and I need another shower. I came so hard I think I had religious visions. How’re you feeling, Vernon-ah?”

The man in question doesn’t answer. You’d think he was asleep with his eyes open if you knew he was capable of it, but that’s not what’s going on. Vernon’s fixated on you. Can’t tear his eyes off of you and the cum that’s drying into your skin, and you know you shouldn’t, that you should give him a break, but there’s no fun in that, so you trail your fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them into your mouth.

“Yeah, don’t need to ask after that. Goddamn. I’m gonna go shower before you get me hard again. Good luck with her.”

The call disconnects. In the aftermath, the silence is almost stifling, almost makes you feel a sense of guilt that’s entirely undeserved, but then Vernon’s sitting up and crowding your space, hands behind your back as he works at the knots he finds there. Pulls you in closer. Presses a spun-sugar kiss to your forehead that makes your heart skip a beat.

The thing is, though: he doesn’t stay.

It’s not a rule. It’s not something Soonyoung requested to keep some semblance of boundaries in your relationship. He doesn’t care, and neither do you, but Vernon does. Doesn’t want to overstep and muddy the lines. Doesn’t want to make it seem like more than it is, and you’ve always been fine with that, but something about this time feels different. Strikes you someplace deep, hidden away, tucked behind your ribs. Vernon runs you a bath and changes the sheets while you’re soaking your aching muscles and when you’re tucked into bed, he presses another kiss to your forehead, your eyelids, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. Promises to text you later in the week.

And then he lets himself out.

You’re still awake an hour later when your phone lights up with a string of texts, and you force yourself not to think about what it means that you’re disappointed it isn’t Vernon.

Soonyoung: Going to sleep. The two of u wore me out ㅋㅋㅋ Soonyoung: I’ll text u in the morning. Got an early day tomorrow 😭 Soonyoung: Love u baby. Sleep tight ❤️

With Soonyoung in Paris, it’s hard to make the time difference work.

Seven hours usually isn’t a problem—it’s worse when he goes to the Americas, for example—but it’s been weeks since your technological ménage à trois and you aren’t feeling any less unsettled. All you want to do is talk to him. Ask him what the hell is going on with you, why you can’t seem to shake this, what it all means, but it just never works out.

Not the right time. Not enough time. Soonyoung often has his own plans that keep him occupied until the early hours of the morning wherever he is, and by then he’s too exhausted and you’ve been awake for hours, already well into the monotony of your day.

Still, it eats at you. Makes you feel guilty in ways you can’t rationalize. You know you haven’t done anything wrong. Haven’t done anything you haven’t done plenty of times before; haven’t done anything Soonyoung isn’t also doing when he’s not around to answer your calls. And that’s fine—even though it’s unconventional to most, you love the dynamic the two of you have. Wouldn’t change it for anything except Soonyoung himself, so you know he’s not the point of contention.

No, it’s you—you’re the problem here.

Something’s changed, but whatever it is isn’t all that keen to let you in on the secret yet.

So you do your best to push it down and swallow it. You go to work. You meet your friends for dinner and drinks. You suffer through your gym sessions just to give the anxiety and jitters someplace to go. You clean your and Soonyoung’s apartment top to bottom until there’s not a speck of dust to be found and all the countertops start to squeak. You go shopping and charge whatever you want to Soonyoung’s credit card because he’d want you to.

None of it works.

It’s no wonder, then, that you break by the time Soonyoung gets to Paris. That you’re sending up flares and paying little attention to the time difference. That you text him—

You: Can you make some time to call me today? You: I don’t care about the time. You: It’s nothing bad, I promise. Just need/want to talk to you.

—and expect something, anything, in return: the familiarity of his tone, his overuse of emojis, the way he always calls on FaceTime and always greets you barefaced and with a relieved smile, like you’re the only thing he wants to see at the end of a long day. You expect him to say anything for my girl—or, at the very least, can’t today baby 🙁 I’m so sorry, but I’ll have time tomorrow and I’ll call first thing, ok ??

You don’t get any of that.

What you get is silence.

Your texts go unanswered. He doesn’t call. You double-check your calendar just to confirm you hadn’t gotten the date confused, but he doesn’t have a show tonight. Rehearsal and a team dinner, maybe, but nothing that should make him so unavailable to you.

Well, except one very obvious thing.

There’s a flashbang of hurt you immediately try to tamper down. Soonyoung can’t read your mind. He’s never ignored you when you’ve needed him or given you reason to believe he’d do something like this intentionally and maliciously—not to mention that the arrangement the two of you have has never been an issue before, so it’s nothing to get upset over. You know it’s nothing to get upset over, but knowing doesn’t suck the poison out.

A temporary lapse in communication is all this is. You’ve survived worse.

It’s just—

This shapeless, undefinable thing that’s clawed its way inside of you isn’t going anywhere. And you can deal with the stopgap emotions until you’re able to put a name to it—the anger and confusion, the abstract betrayal—but it’s always easiest to carry burdens with two sets of hands, is all.

Hours tick by. What was two hours without a response turns into four; four turns into six turns into you readying yourself for bed and spending the night tossing and turning, checking your phone every time you awake in the middle of the night. When your alarm goes off at eight o’clock and there’s still nothing, all those ugly feelings come swimming back to the surface.

Your first call rings and rings until it goes to voicemail.

So does the second.

Soonyoung answers the third out of breath, voice gravelly. A woman’s laughter greets you before he can, and for the first time ever, it makes you sick to your stomach. Makes you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. Has your hands trembling, all your words stuck in your throat, frustrated tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

Another twinkling laugh that your boyfriend responds to with a husky one of his own. “Hello? Hi, baby, I’m a little—”

Busy, he’s going to say. You’ve gathered as much. Busy is laughing in your ear, probably has her hands all over him, and it’s always been like this, the sharing and the nonexistence of possessiveness, but you come first. That’s the rule. Both of you come first to one another, so busy isn’t acceptable. Busy has resentment biting at your heels. Has your blood pressure spiking, your skin flushing hot.

Has you cutting him off, saying, “So busy you couldn’t answer my fucking texts?” with so much animosity all noise at the other end of the line immediately ceases.

You hear footsteps and the shutting of a door, the turn of a lock. “Okay, I’m alone,” he murmurs softly; you wish it did anything to comfort you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

A laugh of your own, derisive and disbelieving. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been trying to do.”

You’re not about to spill your guts when Busy is in the next room over touching herself so she’s primed and ready to go when your boyfriend ends the call, goes back into the bedroom and says, sorry about that, and climbs back on top of her. You’re not about to spill your guts and feel like an inconvenience.

So you scoff and shake your head, say, “You know what, Soonyoung? Don’t even worry about it. Go back to fucking whoever the fuck she is and forget I even called.”

“Baby, come on, wait—”

You’re not about to spill your guts, so you rewrite the script.

You end the call. You ignore the texts that follow.

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

Vernon gets done work a little after ten.

You get off the train a few stops early and decide to walk the rest of the way. It’s been so long since you’ve done this. Since you’ve breathed in the smell of the samgyaetang and dakgalbi restaurants, the tteokbokki and bungeoppang from the street food vendors. Since you’ve thought the neon lights of Hongdae Street were going to blind you and shielded your eyes. Since you’ve walked by groups of friends posing for selfies in the middle of the sidewalk, apple cheeks from wide smiles pressed together; couples doubled over in laughter as they try to jump on one another’s backs. Since you’ve watched patrons stumble out of bars and clubs with queues to get in, faces flushed from the alcohol they’ve already consumed.

Vernon lives in Mapo, in an artsy high-rise in Seogyo-dong. New construction that’s meant to look much older, meant to resemble the industrial loft apartments found in older American cities, warehouses made irrelevant as the 21st century moved in and took hold. They’re all exposed brick, twenty-pane windows, concrete floors, neo-expressionist paintings hung in the lobby.

A block away, a bingsu restaurant is closed until the next afternoon, but it’s what lies beneath that piques your interest: a basement rock bar, show flyers plastered all over the door, live music pounding the pavement and spilling onto the sidewalk.

You’re in the lungs of the city, and it’s every bit as alive as you expected—and hoped—it would be.

You feel at home here, surrounded by people and nightlife and unrelenting noise. Where you and Soonyoung live isn’t dissimilar, just different—more refined and inhibited, more concerned with appearances than letting loose. You’ve gotten good at rubbing elbows with those types of people, as necessary and inevitable as it is, but sometimes you just miss the unpolished grime of ordinary people.

Vernon’s outside waiting for you when you reach his building.

Hat pulled low over his eyes. An oversized black hoodie that drowns his lithe frame, makes him look smaller than he is. Face lit up by the glow from his phone. A lollipop stuck in his mouth that he presses into the fat of his cheek when he looks up, sees you, and smiles.

“Hi,” he greets you, arms twitching at his sides, unsure of what to do—what’s okay, what isn’t. If he’s allowed to be affectionate with you in public. If anyone can know, even though you’re no one to these people and he’s as out of the spotlight as you are.

So you make the decision for him. Place a hand on his waist, lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. When you pull back, his cheeks are the same shade of cherry red as his lips and tongue. He ducks his head, tries to hide it, but there might as well be a flashing sign above his head to signal his embarrassment. “Oh,” he says quietly, touching the spot where you’d kissed him.

You swallow. The Vernon standing in front of you is a stark contrast to the one you fall into bed with. This one is all soft, rounded edges: shy, chivalrous, almost self-conscious—the kind that wouldn’t bruise if you bumped into him. You try to ignore the way your heart is hammering away in your chest, but the duality is making your head spin.

“Do you want to grab a drink first, or should we just…” He trails off, coughing to cover himself when all you do is quirk an eyebrow just to see if you can get him to blush again. “There’s a pretty cool LP bar down that way, if you’d be into that sorta thing? But I also have vinyl at my place, so I guess it doesn’t—”

You know laughing will only mortify him more, but you can’t help it. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” comes his automatic response.

“Are you sure?” you tease, watching as his fingers—covered to the second knuckle by his sleeves—worry insistently at the fabric of his hoodie. He flushes again, mouth opening and closing around words that don’t materialize, and it’s almost painful how endeared you are by him. “Come on, then,” you say, deciding to put him out of his misery, “show me this pretty cool bar.”

It’s a short walk, only a few blocks, but Vernon sets a slow pace and holds your hand anyway. Neither of you acknowledge that his is sweat-slick, and you can tell he’s thankful for this bit of reprieve. Must help him settle, because it isn’t long before he starts yapping away, animated and buoyant. He talks about work, about the album he’s mastering and how he hasn’t yet gotten the sidechain compression on the bass where he wants it. Tells you about a group the company recently put together that he’s excited about and thinks could be really successful.

“I don’t see them much since they’re always at practice,” he explains, slowing further as you approach a convenience store, “but when they have free time some of ‘em like to sit in the studio and watch me work. This GS25 gave me a black eye once.”

“What?”

He sounds straight out of a nature documentary as he tells you the story. How he’d wanted convenience store ramen because they had a 1+1, and on the way decided he needed a Yonsei bread, too, except he was piss drunk and didn’t realize the doors weren’t automatic, so yeah—hence the black eye. And it’s not particularly funny, but you laugh until your stomach hurts anyway; laugh until both of you are off-kilter from it, shoulders knocking into one another, tears blurring your vision and making the city look crystalline.

You laugh all the way to the bar, and Vernon only lets go of you to open the door and help you inside, hand reassuring and warm when it moves to the small of your back.

A two-seater table is open in the far corner. You sit with your back to the wall and a Blondie poster above your head, content to take in the view. Vernon’s content to let you. Asks what you’d like to drink and doesn’t bat an eye when you request a midori sour. You throw him an exaggerated wink as you say, “If you ask them to put a cherry in it, I’ll show you a magic trick.”

Vernon nearly cums on the spot.

But he does as you say. Returns to the table with two drinks and a pencil and paper. “For your song requests,” he explains when he sees you eyeing it.

“Thank you,” you say, taking your midori sour from him. “What are you gonna request? And what are you drinking?”

“It’s a Coke and something,” he answers, “but I’m not telling you what.” You roll your lips to keep from laughing. As if you couldn’t smell the coconut from across the bar. As if you can’t smell it on him now, when all you can think about is if you’ll be able to taste it on him later when he’s licking into your mouth. “I think you promised me a magic trick.”

A group of American girls taught you this in university, back when you were a starry-eyed freshman completely out of your comfort zone, friendless, more wallflower than functioning human. You just need a party trick, one of them had said, something to break the ice, and that’s how you learned to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

Just like all those impressionable, hormone-riddled college boys, Vernon is stunned when you stick out your tongue to present it to him. Gets that dazed, faraway look in his eyes; has to clear his throat to get his lungs working again. Turns the tables on you when he reaches out and grabs it, putting it in his pocket for safekeeping, and then it’s you who feels like they’ve been punched in the chest.

It’s maddening, how oblivious he is to the effect he has on you.

“Did I ever tell you I was born in New York?” He drums the pencil against the table. Looks around the bar that’s grown steadily busier. “I moved here when I was five so I don’t really remember much, but it’s always felt like this huge part of me, so I went through this phase a few years ago—read a ton of books on the history of the music scene there, listened to all the albums they said were influential.”

You jot down some songs. “And? What was your verdict?”

He takes a sip of his drink. Laughs a little as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I got really into Tom Tom Club,” he answers. “You know Talking Heads, right? Tom Tom Club was the side project of the drummer and the bassist of that band. Husband and wife.”

Over the speakers, a bluesy folk song starts playing, soft and melodic. You’re not as musically inclined as your boyfriend or the man across from you, but you’re still able to be moved by it. Still able to appreciate in others when they love something so much it becomes tangible. When a bluesy folk song starts playing in a bar and it brings a smile to Vernon’s face. When he talks about artists and albums he’s discovered and speaks with all the reverence of an archaeologist digging up ancient riches thought to be long-forgotten. When you glance at the songs you’ve written down and don’t have to worry that they won’t be cool enough, because everyone here just loves music, no matter what form it takes; are able to find something to appreciate everywhere they look.

“Talking Heads had already put out, like, four or five albums I think by the time Tom Tom Club formed,” Vernon continues. His drink is almost gone. “But David Byrne had released some solo stuff by then with Brian Eno, so they wanted to do something, too, and what they made was this really funky, kind of unexpected new wave album.

“They did some really weird stuff production-wise—103 bpm when everyone else was doing 120, deliberately tuning Tina Weymouth’s bass to 150 hertz, using a really crunchy synth. I find myself going back to it every time I get stuck, mostly because it’s the sort of thing you can listen to and feel how much they loved making music.” He pauses. Almost looks horrified when he sees there’s nothing left in his glass but half-melted ice. “I—oh my god, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I’ve been talking your ear off about this.”

Head tilted to the side, you smile. “We’re in a music bar,” you deadpan. “I’d go so far as to say we’re in the perfect place for you to talk my ear off about this.”

“Yeah, but—” You give him a look that has him holding his hands up. “Okay, okay! I’ll go refill our drinks since it’s the least I can do. Do you have your…?”

That aforementioned smile morphs into something more mischievous when you hand him your slip of paper. You watch as he looks it over, nods at the picks he thinks were in good taste: “Dreams” by The Cranberries, “Don’t Push It Don’t Force It” by Leon Haywood, “Smalltown Boy” by Bronski Beat, “When I Come Around” by Green Day just to take the piss out of Vernon, who seems to have an endless collection of faded, worn Green Day t-shirts with loose necklines. Then, you watch as he gets to the last song on your list and his brows furrow.

He looks up at you. Even against the dark backdrop of the bar, against the red green blue lights casting technicolor shapes across his forehead, his cheeks, you can tell Vernon is stunned. Can see how wide his pupils have blown.

There, at the bottom of your list, is “Fantasy” by Mariah Carey.

Arguably the most well-known song to sample “Genius of Love” by Tom Tom Club.

Vernon’s apartment has three bedrooms.

One is used as a home studio, with a massive L-shaped desk that nearly takes up the entire room. In the middle, a laptop hooked up to a massive curved monitor with immaculate resolution, flanked on each side by monitor speakers. Stereo receiver. Preamps and input patch bays. A midi controller and a drum machine.

The rest of the room is taken up by instruments. An upright piano against one wall, clearly purchased secondhand; beside it, a two-tiered stand containing a keyboard and analog synthesizer. Two electric guitars, one acoustic, one bass. More microphones and over-ear headphones than you’ve ever seen in a single room.

Another resembles the LP bar: two walls of floor-to-ceiling built-ins that house his extensive vinyl collection, sorted first by genre then alphabetically. More records sit in milk crates on the floor, waiting to be catalogued and put away. To the right, on the only remaining wall that isn’t fully windows, sits a vintage credenza, most likely Japanese mid-century. You don’t have to ask—just by looking at it, you can tell Vernon’s hi-fi setup is top of the line, each item carefully chosen after hours of research and trial and error. Two plush armchairs, angled toward one another. Colorful shag rug.

His actual bedroom contains none of those things, but there are still touches of him everywhere.

Framed prints from his favorite artists and films. A concerning number of plain white t-shirts hung on a chrome clothing rack. On his nightstand, a well-used Replica candle (Jazz Club; smells like him) sits atop a stack of books with neon spines: Virgil Abloh. Nike. ICONS, Sofia Coppola Archive, Yoshitomo Nara. There’s a lamp on his dresser meant to look like entrance beacons of the New York City subway. Above his bed hangs a neon sign of Basquiat’s Beat Bop album cover, and on the floor, a black and white checkered rug.

As for the rest—well, you hadn’t been given much time to admire it before Vernon was laying you in the middle of the bed and kissing you breathless.

(It does taste like coconut when he licks into your mouth.)

And it isn’t like you needed a reminder—you never do with Vernon—but it serves as one anyway. That the two of you spent the last few hours of a Friday night drinking together in a bar, laughing at one another’s song requests, laughing at Vernon’s drinks mixed with coconut rum, laughing in general. That it’d taken a few rounds, but after the laughter faded and he plucked up the courage, he asked about your and Soonyoung’s relationship: how you met, how it started, how it works. That you answered all his questions because there was only curiosity beneath them.

That he paid your tab and held your hand as you left, giddy and eager to get back to his place. That when the two of you reached an intersection, no walking sign lit up, he pressed his chest to your back and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

That when you passed the GS25, you cracked a joke and asked Vernon if he wanted to stop and get ramen and Yonsei bread.

That he’d clenched his jaw and sent you a look that was pure heat; grabbed you by the waist and leaned in close, whispered in your ear, “I’ve been ready to bust in my fucking pants since you decided to torture me with that cherry, so I’m not doing a fucking thing that isn’t taking you back to my place and making you come over and over.”

Now here you are.

Vernon’s pace is bruising. It’s frenzied and unpredictable, like he’s trying to prove a point. What it is, you don’t know, but you find it hard to care when he’s like this. When he sheds his shyness like a second skin and is brazen in the way he wants you. When you’ve crossed the threshold of his bedroom and he makes it clear selfishness doesn’t exist here—that all you have to do is lay claim to what he’s willing to give.

And maybe that’s the thing: you can’t put a name to what you want. “Everything” feels too heavy, too much. When it’s exactly what’s on offer, it feels like the weight of the world. I couldn’t possibly ask for that, you think, and Vernon is right behind you asking, Why can’t you?

So you’ll take it, for now. You’ll let Vernon’s deft fingers undress you with reverence and you’ll claw at his back and help him pull his hoodie over his head. You’ll revel in his proximity; how it never, ever feels like he’s close enough. You’ll steal the breath from his lungs and wrap your legs around his waist to keep him draped over you like chiffon. And the first time your phone vibrates you’ll ignore it. The second and third times, too.

When it doesn’t let up, Vernon pulls back. Asks, “Is that…? Should I grab it?”

You only have a split-second to decide how things are going to play out—not only this, right here, but everything that comes after. You and Soonyoung come first to one another, but you still feel scorned. A bit petty. Hi, baby, I’m a little busy, still feels like a bruise; has hurt coursing you like it came from a blood bag.

So you thread your fingers through his hair—impossibly soft; the color of molten chocolate—until they’re resting at the back of his neck. Bring his mouth back to yours and let the taste of him transport you someplace else. Vernon groans as he fits his hands to the curve of your waist.

Your phone is still ringing. Vernon opens his mouth and you shake your head. “No,” you answer, voice unwavering, “this one’s just for us.” He stares down at you. Everything he’s feeling shows clearly on his face, but it’s still undecipherable: the push and pull of the tide, always changing. “Kiss me.”

He does. Whatever fire had consumed him earlier has cooled off considerably, replaced only with the need for closeness. Every press of his mouth against your body is delicate. Every brush of his fingertips and knuckles against your skin is tender. When he kisses down your body and makes you come with his tongue, it isn’t booming fireworks but a quiet gasp into the crook of your elbow.

When he rolls on a condom and presses into you, he twines your fingers together again, and they aren’t sweaty. When he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the words he speaks against you are full of velvet praise. When he moves his hips, the sound of his skin against yours reminds you of a symphony: adagios bookended by scherzos, culminating in a shared finale that leaves you both glowing and euphoric.

Four a.m. looks different from Vernon’s apartment.

More down to earth, not as deep into the clouds. You’ve called Seoul home for the entirety of your adult life, but you’re still learning its secrets. Here, on Vernon’s side of the city, it’s more lively. Sleeps less. You watch as dot-sized people duck in and out of 24/7 shops; as groups of friends converge and separate like starling murmuration. You watch through bleary eyes as the city lights start to blur together.

This is where Vernon finds you, sitting on his living room floor, knees tucked against your chest.

Wordlessly, he sits beside you. Stretches his legs out, hands planted on the rug behind him. He’s close enough that you can feel the warmth still stuck to his skin, see every breath he takes from the corner of your eye. And you think you should say something—maybe apologize if you woke him—but four a.m. is built for silence.

Minutes pass. The traffic signals go through their sequence, green yellow red green yellow. The stream of dot-sized people remains steady. The man beside you is steady, too, but he’s also perceptive, and usually it’s a perception that lets you initiate, come closer once you’re ready, doesn’t push. Not this time. This time, he turns to face you and studies your profile. Must notice something, because his eyes narrow, perfect brows pinching in the middle. “You okay?” You nod. Give him a smile you hope is convincing. Four a.m. is a lot of things, but it doesn’t feel like the time or place for this kind of revelation.

Because you like him.

Something of this magnitude should feel world-altering, you think, but it doesn’t. Even if it was subconscious, you’ve known this, so it feels the same as when you look at the sky and see it’s blue, when you look at the grass and it’s green—the universe as advertised and in perfect working order. The way things are meant to be.

But you aren’t sure where the lines are drawn anymore, or if there’s anything left of them at all. Both you and Soonyoung have been here before: feelings that came out of nowhere, hookups that left a more lasting impression than others, the occasional short-term fling. All of it was within the boundaries of your relationship, but something about this—about Vernon—feels different. Feels like something you don’t want to lose.

You suck in a deep breath. “I’m okay,” you confirm, “I just… there are things I need to talk to Soonyoung about, I think.”

Vernon nods. “I figured as much with all the phone calls.”

And because it feels like something you don’t want to lose, you need to be honest. “We got into an argument yesterday morning, before I texted you. It wasn’t—I don’t even know if I’d actually call it an argument, really, because I just got pissed and hung up, but.” You sigh. Place your chin on top of your knees. “I needed to tell you that, because I don’t want it to seem like I used you. It’s not like that for me with you, but I also can’t lie and say I’m not still stung about it.”

Vernon hums. Asks, “Did you want to hurt him?”

“No,” you answer immediately, because it’s true. You never want to hurt him. “I know the relationship me and him have doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. Most people, probably. It works for us, though, and because it’s always worked, I’m not always sure what to do when it doesn’t.” A sigh. “I’m not jealous, you know? I love him, and I love that other people love him. I don’t want someone else’s normal.”

A half-smile ghosts across Vernon’s face. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“No but.” You laugh. “Well, maybe a but—ever since you left a few weeks ago, I’ve just felt… off? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I couldn’t shake this feeling I’d done something wrong, and I tried talking to Soonyoung about it but we couldn’t make the time difference work, so I texted him and asked him to make time, but he never responded, so I called him yesterday morning. I’m sure you can guess where this is going.”

“Mm, yeah,” comes his simple reply.

“I overreacted, and I need to apologize for it, but I wasn’t ready to have the conversation until I figured out what was weighing on me.”

“And?” His fingers inch closer to yours. “Did you figure it out?”

You place yours over them. “Yeah, I did.”

Vernon had gotten called into the studio just after eleven.

Both of you had tried holding onto the last dregs of excitement of waking up together for the first time. Tried blinking the exhaustion out of your eyes and showing some semblance of life as you danced around one another, brushing your teeth and getting dressed. Vernon paid for your ride home and kissed you goodbye at the door, but not before promising it’d all get figured out.

The drive takes you down streets lined with cherry blossoms in full bloom, petals covering the asphalt, blowing in the breeze. Morning doesn’t often find you philosophical, but there’s something comforting about the changing of the seasons. Winter will always give way to spring in the same way everything will always work out, just like Vernon had promised, and it makes you feel light, finally unburdened, so you dig your phone from your bag.

You: I’ll be home soon You: I know it’s early where you are, but I’m around if you’re up and want to talk

Soonyoung doesn’t answer, but this doesn’t surprise you—the message just sits there, undelivered.

So you thank the driver when he drops you outside your apartment. Without much else to do, you stop into the grocery store to grab a few things, including a bundle of yellow and pink flowers, and the café next to your building after that, where you order something strong and not watered down. You soak up the sun on your skin, let it warm you from the inside out, and after half your coffee’s gone you start to feel human again.

This only lasts as long as it takes to get to your apartment and open the door.

Because there’s your boyfriend asleep on the couch. Soonyoung, whose mouth is hanging open and is snoring lightly. Soonyoung, who’s supposed to be in Europe. Soonyoung, whose phone is laying on the floor, halfway under the couch. Soonyoung, who startles awake when you call his name and punctuate it with a question mark.

Soonyoung, who realizes it’s you and crosses the living room in milliseconds. Who pulls you into his arms before you can breathe life into another question. Who peppers kisses all over your face and sighs when you thumb away the tears beneath his eyes simply because you’re touching him. Who presses his forehead to yours, content to hold you, and you, who fists your hand in the fabric of his shirt, content to let him.

Once the shock wears off, you realize you’re still holding the flowers. Say, “Let me just…” as you gesture at the bouquet. “Then we can talk?”

He’s reluctant to let you go, but he nods anyway. Doesn’t say a thing about the dozens of flowers already covering the kitchen island. When you spin around, his cheeks are dusted pink, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “I ordered them to be delivered first thing this morning,” he explains. “Well, no—I ordered them yesterday, but they couldn’t deliver that many on such short notice. They also thought it was fake, since I was ordering them from France, so I had to call them, but—”

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, rubbing a rose petal between your fingers. “Thank you.”

“I panicked. I thought you were breaking up with me.” You don’t mean to laugh, but one tumbles out anyway. Soonyoung pouts around a smile he tries to tamper down, doesn’t take any offense because he, too, knows how absurd it sounds.

“Why would I ever do that?”

He nods his head in the direction of the couch—his favorite place to have these kinds of talks. Says having serious discussions standing up gives him heartburn. Really, you suspect it’s so he has pillows within grabbing distance for when he inevitably starts crying and needs to cover his face in embarrassment, but you’ll give him this. You’ll sit in your usual spot and wait as he sits in his, and then you’ll stretch out and place your feet in his lap like you always do. And he’ll try to apologize first like he always does because he can’t stand things being tense between you, even when it’s your fault.

Today, though, you don’t let him.

“I owe you an apology,” you say, and you want to laugh again at the shocked look on his face, that he can’t believe you beat him to the punch, but you don’t. “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. It was out of line and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I did a little,” he snarks, all self-deprecation. “I am never, ever too busy for you, and I made you feel like I was.”

“I know.” He moves to protest; you hold up a hand to stop him. “Just let me try to explain this. After Vernon left a few weeks ago, everything felt really off. I had this overwhelming sense of guilt, like I’d done something horrible and I couldn’t figure out what it was, because it’s not like I’d crossed any boundaries, you know? Everything was above board. But I wanted to talk to you about it in case you knew something I didn’t, and then we couldn’t—”

“You like him.” Soonyoung says this as a declaration rather than a question. He says this with a shit-eating grin on his face. He says this as if he’s an old philosopher imparting ancient wisdom upon you, like he’s predicted historical events and has yet to be wrong. “You do, don’t you?”

“I—yeah, but how did you know that? How long have you known that?”

He laughs. “Baby, it’s been obvious to everyone except the two of you since that first night.” You sputter, ready to defend your own honor—Soonyoung’s album release party feels like ages ago now, so surely you would’ve been able to put two and two together before now if what he’s saying were true? “I know you,” he adds, tone far more serious and gentle. “I know what you’re like when you have feelings for someone, remember? I’ve watched you fall in and out of love; not only with me, but—”

You gasp and nudge him in the ribs with your foot. “First of all, I have never fallen out of love with you. Don’t even joke about that—”

“Yes, ma’am.” Soonyoung salutes you sarcastically. Captures your foot and acts like he’s going to tickle you just to get a rise.

“Soonyoung, don’t—you know how ticklish I am! I won’t be able to control my body and I’ll kick you in the ribs or the dick or whatever and hurt you and you’ll get all upset! Also, we are in the middle of a serious conversation here! Stop derailing!”

“I’m not even doing anything,” he lies. “Please continue.”

With a groan (and a very deadly stare), you convince him to stop fucking around. He doesn’t release you entirely, but he forgoes the threats of tickling to press his thumbs into the arch of your foot instead. It works. In an instant, you’re calm, half-melted into the fabric of the couch.

“I went out with him last night.” You swallow, feeling the guilt creep in again. Soonyoung digs in deeper. “I texted him after I hung up on you. I didn’t intend for it to be one, but it very much turned into a date. I slept there.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly. Soonyoung pulls you closer, moves his hands to your calf and works at the muscle there. “I didn’t tell him.” You don’t know whose sake you’re saying this for—if it’s for Soonyoung or you or even Vernon—but it feels important to admit. To acknowledge that Soonyoung still comes first to you; that, as chaotic as things feel, one thing hasn’t changed. “Wanted to talk to you first.”

“Okay,” he replies breezily. “Let’s talk, then, pretty girl. Let’s figure it out.”

And you do.

The two of you talk for hours. Mostly apologies and promises to do better, but Soonyoung wants to hear all the perverse details of your night spent at Vernon’s apartment. Can’t help himself. Laughs when you scold him for getting hard, but you’re laughing, too. He asks if you want to date him—properly, not only when you’re feeling spiteful—and you ask if it’d be okay if you did. Briefly, you wonder if such a question is presumptuous. After all, you haven’t talked to Vernon, haven’t put your feelings into plaintext, but then you think back to the way he’d touched you last night and come to the conclusion it isn’t.

The two of you talk about the future. Soonyoung makes a point to revisit the original agreement; needs to make sure the two of you are on the same page. “It’s okay if you don’t want this anymore,” he assures you. “I just want you to be happy.”

There’s something in his tone that has you eyeing him. “Do you still want this? You’ve never floated the idea of closing the relationship before.”

“I had a near-death experience,” he jokes. “You know how they say your entire life flashes before your eyes right before you die? That’s all I could think about on the flight home—that it’d be my fault if you left and I’d deserve it because I was selfish; that no one I’ve been with could ever come close to you and none of it would’ve been worth it.”

Everything’s starting to sound waterlogged again. Soonyoung takes you into his arms when you crowd his end of the couch and fit yourself against his side. “If you just want it to be the three of us, that’s more than enough for me.” You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Or we can decide later when I feel less like a deer about to get destroyed by a car.”

You snort. Say, “You can decide. Whatever you want is okay with me. I know it’d be a big adjustment for you.”

“Don’t say what you think I want to hear.”

“I’m not,” you affirm. “I’m really, truly, one-hundred-percent okay with whatever you want to do, even if, like, fifty-five-percent of that is because I’m way less enthusiastic about butt stuff than you—”

“Hey!”

With another shared laugh, the air is cleared. Together, the two of you erase the existing lines and draw new ones. Talk about what it would look like for two to become three. Has another moment of self-doubt and apologizes that he is who he is, that he can’t love you in public the way he desperately wants to, the way you deserve to be loved out in the open. “You love me in the ways you can,” you tell him, “and they’re more than enough because they come from you.”

You talk until the sky begins to darken and the conversation devolves into nonsense. Until Soonyoung realizes he never plugged his phone into the charger and his team’s probably in a panic. Until his stomach rumbles and he suggests ordering a ton of food for delivery, except he really does mean a ton, and when you ask him who’s possibly going to eat it all his cheeks redden and he says, sheepish and a little nervous, “I thought we could invite Vernonie over?”

Another playful groan. “You’re back home for—what, barely 48 hours?—and your main concern is having another threesome?”

“And if I say yes?”

You text Vernon and ask if he’s free after work.

He is.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[dear-ao3]

by popular request: how to write an email

a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.

credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)

Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go

there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.

also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)

Step 2: remember to be Polite

a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email

Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.

a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.

Step 4: cite your reciepts.

wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email

Step 5: use the appropriate lingo

you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:

As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved

See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.

Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.

Step 6: give a polite sign off.

something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.

Step 7: follow up and follow up often.

polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.

and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)

so an email. should be formatted something like this:

Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)

I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)

(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)

(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)

Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)

Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,

email signature

go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.

[wqlfstqr]

◟𖥻 love notes : percy jackson

▰▰ pairing: percy jackson x fem!reader

Valentine's day is coming close and y/n starts to receive love notes from a secret admirer. Meanwhile, Percy's panicking because someone got ahead of him.

warnings: mentions of cabin 10 reader, couple mentions of some random camper I added just for the plot, miscommunication but like it gets resolved at the end.

It's only a week before valentine's day and the entire aphrodite cabin is buzzing with excitement. Every night, they gather around one bed and share their gossip of the day: who was asked out by whom, who was spotted crying after training, who do they want to be their valentines.

She was sure of who she wanted to be her valentine. Percy and her had been spending a lot of time together lately, and she was crushing hard. But she wasn't sure he felt the same, at least not until the notes started to show up.

At first, when the first few notes started appearing on her bed, she wasn't sure who it could be. But then they became more obvious and she couldn't help but connect the dots: the one saying her hair was beautiful that day just after Percy had helped her brush it, the one complimenting the sweater Percy had let her borrow, then talking about her favorite flowers after she had told Percy she loved tulips.

And then: 'You looked pretty today, i love how blue looks on you.' that had to be Percy, right? it was his favorite color, and he had told her earlier that her shirt was nice.

She doesn’t share this with anyone, but she's so sure it's Percy leaving the notes that she starts making comments about it, hoping he confesses soon.

When he compliments her blue shirt again, she smirks at him. "Do you think it looks good on me?" she asks, expecting him to tell her about the letters.

"Yes! it's very pretty." He replies, unaware of the underlying meaning under her question, before he turns to follow Grover.

Maybe she didn’t get a straight up confession from him, but that only feds into her suspicions.

"Percy, would you say you have a recognizable handwriting?" She asks out of nowhere when they're training, she's supposed to be helping him with archery while he helps her with swording.

He's immediately distracted because that's who he is— he looks at her and the arrow he releases is far from hitting the target but he doesn’t even realize it.

"Maybe it's recognizable because of how ugly it is." He shrugs, finally looking at where the arrow fell and dropping the bow. "You should see my math notes, they look like ancient Greek threw up in my paper."

She's sure that he's downplaying it because he knows that she's onto him. In the notes, he has a very pretty handwritting, he only wants her to think that it's not him.

By the weekend, as the days keep getting closer and the notes keep coming, she's completely sure it has to be him. But he hasn't admitted it even after her efforts to drop hints at it. She thinks that maybe he's just shy, so in another desperate attempt, she mentions the notes.

"You know, i've been getting the sweetest notes lately. You wouldn't happen to know who's sending them, would you?" She finally asks, trying to act nonchalant as she looks up from her book.

Percy's head turns so fast that he gives himself whiplash, and then he blinks at her, trying to process what she just said. "you what?"

"Love notes, almost every night. I think whoever's behind those will ask me to be their valentine." she grins at him.

Percy's internally panicking— What. The. Hell. Is somebody getting ahead of him and sending her letters? who is trying to steal his valentine?

He stands up from her bed so fast that it takes her off guard. "I have to go, Grover needs my help with— uh— yes." He mutters, and then he's almost running out of her cabin.

Now more than ever, she's sure that he's simply nervous because he got caught. He'll probably confess to it soon enough.

Instead, Percy's panicking on his cabin while Grover sits on the edge on one of the beds, his eyes following his best friend as he paces around the place like a maniac. "Somebody got ahead of me, Grover! they'll ask her out before I can"

Grover gives him a deadpan look. "Then why haven't you?"

Percy stops, looking utterly confused until he understands that Grover is asking why he hasn't ask her to be his valentine yet.

He sighs. "I don't know, man. She's just so sweet and pretty and funny— I guess I just get nervous every time I try." frustrated, he runs a hand through his already messy hair. "Who even is sending her those stupid notes, anyways? I can totally do better than that."

"In the name of Pan, Percy! If you're scared of someone asking her first, then do something." Grover tells him, he already feels dizzy just by following Percy as he's pacing around.

Percy frowns. "Like what? should I drown the mystery letter guy?"

"Of course not!" Grover sighs, must he explain everything to these demigods? "you said it yourself, you can do better than those notes. So do it. Romance is literally her thing. You just have to start sending her your own gifts and letters to show her that you really like her, and then she might get the hint."

He stops pacing again, considers this and then nods, determination settling in. "Yes! I can totally do that. That's perfect! G-man, you're the best."

That's how the next morning, y/n wakes up to not just a note, but a tiny box sitting on her bed. When she opens it, she finds a tiny silver sea-shell charm attached to a delicate chain.

She quietly gasps. The notes before were sweet, but this is beautiful. And now there's no denying Percy's the one behind it, he must be fully confessing through gifts now.

The next days, she hopes for Percy to say something. Anything. She even wears the bracelet everyday just so he can point it out, but she only gets a smile out of him. But the gifts keep on coming.

After dinner one day, she comes back to a blue hoodie placed neatly on her bed. It smells suspiciously like Percy. And there’s two notes now, one complimenting her hairstyle today and the other one says 'You should keep this one, since blue looks much nicer on you.'

What confuses her is that the handwriting on those two notes is too different to even belong to the same person. But she doesn't think about it too much, because the hoodie takes her whole attention— she sleeps with it that night.

Then, the next day it's a small jar with sand, seashells and some sea glass pieces. There's still two notes, and she doesn’t understand this at all, but she still focuses only on the one placed on top of the jar, 'Something from my favorite place for my favorite girl'

She's so over the moon that she spends the whole day smiling and giggling. His favorite girl. Valentine's day is coming soon, and there's no way he's not going to ask soon.

After sword training, there’s a chocolate bar placed on her pillow and she can't help but giggle at the sight of it. Because she mentioned she was craving something sweet to Percy earlier. And now there it is, her favorite chocolate with a note: 'Thought you deserved a treat after all that sword fighting.'

It's only a day before valentine's when she finds a small glass bottle on her nightstand with a message inside, she immediately pulls the note out of the bottle and smiles when she reads it.

'I've been meaning to tell you how much I like you. But everytime I try, I just forget how words work. Which is ironic, because I could fill pages talking about how pretty you are, how much I love hearing you talk about the things you're passionate about, how my brain turns to mush— or seaweed more like, when you smile to me.

— P.'

Her breath catches in her throat once her eyes reach the final line. It is Percy. She was right!

A delighted squeal escapes her lips before she can stop it, the excitement bubbles out of her, an uncontrollable rush of happiness as she clutches the note to her chest, jumping up and down.

Suddenly, the door swings open and her sister comes to a halt in the doorway, eyebrows raised. "What's with all that noise? Did you get another note from Peter?"

She's so happy, that she just giggles, thinking that her sister got the name wrong. "Percy, silly."

"No, Peter from cabin nine? he's been asking me to help him put those notes in your nightstand everyday."

The giggles and jumping stop immediately. "Wait— Peter?" she repeats, voice suddenly unsteady. "Not... Percy?"

Her sister tilts her head, confusion all over her face. "Percy? No, I don't— He hasn't said anything to me. Why? did something happen?"

y/n's stomach drops. She doesn't answer. It's not possible. It has to be Percy. The shell bracelet. The hoodie in his favorite color. The sand and shells from the beach. The seaweed joke on the note. It has to be him.

Unless she was misinterpreting everything. Of course that's something she would do, her lovesickness got the best of her and she started seeing things as she wanted them to be.

The heartbreak is instant. She feels ridiculous. She drops the letter on her bed as if it was burning and, ignoring her sisters talking about how Peter will probably ask her out soon, she runs out of the cabin.

The disappointment feels suffocating and heavy on her chest as she walks with her head low. She keeps walking, and walking. Until she's at the pier, which feels even worse because it reminds her of Percy and yet again she feels stupid.

Her heart aches as she lets herself sink into the ground in front of the water. She wants to cry but also laugh at herself. What a joke.

She's there for what a feels like a long time. Maybe hours. Just staring at the ocean in front of her while going through the past few days in her mind, trying to conceal the fact that some Peter from cabin nine was the one behind those letters. She doesn't even know a Peter to begin with.

She's halfway through her third time scolding herself when she hears footsteps behind her, closer and closer until someone is suddenly sitting beside her. Quickly, she wipes the few tears.

But when she finally looks at the person beside her, she nearly forgets how to breathe.

Because there, sitting beside her, is Percy Jackson. And he's holding a bouquet of tulips.

His eyes soften when he sees her, his gaze following the trail of tears in her cheeks as his expression shifts to concern. "Are you okay?"

She blinks at him, unable to process anything as she looks between him and the flowers. Her favorite flowers.

But she didn’t want to get her hopes up again, so she looked away quickly. "Percy if you need my help asking someone for valentine's, maybe I can help you later."

Percy blinks at her before he's able to process her words, then he looks downright offended. "What? No! these are for you."

She whips her head towards him, her eyebrows raised as if she doesn’t believe him. "What?"

"Yes! for who else? I was—" he takes a deep breath, suddenly feeling nervous. "I went to your cabin to ask you if you wanted to be my valentine, but your sister told me you were gone because you were freaking out about some Peter sending you notes."

She stares at him, mouth slightly open. "You wanted to ask me to be your valentine?"

He nods softly, nervously scratching his eyebrow. "Yes but I totally understand if i'm too late and if you want to go with that guy."

"No! I mean— I just—" She trips over her own words, her heart hammering so hard she thinks it'll jump out of her chest. "I thought you were the one writing those love notes. But apparently it was Peter from cabin nine. I just— I started freaking out because I wanted it to be you."

Percy's face scrunches in confusion. "Peter from cabin nine?"

She feels the embarrasment again, her cheeks turning pink. "I thought it was you because those gifts, they were so much like you and—"

He finally understands where she's coming from, and he lets out a breathless chuckle, interrupting her before she keeps talking.

"No, no! I was the one leaving those gifts. You were right about that." He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I wanted to ask you to be my valentine but I always got too nervous, and then you mentioned those notes and I freaked out because someone would ask you before I had the chance. So I started leaving those gifts hoping you would know it was me, but when you didn’t mention anything about them—"

It takes another shaky breath for him to continue. "I thought maybe you weren't interested in me like that, but then I thought maybe the gifts weren't obvious enough so I was going to give it another shot." he gestures to the tulips in his hands. "And ask you myself."

She blinks at him, her mind struggling to keep up, specially when he keeps on rambling. "So you left those gifts? the bracelet? and the jar with the seashells? and the hoodie?" When he nods, the relief washes over her as she lets out a laugh. "Oh my gods, Percy! I thought I was ridiculous for thinking it was you!"

"You're not ridiculous." He nudges her shoulder with his. "Maybe I should've approached it in a least... confusing way."

"No way, I loved those gifts." She returns the nudge, unable to contain her big smile. "I was just confused over, Well— Peter from cabin nine with those notes."

"Oh yeah, no, that's totally your fault for having so many secret admirers." He teases her, grinning widely.

She rolls her eyes, but another laugh burst out of her lips before she can reply. "And you're one of them."

"I don't know, I don't want to be so secretive about it anymore." He tells her, offering the bouquet in his hands. "So, there's something I've been meaning to ask."

Percy doesn’t feel nervous anymore, but the way she beams at him as she takes the bouquet makes his heart skip a beat. "Go on."

He doesn’t know why he was ever nervous, because the question rolls easily out of his lips. "Will you be my valentine?"

She holds the flowers to her chest like it's the best thing she has ever received. "Of course." she then caughts him by surprise when she leans to press a kiss against his cheek.

He exhales in relief, leaning back on his hand. He knows his face must be red, but at least she doesn't comment on it as she goes back to admire the tulips. After a second, he smirks. "Soo... about this Peter, you know I can be intimidating, right?"

She laughs, slightly pushing his shoulder. "Percy, don't be rude! I'll turn him down tomorrow."

"That's a shame." he replies, even though he doesn’t look shameful at all with the grin plastered on his face.

She shakes her head, smiling softly. "He never stood a chance anyways."

Percy chuckles, reaching for her hand to give it a small squeeze. "Good."

[moonlitstoriess]

You Were Mine First- Lucien x fem!reader (2/2)

Summary: For one hundred years, Y/N carried the weight of a bond Lucien never felt. Then, one day, it was gone—severed, rewritten, given to another. She thought she could endure it. Thought she could live unseen, unnoticed. Until the day Lucien walked into her shop… and fate forced them face to face.

See masterlist

Previous part

Warnings: mention of injury, angst, miscommunication (gets resolved towards the end), fluffy end

Lucien shifted on his feet, running a hand through his hair. This wasn’t his problem. This wasn’t supposed to bother him this much.

But she’d left. Y/N had left.

And wasn’t that telling? How many times had he seen someone disappear overnight? How many times had someone been forced to run because of rumors—because of accusations? But this wasn’t some nameless, faceless person.

This was her.

The female who, for some reason, always had that ridiculous book of herbal remedies tucked under the counter when he came in, despite her pretending she never read it. The female who always kept her guard up around him.

The female who might’ve been a Hybern loyalist.

Lucien clenched his jaw.

That’s what the rumors said. That’s what the whispers had claimed for weeks now, hadn’t they? That she was hiding something, that she wasn’t who she said she was.

And maybe they were right.

Maybe he’d been a fool, walking into her shop every damn week, trading snide remarks, and thinking—what? That she was just some ordinary shopkeeper? That she wasn’t tangled up in something deeper?

So that means she really was what the rumors said? She really did support Hybern?

The thought made his stomach twist.

But then another voice in his head scoffed.

Everyone hides something, idiot.

Lucien exhaled sharply. He needed to get out of here.

But he didn’t move.

Because something was still nagging at him. A little thread, dangling just out of reach.

And then—click.

Arlena.

Her grandmother.

What if she hadn’t left?

Lucien’s heart gave a hard, single beat against his ribs.

Because he knew where Y/N’s house was. He had walked her back once, when he’d come across her on the streets, arms full of heavy bags, stubbornly refusing to ask for help even as she nearly dropped one. He had taken them from her without asking, ignoring her scowl and muttered complaints the entire way.

His feet were already moving.

Then he was walking faster. Then faster. Then nearly running.

And he had no idea what he was expecting to find when he got there.

The sun in Summer Court was relentless, a golden fire drenching the city of Adriata in warmth and light. The breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus, and the streets bustled with life—merchants calling out, waves crashing in the distance, silk-draped fae laughing as they walked past.

And yet, for Y/N, the brightness of this place had yet to reach the parts of her that had long since dimmed.

She had chosen Summer for a reason. Not just for the distance, not just to disappear. The land had been an old inheritance, a quiet place left behind by her mother’s bloodline—a side of the family she had never known well, yet had always carried within her. It was a small, unassuming property near the edge of the city, with enough space for a home and a shop. The perfect place to start over.

She had savings from her years running her shop in Velaris, a decent enough sum to buy the storefront she now stood before. The first few weeks had been exhausting—negotiating prices, hiring help for renovations, deciding what this shop would even sell.

It was nothing like her old store in Velaris. No trinkets, no delicate crafts.

Instead, her hands now worked with nature itself. Herbs, teas, salves, elixirs. People came to her shop not for decoration, but for healing, for energy, for sleep, for clarity. A new purpose, one that let her bury herself in the motions of work, in the careful grind of mortar against pestle, in the measurements and mixtures that demanded precision, leaving no space for intrusive thoughts.

But some nights, even potions could not drown out her mind.

Lucien knows.

Oh, Cauldron. He knows.

And yet… he still chose Elain.

How many times had she woken up, heart pounding, that thought looping like a curse in her head? How many times had she tried to make sense of it, only for every answer to twist the knife deeper?

She had spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, going over every word, every sentence, every interaction. Had it meant nothing? Had he truly been so disgusted by the truth that he couldn’t even face her before she left?

Her fingers tightened around the wooden door handle of her shop, her reflection caught in the glass.

She had tried to forget.

Tried to move forward.

But how does one move on when their mate has broken the bond and chosen another?

The sun was bright, the sky was endless, the waters shimmered like liquid gold. But in the end, even the Summer Court could not burn away the shadows curling in her heart.

"It’s crazy how life changes."

Lucien nodded slowly, his gaze focused on his hands—not seeing, not really listening. His mind churned with thoughts so tangled, he wasn’t even sure what Jurian was talking about.

A few weeks ago, he had run to Y/N’s home, desperate for answers, for something, for her grandmother. But Arlena was gone, too. The house was empty, untouched, a ghost of the life that had once been there.

Either way, Lucien had been left standing in the street, feeling something he hadn’t in years.

Lost.

After that, he gave up. He went back home, forced himself to push it all aside, to bury it in the corners of his mind where things he didn’t want to deal with went to rot.

It was easier than trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers. Easier than chasing ghosts. He spent the following days with Elain during his stay, listening to her soft, soothing words, getting to know her, trying to connect with her like he had hoped to for the past year.

They spent the following days together, talking, laughing, sharing time in a way they never had before. And Lucien had tried, truly tried, to tell himself that this was it—that this was what he wanted, what he needed.

But now, weeks later, he realized it wasn’t the fairy-tale connection he had imagined.

He didn’t feel as happy as he thought he would.

Maybe it was his fault. Maybe he was just an ungrateful brat who couldn’t appreciate the beautiful, kind mate who had been right in front of him this whole time. Elain was everything he was supposed to want.

But maybe it was because he kept thinking about a certain shopkeeper who made Elain open up to him through her gifts in the first place.

Because somewhere deep down, his mind wandered back to Y/N.

But he couldn’t help it.

His mind kept replaying their conversations, the way she had spoken to him, her sharp words cutting through him like a blade—yet there was something there, something he couldn’t explain. A pull. A sense of ease when he was around her.

Why?

Why had she made him feel that way?

He had been around Elain, and it had always been careful, calculated. Everything had felt like a slow, hesitant dance. It wasn’t that he didn’t care for her, because he did, but...

With Y/N, it had been different.

It had been natural.

Her sarcasm, her cold demeanor—none of that had scared him off. It had intrigued him. She hadn’t expected anything from him. There had been no pressure, no attempt to make him fit into some mold of what he was supposed to be.

With her, he had felt like he could breathe.

So why did he keep thinking about her? Why did she keep creeping into his thoughts when he had a mate who, in many ways, was exactly what he needed?

It wasn’t fair.

And maybe that’s what it all boiled down to—fairness.

Maybe it wasn’t fair to Elain that his mind kept wandering back to Y/N, but there was something in the way they had connected. It had been real. It had felt like more than what he had with Elain, more than the gentle smiles and words he’d shared with her.

The more he thought about it, the more it became clear.

He wasn’t sure if it was because of how easy it had been to be around Y/N, or because of how guarded she was, but there had been something magnetic between them.

And that scared him. Scared him more than he cared to admit.

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this.

Lucien’s chest tightened as the thoughts swirled in his mind, making him feel like he was suffocating. Why had he thought there was something there between them? Why had he thought there was a connection?

The questions piled up. One after another, relentless, endless. He couldn’t find a way to quiet them.

His thoughts flickered back to Elain, and for a moment, guilt washed over him.

Why couldn’t he focus on her? Why couldn’t he just be satisfied with what he had?

But then, like a fresh wave, his thoughts returned to Y/N again.

Where was she now? What was she doing? Was she still in Velaris? Had she found somewhere else to go, somewhere safer? Was she still running from whatever had haunted her?

And, most importantly, why the hell did he keep thinking about her?

There was no answer, not really.

But one thing was clear—he couldn’t shake her.

No matter how many times he tried to bury it, no matter how many days he spent with Elain or how many nights he lost in conversation with her, his mind kept returning to Y/N. The girl with the cold exterior, the one who hadn’t wanted him in her life, but had made him feel like he belonged.

His chest tightened at the thought. He didn’t know what any of this meant, or what he was supposed to do with the feelings that twisted inside of him every time he thought of her.

But for the first time, he couldn’t deny the truth anymore.

Y/N had gotten under his skin, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Lucien snapped out of his thoughts with a sharp flick to the head, the sudden jolt making him hiss and instinctively touch the spot where Jurian had struck him. "The hell was that for?" he growled, wincing at the mild sting.

Jurian raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair with a look that practically screamed, Are you kidding me? "You've been staring at your hands for the past five minutes," he remarked, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I figured I'd help bring you back to the land of the living."

Lucien gave an exaggerated sigh, slumping back further into his seat. He rubbed the sore spot on his head. "I can't hide it anymore," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation. "I need help, J."

"One," Jurian began, his tone suddenly shifting to an almost exasperated, deadpan delivery. "How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? It’s enough to make me lose my patience with you." He paused for a beat, clearly making fun of Lucien's sense of familiarity. "And two," he continued, leaning forward slightly with a smirk, "please, do tell. What has been gnawing at that pretty little head of yours? I’m dying to hear it."

Lucien inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping absently on the armrest. "You remember how you told me two months ago to visit Y/N’s shop?" he asked, his voice quieter now, careful not to give too much away.

Jurian nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, I remember. Thought it might work out for you, seeing as you were so... desperate for your little flower princess." His voice was thick with mockery, but Lucien wasn’t in the mood for it.

Lucien clenched his jaw for a moment, steeling himself. "Well, yeah. Her," he finally said, voice low and almost embarrassed. He could feel the weight of the words on his tongue. "I’ve been visiting her shop. And, at first, it was just to buy some gifts for Elain. You know, to finally get things to move forward with her. Things started... well, things started to feel like they were finally falling into place."

Jurian snorted, clearly waiting for the real meat of the story. "But?"

"But," Lucien continued, trying to steady his nerves, "it wasn’t just that. There was... her." He sighed, rubbing his face as if the words hurt to say. "It’s like there was this connection. Not with Elain—don’t get me wrong, I care about Elain—but with Y/N, it was different. I don’t know why, but it was easier to be around her. It was like... like I didn’t have to try so hard. And yes, she was cold, distant, but it was like she saw through me in a way no one else did. And now—now all these rumors are flying around."

Jurian's gaze turned calculating, but his voice was still light when he spoke. "Oh yes, Lord Theon’s ex-fiancée? I heard Lord Theon was in the middle of some important meeting when he got wind of the rumors. Apparently, he fainted right there in front of everyone."

Lucien’s eyes darkened as he leaned forward. "Yeah, that’s the one," he muttered, shaking his head. "But this... these rumors, J. I don’t know what to believe anymore. They’re talking about Y/N like she’s some sort of... monster. A traitor, even. I can’t... I won’t believe it until I see solid proof. Not from the mouths of gossips who can’t even get their stories straight." He leaned back, clenching his fists. "Her shop’s gone. She’s gone. I don’t know where she is, and it’s been driving me crazy. I’ve tried everything—asking around, checking everywhere... nothing. She’s just... gone."

Jurian watched him carefully, his expression turning more serious now. "And yet here you are, still obsessing over her," he noted, a flicker of amusement in his voice but something else, too. Something deeper. "Interesting."

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, looking down at his lap. "I don’t even know why I’m overthinking this," he admitted. "She’s no one to me. I barely know her. I haven’t even spoken to her for weeks, and yet here I am, losing sleep over her. I don’t know what I’d even say if I saw her again. But..." He trailed off, the weight of his unspoken words hanging between them.

Jurian let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head with an almost disdainful grin. "Oh, for the love of the Mother, Lucien," he muttered. "Always the same with you. Always caught up in your feelings for someone you think you can’t have." He crossed his arms and leaned forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "I’m starting to think you like torturing yourself."

Lucien froze, his gaze snapping up to meet Jurian’s. "What are you getting at?"

Jurian’s smirk faltered, and for a moment, his eyes turned dead serious. "Be ready by sunrise," he said, his voice clipped. "We’re going to find her."

Lucien’s heart skipped a beat. "What?!" he demanded, leaning forward in shock. "Are you serious? How do you know—"

Jurian stood abruptly, cutting him off. "For the Mother’s sake, Lucien. Just follow the damn orders."

Lucien’s chest tightened, the urgency in Jurian’s voice making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "What orders? What are you talking about?"

"Don’t worry about it," Jurian snapped, his tone cold and commanding. "You’ll know soon enough. Just be ready."

Lucien stared at him for a moment, disbelief warring with his need to find answers. Find Y/N. But Jurian was already moving toward the door. Lucien stood up, unable to contain the wave of confusion and doubt that hit him. "J, wait—"

But Jurian’s voice was already fading as he disappeared into the hallway. "Sunrise, Vanserra. Sunrise."

And with that, the conversation was over.

Y/N was just closing up her shop, the scent of dried herbs and fresh lavender lingering in the air as the evening sun dipped low in the Summer Court. The street outside buzzed with the usual market hustle, but tonight felt different. There was a strange undercurrent she couldn’t shake. She brushed it off at first—perhaps it was just her nerves. But she was wrong.

As she placed the last jar of salve on the counter, a loud crash came from outside, followed by frantic shouts.

Y/N’s heart skipped. Without a second thought, she grabbed a small satchel, filled it with several healing vials, and tossed her cloak over her shoulders. Something told her she wouldn’t be returning here tonight.

The noise grew louder as she made her way toward the door. Her shop, a little haven of nature’s remedies, had been her peace, her sanctuary. But the world outside wasn’t so kind anymore. The scent of burning wood hit her as soon as she stepped outside. The cobblestones felt hot beneath her feet as she jogged toward the chaos.

When she turned the corner, she froze. A group of men, cloaked in dark robes, were holding down a merchant while another was ripping through his cart. They weren’t from around here—Y/N would have recognized them if they had been. Their movements were swift, practiced.

One of them saw her. The sharp, calculating look in his eyes made her blood run cold. He gestured to his comrades, and within moments, they were heading her way.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. Her fingers slid into the pouch at her waist, pulling out a small glass vial. The green liquid inside was her creation—a soothing balm for the mind, meant for clarity and focus, but it could also disorient anyone who wasn’t prepared for its effects. She uncorked it, letting a quick drop fall into the air between her and the oncoming attackers. The scent of mint, rosemary, and sage swirled around them, and within seconds, they stopped in their tracks, blinking in confusion.

She didn't wait for them to recover. She darted forward, using her agility to slip between them, knocking another vial out of her pouch. This one was for healing—applied in the right spot, it could make someone feel like they were reborn. She splashed it across the face of the closest attacker, watching as the flush of pain in his face faded, replaced by stunned relief. He staggered back, disoriented.

But there wasn’t time to waste.

“Who sent you?” she demanded, her voice cold, her heart racing.

The leader, now regaining his focus, scowled. “Does it matter?”

“Answer me,” Y/N pressed, her voice a low, dangerous hum. She kept one hand on another vial—this one a far more potent concoction meant to knock someone unconscious for hours. The threat in her tone was clear.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. His eyes flickered to his men, who were recovering more quickly than she’d hoped. Then he finally spoke.

“We're just a few of many... but you're a lot more trouble than we anticipated, shopkeeper.” He gave a harsh laugh. “You'll be seeing more of us soon.”

Y/N didn’t wait to hear more. She turned, bolting through the alleyways of the Summer Court, her mind already calculating her next move. She couldn’t let them get away. She couldn’t let herself be dragged back into whatever mess this was—especially not after everything she had done to get away from it.

Her thoughts churned, a storm in her mind. Who were they? What do they want from me? But no matter what, she knew she couldn’t let them win. Not again. Not when she had worked so damn hard to build this new life, to carve out a little peace for herself.

The Summer Court was still bright and warm, the air still heavy with the scent of flowers, but Y/N could feel the storm building. Whatever game these people were playing, she wasn’t going to lose.

Lucien stood in the doorway of their shared quarters, staring at the crumpled parchment in his hands. He had been pacing for the past hour, the weight of his decision hanging over him. He had to leave, had to find her—find Y/N—but that didn’t mean he could just vanish without saying something to Elain.

His thoughts tangled, the words not coming easily. The last thing he wanted was to lie, but he also couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. Not until he had answers. Until he knew what the hell was really going on.

With a quiet sigh, he unrolled the parchment and began to write:

Elain,

I need to go with Jurian on a mission for a few days. Don’t worry, it’s nothing dangerous. I’ll be back soon, but I wanted to let you know. I’m leaving at sunrise and won’t be reachable for a while.

I’ll see you soon.

Lucien.

He set the quill down and stared at the letter, the words swimming in front of him. He wanted to say more, to apologize for his absence, to explain the chaos building inside him. But it wasn’t the time. He had a job to do, and for once, he wasn’t going to let his heart dictate his next move.

He folded the parchment carefully, sealing it with a wax stamp before using his magic to send it to her, hoping she would see it before he left. Then, with a deep breath, he turned on his heel, heading for the door.

The gnawing sense of urgency in his stomach had grown into a fierce hunger. The rumors about Y/N didn’t add up, and that only made it worse. Was she really the monster they were painting her to be? Or was it something more? Something deeper?

He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find—proof that she wasn’t the traitor, or maybe the confirmation that she was. The truth would hurt either way, but at least it would settle the chaos inside his mind.

The letter to Elain had been easy enough to write—too easy, almost. He couldn’t let her get involved in this. Not when the stakes were too high, not when he had no idea what was going to happen. He hated himself for keeping her in the dark, but there was no other choice.

His heart twisted in his chest, but he shoved the feeling aside as he pulled the door open to leave. He had no time for guilt. No time for second-guessing. He had a mission to complete.

Lucien walked down the hall with his footsteps steady but heavy, as if the weight of his own thoughts were trying to drag him back to his quarters. He caught sight of Jurian, leaning casually against the stone wall, arms crossed and looking annoyingly unbothered.

Jurian’s eyes flicked up when he heard Lucien approach, a smirk spreading across his face. "You ready to go, or are you going to stand there brooding all morning?"

Lucien’s lip curled, annoyance mixing with the raw energy that thrummed through his veins. "I’ve been up all night, and I’m still not sure if this is a good idea," he snapped, his voice clipped.

"Good idea? It’s a terrible idea," Jurian said, sounding almost cheerful. "But I figured you'd want to at least try to solve the mystery of the disappearing witch. Plus, you’ve been staring at your hands for a week now like they might hold the answers."

Lucien’s eyes narrowed, his fingers twitching at the mention of the damn hands. "Don’t start," he muttered, rubbing his face in frustration.

Jurian grinned wider, clearly enjoying the way he was getting under Lucien’s skin. "Oh, I’m just getting started, don’t worry." He pushed off the wall, stretching lazily.

"I’ve been searching everywhere. I’ve asked every damn person who might know, and it’s like she disappeared off the face of the Earth." His voice was tight with frustration, hands balling into fists at his sides. "I should’ve known better. Trusting the rumors, getting wrapped up in this... mess."

"You’re really going to blame yourself for this?" Jurian raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for self-flagellation, but this is just... sad, Lucien."

Lucien shot him a glare. "Not the time for jokes, Jurian."

The smile on Jurian’s face faltered for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "No, I guess not. You’re right," he said, his voice low. "We don’t know what’s going on with her. But we’re going to find out." His tone shifted again, becoming more serious. "It’s not like you have any other option at this point. You want this. You need this. And if it means going after someone you barely know, someone with half the city convinced she’s a monster, then you’ll do it, because you’ve already made up your mind."

Lucien’s chest tightened, the weight of Jurian’s words landing harder than expected. "I’m doing it because I need answers," he said, his voice steadier now. "Because this... it’s more than just rumors. It’s about what’s real. And if I have to track her down to find out the truth, then that’s what I’ll do." He paused, taking a slow breath. "But it’s not just about finding her. It’s about knowing who she really is. What she’s done, or... hasn’t done."

Jurian studied him for a long moment, eyes calculating. "We’ll find her. We’ll figure it out," he said with a nod, sounding more serious than before. "But if this goes south, Lucien... I want you to know, it’s not on me."

Lucien gave a dry laugh. "Of course it’s not on you. It never is." He clapped his hand to Jurian’s shoulder, trying to steady his nerves. "Let’s just get this over with. I can’t do this alone."

Jurian’s smirk returned, but there was something more behind it now—an edge. "Good. You’re finally admitting it."

Lucien shot him a look. "Don’t push it."

"Fine, fine," Jurian said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Let’s go find your best friend. But I’m warning you, if she turns out to be as bad as they say, I’m not sticking around for the emotional crisis that follows."

Lucien gritted his teeth, trying not to let the sarcasm get under his skin. "Just don’t slow me down, J. We have a long day ahead of us."

Jurian chuckled darkly, the sound echoing in the hallway. "After you, my brooding friend."

Lucien shot him one last look before heading toward the door, his heart pounding with every step. The mission was simple: Find Y/N. But the questions, the doubts, they lingered, gnawing at him, growing louder with every passing second.

And as he stepped out into the morning light, the only thing he was certain of was that nothing about this search would be simple.

It has to be Elain who sent those maniacs here.

Who else would it be? It makes sense. She had to be the one. All the signs point to her—quiet, calculating, the type to hold grudges until they fester. And why wouldn’t Elain go to such lengths? After everything that happened, it had to be her. She’d wanted to get rid of Y/N for so long, hadn’t she? She'd never let go of what happened. Of what Y/N took from her.

It’s so obvious, and yet... why would Elain care now?

She’s moved on, hasn’t she? Lucien’s at her side, everything she’s ever wanted right there in Velaris. The life she dreamed of. She has him, she has peace. She doesn’t need to keep trying to ruin everything Y/N has built, not now.

No. She was overthinking. This is just paranoia talking. What reason could she have for coming after me now? She reached her goal. She got her happy little ending, with the sunlight and the soft life, the happiness that should've been hers in the first place, that Y/N "took" away from her. That should be enough for her, shouldn’t it?

Y/N must be exaggerating.

But then, that little voice in the back of her mind—the one that’s been whispering to her for days—speaks louder, sharper, like the snap of a blade being drawn. Elain wouldn’t stop there. She never did. It’s not enough for her. It was never enough. She always had to be the one on top. And why should Y/N think she’s changed? Why should she think that her perfect, pristine world in Velaris is so flawless that she doesn’t feel the need to drag Y/N into the dirt one more time?

Elain sent them. Elain sent them.

Fury rises in her blood, hotter than anything she’s ever felt. It’s like a fire, wild and uncontrollable, consuming everything in its path. The bloodthirsty rage that’s been bubbling just under the surface for so long bursts free, flooding her mind with sharp, ugly images.

Let Elain think she’s won. Let her think she’s found peace in Velaris with her perfect life and her perfect love. She doesn’t know what Y/N’s been through, what she’s become. Elain has no idea what she’s turned into.

The moment Y/N steps closer to her house, the feeling intensifies. That familiar weight, that oppressive sense of ownership she has over everything here. It’s home. And the thought of someone daring to cross that boundary, to threaten what’s hers... It fills her with a need to destroy, to make them feel the pain she’s endured.

This ends now.

Y/N steps through the gate, the weight of her anger settling over her like a storm cloud, ready to break and wash away everything in its path. Her fists curl at her sides, knuckles white.

The world is a blur around her, but her focus is clear, sharp—so sharp it hurts. Elain thought she could do this, that she could manipulate and twist things from behind the scenes, that she could silence her.

Well, Elain’s about to learn that Y/N’s not something to be erased. She’s survived everything Elain could never understand.

Y/N feels the pulse of power in her veins, a power she’s learned to control, to shape with precision.

But at the same time, her mind is full of questions she can’t seem to shake, voices she can’t quiet.

Why would Elain care now? She has everything she wanted. She has Lucien. She has Velaris. She has... peace.

But the bloodthirsty part of Y/N screams, telling her the answer. Elain hasn’t changed. She’s still the same. She never stopped hating Y/N. She never stopped wanting her to pay for what she did.

And if Elain’s the one who brought this chaos to Y/N’s doorstep, if she’s the one who is responsible for all of this...

Y/N will make sure she regrets it.

The days stretched on, each one dragging heavier than the last. Lucien had expected a difficult journey, but what grated on him most wasn’t the exhaustion, the unrelenting pace, or even the unease curling in his gut. It was Jurian.

The bastard was too comfortable.

Even after days of walking through untamed wilderness, Jurian showed no signs of strain. He was always two steps ahead, moving with purpose, like a man who knew exactly where he was going. That, more than anything, was what made Lucien’s nerves prickle.

Because he didn’t.

Lucien had asked—several times—but every demand was met with the same infuriating response.

"You’ll see when we get there."

Or—

"Patience, Fox Boy."

Or, the worst of them all—

"You ask too many questions."

Lucien had never wanted to punch someone as much as he did right now.

The sun was dipping behind the treetops when Lucien tried again, this time without the usual exasperation in his voice.

"You owe me an explanation, Jurian."

Jurian didn’t even pause. "I owe you a lot of things, but an explanation isn’t one of them."

Lucien exhaled sharply, quickening his pace until they were walking side by side. "You’re leading me somewhere, but you refuse to say where. You’re dragging me across this entire damn territory on nothing but vague assurances and half-truths. And I’m supposed to just—what? Trust you?"

Jurian finally looked at him, eyes glinting with amusement. "That is how journeys usually work."

Lucien scowled. "Not when the guide is a lying bastard."

Jurian’s smirk widened. "Then maybe you should’ve stayed home."

Lucien’s temper flared, but he bit it back. He needed to stay sharp. Fighting Jurian wouldn’t get him answers—at least, not yet.

He settled for a different approach.

"What’s so damn important that you dragged me away in the middle of the night for this?" His voice was quieter now, more measured. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Jurian didn’t answer right away. He let the silence stretch between them, long enough that Lucien thought he wouldn’t answer at all. Then, with a casual shrug, he said—

"It’s about Elain."

Lucien’s stomach dropped.

His steps faltered for half a second before he forced himself to keep walking. "What about her?"

Jurian didn’t so much as glance at him. "Isn’t that what you’ve been wondering all this time?"

Lucien’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. "Don’t play games with me, Jurian."

Jurian let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "Then stop making it so easy."

Lucien swore under his breath. "What did you find out?"

"Not here," Jurian said easily, as if they were discussing the weather and not something that had haunted Lucien. "We need to keep moving."

Lucien let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Of course. Keep moving. Keep following you blindly, like a fool."

Jurian only smiled. "See? You do learn."

Lucien clenched his jaw so hard it ached.

He didn’t push further—not yet—but he felt it. That creeping, gnawing sense of dread curling around his ribs. Something was wrong.

And Jurian knew.

They traveled in silence for the next few hours, the tension between them thick enough to cut. The further they walked, the more Lucien noticed the shift in the land.

At first, it was subtle—just a feeling. The way the trees seemed to lean inward, their branches gnarled and twisted. The way the air grew still, heavier, like it had absorbed something dark long ago and never fully let go.

But by the time they reached the outskirts of the abandoned village, there was no ignoring it.

Lucien knew this place.

Not this village specifically, but places like it.

War-ravaged. Hollow. Ghosts of the past lingering in every shattered doorway and burned-out home.

The scent hit him first. Not fresh rot, but something old, lingering beneath the earth. The kind of decay that never fully faded, no matter how much time passed.

He stopped walking.

Jurian did too, his expression unreadable.

"What is this place?" Lucien asked, his voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly would disturb whatever still lurked here.

Jurian scanned the ruins ahead. "One of the many casualties of the war."

Lucien didn’t need him to elaborate. He could see it—feel it.

The remnants of homes, long abandoned. Blackened, crumbling walls. A dried-up well in the center of the village square, its stones cracked from heat. Rusted weapons littered the ground, half-buried beneath dirt and dead leaves.

War.

"Hybern," he muttered under his breath, his throat tightening.

Jurian, for once, didn’t offer some sarcastic remark. "One of many villages that got caught in the crossfire," he said, voice quieter than usual. "People forget that it wasn’t just soldiers who died."

Lucien’s jaw tightened. "We’re going through it?"

Jurian nodded. "It’s the fastest way. Unless you want to add another three days to the trip?"

Lucien shook his head, already stepping forward. "Let’s get it over with."

He could hear it.

The echoes of screams. The clash of steel. The silence that followed when the battle ended and there was no one left to save.

Lucien didn’t argue.

They moved carefully, stepping over broken beams, past shattered doorways and collapsed roofs. The air was thick, suffocating. A graveyard without the graves. The silence here was wrong. No birds. No insects. Just the whisper of the wind through empty streets.

Lucien tried not to think about the people who had once lived here.

Tried not to wonder if they’d been innocent. If they’d fought. If they’d even had the chance.

Jurian, for once, didn’t make any snide remarks. He was watching. Not just the village, but the shadows between the ruins.

That’s when Lucien felt it.

A shift in the air.

A ripple through the silence, like something watching.

He stopped.

Jurian did, too.

"You feel that?" Lucien asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jurian nodded once, hand moving toward his sword. "We’re not alone."

Lucien’s magic flared, crackling beneath his skin.

And then—

A shadow moved.

A flicker of something darting between the ruined houses. Too fast. Too smooth.

Lucien’s blood turned to ice.

"We need to go," Jurian said lowly, his voice calm, but firm.

Lucien didn’t argue.

They turned—

But the wraiths were already closing in.

The first wraith struck fast—a blur of darkness lunging from the shadows.

Lucien barely had time to react before his instincts took over. He dodged, twisting out of the way just as clawed fingers swiped at his throat. The air where he had stood shimmered, the wraith’s claws leaving behind a faint, sickly glow.

Poison?

"Shit," Jurian swore, unsheathing his sword in a single, fluid motion. "Run or fight?"

Lucien barely had time to answer. Another wraith rushed him, its form shifting between mist and flesh, solidifying only at the last second. He ducked, spinning on his heel as his dagger flashed in the dim light—slicing clean through the creature’s chest.

No blood.

No scream.

Just a horrible, hissing noise as the wraith reformed, its body pulling itself back together as if the wound had never been there.

Lucien’s pulse spiked.

"Fight," he gritted out. "And hurry."

There were more of them now.

Emerging from the ruins, peeling themselves from the shadows. Dozens.

Their eyes glowed—a color that wasn’t quite gold, not quite silver. Not alive. Not dead.

Jurian let out a short, humorless laugh. "Great."

And then they were on them.

Lucien fought like hell.

He moved with precision, dodging the wraiths' attacks as his blade flashed, slicing through their forms—only for them to reform again and again.

They were fast. Not solid for long enough to land a killing blow.

One lunged at his back—he twisted, barely avoiding its claws as another wraith swept toward his side.

Too many.

Then—

A blast of steel.

Jurian’s sword cleaved through the nearest wraith, cutting it clean in half. The creature dissipated, its shadowy form writhing before it melted into the ruins.

Lucien’s breath hitched.

Jurian grinned. "Gotta love blessed steel."

Lucien swore under his breath. "Could’ve told me that earlier."

"Where’s the fun in that?"

Lucien didn’t have time to respond before another wraith attacked.

Jurian’s blade swung—another kill—but the creatures weren’t stopping.

Lucien cursed. His magic flared, the heat of his power surging through his veins. He reached for it—grasped at it—fire burning at his fingertips.

The wraiths shrank back.

Lucien exhaled sharply. Fire. That’s what they feared.

Without hesitating, he unleashed it.

Flames erupted from his hands, roaring through the air, setting the ruins ablaze.

The wraiths shrieked.

They fled.

Dissolving into shadows, vanishing into the ruins.

And then—

Silence.

Lucien stood there, chest heaving, flames still flickering at his fingertips. The smell of burning lingered in the air.

Jurian let out a slow whistle. "Could’ve started with that."

Lucien shot him a glare. "I thought we were running."

Jurian smirked. "You wanted to fight."

Lucien rolled his eyes, shoving his dagger back into its sheath. "Next time, maybe warn me about the blessed steel before I nearly get my throat ripped out."

Jurian chuckled. "Noted."

Lucien glanced back at the ruins. The wraiths were gone, but that creeping unease still clung to the air.

He exhaled sharply. "Let’s get the hell out of here."

Jurian nodded. "Agreed."

And without another word, they moved on.

They didn’t stop until the sky bled red and gold, the last remnants of sunlight sinking below the horizon.

Lucien’s limbs ached, the wraith attack still burning in his muscles. They had covered miles since then, moving swiftly through the crumbling remains of another forgotten village. It had been abandoned long before the war with Hybern, yet the weight of destruction still lingered in the air.

Burned homes. Collapsed rooftops. Statues worn down by time and war.

A ghost town, untouched for years.

Lucien pulled his cloak tighter around him, his breath misting in the cold air. "Where the hell are we?"

Jurian didn’t glance back. "A place people don’t walk into unless they have a damn good reason."

Lucien scowled. "And what’s our reason?"

Jurian was quiet.

Too quiet.

Lucien’s irritation spiked. "Jurian."

Nothing.

"Jurian, I swear to the gods—"

Jurian sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "We needed a way through. This was the fastest route."

Bullshit.

Lucien stopped walking. "You keep saying we need to hurry, but you haven’t told me why."

Jurian paused, his back still turned. "Because if I told you, you’d think too much."

Lucien clenched his jaw. "And I’m not already thinking too much?"

Jurian finally turned. "Would you rather go back to Velaris? Back to the lie you’ve been living?"

Lucien’s blood ran cold.

His fingers twitched toward his dagger. "What the hell does that mean?"

Jurian didn’t answer. He just sighed, shaking his head. "We’re stopping here for the night. Keep your questions to yourself until morning."

Lucien barely resisted the urge to punch him.

But he let it go. For now.

The fire crackled between them, casting long shadows against the ruined walls.

Lucien sat with his back against the cold stone, arms crossed, eyes locked on Jurian. He still hadn’t gotten a straight answer.

And he was done waiting.

"You knew about the wraiths, didn’t you?"

Jurian didn’t look up from sharpening his sword. "Figured we could handle it."

Lucien let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "And the ruins? The fact that no one comes through here? That wasn’t a warning sign?"

Jurian finally met his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Lucien’s stomach twisted.

Because he didn’t know.

He wanted to. Jurian had been the one person who hadn’t treated him like an afterthought, the one person who wasn’t waiting for him to fall in line with someone else’s plans.

But this—this secrecy,

Lucien leaned forward. "Tell me why we’re really here."

Jurian exhaled. "Because this place still holds remnants of the Cauldron’s power. And I need you to see something for yourself."

Lucien frowned. "The Cauldron was destroyed."

Jurian’s gaze was unreadable. "Was it?"

A chill ran down Lucien’s spine.

He had seen it shatter during the war. Seen the pieces scatter into nothing.

Hadn’t he?

Lucien’s fists clenched. "What aren’t you telling me?"

Jurian looked at him for a long moment, then simply said, "You’ll find out when we get there."

Lucien gritted his teeth. "That’s not good enough."

Jurian smirked. "It’s going to have to be."

Lucien swore under his breath.

He had a feeling that, whatever waited for him at the end of this road, it was going to change everything.

And he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.

The wind howled through the skeletal trees, rattling the bare branches like bones clacking together.

They had left the abandoned village behind at dawn, but the land only grew more hostile. The deeper they traveled, the colder it became. The quieter.

Too quiet.

Lucien had spent enough time in Prythian’s wild places to know when nature had gone still for a reason. And this place—the stretch of land leading to the Cauldron’s ruins—was wrong.

He glanced at Jurian, who was unnervingly calm. Like he expected this.

"How much farther?" Lucien asked, voice low.

Jurian didn’t answer immediately. He surveyed the forest ahead, gaze sharp, before murmuring, "A few more days. If we’re lucky."

Lucien scowled. "If we’re lucky?"

Jurian only kept walking.

Lucien followed, but the unease creeping up his spine didn’t leave him.

They set up camp in a clearing that night.

Lucien’s muscles ached. His exhaustion was bone-deep, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Because he could hear it.

Faint at first, like a whisper beneath the wind.

Something was out there.

Jurian was still awake, sitting by the fire, sharpening his blade. He didn’t react to the sound, didn’t even glance up.

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You hear that?"

Jurian hummed. "Yep."

Lucien’s fingers twitched toward his dagger. "And you’re just—what? Ignoring it?"

Jurian finally looked at him, utterly unbothered. "No point worrying about something until it shows its teeth."

Lucien let out a sharp breath. "You’re insane."

Jurian grinned. "Probably."

Lucien rolled his eyes, but his grip tightened on his blade.

Because the whispering didn’t stop.

And whatever was out there... it was watching them.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

One second, the fire crackled peacefully. The next, shadows exploded from the trees.

Lucien barely had time to react before something slammed into him, sending him skidding across the dirt.

His head spun. He caught a glimpse of glowing eyes, of blackened flesh, before Jurian’s sword sliced through the air.

A shriek—a sound that shouldn’t exist—ripped through the night.

Lucien rolled to his feet, his blade drawn.

The creatures were wrong. Their shapes flickered, shifting unnaturally. They had too many limbs, too many eyes, their bodies twisting in ways that made Lucien’s stomach churn.

And they were fast.

He barely dodged the next attack, his instincts screaming. He slashed, his blade cutting through one of the creatures, but it didn’t bleed. It only shrieked, retreating into the darkness before another took its place.

"What the hell are these things?" Lucien growled.

Jurian’s expression was grim. "Remnants."

Lucien swore. "Remnants of what?"

"The Cauldron’s destruction left things behind," Jurian said, slicing through another. "Things that shouldn’t exist."

Lucien didn’t have time to process that.

Because one of the creatures lunged—

And this time, he wasn’t fast enough.

Pain exploded in his shoulder as claws raked through flesh. He staggered, his vision blurring.

Jurian swore. Then suddenly—

A flare of golden light.

Lucien barely registered it—barely registered the way the creatures shrieked and fled—before the world tilted and his knees hit the ground.

His vision swam.

The last thing he heard was Jurian muttering, "Well, that complicates things."

Then—darkness.

When Lucien woke, he wasn’t in the forest anymore.

The air was damp, thick with ancient power.

He groaned, forcing himself upright. His shoulder ached, but it had been bandaged.

Footsteps.

He turned his head just as Jurian entered. “Good. You’re awake.”

Lucien frowned. “Where are we?”

Jurian crouched by the fire, tossing him a waterskin. “We made it.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped.

He looked around, really taking in his surroundings. The cavernous walls. The stone pillars, cracked and covered in old runes. The lingering hum of magic, faint but unmistakable.

He knew this place.

Or at least, he thought he did.

Lucien’s mouth was dry when he said, “This is where the Cauldron was, isn’t it?”

Jurian’s expression was unreadable. “It still is.”

Lucien’s heart skipped a beat.

He shot to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his shoulder. “That’s not possible. The Cauldron was destroyed.”

Jurian tilted his head. “Was it?”

Lucien’s breath hitched.

He felt it before he understood it—the low, thrumming pull of magic older than the world itself.

He stepped forward, the pulse growing stronger, rattling in his bones, in his very soul. His breath turned shallow, his heart hammering.

Something was wrong.

Something was breaking open.

And then—

The world snapped apart.

Pain ripped through him, tearing through flesh and bone, through his mind, his soul.

A vision struck—

Not a memory. A truth.

A vision of a golden afternoon.

A female stood before him—Y/N.

His heart lurched at the sight of her, at the sheer familiarity of her. His mate.

Not Elain.

Her.

Lucien saw it now—the moment it had happened. The moment the Cauldron had chosen her for him.

It had been gentle. A bond of warmth, of understanding. A bond that had existed before it had even been acknowledged, woven into the fabric of who they were.

Y/N’s eyes had widened, and Lucien had felt it too—that pull.

That undeniable, world-shattering pull of a true mate.

But then—

Then the vision twisted.

The Cauldron trembled.

It had been fractured, unstable from its own rebirth. It faltered.

Lucien watched in horror as its power surged, its mistake unraveling before him.

It was not meant to break bonds.

But it had.

The vision shifted—

To the King of Hybern.

To Elain.

To the final battle, the moment the Cauldron ripped him apart and rewrote fate itself.

Y/N's bond with him had been severed.

Destroyed.

And in its place—

The Cauldron had forced him onto another.

Elain.

A lie.

A mistake.

The Cauldron had realized too late what it had done, the wrongness of it, but its power had already been spent.

Lucien's soul had been torn in two, bound to a woman who was never meant to be his-while his true mate had been left behind. Forgotten.

She had believed he had rejected her.

Had abandoned her.

Had chosen another.

And he—

He had been living in a cage of fate's broken design.

Lucien gasped, the vision collapsing around him.

And as the truth settled into his bones, something within him shifted—

Something long dormant-long lost-

Snapped back into place.

His bond-his real bond-roared to life.

It hit him like a storm, like a fire that had never gone out, only buried beneath the ashes of deception.

And Y/N-

He could feel her.

Her breath.

Her heartbeat.

Her presence, far, far away-but there.

Alive.

Real.

His mate.

His true mate.

Lucien stumbled back, his chest heaving, his vision still spinning as the power of the Cauldron recoiled, leaving him standing in the aftermath.

His knees buckled, and he clawed for stability, gasping for air, for something to hold onto.

The world slowly pieced itself back together.

And when it did—

Lucien turned.

His gaze locked onto Jurian.

“You…” His voice shook, raw, disbelieving. “You knew this whole time.”

Jurian’s expression was entirely unrepentant. “Yep.”

Lucien’s hands curled into fists, his breath coming too fast, too sharp. “You knew this entire fucking time?”

Jurian grinned, leaning against a nearby pillar. “What can I say? Watching you torture yourself over the wrong female was the most entertainment I’ve had in centuries.”

Lucien growled, taking a step forward. “You—” His mind was racing, piecing it all together. “That’s why you suggested I go to her shop.”

Not a question.

A statement.

Jurian’s smirk widened. “Also guilty.”

Lucien’s stomach turned. “You planned this.”

Jurian tilted his head, smug as ever. “Maybe I just got tired of seeing you so blind and Y/N so stubbornly quiet about this whole charade. Decided to take things into my own hands.”

Lucien bristled, rage crackling through him. “And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

Jurian exhaled. “You forget—I was with the King of Hybern for a very long time. I know everything about the Cauldron. How it works. How it fucks people over.” His eyes gleamed. “And I knew you wouldn’t believe me if I’d told you outright.”

Lucien’s blood boiled.

His fists clenched.

And before he could stop himself—

He lunged.

He grabbed Jurian by the collar, slamming him into the nearest stone pillar.

“For a year,” Lucien snarled, his grip tightening, “a fucking year, you watched me tear myself apart for a female who wasn’t even mine—while you let my real mate believe I abandoned her?”

His teeth bared, his voice shaking with rage, betrayal, agony. “What in the Mother’s name is wrong with you?”

Jurian didn’t so much as flinch.

Didn’t even look surprised.

He just sighed. “Being a hero never really suited me.”

Lucien’s fury burned hotter.

Jurian clapped him on the shoulder—the audacity—and drawled, “Now, why don’t you let go of me so we can go get your true mate back?”

Lucien froze.

His grip loosened.

His chest heaved.

“You…” His voice wavered. “You know where she is?”

Jurian rolled his eyes. “Umm, yes? I know everything, you moron.”

Lucien’s stomach dropped.

Jurian smirked. “She’s in the Summer Court. Opened up a new little shop, actually. Real cute setup. You’d love it.”

Lucien didn’t wait to hear the rest.

He was already moving—pushing past Jurian, heart racing, mind spinning, body desperate to get to her.

To fix this.

To see her.

“I messed up,” he breathed, cursing himself, cursing everything.

Jurian followed lazily, shaking his head. “Yeah, no shit.”

Lucien's claws pressed into his palms.

Midway, Jurian reached for his shoulder in some semblance of camaraderie.

Lucien shoved him off. Growled. "We will talk about this. You have a lot to explain."

Jurian sighed, exasperated. "See, this is exactly why I was debating whether to tell you in the first place."

Lucien shot him a warning look, but he didn't stop.

Couldn't.

His mate was out there.

And he was done waiting.

The Summer Court had been kind to Y/N. More than she had ever expected.

The warm breeze brushed through her hair as she walked through the quiet, lamp-lit streets, the scent of salt and citrus filling the air. The Summer Court was nothing like Velaris—there was no suffocating weight of what had been stolen from her here. No reminders of what she had lost.

Her fingers curled around the small bag she carried, the last of the day’s earnings from the shop tucked safely inside.

She had built something here. A quiet life. A peaceful one.

The distant hum of the ocean waves was a familiar comfort as she hummed softly to herself, her steps light against the cobbled path. This life—it wasn’t the one she had imagined, not the one she had once dreamed of when she thought she had a mate. But it was hers.

Maybe she was never meant to have a mate.

And that was fine.

It had taken a long time—too long—but she was finally learning to accept it.

That didn’t mean she had forgotten. That didn’t mean she had forgiven.

One day, she would have her revenge. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even a year from now. But one day, when they least expected it, she would make sure Elain Archeron paid for what she had done.

But for now, patience. Peace.

She exhaled softly, shaking off the thoughts as she reached her home. The small cottage was modest, but it was hers, a place untouched by the ghosts of the past. With a hum, she dug out her key and slid it into the lock, twisting it open—

And froze.

Her humming died on her lips. Her breath caught in her throat.

Jurian was leaning against her kitchen table, a plate of freshly baked pastries in hand, biting into one like he had every right to be here.

And Lucien—Lucien was standing near the window, looking as if his entire world had just been ripped apart.

Jurian was the first to speak, still chewing, still as smug as ever.

“Oh, Y/N, dearest. Sorry for not telling you about our arrival beforehand. Things just… got a little messy.” He gestured vaguely, swallowing another bite of her food. “But you really should be more logical with where you keep your keys. I mean, under a flowerpot? Really?” He sighed, as if truly disappointed in her lack of caution. “Anyway, I believe you need no introduction to this guy.” He jerked his head toward Lucien. “He desperately needs to talk to you. Also—” He licked his fingers. “Delicious pastries, as always. Your cooking skills never cease to amaze me.”

Silence.

Y/N stared. Lucien stared.

And then, at the exact same time—

“You know him?!”

Jurian only grinned.

Lucien’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “You know her?!”

Jurian, the absolute bastard, only took a sip from his glass before placing it down and answering with complete nonchalance. “Oh, yes. Lucien, see, Y/N and I have been friends for over a year now. Since the moment I knew about the whole Cauldron drama, I made sure to visit her shop and get to know her. And we’re now the closest of friends, aren’t we, Y/N?” His smirk was absolutely infuriating. “As for Lucien, well, that’s a long story, really, but let’s just say—”

Jurian never got to finish his sentence.

Because the moment the words closest of friends left his mouth, Y/N snatched the nearest thing within reach—her wooden fruit bowl—and hurled it straight at his head.

Jurian dodged, but not fast enough. The bowl smacked his shoulder, and a few apples tumbled onto the floor.

“Friends?!” Y/N seethed. “Friends?!” She turned her glare on him, fists clenched. “You barge into my home, with someone you know I can’t be around, eat my food, and now—now you admit to being my friend because of some—some Cauldron what?! And you were friends with him this whole time too?!” She pointed an accusing finger at Lucien, her voice rising with every word. “I cannot believe you, Jurian. I really can’t. Friends aren’t like this!”

Lucien took a hesitant step forward. “Y/N—”

“Shut up!” she and Jurian snapped at the same time.

Lucien’s mouth shut instantly, his jaw tightening.

Y/N took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. She jabbed a finger toward the hallway. “Go into the other room. Now.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. He turned and left without another word.

Jurian sighed dramatically, rubbing his temple. “You know, I really don’t get enough credit for all the effort I put into making people’s lives better.”

Y/N shot him a look that could have burned him alive. “What. The fuck. Did you do.”

Jurian raised his hands in mock innocence. “I fixed things.”

“You fixed things?” she echoed, voice dangerously low.

Jurian smirked. “Alright, fine. I didn’t. The Cauldron did. I just… helped speed things along.”

Her nails dug into her palms. “You better start talking. Now.”

Jurian only sighed, shaking his head. “You never did have any patience.”

Y/N reached for another throwable object.

Jurian immediately lifted his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright! Calm down, will you?” He glanced toward the hallway. “Just—just listen to him. Really listen. And then, then, you can kill me later. Deal?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “I make no promises.”

Jurian grinned. “That’s my girl.”

Y/N huffed, turning on her heel before she could strangle him, pacing toward the hallway. Behind her, she heard Jurian call out, “Lucien! You’re up!”

Her hands clenched. Her heart pounded.

And as she turned to face Lucien once more, she steeled herself for whatever was about to come next.

The moment Y/N stepped back into the room, she regretted it.

Lucien stood near the window, but his usual sharpness, his composed demeanor, was gone. His broad shoulders slumped forward, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. And then—her gaze finally took in the bandages wrapped around his shoulder blade, the stark white fabric stained with hints of red.

She hesitated. Swallowed hard. “What the hell happened?”

Lucien stiffened, like he hadn’t expected her to speak first. “It’s nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. Not yet.

Instead, she moved further inside, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Silence wrapped around them, thick and suffocating. It was unbearable—too many things left unsaid, too much anger simmering beneath her skin.

And then Lucien let out a long breath, sinking into one of the chairs, pressing his hands into his face, fingers dragging through his unkempt hair. He looked—defeated. Like the weight of the world had finally broken him.

Y/N crossed her arms. “What is going on?” she demanded. “Why are you two in my house? What the hell is happening?”

Lucien inhaled sharply, like he was bracing himself. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

The words hit her like a whip.

She blinked. “What?”

His head lifted, and those amber eyes-so raw, so open in a way she had never seen before— locked onto hers. "I am so sorry for not knowing sooner."

She frowned, her heart beating just a little faster, even as confusion twisted through her. "Lucien, speak properly."

He exhaled. And then, barely above a whisper, he said it.

"You're my true mate."

Everything in her froze.

Her lungs forgot how to breathe, her body forgot how to move. It was like the world tilted beneath her feet, and she barely managed to remain standing.

The words repeated in her head over and over again, and yet she couldn't process them.

Couldn't believe them.

And then-a cold, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Lucien's brows furrowed. "Y/N-"

"So she was right." Her voice dripped with ice.

Lucien looked at her as though she had lost her mind. "Who-"

"Elain," she spat. "She really did tell you, didn't she? That you were my true mate?"

Lucien's eyes widened, shaking his head. "No-"

But she cut him off, her voice rising. "No what?

No, you didn't believe her? No, you weren't disgusted by me like everyone else? Because that's exactly what she said. She told me that you knew. That you knew about the rumors. That you knew I was your mate and that you didn't care because you were repulsed by the idea of being tied to someone like me."

Lucien went still. A deadly, terrifying stillness.

"What did you just say?"

Y/N let out another cold laugh, but it didn't feel like laughter at all. "Don't act so shocked."

His voice darkened. "When did she come to your shop?"

She scoffed. "Two days before I left."

Lucien's entire body tensed. "She threatened you?" His voice was eerily calm, too calm, but there was an underlying rage in his tone that sent chills down her spine.

"She told me to leave," Y/N snapped. "Told me I didn't belong. That you were hers and that I needed to disappear. And guess what, Lucien?

Even here, I still can't escape her. Even here, she has eyes watching me. People attacked me because of her. Because of you."

Lucien shot to his feet so quickly the chair nearly toppled over. "What?"

YIN smirked cruelly. "Even here, I get no peace.

Even here, I am hunted because of the female you chose.”

Lucien's breathing was ragged now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, his golden eye burning with fury.

Then, in a raw, unsteady voice, he whispered, "I swear, I had no idea."

Y/N just stared at him.

"If I had known," Lucien continued, voice cracking, "I would have—fuck." He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling harshly. "I never felt the bond before. The Cauldron chose Elain. And I thought-" His throat bobbed. "I thought that was it."

Y/N's lips parted, a sliver of something other than anger creeping into her. "You-" She hesitated. "You didn't reject the bond?"

Lucien looked at her like she had gone insane.

"Reject it?" His laugh was humorless. "I never even knew it existed."

She blinked, trying to process his words.

"For a year," he went on, shaking his head, "I tried to make someone who isn't mine love me back. And this whole time—" He exhaled roughly. "It wasn't even her."

Y/N's stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"

Lucien's gaze softened, an aching kind of sadness filling his features. "It was the Cauldron that bound me to Elain." His voice was barely a whisper now. "I had no idea you were my true mate."

Y/N couldn't speak. Couldn't think.

Lucien took a step closer, as if drawn to her. "If I had known..." He trailed off, his throat working, his voice breaking. "If I had known, I would have-"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

Because in that moment, Y/N finally understood.

For so long, she had carried this pain alone. Had believed herself abandoned, discarded by the one who was supposed to be hers. But Lucien... he hadn't known. He never knew.

And now?

Now, he did.

And it changed everything.

he tension in the room lingered even after their argument had settled into an uneasy silence. Y/N sat stiffly, arms crossed, glaring at Lucien, who still looked shaken. Jurian, leaning back against the worn-out chair, exhaled heavily before breaking the silence.

“I knew,” he said simply, voice quiet but certain. “From the moment Hybern found the Cauldron.”

Lucien’s head snapped up, his amber eyes narrowing. Y/N’s stomach twisted. “What?” she demanded.

Jurian nodded. “The moment I saw what the King was doing with the Cauldron—saw the way it was twisting fate—I knew something was wrong. I saw the bonds forming, the way the Cauldron was interfering with them. That’s when I knew.”

Y/N frowned, still processing. Lucien’s jaw tightened. “You knew about me and Y/N?”

“Yes,” Jurian admitted. “And I knew when the Cauldron forced the bond between you and Elain that it wasn’t real.”

Lucien sat back, looking dazed. Y/N gritted her teeth. “And yet you didn’t tell him.”

Jurian turned to her, gaze sharp. “Would he have believed me?”

Silence.

Jurian sighed. “That’s why I started searching for you, Y/N. I knew you were out there, and I knew you’d have the truth he needed to hear. I couldn’t just go to him with claims—I needed him to see for himself.”

Y/N clenched her fists. “For a hundred years, I felt the bond. I carried that knowledge alone, knowing my mate didn’t even know I existed. And then one day, the bond just… snapped.” Her throat tightened. “I thought you had broken it, Lucien. That you had known about me and rejected me.”

Lucien flinched. “I didn’t knowingly break it. I—I had no idea.”

“Right,” she scoffed, but there was exhaustion in her voice now.

“Right,” she scoffed, but there was exhaustion in her voice now.

Lucien dragged a hand through his hair. “I thought Elain was my mate. I never even considered the possibility of another. I never felt the bond before, not until the Cauldron forced one on me.” He looked at her then, eyes desperate. “I would never have ignored you if I had known.”

Silence stretched between them again, filled only by the weight of the truth settling over them.

But then Lucien suddenly stiffened, his mind catching on something. “Wait,” he muttered, looking at her sharply. “You said Elain hasn’t left you alone. That she has spies watching you—even here.”

Y/N exhaled sharply. “Yes. A few days ago, I had a run-in with some of them. They said things—things only Elain could have known. It was clearly a message from her.”

Jurian sat up straighter. “How did they look?”

Y/N frowned. “I don’t know. They wore dark cloaks. Concealed their faces.”

Jurian swore under his breath. “That’s not Elain.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Right. And I should believe you?”

Jurian leaned forward, voice low and serious. “Trust me.” The weight of his tone made both of them pause, their gazes locking onto him. “Those weren’t Elain’s spies. They were something worse. Sages of the Cauldron.”

Y/N froze. “What?”

Lucien’s brows furrowed. “Sages?”

Jurian nodded. “They’re a faction that still worships the Cauldron. They protect what’s left of its power, and they sense when something unnatural happens. If they’ve been watching you, it’s because they felt something shift.” His eyes darkened. “Like a broken bond that wasn’t supposed to break.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Lucien straightened, eyes burning with new intensity. “Then they’re a threat.”

Jurian shrugged. “More than that. They might try to interfere if they think the bond is being restored.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “So… what now?”

Lucien turned to her, his face unreadable. “I can still feel the bond. You can’t.”

She nodded.

His jaw tightened. “How do I restore it?”

Jurian exhaled through his nose. “You have to sever the Cauldron’s bond first. You have to break your tie to Elain completely.”

Silence fell again as both Y/N and Lucien absorbed that truth.

Lucien looked away, expression unreadable. Y/N sat rigidly, mind reeling.

So that was the answer. The reason she couldn’t feel it anymore. The Cauldron’s interference had severed her side of the bond. And the only way to fix it—

She let out a shaky breath.

Lucien was staring at the floor, his expression unreadable. But when he finally spoke, his voice was certain. “You’re right.”

Jurian stood suddenly, clapping his hands. “Then get up, both of you.”

Y/N and Lucien blinked at him.

Jurian smirked. “We’re going to Velaris.”

“No way in hell am I going back to that place ever again.”

YN’s voice rang through the room, sharp and unwavering.

Jurian sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Come on, YN—”

“Are you crazy?” she snapped, pacing furiously. “Do you even know what happened there? The rumors they spread about me? The lies? Elain practically controls everything over there. Her sister is the High Lady, her other sister is a Valkyrie. Do you think they’ll ever believe me? That they’ll ever like me?” She let out a bitter laugh. “They think I’m a traitor. That I betrayed them. That I was loyal to Hybern. And you—” she whirled on him, her anger burning through the room. “What is wrong with you, thinking I should just waltz back in there like none of that ever happened?”

Jurian’s jaw tightened, his patience wearing thin. “YN, I know what I’m doing—”

“Oh, do you?” she cut him off. “Because it seems like you’re just throwing me to the wolves.”

Jurian’s nostrils flared, his fists clenching at his sides. “You think I’d put you in danger? That I’d lead you somewhere you’d be torn apart without reason?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was frustration brimming beneath it. “I didn’t spend a whole year watching all this unfold just to push you into a losing battle.”

YN opened her mouth to snap back, but before she could, a voice—low, steady—cut through the tension.

“Enough.”

She froze, turning to see Lucien step forward. Jurian took a step back as Lucien came closer, his gaze fixed entirely on her. His golden eye flickered, his russet one locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

Then—so, so gently—he reached out, his fingers barely grazing her cheek. A featherlight touch, as if he feared she would flinch away, as if she were something delicate, breakable.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice raw with something she couldn’t quite name. “I want to feel our bond again. I want to be mated with you. I want you to feel the same. I want us to have what we were always meant to.” He swallowed, his fingers lingering against her skin. “Do you want that with me?”

YN’s chest ached. She had spent a century convincing herself that this bond, this mate, was nothing but a cruel joke played by the Cauldron. That Lucien had known and broken it on purpose. That he had chosen Elain over her.

But here he was—standing in front of her, asking her if she wanted this. If she wanted him.

Her thoughts swirled, chaotic and tangled. The years of resentment, the pain of watching him from afar, of knowing and then suddenly not knowing—the bond ripped from her as if it had never existed.

And yet…

“Yes,” she whispered.

Lucien exhaled, his fingers twitching against her cheek, but she wasn’t finished.

“But,” she continued, her voice steadier now, “it’s not something that can be fixed overnight. It will take time. There’s too much history, too much—”

“I know,” Lucien murmured, his eyes searching hers. “But we can work through it. We will work through it. If we both give it a chance.” His thumb brushed along her jaw, just once, before he pulled back slightly. “I already know my answer, YN. I just needed to know yours.”

She met his gaze, her heart pounding in her chest, and with a slow exhale, she gave him what he was asking for.

“Yes,” she said again, firmer this time.

Lucien’s lips parted, something flickering in his expression—something warm, something relieved.

“Then we need to face them,” he said softly. “We need to prove to them that we’re in the right. That you were never the villain they made you out to be.”

YN’s throat tightened. “But—”

“There are no buts,” Lucien interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. “If we want them to see the truth, then we can’t keep hiding. We can’t keep letting Elain’s version of events shape the world’s perception of you.” His russet eye darkened. “And if anyone knows more about these bonds—about what the Cauldron did—it’s Rhysand. You may not trust him, but he’s the only one who might have real answers.”

YN hesitated, her fingers curling into fists at her sides.

From the corner of the room, Jurian was watching them with a smirk, arms crossed as if he had known this exact moment would happen.

She scowled at him, then let out a long breath before shifting her gaze back to Lucien.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if anything goes wrong—if anything—” she jabbed a finger at Lucien’s chest, “you’re winnowing us out of there immediately.”

Lucien’s lips twitched. “You have my word, ma’am.”

Jurian clapped his hands together. “Perfect. Now, let’s go break some illusions.”

The moment Lucien winnowed them into the townhouse, Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine hit her. The flickering glow of candles on the dining table illuminated the shocked faces of Feyre, Rhysand, and Elain—mid-dinner, forks frozen halfway to their mouths.

The silence lasted all of two heartbeats.

Then—

“What the hell?” Rhysand was on his feet in an instant, shadows curling around him as his violet eyes locked onto Y/N with a feral snarl.

Feyre shot up as well, stepping protectively in front of Elain. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, her gaze cutting to Lucien, to Jurian, and then back to Y/N.

Elain’s expression had brightened the second she saw Lucien, her brown eyes lighting up in relief, in happiness—Lu, you’re back— but then she saw Y/N.

The warmth drained from her face like a candle snuffed out. Her lips parted in surprise before curling into something sharp, something cold. “What is she doing here?”

Y/N clenched her fists.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Rhysand bit out, his power rippling through the room, the air thick with warning. His voice dipped into a growl. “Traitor's have no place in this city.”

Feyre’s hands clenched at her sides. “You betrayed us. You sided with Hybern—”

“I did not side with Hybern!” Y/N snapped, the words flying out before she could stop them.

“You expect us to believe that?” Elain’s voice was quiet, but full of venom. She lifted her chin. “After everything you did? The lies you told, the way you—”

“Don’t you dare,” Lucien cut in, his voice low, furious.

Elain blinked at him in shock. “Lucien, you—”

“I what?” Lucien stepped in front of Y/N, shielding her as he glared at Elain. “You think I’d just stand by and let you rewrite history?”

Elain’s face twisted, her usual soft demeanor fracturing into something hard. “You’re really choosing her over me?”

“Choosing truth over lies,” Lucien corrected, his russet eye burning with anger.

Y/N’s breath hitched. The sheer force of his protectiveness—his rage—made her head spin.

Elain flinched, but quickly masked it. “I don’t know what she’s told you—”

“Enough,” Jurian interrupted, stepping forward with a sigh, arms crossed. “Gods, you fae love the sound of your own voices.”

Rhysand snapped his gaze toward him, his power crackling in the air. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Jurian drawled. “Would you all just shut up for a moment?”

A tense silence settled over the room.

Rhysand’s expression darkened dangerously. “You think you can waltz into my home and speak like that—”

“Yes, actually,” Jurian cut in, entirely unfazed. “Since you all are so convinced of your own version of events, I thought it might be nice if, for once, someone told the truth in this godsdamned city.”

Feyre scoffed. “And you expect us to believe you?”

Jurian only smirked. “Oh, you will. Because this time, I have proof.”

Feyre hesitated. Rhysand’s brows furrowed slightly, as if considering whether it was worth listening at all. But Elain—Elain was already shaking her head, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, voice trembling just enough to sound believable. “I never spread rumors about her. I never—”

“Cut the act, Elain,” Lucien snapped.

Elain flinched again, real hurt flashing across her face, but Lucien was unrelenting. “You knew exactly what you were doing,” he said, voice steady. “You wanted me to believe she was a traitor. You wanted all of them to believe it. And you succeeded, didn’t you?”

Elain’s lip trembled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Are you sure?” Jurian said, tilting his head. “Because I have some very interesting letters in my possession. Letters sent from a certain Archeron sister to certain key figures in Velaris.” He pulled a stack of parchment from his coat and held them up lazily. “Want to guess what they say?”

Feyre’s expression wavered, her gaze flickering to Elain. “What… letters?”

Elain paled. “I don’t know what those are.”

“Don’t you?” Jurian’s smirk widened. “Shall I read them aloud? Or do you want to admit it now, before I air all your dirty secrets in front of your precious family?”

Silence.

Elain’s hands clenched at her sides. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.

Then—Feyre turned to her, something cold creeping into her stare. “Elain…?”

Elain swallowed. “I—”

“You actually did this?” Feyre’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the air like a blade.

Elain’s composure finally cracked. “I—” She let out a breath, her hands shaking. “I had to! You don’t understand—”

“You had to?” Lucien’s voice was like ice. “You ruined her for what? So you could paint yourself as the innocent one?”

“I—” Elain’s voice hitched, and then, as if on instinct, she turned to Feyre. “Feyre, you believe me, don’t you?” Her eyes welled with tears, her lower lip trembling. “You know I would never—”

Feyre took a slow step back. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

Silence pressed down on them all. Y/N barely felt like she could breathe, her chest tightening.

Then—

Rhysand exhaled sharply through his nose, his gaze like steel as he finally spoke.

“Into my office. Now.”

His voice was an order, absolute and final, his eyes cutting to Lucien, Jurian, and Y/N.

Lucien straightened, his face unreadable. Jurian gave a mocking little bow, a smirk still playing on his lips.

As for Y/N—she couldn’t stop herself from glancing back at Elain, who had slumped into a chair, face buried in her hands. Feyre stood over her, expression torn.

But before Y/N could process any of it, Lucien’s warm hand pressed against her back, guiding her forward.

They had won the first battle.

But the war had only just begun.

Rhysand leaned against his massive oak desk, arms crossed, violet eyes sharp with scrutiny as they landed on Y/N.

“Y/N.” The single syllable carried the weight of a century’s worth of accusations.

Y/N sighed. The room felt suffocating, and for a brief moment, she considered staying silent. But then—Lucien shifted slightly in front of her, his stance subtly protective, as if to remind Rhysand that no amount of power or authority would allow him to intimidate her now.

That small action settled something inside her.

So she met Rhys’s gaze head-on and spoke.

Rhysand’s Office – Truth Unraveled

Rhysand leaned against his massive oak desk, arms crossed, violet eyes sharp with scrutiny as they landed on YN.

“Y/N.” The single syllable carried the weight of a century’s worth of accusations.

Y/N sighed. The room felt suffocating, and for a brief moment, she considered staying silent. But then—Lucien shifted slightly in front of her, his stance subtly protective, as if to remind Rhysand that no amount of power or authority would allow him to intimidate her now.

That small action settled something inside her.

So she met Rhys’s gaze head-on and spoke.

“I knew about my mating bond with Lucien for a hundred years,” she said evenly. “I felt it snap into place the first moment I saw him. I felt it every day after that, the pull, the warmth, the… inevitability of it.” She inhaled sharply. “And then, one year ago, it broke.”

Rhysand didn’t react immediately, but his eyes darkened, assessing.

“I felt it break,” Y/N continued, her voice gaining strength. “One moment, it was there—the next, it was gone. At first, I thought it was something Lucien did. That he had chosen to reject it. The pain of that, of thinking he had knowingly severed what was between us…” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “It nearly destroyed me.”

Lucien shifted closer, as if the memory of her pain was enough to stir his own anger all over again. “I never broke our bond,” he said, his voice tight, restrained. “I never would have.”

Rhysand studied him. “Then how do you explain—”

“I explain it like this.” Jurian cut in, dropping a thick stack of aged papers onto Rhys’s desk with a smug grin. “The Cauldron did a shit job with the whole mating business.”

Rhys arched a brow, unimpressed. “You’re expecting me to believe the Cauldron—one of the most powerful forces in existence—messed up?”

“I’m expecting you to read before you make an ass of yourself,” Jurian shot back. “But then again, making an ass of yourself seems to be your specialty.”

Rhys’s jaw ticked, but he ignored him—for now. He flicked a hand, and the papers lifted into the air, pages flipping on their own. His eyes scanned the documents, and for the first time since they arrived, a flicker of uncertainty passed over his face.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never questioned it,” Jurian went on. “Lucien is mated to Elain—a female who can barely stand to be in the same room as him? And you? Your mating bond appeared at the exact moment Feyre needed you most?” He gestured lazily to Y/N and Lucien. “But these two? They felt the bond for a century, only for it to be ripped away the second Elain entered the picture?”

Rhysand said nothing, but the way his brows furrowed slightly told Y/N that he was at least considering the possibility.

“The Cauldron doesn’t make mistakes,” Rhys finally murmured, but there was doubt in his tone now.

Jurian snorted. “The Cauldron also created Hybern, Koschei, and—oh, I don’t know—every cursed thing to ever walk this world. I wouldn’t exactly call it flawless.”

Rhys exhaled slowly, setting the papers down. “This is… a long argument.”

“No shit,” Jurian quipped.

Rhys shot him a dry look before turning back to Y/N. “And you?” His voice was quieter now. “You believe all of this?”

Y/N lifted her chin. “I believe that what I felt was real. That what Lucien and I still feel is real.” She hesitated. “And I believe that Elain—your Elain—ruined my life. She threatened me in my own shop. Pretended to be a friend, only to turn out to be a foe."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Rhysand took his time processing. Then, slowly, he straightened, stepping toward them—

Only for Lucien to subtly shift again, his body angled just enough to block any further approach.

Rhys paused. A flicker of something—maybe amusement, maybe understanding—crossed his face before he exhaled sharply. “Look,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I apologize, Y/N.”

Her breath caught.

“But Elain is my family, too,” he continued, his voice measured. “And when I was faced with choosing between believing her—the soft, kind sister—and you, the one who had already been painted as a traitor, what choice did I have?” His gaze was piercing, like he was daring her to challenge him. “Rumour or not, as a High Lord, I take the safety of my people seriously. When I was told you were a traitor—”

“Oh, please,” Jurian groaned, rolling his eyes. “Spare us the ‘noble High Lord’ speech. You believed her because it was easy to believe her. And because you’re an arrogant prick.”

Rhys’s lips curled into a slow, predatory smirk. “No wonder after all these years, I still hate you, you insufferable sea urchin.”

Jurian placed a hand over his heart. “And yet, you still haven’t drowned me. Must be love.”

Y/N almost laughed. Almost.

Instead, she turned back to Rhysand, who was watching her again. “If you wish to say anything to Elain,” he said carefully, “you can. But I give you my word, we will deal with her.”

Y/N hesitated.

Then, she shook her head. “No.” Her voice was quiet. “Just tell her… that I pity her. And that I hope, someday, she finds peace.”

Lucien stiffened beside her, and even Rhys’s expression faltered for a moment.

Finally, the High Lord nodded. “Very well.” He crossed his arms again. “Now, let’s discuss what happens next.”

Y/N’s spine locked.

“You will be compensated,” Rhys continued. “And you are welcome in Velaris again. If you and Lucien wish to restore your bond—”

Lucien didn’t move.

Rhys sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine. Compensation, freedom, all of that—done. But I assume you’ll need time to adjust?”

Y/N studied him. Then, slowly, she said, “I’ll decide on that myself.”

Rhysand smirked. “Fair enough.”

Lucien still didn’t relax, but Y/N found herself… lighter. Not at peace, not entirely. But lighter.

And for now, that was enough.

A year later, Y/N never thought this would be the life she was living now.

For a hundred years, she had carried the ache of an unfulfilled bond, the pain of watching her mate exist in another court, seemingly unknowing of her. And for one year, she had lived with the grief of thinking that bond had been shattered forever.

But now?

Now, she woke up each morning with the weight of Lucien’s arm wrapped around her waist, his breath warm against her skin, his presence as solid and certain as the rising sun. Now, the world was bright—vivid—colors she had forgotten seemed to have seeped back into her life, as if the bond’s return had repainted everything she saw.

It hadn’t been an easy road. Rhysand had helped them restore the bond—not out of guilt (though there was plenty of that) but because, deep down, he knew he had made a mistake. They had traveled across courts, met with creatures even Amren would hesitate to cross. The process had been slow, painstaking, but with every step, with every new piece they uncovered, something between her and Lucien clicked back into place.

And then—one day—it simply snapped back.

The moment it did, she had felt it, as if the universe had taken a deep breath and exhaled in relief. And when she looked into Lucien’s eyes—his real, warm, knowing eyes—she saw everything she had ever wanted staring right back at her.

At first, they took things slow.

Lucien came with her to the Summer Court, choosing to leave behind the baggage of his past and start anew beside her. They rebuilt their lives, not as broken pieces forced back together, but as two fae learning each other all over again—this time, without the weight of uncertainty, without the ghosts of what-if's haunting them.

Jurian, of course, refused to let them be too happy without his interference. He bought a home nearby just to be annoying, dropping in at the worst possible times.

Y/N had taken the compensation Rhysand offered—not as a favor, but as what was owed—and built something of her own. She had a place now, a home she had made with Lucien, a life that felt like it was hers again.

Their bond grew stronger with every passing day, deepening with shared experiences, whispered conversations under the stars, stolen kisses in the sunlit waters of Summer.

And when they finally gave in—fully, completely—when they stopped holding back…

The mating frenzy was ruthless.

YN chuckled just thinking about those months—months where they couldn’t be apart for longer than a minute, where just being in separate rooms felt wrong. Months where Jurian had been kicked out of their home more times than she could count, storming off with a string of curses because for the love of the gods, could you two just keep your hands off each other for one damn second?

(No, they could not.)

Lucien had proven to be as romantic as he was insatiable.

He left notes for her everywhere, tucked between bookshelves, slipped beneath her pillow, hidden in the folds of her clothes. Some were sweet—I love you more than words can say. Others were mischievous—I’d rather be tangled up with you in bed than doing whatever the hell I’m doing right now.

He woke her with kisses, pressed flowers into her palms for no reason other than to see her smile, whispered mine against her skin like it was a prayer.

He danced with her in the moonlight, slow and unhurried, even when there was no music. He traced the lines of her hands, the curve of her cheek, as if memorizing every inch of her, as if he still couldn’t believe she was real.

And when she woke up from old nightmares, from memories of pain and betrayal, he was always there—his hands steady, his voice soothing, his love unwavering.

As for Elain…

She got what she deserved.

Rhysand and Feyre had not taken kindly to the deception, to the lies that had unraveled their court’s foundation. It hadn’t been a harsh punishment—not exile, not death. But Elain had been stripped of the privileges she had grown accustomed to, forced to reckon with the consequences of her actions.

Even Nesta, cold and sharp as she was, had sent Y/N an apology. A simple letter. No excuses, no justifications—just acknowledgment of the wrongs done to her.

But none of that mattered anymore.

Because YN was here. Living.

A warm hand curled around her wrist, pulling her from her thoughts.

Lucien’s molten gaze met hers, a soft smirk playing on his lips. “You’re thinking too much again.”

She huffed a laugh. “And you’re distracting me again.”

His fingers traced slow circles against her skin. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as he pulled her against him, his arms caging her in, his warmth seeping into her.

And as he kissed her, slow and deep, she thought—

This.

This is what it was always meant to be.

“You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @forever-paramore28 @jaybbygrl @xxemmarldxx @theravenphoenix26 @moonlwghts @circe143 @rcarbo1 @onebadassunicorn @casey1-2007 @bambistuffsblog

[amywritesthings]

dating on airplane mode. | part three.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader Fandom: attack on titan (modern au) Word Count: 5.5k Summary: So you're dating your neighbor who also happens to be a sex hotline dom named Levi Ackerman. Stranger things have happened, right?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - slow burn, mentions of sex work, neighbors au, newly established relationship, the direct sequel to Press Four For More Options Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics

part two. / part four. | masterlist

“You boned.”

“Annie!”

Eight o’clock in the morning and you’re already under attack.

Not a 'hello' or 'how are you' — just a crude accusation spoken very loudly in a very busy coffee shop.

You manage to salvage your coffee order before you can knock over the cup from shock, though the abruptness of Annie Leonhart’s proclamation sloshes some of the steaming liquid onto the table between you.

Annie doesn’t flinch when she answers.

“I see it in your stupid, beautiful face.”

“Can I please sit before you — I’m sorry, stupid and beautiful?”

“You are both. Don’t change the subject.” 

“You haven’t even let me—”

“I need every detail told to me in ways that would jeopardize our relationship with HR.”

Annie slides her sunglasses up to her hairline.

“Not that Shadis likes me to begin with.”

(Maybe you should have called out sick today.)

Drawing in a slow inhale through your nose, you give your colleague and friend a pointed look — as if somehow taking the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ approach has ever worked on a woman like Annie.

“You almost made me drop my coffee,” you state instead.

“So you’re not denying it,” Annie catches, leaning halfway over the circular table. Her blue eyes sparkle with anticipation. “You met someone, and you did the do.”

“I did meet someone,” you confirm as you lean forward as well, matching her energy, “but no, we did not do the do. What are we in, high school?”

“Apparently,” Annie states with a growing grimace, unimpressed by your resolve. “Boring.”

Rolling your eyes, you pluck a sugar from the table to add to your piping-hot beverage.

“Fine, then you don’t get to hear about my boyfriend at all.”

Annie’s smug smirk drops to the floor.

Bingo.

You knew, out of anything you could have said, the b-word would trip up her war path.

Yet when you expect shock to follow, you’re treated instead with… worry?

(Well, that wasn’t the reaction you were expecting with the new relationship bomb drop.)

“Look me in the eye right now,” she demands, tone taking a serious curveball.

“I’ve only been looking at you this whole time, Annie.”

“Okay, well, keep staring at me.”

Annie takes a pause before quietly asking:

“I’m only going to say this once, because if I say it again I might throw up and have a stroke.”

“That’s… dramatic, but okay.”

“I care about you,” she starts with utmost sincerity.

Something uncomfortable bubbles in your belly, like the positive honesty feels weird — it is weird, coming from Annie, but still.

“I care about you a lot, okay? And I need you to know, because I care, that you really do not need to go back to whatever ridiculously stupid—”

“What?”

“—miscommunications he put you through. I know he has great hair and we’re surrounded by receding hairlines at the office so a full head makes it even more appealing, but—”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Without thinking, you dart your hand over the table and speak as fast as humanly possible.

“Ididn’tgobacktoPorco!” 

When Annie finally closes her mouth, you exhale and repeat with emphasis. 

“I did not go back to Porco.”

The tension in her face dissolves. “You didn’t?”

“Jesus, no, why the hell would I go back to Porco?”

“Because you said boyfriend, and it feels pretty sudden, so I just—”

“I said I met someone, Annie, not that I went back to someone.”

“It could have meant the same thing!”

Flopping back into your chair with a groan, you shake your head and bring the coffee cup to your lips. 

As you blow against the hot beverage, Annie seems to settle. Regroup. Assess.

“Okay, so it’s not Porco.”

“God, no. I’m pretty sure he’s still pleasantly happy with Pieck.”

“I don’t care what he’s happy with. Fuck that guy. So then it’s—”

A flicker of recognition passes over her face.

“—the eggplant guy?”

If only Levi could hear your work best friend describe him as the eggplant guy, given your text exchange before you ditched the bar last night. You’re not sure if you’d ever never live it down.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “The eggplant emoji guy.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit.”

Annie, dazed and dazzled by this newfound information, sips slowly on her six-shot heart attack of a hot coffee.

You still wait to take a sip of yours, forever the cautious one, and let the edge of the coffee lid hover a breath away from your lips.

Is it okay to tell your friends about this?

You didn’t ask. 

Hell, you haven’t had much of a conversation about what any of this means yet other than the fact that this relationship is exclusive and not as fragile as you’ve been conditioned to believe.

(Somehow Levi has already dissuaded an anxiety it took other men months to try — and significantly fail — at quelling.)

“Where’d you meet him?” Annie asks, breaking through the start of the cobweb doubts and mysteries can often so easily spin. “At the bar last night?”

“Sort of?”

Her eyes narrow. “What do you mean, sort of?”

“Like…”

You trail off, trying to figure out the appropriate way to explain yourself.

“We technically met at the bar last night, for the first time?”

“Wait, so he’s a guy from a dating app?” Annie asks with a slight crack of confusion in her voice, sipping more of her coffee. “But I thought you got rid of those dating apps before the—”

She abruptly coughs, putting her drink down on the table in order to cover her mouth.

Ah.

There it is.

You knew you weren’t going to need to explain the situation very far with Annie. 

A natural-born detective, she puts two and two together before you have a chance to tease the miracle (mistake?) she’s conjured on a fateful napkin at a very shitty holiday party.

For a minute she stares at you, dumbfounded for what may very well be the first time in her life.

Her hand continues to cover her mouth. A tiny brown droplet bounces from her chin, dripping onto the wooden surface below.

Despite yourself, you feign nonchalance and finally take a sip of your coffee.

The warning sting causes you to wince and reluctantly sit the cup back down on the table.

Yep. Bad idea. Still too hot.

 “...it’s the Scout Services hotline guy?”

Annie’s voice barely registers past a whisper. 

Awe sweeps her expression—

Like she’s proud?

“Yeah,” you finally confess as if this coffee shop is a church ready to absolve your incoming sins. “The Scout Services hotline guy.”

Wooden legs creak as she scoots her chair closer.

Annie leans over the table with eager eyes and a mouth that’s catching flies.

“Did you stay over at his place last night?”

“No,” you concede, but you can’t help but add, “but I did see him twenty minutes ago.”

.

. — —

.

.

  There’s a difference between watching Levi work out from afar when you’re supposed to pretend you give two shits about the 90’s movie they’re playing on repeat between the morning news and music videos — 

— and watching Levi work out from afar when Levi is very aware that you cannot take your eyes off of him.

  After you locked the door to your apartment last night, getting ready for bed felt like a dream.

Grabbing water from the refrigerator felt like an adventure.

Shimmying out of your day clothes to an oversized t-shirt and sleep pants somehow felt exciting.

Like your world, once in sepia, had burst into technicolor.

For hours, a tingle lingered on your lips with the evidence of his boldness.

The ceiling was a makeshift projector, replaying the scene of him grabbing your face and pressing your into the wall of his apartment.

And, technically speaking, his bedroom would be right in this room, too.

Six floors up.

He’d been lying right above you, six floors up, for weeks, and you never knew.

By the time you finally found the relaxation to fall asleep, your alarm clock buzzed with the shrill urgency to start a brand new day. 

Truth be told, you didn’t care if you were tired.

Hell, even with bloodshot eyes and a dry mouth, you weren’t sure if you could actually be tired today.

Not when you had to pepper on some concealer and grab your best workout clothes to sprint a beeline to the gym.

(Something must be in the water if the gym could harbor this much excitement without seething sarcasm; the power of hyperactive horniness.)

Like clockwork, Levi was there — same workout bench, organizing the same class of free weights, but looking… lighter.

Maybe a little less serious.

Yet when the front door to the gym chimed with your entrance, his chin lifted instantly.

Searching eyes floated around, aimless with a flash of hope, until they eventually landed on you.

Something warm flickered across his face before he nodded once, a silent greeting.

Water bottle in hand, you raised your free hand to wave back before disappearing to put your stuff away.

By the time you left the locker room, Levi already began bicep curls in front of the mirror.

(Showoff.)

Slowly approaching the bench, you could feel the butterflies threaten to take over your entire body.

The way he so easily maneuvered you to that wall, the feeling of his lips on yours—

“Surprised you’re here so early,” Levi stated, bursting your dream bubble. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Bad news: the baritone in his voice was far worse in the morning.

(As if you needed any other reason to be distracted.)

“Something like that,” you confessed, unable to keep the smile from pursing your lips. “Are you always here this early?”

“Sort of.”

Levi paused to glance back at the weights he’s sectioned off at his bench before gesturing back to you.

“Actually wanted to catch you before you had work.”

You couldn’t stop the surprise even if you tried. “Oh?”

Right.

Because he knew what time you go to work.

Thanks to your motor mouth, he knew a lot of things about you.

Some would argue they’re things that no one else should.

It’s a little incredible that you could even look him in the eye after everything that had gone down between two telephones and a credit card.

Levi turned to set his free weights down on the bench below. He wiped his palms off on his hips and pivoted towards you.

For a minute you both waited there, saying nothing yet everything at the same time.

Silence usually freaked you out.

Not now.

Being in his presence was surprisingly perfect enough.

“Just wanted to wish you a good day at work, see if you slept alright, those sort of things."

"Oh," you lamely state again, trying your best not to break out into a giddy smile. "Well, I... appreciate the well wishes, and they're right back at you. Did you sleep alright?"

"Not exactly, but it wasn't a hinderance," he admits before jutting his chin at your body. "I like this on you."

"This what?"

"Your outfit."

Somehow his drive-by compliment had the power to wipe your memory of the outfit you chose between the time you left your apartment and now.

Your chin dropped to stare down at your clothes with a growing bashfulness.

“You do?”

Levi nodded once. “The color suits you.”

His words are so genuine that you couldn’t possibly come up with anything suave back.

Thank you? Too bland.

I think I look like shit? Lacking confidence was not a good look.

Instead you shrugged as nonchalant as possible and spoke—

“Well, you — you know, you look really good in white, so.”

You had to bite the tip of your tongue not to outright grimace. 

Smooth. Real smooth.

But not wrong — Levi was wearing a clingy white tank top and a pair of black basketball shorts. White was definitely in his color. It made the silver dog tags around his neck stand out louder.

"I meant it — the white looks great with your black hair, and I just —  please shut me up before I keep rambling about colors."

The corner of Levi’s lip curled upward briefly before he ducked his chin with a huff that almost sounded like a laugh.

As his head shook — in disbelief or modesty of his own, you couldn’t tell — his black hair swayed over his eyes.

“I could listen to you talk all day, you know that."

His tone was noticeably warmer now.

"But the attention to color is noted and appreciated."

Levi inhaled, taking a pause, before gesturing to the machines you’re usually situated at.

“Guess you don’t have much time before your shift?”

“Not really,” you confessed.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you promised Annie you’d meet her for coffee, then maybe you would have stayed a little longer. Talked all day, maybe, just to see if he was telling the truth.

“Well, I won’t keep you.”

Please do, you wanted to say.

Instead you nodded, pressing your lips together tightly. 

You weren’t sure if public displays of affection are on the table, so you gave a short, awkward parting wave.

Levi belatedly waved back, as if confused by the gesture.

“Have a good day at work,” he added before you turn.

As you made your way to the treadmill and assumed position, you noticed the way his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors watches your every move.

Eventually Levi turned to his set of free weights and began his typical routine — bicep curls, tricep extensions, back flies —

But every so often—

A glimpse.

After every set, a small but meaningful glimpse in the mirror found its way to you.

And shamelessly, for the first time in your life, you stared right back.

He watched as you departed for the showers and followed your departure through the exit.

.

. — —

.

.

“Holy shit. ”

“Yeah.”

To say you were giddy is an understatement.

Even now as you recount the brief meeting with your very-new, barely-a-day-old boyfriend, a flood of warmth unlike anything you’ve ever experienced washes over you.

“The insane odds that he’s been hot and sweaty at the same gym as you the entire time.”

Annie shakes her head, blowing her blonde side bang out of her face.

“I should’ve joined that stupid place when you asked.”

“Right? Shame on you,” you joke, attempting another sip of your coffee.

It’s still hot, but it doesn’t threaten to sear off your taste buds.

“Are his arms huge?” You shake your head, and Annie outright whines. “Oh, fuck, he’s lean?”

“He’s strong, I can tell you that.”

Pride.

Your tone is drenched in pure, unabashed pride.

(Because you are — proud, really, of the man you’ve managed to somehow charm into dating you despite the nagging feeling that he’s eons out of your league.)

As you dart your tongue between your lips to catch the remaining coffee, you watch as a dreamy Annie slowly but surely sinks back down into her chair.

Her brow pinches together, face scrunched in deep thought.

Then it smooths, though her one eye narrows to a squint.

“So then how does… everything work?” she eventually asks.

Annie reeks of skepticism, causing you to sit up taller in your chair.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you thought about it?”

“About what, Annie?”

“Y’know, the whole hotline thing.”

Right.

The hotline thing.

The part you haven’t quite processed yet.

Because at the end of the day, there is one very important truth:

Levi is an adult hotline operator.

Not only were you a former client as of a few days ago, but you are not naive enough to partake in the delusion that you were his only client.

Dozens, if not hundreds, of people called in nightly to get a fix.

There are only so many operators available nightly.

It wouldn’t be crazy to believe he has regulars.

Hell, he has the voice and the skill to possess an entire fanbase.

“Are you okay with that?” Annie adds as if she can hear your inner turmoil brewing within. 

Her tone reflects no judgement, for you or for him. 

It’s an honest question.

“I… have not gotten that far,” you are slow to start, choosing honesty as your best policy, before shaking your head. “I mean, yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah. I’m okay with that. I think I’m okay with that. I mean, I’m not stupid: a job like that is going to take a lot of… time and communication, but it’s a job just like anything else.”

“Like acting?” she supplies, and the haze is a little bit clearer.

“It’s technically a type of voice acting, right?” you agree, gesturing broadly with your hand. “And that’s certainly how this whole thing might have started out between us, but that’s not what it is now.” 

You may not be sure of many things in this world, but you’re pretty certain about that.

“It’s going to be a learning curve,” you continue, “but it isn’t like I’d ever ask him to quit his job over dating me.”

Annie nods and leans in to pick up her coffee, sipping slowly to gather her thoughts.

After a beat, she pulls the coffee cup away and speaks.

“You’re looking at this a lot more realistically than a lot of people would be, but I know that’s just how you are. A lot of people would be leery of that sort of occupation, so that’s why I asked. Not saying you have any reason to be concerned, it is a job, but boundaries and figuring out how to separate it from your former calls is… something to talk about.”

“And we will,” you reassure her earnestly. “Nothing about last night felt forced, if that makes sense. He’s… attentive? Intuitive? And he wants to talk things out. Do things right. Go slow.”

A grimace curls on Annie’s lip. 

“Go slow? What are we, in medieval times?”

“Annie.”

“I’m kidding,” she concedes, “sort of.” 

With a pause, she shifts in her chair and gestures with her hand at you. 

“Look, after all of Porco’s bullshit and the way the two of you ended in such a wishy-washy way, it’s nice to hear about a man that actually wants to communicate and go slow.”

“You really mean that?”

“Absolutely not, I’d die if the guy I was seeing went slow,” she replies, shaking her head wildly. “But we are two totally different people when it comes to romance. You love that whole wining and dining and waiting for the right moment shit, and I… do not.”

“Clearly.”

“And that’s why we gel so well.”

A genuine smile grows on her mouth. 

“But, seriously,” Annie continues. “I’m happy about anything that makes you happy. It might be unconventional, but aren’t most great things?”

She isn’t wrong.

Some of the greatest love stories ever told faced copious amounts of adversity and challenges.

Maybe dating Levi Ackerman will be one of the wildest adventures of your life, but you’ve fallen far too deep now to claw yourself out.

You want to see where this goes.

Where it could lead.

(To hell with conventional.)

As she lifts her coffee towards you, you catch Annie’s drift and lift your own.

The paper cups tap together in an early-morning ‘cheers’ of solidarity.

“And who knows?”

Annie smirks in devilish contemplation.

“Maybe he can tell me if my Bert’s actually tall, lanky, and breedable.”

“Annie!”

.

. — —

.

.

The day goes fast because everyone in your office is hungover.

Eren Yeager mourns the 80% tip he left for the bartender.

People ask where you went last night, but Annie — forever the wingwoman — tells them to mind their business, voice a hair too loud for their sensitive ears.

By the time you say your goodbyes at your desk, successfully avoiding your ex-boyfriend for yet another day in the office, the sun has already begun to set.

You beeline straight home with a gurgling stomach and a skip to your step.

When you get off of the elevator and make it to your front door, you notice a tiny green sticky note hanging right under the rounded peep hole.

In all capital letters, jagged and purposeful:

------------- DINNER, MINE, 8?

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Did Levi leave this on your door?

Is he seriously inviting you over tonight for dinner?

Ripping your phone from your pants pocket, you quickly look for Levi’s phone number. 

Although you’re fairly — if not completely — certain it’s him, you don’t want to presume it was a note left on the wrong door.

[ME:] Hey, quick question. Did you leave a note at my door?

Within seconds, a reply flashes in your notifications.

[LEVI:] Did it fall off?

[ME:] No, but there wasn’t a signature on the note

Three gray dots dance as he types.

[LEVI:] Shit, I didn’t leave my initials?

[ME:] Nope

[LEVI:] Well that’s embarrassing.

Unable to keep yourself from grinning, you unlock your front door and waltz into your apartment.

You lock it once more and kick off your shoes, padding across the floor towards your bedroom.

[ME:] lmao it isn’t embarrassing, but I accept

[LEVI:] Great. See you at 8.

You’re about to toss the phone on your bed to freshen up, but it buzzes again.

[LEVI:] Do you enjoy pasta?

[ME:] Love it

[LEVI:] Good.

After a few seconds pass, you’re certain that’s the end of the conversation.

It takes ten minutes to hastily wash your face, fix your clothes, and fuss over your appearance in the mirror to finally give up and accept this is as good as it’s getting on such short notice.

(Why does nothing sit right when it actually matters?) 

Confidence may be forced and fleeting, but you do your damnedest to hold your head up high when you enter the elevator and press on the button to illuminate Levi’s floor.

You can do this.

You can have a casual, very-last-minute dinner date.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding…

Ding.

The elevator doors open, and you make your way to the door you’d stumbled out of the night before.

Your knuckles rapt at the wood before you can chicken out, waiting for a response.

Muffled shuffling can be heard on the other side of the door before it flies open.

Levi Ackerman stands before you in a black apron tied around his neck and hips, obscuring the creme-colored Henley hugging his torso.

His emerald-green oven mitt sits idly against the edge of the door, creating a barrier between his apartment and the hallway.

“Hey,” he greets, and your heart melts.

“Hey.”

“Thanks for coming by. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved, actually.”

Something glows in the corner.

When your attention is ensnared by it, your eyes can’t help but widen.

On his small two-person dining table sits a tall candle burning on a cheap golden pillar.

There aren’t any other decorations or place mats. It’s just that sole candle, two folded napkins, and a set of silverware for each.

“My shitty friends told me it would be… appropriate to light a candle, when a date is coming over,” he explains slowly and all-too seriously. “I don’t typically light candles when I’m eating food.”

When he turns to glare at the barren romantics on his table, you note that the tips of Levi’s ears burn pink.

(As if you could be any more endeared.)

By the looks of the candle wax dripping down, it had been sitting there for a while.

“Candles are good,” you promise, toeing your shoes off at his front door. “I like candles.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I have like a million of them in my apartment.”

Levi can’t help but snort. “I have only this one that I picked up on my way home today.”

He steps out of the way to let you in and trudges back to the stove where several pots steam to a simmer.

Picking up the handle with the oven mitt, Levi carefully fills two circular plates full of seasoned spaghetti with a blush sauce and some basil drizzled on top.

Taking a seat by the candlelit table, you watch as he carefully picks up both plates and walks across the kitchenette towards you. He places both down simultaneously, serious in his delivery, before removing the mitt and apron to join you.

“How was work?” he casually continues once he sits.

“Same old boring stuff,” you confide, picking up your fork. “Do you cook often?”

“I do, yeah,” he confesses, mirroring your movements with his utensil. “Nothing elaborate, but it gets the job done. Do you?”

You scrunch your nose.

“When I’m not being lazy, sure. Instant ramen is my best friend, which is kind of a little sad. I want to start cooking more, but the drive doesn’t exactly hit me beyond, like, maybe once or twice a week. Leftovers are a godsend.”

There you go again.

As if rambling on the phone wasn’t enough, you can’t help but still do it in person.

The longer you talk, the more your brain screams at you to stop, but it’s that slight oversharing that always seems to sneak itself in.

An imperceptible smile graces his face. 

“Guess you’ll have to visit more during the week, then, so you go home with proper meals.”

The idea makes your heart flutter. 

“Guess I do.”

Both of you grow silent as you eat the (unbelievably) delicious meal he’s conjured.

You can’t get over how good a simple plate of spaghetti can be, but you imagine it’s whatever he’s done with the sauce that pushes it over the edge. 

After an exhausting day of office work, you try your damnedest not to scarf it all down.

Then you open your big damn mouth, not even thinking:

“Do you have work later?”

Because that’s what normal people ask, right?

About occupations, about schedules — it’s reciprocal to ask him about his job, but the metal of his fork scrapes across the plate as his hand completely stills. 

Levi’s attention rises back to you, fleeting apprehension in his gaze.

“I’m supposed to,” he cryptically replies.

“Supposed to?”

A hush falls over the intimate crowd.

Your brows knit as you attempt to decipher what isn’t being said.

Levi remains still, doing the same in return from the other end of the table, before slowly answering.

“If… you don’t want me to clock in, then I understand.”

When your eyes widen with the implications, he shakes his head and sets down the fork.

“I mean to discuss this with you before we go further anyway.”

That festering self doubt from the night before begins to creep up the veins of your hands, towards your hammering heart.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Levi huffs. “I understand my occupation isn’t conventional. Most people wouldn’t put up with the—”

“Put up with?”

You blurt, accidentally disrupting the beginning of his speech.

Setting down your own fork, you rest your hands in your lap as you put on your brave pants and take a leap of faith.

“Levi, I’m not asking you to quit your job over me.”

His head turns a fraction of an inch, eyes narrowed.

“It’s like acting, right?” you continue, returning to the conversation you had earlier with Annie. “It isn’t… real. I mean, not really. You put on a character and it—”

“Let me just stop you for a second. Please.”

Levi sits up taller, softening his tone despite the firm interruption.

“I meant what I said to you last night. You’re the only person I have ever crossed that line for, and our connection is something that will never happen again. I want this to work, so I’ll be as transparent as you need me to be so you never feel as if my job is anything but what you said — acting. Yes, it is a character. And no, Levi on the hotline is…”

He sighs heavily, as if this is a heavy burden he’s carried.

“That Levi is not this Levi sitting across from you.”

“I know.” 

You find a moment of bravery to not only interject, but reach across the table to grab the hand resting its surface.

Levi momentarily tenses at the touch before overturning his hand, curling his fingers around the edge of your palm to your wrist.

“I need you to know that I’m fine with being your cheerleader,” you promise, “and I’m not saying that just to… I don’t know, trick you someday down the line.”

Levi’s expression softens.

“You’re allowed to change your mind about me, though.”

“I know,” you repeat with a hint of amusement. “I’m not kept captive on the sixteenth floor. I very much want to be here, with you, eating dinner. Maybe a couple of times a week if you’re not too busy.”

“Never too busy, no,” he replies, softly running his fingertips along the inside of your wrist in a soothing manner. “My door’s wide open for whenever you want to spend time here.”

You burst into a grin. “Just not during your work hours.”

You can’t believe it.

Levi opens his mouth to respond, but a pinkish hue sprinkles across his cheeks and spreads up and under his black fringe to his ears.

You made him blush?

“You… I mean, maybe one day you could,” he nearly sputters. “I don’t recommend it — not because it’s too explicit, but it — Sorry, you caught me off guard with that.”

To say it feels empowering to throw confident, dominant Levi off of his axis is an understatement.

You can’t help but abandon your food and lean your elbow on the table.

Leaning against it, you glance down at your joined hands and purse your lips to avoid smiling.

Ideas.

Very bad ideas swirl like a surprise storm in your mind.

With this newfound shift in dynamics, of testing the waters of what this is in comparison to what you previous had, you can’t help but open your mouth and ask one very pointed question:

“Do you need a warm up?”

Levi’s brows knit as he stares you down, studying the forced neutrality on your face. 

“A… warm up?”

You’re not sure what you’re saying right now.

Your lips move, sure, and you hear your voice, but your brain is about three words behind.

“Just saying, since you’re working tonight. Like how Broadway performers do a vocal warm up before they go out on stage, if you needed—”

“You want me to warm up for my job for the night... by telling you how to get off?”

Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re proposing in this momentary lapse of judgement.

"In my own apartment," he clarifies, "right in front of me."

Levi isn’t even actually trying and all the heat shoots straight between your legs.

Maintaining eye contact, you can’t help but swallow.

"I guess that's kind of moving too fast, huh?"

“A little," he confesses, but there’s an element of breathlessness to his voice.

Is it a stupid idea? Maybe.

One could argue jumping into a relationship with the guy you were having hotline sex with for a week is also a stupid idea.

You never claimed to be a smart woman.

"And I know you want to take things slow, but..."

As you trail off, recognition passes across the dark-haired man's face.

Then — an almost playfulness in his tone, if you really listen closely.

"...but I’ve already heard you come at least twenty times in twenty different ways over the phone before I even got to ask you out," Levi finishes for you, "so I think it’s safe to assume we make our own rules.”

Unconventional.

What your best friend called this relationship skitters across your mind; a reminder that no matter how by the book you do this, it’ll still be a little off-kilter.

(And you realize you like that.)

“And how about a twenty-first?” you ask.

"I wouldn't say no," he blurts, then explains. "I... want to go slow, yeah, but I can't lie and say I don't miss hearing you."

You can't stop your brows from flying up.

"You miss hearing me—"

"Yeah."

The room feels ten degrees hotter, and it isn't the candle's fault.

Levi's throat bobs as he heavily swallows.

“Are you positive about this?”

Are you?

Your attention is unwavering when you respond. “Only if you want to, too.”

Expression still neutral, Levi contemplates.

His eyes drop blatantly to your lips, lingering, before they return to your face. And, with barely a whisper—

“I need to hear you say yes or no. Explicit consent. You know me.”

Anticipation floods your veins.

You nod, then for good measure, “I do. Yes.”

“And you know you can stop at any time.”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m still taking you out on that damn date.”

“I don’t doubt you, Levi.”

Levi inhales, slow and steady, through his nose at the sound of his name on your lips.

“...color?”

Something about hearing the stoplight measures vibrate in his very throat makes you more than ready to throw caution to the wind.

“Green.”

A hand raises as Levi’s hand runs across your cheek.

His thumb glides along your lower lip, right to left, before settling at its center. 

Testing the give — the submission — the pad of his thumb tugs your lip down.

It’s met with no resistance.

“Then take a seat on my bed.”

.

Author's Note:

The AO3 author curse hit me, but guess who is back!

I appreciate all of the comments on AO3 and the messages here in my absence with this story. The enthusiasm (and re-reads oh my gosh, I could send you all little treats for the re-read messages!) has seriously been my north star for the last four months. We are, in fact, getting spicy as hell next chapter.

Thank you for any reblogs, replies, etc. Every comment gives this writer wings.

[crustyfloor]

On Till’s (general emotional journey), his place in the karmic cycle occurring in Alien Stage’s ending, how he subverts the cruelty of self-punishment into a journey of personal growth, self-reflection, and gentle closure

And the reconciliation with Ivan that he never got to have

——

(Pretty long post )

All Panels from the "Remember everything" comic are a fan translation by @/ka_akeakamai

All panels from the "Scars" comic are a fan translation by @/manipuIatedstar

Ivan and Till's relationship has miscommunication and misunderstanding threaded into every aspect of their story. It eventually becomes tragic and pitiful when you realize they would've been so different if only they were more honest and understood each other better, especially with the examples that will be shown in this post

This foundation set for their relationship then planted the seeds for the actions that will induce a consequence (for Till's karma), as is the principle applied to the karmic cycle that says every action will come with a consequence [ a search for atonement]

The meteor shower was the seed, the "catalyst" for Ivan and Till's earliest development and dynamic shift, one of the "causes"-- when Till turned back and ran to the garden without a word Ivan didn't notice his hesitance, to put it into Ivan's perspective, he internalized this moment by assuming the situation would be better off if he no longer imposed his feelings on Till like before [Ivan's emotional expression has always been shown in the way he provoked Till or stuck by his side constantly,] If Till really preferred going back to the garden where he would continue to suffer just to be with Mizi-- to Ivan it proved that he wasn't truly wanted, he didn't mean as much to Till as he might've hoped for. (In short, Ivan took it as a rejection of his feelings as a whole.)

In the aftermath, Ivan didn't dissapear, didn't stop loving Till, but he did change the way he approached him, he began creating emotional distance from Till in certain, calculated ways [Back to the way Ivan shows his affection, the way he started subtly withdrawing, stopping Till from fighting with him and starting to show concern in secret and looking out for Till when he wouldn't notice was Ivan closing himself off from Till and shutting him out, especially as they got older, Ivan learned to become more evasive, like a shield.] So he started repressing his emotions, and voluntarily accepted staying in Till's shadow ("just enough to stay without being greedy")

Till wasn't being intentionally cruel; he was also just scared, scared of abandoning Mizi to escape and face the unknown outside of his comfort zone. We never do see Till confronting Ivan during or after the meteor shower because what Ivan and Till do when they fall out is not communicate, they just barely float around each other for a moment until they come back together. In this case, because Ivan wouldn't bring it up, Till didn't bring it up either. Till's emotional response to what he can't understand or cannot reconcile with almost always circles back to avoidance and denial [for instance, the gist of Mi Vida Loca is Till's avoidance and fears, and denial of the reality, all because he cannot find himself letting go in the face of rejection or fear, but all he wants to do is keep loving and chasing regardless]

Till isn't adept at handling social situations, certainly not feelings. He's especially careless about his interpersonal relationships, even though he cherishes them deeply, but his mind is always somewhere else, or he's too absorbed in his music to really see it, and he always finds himself too afraid to make the first move, always waiting or yearning or keeping to himself

Really, he's kind of simple-minded -> Till resolves the situation by not confronting/handling it because of the shame he had [for years, I imagine he grew to suppress these memories and avoid them until the present day]. Hell, maybe he didn't even have the words to explain it without a proper understanding of himself or Ivan or emotional maturity.

At the end of the day, neither he nor Ivan said a word about it; they didn't stop being together all the time, but something about their previous dynamic changed. And it didn't fix a thing

For years, Ivan and Till functioned like that, close but always circling around each other, avoidance, suppression, ignorance, but with Till, I wonder if there was an implicit trust that they would always be together anyway (it really just reminds me that he didn't anticipate going up against Ivan, and even post-cure, Ivan is always meant to return to him)

Years later, once the consequence is played out through Ivan's death, Till is once again grappling with denial and avoidance as he is alone to process all of this at once. The guilt and the suppressed feelings come back to him. During round 6, Till wanted to escape this exact scenario; he was fully ready to forfeit his life to Ivan to avoid living with all the failure and sorrow in his life, but [Till's "karma"] is being forced to acknowledge the reality, face it for the first time anyway without his defenses, even the loss he couldn't handle

This karma of his was innately set up to be a cycle of self-blame and self-destruction out of grief and trauma. If he chose to keep running and avoiding confrontation. His guilt would always be there, tormenting him, and so Ivan would never disappear. Till would end up staying stuck, walking in circles because of the past, and finding relief in causing wounds to keep things at bay. Worst case scenario, he would've destroyed himself to death

But here's the part where I believe he subverts "expectations" or breaks the typical flow of this cycle before it has the chance to break him

A rebellion member is killed on a mission, and the stray bullet injures Till. Of course, Till would feel upset for the life of another, especially since he couldn't do anything for them, but I'm almost certain that this scene was meant to play out as a reflection of Till's guilt and fears. It's to convey that Till is still haunted by these scenarios where he's helpless to the situation, people die all around him, and there's nothing he can even do about it. His guilt and self-loathing are endlessly eating at him, mocking him (Just the same way his hallucination of Ivan would say, "look at you, you're nothing but a burden." [Till hates feeling useless, pitifully weak]

Till breaks down to Isaac, it's implied more directly that Till's guilt over that incident is tied back to how tormented he is by the past. Till would continue to crush his own heart over his guilt, if Till doesn't move on and forgive himself, he's just going to continue to suffer and hate himself for the rest of his life over and over again, he'll continue to be reminded, that's just the cycle of trauma, [and that is how self-hatred plays out in these little ways, repetitively. Because of the person's perceived wrongdoings]

It could've been entirely unlikely that Till would've escaped this on his own if not for Isaac's advice-- he's told he should let go of the past and move forward, but Till knows in his heart that he doesn't want to let go, even though he wants to be freed, he doesn't want to forget it, it's all he's ever known for the majority of his life. That's why Ivan stays. If Till meant what he said by wanting Ivan to leave ages ago, Ivan would have been gone, but there's something within Till that is keeping him here. (Something unsaid, that he and 'Ivan' both know. Questions that have come back to the surface, being suppressed again and again out of fear, linger after all this time. I believe that's what pushes Till to really "confront" Ivan)

As I explained in another post, Till gets agitated when "Ivan" is casually checking on him and making the situation seem more mundane and casual than it actually is, just like he would do in the Garden.

Rewinding back to their days in Anakt Garden, after the meteor shower, it is my speculation that Till had many instances where he felt confused and irritated with Ivan for his behavior. Ivan was not good at calculating how Till would actually take these actions, even if they were small and "mellowed out." And Till, for his part, grew accustomed to ignoring Ivan and easily biting back what he actually felt behind bitter curses

When Till is reminded of this exact scenario in the present, he's sincerely upset and wonders why Ivan would never just ask if he was alright, ever. What does the hallucination of Ivan do...he deflects the question just like Ivan would have in the garden

Beneath this, in Till's words, there is a want, there is the deep-seated feeling of waiting for the people around him to ask about his feelings, to reach out first because he was a lonely child, he craved understanding and people, but was too scared to ask for it. But when Ivan always stuck around him and bothered him but didn't ask him about anything, he was left wondering why Ivan didn't care about him more, he was left questioning if Ivan ever did, and there it is, the core misunderstanding of each other

[Just like the behavior Till's hallucination of Ivan exhibits by avoiding elaboration and deflecting, this is the reason why Ivan and Till never properly connected with each other.]

Ivan and Till don't talk; Ivan is stubbornly resolute in his mindset, and Till remains stuck in place with apprehension and simple ignorance [A simple-minded guy at the time]. If they're left to their devices, they ultimately come to misguided conclusions about each other. Like Ivan not caring, Till not caring, then they never ask each other

How is Till simple-minded? pt.2 -> Well, he's not dumb, but he's naive. Always distracted, especially in the past with Mizi, without looking deeper into it and only absorbing how Ivan treated him in comparison to how he desired to be treated by people he cared about, back then they were immature children after all, when Till was spending day to day just trying to get by and feeling mostly confused by Ivan, it was easiest to assume things about Ivan that weren't true, especially in the instances where it'd seem like Ivan didn't even consider Till a friend, yet Till always cared about him

Till wonders why Ivan never asked him if he was okay, but in these scenarios where you're left asking why, maybe it is just that the other person was waiting for you to ask, too. It is just that Ivan wouldn't have known Till wanted him to care deep down if he thought Till disliked him so much, just as much as it would've been near impossible for Till to decipher Ivan's feelings if Ivan was always running and hiding. They both needed each other, but were actively denying themselves that because they were too scared of initiation, too scared to ask and get hurt, the Till of the present is understanding enough to realize that, fairly quickly, when he starts thinking back.

So when it comes to Ivan and Till's mutual misunderstanding, that's why Till was so stunned to realize something like Ivan actually caring about what he did, when otherwise, Till was too embarrassed to show him, and didn't think about whether Ivan would like it or not, if he could never read Ivan's feelings clearly. In Scars, we see him once again dismissing the thought and suppressing that revelation and the feelings that come with it, because of fear. Till was still avoiding and tiptoeing around the past.

However, this time it occurs to Till just how much time has passed-- Till has always had Ivan by his side, never imagined anything but-- now he's simply growing up without him. Till realizes he's been free, he's been doing things on his own, learning to ride a motorcycle, drawing, but he's been alone. (even though his vision of freedom would've always been alongside his friends, over being alone like this.) He's not used to being alone; most of all, he doesn't want it. So he doesn't let go of Ivan, yet again lacking the initiative to confront the situation, it never fixed anything when Till first woke up in the rebellion. It torments him; he's alone. But loneliness... that's why Ivan is here too [that's why he's always been there.]

Rather than a figure shrouded in darkness or a corpse coming back to haunt Till, it's just a child. There's a gentleness to the way Till sees Ivan now in contrast to Scars when he's coming to confront his grief and regrets directly. He had lost something irreplaceably precious to him before he could realize what it really even meant, before it was too late .

He remembers it was always Ivan desperately finding ways to get excuses to be with him by any means, good attention or not. Till didn't notice that it was because they were so alike. Lonely and needed someone

Back then, he could've never imagined that Ivan was so timid

Till just didn't understand it at the time, and so couldn't find the words to elaborate on the subject of Ivan, but it was always Ivan in his peripheral vision, no matter what. If only they both knew the word "family" = [how to confront each other], they could've prevented their suffering

[it’s a pitiful circumstance], but what Till feels isn’t pity, nor sympathy, but rather Till is understanding. He’s finally understood why Ivan always followed him around and did the strange things he did in the past, which held him back from truly connecting with Ivan, because they both came to constant clashes because of their fundamental differences

That's the thing that makes Till's path different to me, it's that he could've easily spiraled further into guilt for not realizing it sooner,

Instead of continuing to be angry, resentful, afraid, remorseful--instead of falling further into self-hatred, etc. He acknowledges and understands Ivan. Till's compassion and care effortlessly reaches out to him, he accepts Ivan, knowing they were both going through similar things and that Ivan was also afraid, even though it will never be the same as coming to understand the real Ivan, the point of Till's breakdown is his realization that this is all coming to him way too late. If only they had the time and the knowledge, they could've fixed this. He's regretful, but through this, he's making amends.

I'd like to believe there is forgiveness in there, too. For both of them, effortlessly loving, unconditionally, is in Till's nature (and it seems like as he's grown post-cure, he has become a more understanding person). This is rightful reassurance for two characters who didn't know how much they truly meant to each other, and couldn't have a better relationship. For Till, who couldn't shake the regret of overlooking Ivan for so long that he believes he caused this-- he gets to finally understand himself and Ivan by seeing his own pains reflected in him, and then he comes to come to truly know Ivan after all this time

For Ivan to be acknowledged and accepted [and loved] just like he's always wanted, is in its own way, closure for them both. Even despite its tragedy. ["to love is to be seen"] <- in a way, you know, they both desired to be seen and healed. Now Till's own love and care for Ivan is shown more clearly in his actions as he finally allows himself to come to peace with what he's been avoiding for decades of their relationship

Really... Till is so filled with love, only love can do what he did for Ivan

This moment gives Till a freeing sense of peace, metaphorically and literally. After that day, years have passed, and Ivan still hasn't come back to him. Till is devoted to living alongside the suffering he knows and the memories, not leaving them behind or treating them like a disposable part of himself, since Ivan will always be someone he cherished and cared about.

-

Till's character being able to make it out of this in a gentle way, therefore reaffirming his nature, is what I value most. I say he subverts the outline slightly because, for Luka and Mizi, specifically Mizi, for instance, who also needs closure, she's stuck in a loop of self-atonement and loneliness for things she can't take back, she's been living in her own personal hell for ages, she can't forgive herself and she must still believe she deserves it. It's uncertain if she'll really be able to grow and continue living despite it, like Till did, or if it is certainly her fate to never be able to escape herself. The one thing she has to fight for is to understand and forgive herself first. But I believe they all have it in them to make it, I believe they're all meant to at some point

Till was just narrowly close to losing himself to grief and sorrow. But he's always had a knack for coming back from the brink, and with a newfound sense of bravery and growth and understanding, most importantly, love-- he does what he couldn't do before. He decided to confront Ivan and the suppressed feelings. He decides to search for Mizi because what they need together is family and closure. By doing this, he would be cherishing Ivan's memory, by repurposing the suffering and the love into something even more profound (you know 🫩)

[rose24207]

Can you one where lando wants to keep the relationship private and the reader is sick of it and they fight about it and make it angst please

Broken

Summary: Lando’s need for secrecy strains his relationship with you, leading to a heated confrontation that nearly ends things between you.

Lando x reader

Genre: angst, no fluff

TW: miscommunication, arguing, intention of breaking up

A/N: last one for today! Hope you enjoy it anon!

Navigation

Lando’s phone buzzed again, the sound cutting through the quiet of the hotel room like an unwelcome reminder. You sat across from him, watching him with a growing sense of frustration, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. He’d been like this for weeks—distant, closed off, always looking over his shoulder, making sure no one saw the two of you together.

"You going to answer that?" you asked, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

Lando glanced at the phone, his brow furrowing for a split second before he set it face down on the table. "I’m not worried about it," he said, his voice too calm, too controlled.

You stared at him, feeling the familiar ache settle in your chest. "No, you’re worried about me."

Lando didn’t meet your gaze. "What do you mean?"

"You’ve been pushing me away for months now, Lando," you snapped. "Every time someone so much as glances at us, you pull away, like you’re embarrassed to be with me. Like I’m some secret you need to hide."

He flinched, but only for a second. The walls went back up almost immediately. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it, huh?" you stood up, pacing the small room, the anger and hurt bubbling over. "You keep telling me you love me, but every time I try to get closer, it’s like you’ve already put me in some invisible box no one can see."

Lando’s jaw tightened, his fingers tapping nervously against the edge of the table. "It’s not about that. It’s about us—keeping things private, keeping things safe."

"Safe?" you spat, incredulous. "Safe for who? You? You’re too afraid of what people might think, of what they might say, but I’m done with it, Lando. I don’t want to hide anymore. I’m tired of pretending like I don’t exist in your world."

His eyes flashed with something unreadable, something darker. "You don’t get it, do you?"

"No, I don’t," you said bitterly, stepping closer to him. "I don’t get why you’re so ashamed of me. Why can’t we just be real, for once?"

Lando stood up, his chair scraping across the floor, his eyes suddenly burning with frustration. "I’m not ashamed of you! I’m trying to protect us, protect you! Don’t you see how dangerous it is, how everyone’s watching us? I can’t just—"

You cut him off with a harsh laugh, the sound bitter and cold. "Protect me? You think I’m some fragile thing you need to hide away from the world?"

He ran a hand through his hair, his breath coming faster now. "I never said that—"

"Then what the hell did you mean?" you shot back. "Because that’s how it feels. Like I’m some secret you keep in the dark until it’s convenient for you!"

Lando’s face twisted with frustration. He took a step toward you, then stopped, his voice lowering, but still sharp. "I’m doing this for us, for our future. You think I don’t want to shout from the rooftops how much I love you? You think I don’t want to tell the world that I’m with you? I do, but not like this."

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Your heart ached as you stared at him, the anger draining away, replaced by a sharp sting of betrayal. "You don’t get it, Lando. You’re so wrapped up in the idea of protecting me that you forget that I have a say in this. I don’t need you to protect me from the world—I need you to trust me. Trust us."

Lando’s face softened, but there was no apology in his eyes, only the same stubborn resolve that had been there from the beginning. "I can’t just throw us out there for everyone to see. It’s not that simple."

"And yet, you’ve made it this simple for months," you said, your voice trembling now, the weight of everything you’d kept bottled up crashing down on you. "Every time I try to get closer, you push me away. Every time I reach out, you shut me down. I can’t keep doing this, Lando. I can’t keep fighting for something that doesn’t feel real."

Lando took a step back, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, clearly struggling. "I don’t want to lose you."

"Then stop making me feel like I’m not worth fighting for."

You stood there for a moment, your chest heaving with emotion, the words hanging in the air between you. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken tension. Lando opened his mouth to say something, but the words died on his lips.

He looked at you, really looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever. His eyes softened, his lips parting as if he were about to say something, but instead, he just shook his head.

"I don’t know how to fix this," he whispered.

"Then maybe we’re not meant to be fixed," you replied, turning toward the door, your heart breaking with each step. "Maybe we’re just... broken."

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[goldfades]

congrats on 6k it’s well deserved! 💗

paige x reader with: "oh? were you worried? do you really care about me that much?" / "what? no. what gave you that idea?" / "your heart is beating too fast for someone you don't care about."

light angst with fluff, maybe they can be exes playing against each other but when reader gets injured during the game paige’s instinct is still to go towards her. then they realize the breakup is stupid and make up

thank u sm and congrats again 💕

hi baby! thank you so much<3 that means the world to me!!! i hope you enjoy

warnings: light angst w a fluffy ending, knee injury, unresolved tension that gets resolved (yay), paige bueckers being stubborn but in love, reader being stubborn and in love, hurt/comfort but mostly just "you scared me" energy and emotional whiplash in the best way possible

You're not sure who decided this matchup was poetic but if it was the universe, then the universe has a particularly twisted sense of humor.

UConn vs. Stanford, Sweet Sixteen. National stage. Primetime.

You, in cardinal and white. Paige Bueckers, in navy and that sharp, clinical UConn font across her chest. Everything clean. Polished, unbothered.

God, she looks unbothered. You hate that about her.

The truth is, you haven’t spoken in months. Not since the fight though calling it a fight feels too dramatic, too cinematic. There were no slammed doors, no screaming matches. Just a slow unraveling. Miscommunications that turned into missed calls. Jealousy left unsaid. Games played on opposite ends of the country. You told yourself it was inevitable. That you were both too ambitious, too stubborn, too hungry to make it work.

You still told your mom it ended amicably. You still lie to your teammates when they ask what she was like off the court. You say “cool,” like that word means anything like it could possibly contain the way she laughed into your neck or the way she kissed you like you were both running out of time.

But tonight, none of that matters. Not in theory.

It’s just another game. Another opponent, another shot at the Final Four.

Except you can feel her across the court before you even see her. It’s not the kind of presence that sneaks up on you. It hits you square in the chest, like a memory you didn’t ask to revisit. She’s stretching at half court when you walk out of the tunnel. Her head turns, instinctively, like she knows you're there.

Of course she knows.

Your eyes meet for a second too long. Long enough for one of your teammates to nudge your arm and whisper something about “Bueckers being out for blood tonight.”

You don’t answer. You just pop your gum and walk past like your stomach isn’t folding in on itself.

The game is brutal in the way only March Madness can be. Fast, physical, emotional. The crowd is roaring. Your hands sting from every rebound, every dive. You’re neck and neck in the third quarter, trading leads like playground dares. Paige is locked in. Not smiling. Not even smirking. Just clinical. Just cold.

You’re not sure if it makes you want to cry or kiss her.

Because that’s the thing, right? It wasn’t just a breakup. It was a shift in orbit. You used to finish each other’s sentences, read each other’s plays before they were even called and now, you pretend like she’s a stranger. Like you didn’t spend a whole summer living out of each other’s suitcases, driving up and down the coast with no destination but each other.

Now, she’s guarding you. Now, she’s watching you like a hawk, like she knows all your tells, your fakes, the way you hesitate half a second on your left. And she does, of course she does.

The fourth quarter starts. Your legs are burning. You’ve got sweat dripping into your eyes. You wipe it away and glance at the scoreboard. Down by two. Four minutes left.

It happens in a blink and yet, it feels like slow motion.

You’re sprinting down the sideline, cutting across the wing, your defender a half-step behind. The ball is swinging from the top of the key to the corner, your teammate yelling your name, the play unfolding with the kind of precision that only comes when instincts take over. You’re supposed to curl around the screen, flare out, catch and shoot. You’ve done it a thousand times in practice. It’s muscle memory. It’s clockwork.

But in this game, nothing is clean.

Your plant foot lands, except it doesn’t quite land. There’s someone else’s shoe under yours, a split-second misstep, a too-tight space. You don’t see whose. It doesn’t matter. All you register is that your ankle doesn’t have the room it needs. The roll happens so fast, so violently wrong that your body betrays itself before your mind catches up.

There’s a sickening pop, deep and intimate like something fundamental giving way. A violent twist. Your knee folds sideways. The hardwood rushes up to meet you.

You hit the ground hard but the pain has already taken center stage.

It’s not a dull ache, not something you can grit through. No. This is different. This is bright, white-hot. A jagged explosion that radiates up your leg, past your hip, to your ribs, to your throat. You gasp — a sharp, wounded inhale that punches out of your lungs like it was ripped from you. The kind of sound that shuts up a crowd.

The arena falls quiet all at once. That suffocating, eerie hush that only means one thing.

You hear it in waves. Benches rising, sneakers squeaking, a whistle shrieking into the stillness. Coaches yelling, trainers sprinting but all of it feels far away, distant and underwater. Like you’re on a different frequency.

And then — her.

Before you can sit up, before anyone else reaches you, she’s there.

Paige.

You don’t know how she crossed the court so fast. You don’t remember seeing her move. One moment you were writhing on the floor, and the next, she’s kneeling beside you like her gravity pulled her in without asking.

She says your name.

Softly at first. Then again, more urgent. Like maybe if she keeps saying it it’ll undo what just happened, like the syllables can rewrite the moment.

“Hey — hey, hey, hey,” she murmurs, her hand hovering just over your arm but not quite touching it. “You with me? You’re okay. You’re okay.”

You try to speak but nothing comes out. The pain is a live wire pulsing behind your eyes.

You blink hard and catch the way she looks at you. That raw, wild panic swimming behind her pupils. Her mouth is tight, like she’s biting back everything she wants to say. Her hands are trembling. Barely. But enough for you to notice. Enough to know she still cares.

Her knee brushes against yours (not the bad one) and her presence grounds you in a way nothing else does.

There’s shouting now. The trainers are finally at your side, shouldering Paige out of the way with practiced efficiency. They’re asking questions, speaking quickly, trying to figure out the extent of the damage. You know it’s bad. You can see it in their faces when they gently lift your leg and you flinch so hard you nearly black out.

But all you can think about is her.

Paige hasn’t left. She’s crouched a few feet away, watching everything with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Her eyes keep flicking between you and the court, like she doesn’t know where to put her panic.

The game has stopped. The world has stopped.

“I’ve got her,” one of the trainers says. “We need the cart.”

You groan softly and turn your head to the side. Away from the overhead lights, away from the looks but not away from Paige.

She’s still watching. You hate how easily she sees through you.

Your teammates are huddling now, trying to stay warm, trying not to look too shaken but you can feel the energy shift. The rhythm’s been broken. You were up by two. You were in rhythm. You were fine.

And now? You don’t know.

The cart arrives. You hate the sound it makes — loud, clinical, too final. Like a closing chapter.

The trainer helps you sit up, then hooks an arm behind your back to steady you as they transfer you onto the board. Your leg screams in protest. You try not to let your face show it but your body’s betraying you again. You can’t hide the tears pricking your eyes. Not just from the pain, but from everything else.

And then, Paige again.

She’s back at your side, walking alongside the cart like she’s forgotten which team she’s on. Her coach is yelling for her, you hear Geno’s voice, sharp and commanding. She doesn’t even flinch.

“You’re gonna be okay,” she says, low, her hand brushing yours. “You hear me? You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t answer. You don’t trust yourself to. But you don’t pull away either.

The locker room is sterile and silent.

You’re sitting on the exam table, leg elevated and wrapped in a temporary brace, painkillers finally dulling the sharpest edges of the agony. The trainers are talking in low voices across the room, giving you space. Your phone buzzes on the bench next to you, lighting up with messages you can’t bear to read yet.

You feel dazed. Hollowed out. Like everything happened to someone else.

And then, a knock.

Not from the hallway. From inside the tunnel. Closer, familiar.

You already know it’s her. The door creaks open a few inches. Paige leans in, hoodie pulled up, eyes soft but guarded.

“Can I come in?”

You want to say no. Want to tell her that this is all too much, that she doesn’t get to show up now, after everything. But the words don’t come. And maybe some part of you wants her here. Needs her here.

So you nod.

She closes the door behind her and steps inside, like she’s walking on sacred ground. Her shoulders are tense, hands buried in her sleeves like she’s trying to hold herself back from touching you.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.

You snort, the sound dry and bitter. “Didn’t mean to.”

She looks down, like she’s ashamed to laugh, then leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed.

There’s a long silence. One of those thick ones that says everything neither of you have been brave enough to voice.

And you know, deep in your chest, that the game wasn’t the only thing paused tonight, because something cracked open between you two on that court — something that never fully closed in the first place.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s still not too late.

You don’t speak for a while.

It’s not a tense silence, exactly. More like… an old, comfortable one. The kind you only share with people who have seen you at your worst. Paige isn’t fidgeting anymore but she’s still standing stiffly against the wall like she doesn’t quite trust herself not to rush over.

You break first.

“You’re not gonna get in trouble for being in here?”

She shrugs, a little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Probably.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s it? Probably?”

“They can fine me. Whatever.” She pushes her hood back, finally. Her hair’s damp with sweat, the wispy ends curling around her ears. “I’m not gonna just sit on the bench and pretend I didn’t see you go down like that.”

You look away. The brace on your leg feels heavier suddenly.

“Did they say what it was?” she asks, quieter now.

You exhale through your nose. “Partial MCL tear, maybe. They’re not sure. They’ll do the MRI tonight. I guess I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Paige makes a sound under her breath, something between a scoff and a sigh.

“Yeah. Lucky,” she mutters, and you hear the bitterness in it. Not toward you. Toward the situation. The moment, the randomness of it all.

And then she crosses the room.

No hesitation this time. No careful slow-motion choreography. She moves toward you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like she belongs next to you, like she remembers.

You brace yourself, but all she does is sit on the bench next to you. Not touching. Just close enough to feel.

There’s another beat of silence.

Then, softly, she says, “You always did land weird on your right foot.”

You glance over. Her eyes are teasing now, the edge of a smile forming. You roll yours.

“Oh, don’t start acting like you’re some biomechanics expert now.”

“I am,” she says, mock serious. “I took one sports med class my freshman year.”

“Ah, of course. That explains the diagnosis you yelled across the court before the trainers even showed up.”

“Which was correct, by the way.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re unbearable.”

“You’re injured,” she retorts. “So technically, I win.”

You shoot her a dry look. “Pretty sure my knee exploding isn’t a win for anyone, Paige.”

She snorts. “Fair.”

Another pause. Softer now.

Then she nudges you gently with her shoulder. “But for real… I’m glad it wasn’t worse. You scared me.”

You tilt your head, lips quirking. “Oh? Were you worried? Do you really care about me that much?”

It’s meant to be light. A joke. A jab. Something to distract from the tight feeling in your chest that hasn't gone away since she first appeared.

But her eyes flick to yours — quick, sharp. Like you caught her off guard.

She recovers fast. Rolls her eyes. Scoffs. Classic Paige Bueckers.

“What? No. What gave you that idea?”

You grin. “I dunno. Maybe the fact that you sprinted halfway across the court like I got hit by a sniper.”

She opens her mouth to reply, then pauses. You catch her hesitating. Just for a second.

You lean in, just a little, voice lower now. “Your heart’s beating too fast for someone you don’t care about.”

That gets her.

She stares at you, lips parted. No quip. No comeback.

You can hear it now, too. Her breathing, a little too shallow. Her pulse visible in her neck. And not from the game, not from the run.

It’s because of you.

She swallows. “That’s not fair.”

You shrug, suddenly feeling bold. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

The air shifts again.

Something unwinds in her posture, all at once. She leans forward, forearms resting on her thighs, fingers twisting together.

“I didn’t know if I should come,” she says eventually. “Like, after it happened. I figured your whole team would hate me on principle. Or like, I’d make things worse. But I just… couldn’t not.”

“You didn’t make anything worse,” you say. “Well. Unless you count the emotional whiplash.”

She huffs a laugh. “You mean the part where we haven’t talked in months and then I show up at your side like it’s 2022 again?”

“Yeah. That part.”

Paige nods. She’s quiet for a beat. Then: “I never wanted to leave it like that. You know that, right?”

You blink. The confession lands like a drop of water on hot concrete—fast, surprising, gone before you can fully process it.

“I thought you were the one who left it,” you say, a little defensively. “I tried, Paige. You were always too busy or too… far. I couldn’t be the only one reaching out.”

“I know.” Her voice is soft now. Honest. “I know you tried. I just didn’t know how to let you in when everything was so... loud. Expectations. Pressure. And I thought if I made space for you, I’d lose track of me.”

That hits.

Because you remember. How she went silent after away games. How she’d fall asleep on FaceTime without saying goodnight. How she’d disappear into film sessions, interviews, charity stuff, endorsement shoots. She was everywhere and nowhere, and you were just… waiting.

“I wasn’t asking you to lose yourself,” you say quietly. “I just wanted you to keep me somewhere in it.”

Paige turns to you. And now she’s looking at you like it hurts not to, like she’s been aching to for longer than she’d admit.

“I know. I messed it up.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “You kinda did.”

She gives you a look. “Wow. You’re not even gonna pretend to let me off the hook?”

“Absolutely not.”

She smiles. That lopsided, smug Paige Bueckers smile that you haven’t seen since the last time you were in her hotel room, pretending to hate watch The Office reruns on her iPad, both of you pretending the season wasn’t ending.

But this one is different, softer. Like maybe she knows she doesn’t deserve forgiveness but hopes for it anyway.

“You’re still mean,” she says.

You bump her shoulder with yours. “You’re still annoying.”

There’s a quiet moment. A warmth settling between you like dust.

Then Paige reaches out and threads her fingers through yours, tentative.

You don’t pull away.

“I missed you,” she says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it.

You squeeze her hand. “I missed you too.”

She looks down at your knee, then frowns. “You’re gonna be out for a while, huh?”

“Probably. Maybe done for the tournament.”

Paige exhales hard through her nose. “That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat.

Then she tilts her head. “So you’ll have a lot of free time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, you want me to come to your Final Four game now?”

“Obviously,” she says. “Someone has to remind me how annoying I am.”

You laugh. It’s real this time. Warm, loose.

And for the first time in months, it doesn’t feel like something’s missing.

You glance down at your joined hands. Her thumb’s brushing lightly against your knuckles now, rhythmic, familiar. It doesn’t feel like a question.

“I’m not saying we just… go back,” Paige says softly. “I know we can’t un-screw-up everything but maybe we don’t have to start from zero either.”

You consider that. Let it sit. Then: “Yeah. I think I’d like that.”

She grins, wide and stupid. “You would.”

“See? Still annoying.”

“Still yours.”

You glance sideways at her, startled.

She blinks. “I mean, unless you’re not-”

You kiss her.

It’s soft. Just a press of lips and familiarity and unfinished things finding a place to land.

When you pull away, her smile is smaller. More private. And you realize something — maybe some things do change, but some things stay. Some things find their way back.

And Paige? She always was the finding kind.

my 6k celly!

[galamalion]

୨୧. 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄

summary. luffy's relationship with hancock begins to strike a deep nerve within you.

⤷ contents. monkey d. luffy x gn!reader, fluff + angst, boa hancock is rude, jealous!reader, light angst (resolved by the end), slight miscommunication // wc. 2.1k

⤷ notes. request by @amortentiaz for a jealous!reader over luffy's relationship with boa hancock. i think i got a little too invested in writing reader's anger, maybe i should write some more angst... i hope you enjoy! <3

Your boyfriend wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Was he caring? Of course, he cuddled and hugged and kissed you near constantly. Was he attentive? Easily, he always wanted to snuggle with you, no matter your location—even if it led to some unfortunate circumstances.

But he may just be the most scatterbrained boyfriend anyone could ask for, and your current situation was perhaps the best example of his obliviousness.

"Ah, Luffy! I have more food if you want it!"

"Really?! Thank you, Hancock!"

You and Luffy had gotten pulled off your ship by a terrible storm, only a small makeshift raft of wood to keep you afloat. A miracle had led you to land on Amazon Lily, an island led by a woman with a fixation for Luffy.

And so here you were, stuck watching the most beautiful woman in the world drape herself over your boyfriend like they'd been married for the last thirty years. Sure, your boyfriend was the greatest catch in the East Blue, but he was your boyfriend. Not Hancock's 'sweetie pie honey bun super-special pirate king.'

You had just finished talking with Jimbei through the snail transponder, who informed you that the ship would be there tomorrow in the morning. Unfortunately, that meant you would have to stay here.

"Alright, Luffy," you sighed, "The Thousand Sunny will be here in the morning, which means that we're stuck here for tonight."

"There's a room prepared for you in the palace if you need it, Luffy! I can have whatever you need brought there," Hancock swooned, feeding Luffy a drumstick.

"Ooh! Hey, is there anything you need, ____?" Luffy turned to ask, voice muffled by all the meat stuffed inside his mouth.

You looked behind Luffy to meet eyes with Hancock, watching her expression sour at the mention of your name.

"I think I'm fine. Thanks, Luf," you muttered, crossing your arms.

"Ok, but Hancock can bring us anything, so if you change your mind you can ask her!" he grinned, taking another large bite of the drumstick.

You sighed, briefly meeting eyes with Hancock who silently scoffed at your presence. Angrily, you stomped out of the palace and out of the town, going far, far away from the oh-so benevolent queen of the island.

As you walked into the expansive forest of the island, you began kicking a rock with each step, muttering under your breath.

"Oh Luffy, here's some yummy food!" you kicked the rock. "Oh Luffy, what dress do you think I should wear?" you kicked the rock. "Oh Luffy, you should break up and we should get married and have a bunch of tiny beautiful babies!"

You kicked the rock off the path, watching it roll off into underbrush and onto the grass floor of the forest.

"Go on then," you grumbled, "go get married to the prettiest girl in the world! then you can really be King of the Pirates..."

As you walked further into the tropical forest of the island, you came upon a rocky cliff, a beautiful location covered in small plants and light foliage. Rocks jutting out harshly in every which way, moss growing upon it, unbothered and untouched.

This is just what you need.

You stepped up to the edge of the cliff and gazed at the forest below, wild and vibrant green hues filling up every space you looked at. The sky was similar, a brilliant cloudless blue, like a calm blue sea without a boat in sight. You could stare at this serene scene for all of eternity, if only time allowed.

Sighing wistfully, you closed your eyes and stretched your body, taking a deep breath.

And then, you screamed.

You screamed at nothing and everything, all at once. At Hancock and Luffy, together, singularly, at their actions, at their attitudes. You shrieked at Hancock's cruel expressions, her blatant disregard for your own feelings. You screeched at Luffy's oblivious disposition, his inability to realize how you felt about all of this. You screamed until your throat burned, until you could feel your eyes welling up with tears and your screams turned into sobs turned into silent crying.

Needless to say, it was a much needed catharsis.

You calmed yourself down and walked back to the bustling city, taking in the nature surrounding you. As you continued walking, a long, rubbery leg touched down onto the forest path. The leg was attached to your boyfriend, who jumped down from the trees with a bewildered and frightened expression on his face.

"Are you okay ____?!" I heard—"

"I'm fine," you snapped, brushing past him.

Luffy gave you a confused look as you walked towards the village, on your way to check out the room in the palace Hancock so graciously gave you.

It was placed right next door to Hancock's own chambers, no doubt because she wanted to keep Luffy close, but the interior was far more shocking. Instead of a giant king sized bed in the middle, two beds—one far bigger than the other—with a great deal of space separating them were inside. It was almost too obvious to tell which bed was Luffy's, given the amount of food and gift baskets surrounding it.

You were just shocked that she put you in Luffy in the same room.

Deciding it wasn't worth complaining about, you instead searched around the castle in search of a library, a place Luffy would never look for you.

It wasn't that you were mad at him. No, it would be more accurate to say that you were furious. But you knew deep inside your mind that it wasn't his fault. But you also knew that if you saw him again, you would blow up, explode, in his face.

You stayed in the library until midnight, reading fairy tales and historical texts, immersing yourself in the stories and history these books contained. You could feel the anger and jealousy in your veins dwindle with each page you read.

Once you had returned your amassed collection of books back to their shelves, you made your way back to your room. Expectations were low, you were fairly certain that Luffy wouldn't have a clue regarding your feelings, and a conversation would most certainly need to happen.

Walking quietly to your shared room, you carefully opened the door. the first thing you noticed was that Luffy was still awake, crouched in the middle of his bed. It wasn't strange for Luffy to be awake so late in the night, knowing that his sleep schedule was pretty irregular, but an unusually upset expression was etched into his face.

The second thing you noticed was that the delicious gifts surrounding his bed were uneaten, unopened, the wrapping on a few having not been touched.

Luffy noticed you immediately, the corners of his lips pulling down even further, his brow furrowed in a mixture of, seemingly, sadness and confusion, like a puppy watching their owner leave for the first time.

"Are you mad at me?" he blurted out quietly, clutching his knees.

All you could do was sigh in response, moving to sit on your own bed.

"I don't know," you confessed, looking away from him. "I'm...mad, yeah. But at you? I don't know."

Luffy remained quiet until you decided to break the silence.

"Hancock is pushy," you crossed your arms, "she's pushing my boundaries and she's pushing her way between us. I know she's a friend of yours and she's helped you a lot, but it hurts to watch her snuggle up to you and talk about the 'love' between you."

You looked up at Luffy, seeing the realization and hurt flood his eyes, his fingers twitching as his legs slid towards the edge of the bed.

He didn't say anything yet, instead squeezing the blankets and looking down at his feet, clearly composing his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, ____," Luffy whispered, standing up from the bed. "I know Hancock does nice things for me, but I don't see her like I see you,"

"Then why don't you tell her off? Tell her to leave you alone, tell her you're in a relationship?" you pushed, feeling the jealousy seething out of you.

Luffy frowned and walked closer to you, sitting down on your bed. "You're the greatest treasure I've ever found," he confessed, moving his hands to yours, "it's like you're so shiny and bright, and everybody else is all gray. I know Hancock talks a lot and gives me a lot of food, but if you don't want me to talk or take stuff from her, then I won't, promise!"

Despite your attempts to remain stoic, you were unable to disguise the twinge of a smile caused by Luffy's statement, choosing to nuzzle your face in his neck to hide.

"You don't have to ignore her, Luf. Just ask her to tone it down, maybe? She is the queen of this place. Even if I'm mad at her, I'd rather not piss off someone who can kill us with a snap of her fingers," you mumbled, playing with his vest.

Luffy gave you a big hug, wrapping his rubbery arms around once, and then twice. "If she tries to hurt you, then I'll stop her! You're way more awesome than her," Luffy declared with a pout, falling back into your tiny bed with you in his arms, "and I promise I'll be an extra awesome boyfriend for you."

"You're too sweet, Luf," you laughed softly, hugging him tighter. "But maybe we should move to the bigger bed?"

"I'm too tired, and I'm already comfy," he whined.

"Fine," you grumbled, too tired to argue with your much stronger boyfriend (and captain.)

"G'night, ____," Luffy hummed, pulling you closer to his chest.

You smiled, shutting your eyes, "Night, Luffy."

The morning seemed to come swiftly, light spilling into the room and striking your face. Your boyfriend was still wrapped around you like a vice, caging you tightly against his chest.

"Luffy," you groaned, trying to push him away, "you gotta let me go, it's time to get up,"

Luffy moaned and pressed his face to your chest, "Five more minutes, pretty please?"

"Jimbei said the ship would be here in the morning, the mor-ning, Luf. If we're late to meet them then Nami will beat our asses."

"Then I'll beat her up!"

"Then I'll have to dig your grave."

Luffy pouted and retracted his arms, crossing them, "Fine, we can go now."

Now free from you boyfriend's hold, you and Luffy changed your clothes for the new day, then exited the bedroom.

Immediately upon opening the door, you were greeted with the beautiful, illuminating face of Boa Hancock, who was clearly shocked and upset to see you exit with Luffy.

"Ah, Luffy! I just wanted to see if you wanted to have breakfast? I've had 60 eggs cooked and 30 plates of meat—"

"Sorry, Hancock!" Luffy interrupted, scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder, "we've gotta go!"

"But—"

Without letting her get another word out, Luffy sprinted through the halls of the palace and out of an expansive window, stretching his way across the viridian forest below.

The sights below were familiar, but it was strange seeing them down below. You could make out the path you travelled through the leaves, even catching a glimpse of the cliff you had stood on last night, a horrible moment during a horrible day that seemed so far away now.

As Luffy jumped from tree to tree, occasionally breaking through the canopy to give you that bird's-eye view, you eventually landed at the gate to Amazon Lily, where the thousand sunny was currently floating.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Nami yelled up, waving her arms, "you're just in time! Let's get out of here!"

"Please, let me go! I need to get onto that island!" Sanji cried out, held in place by Robin's devil fruit-generated limbs.

Luffy let out a boisterous laugh, "We're comin' down! Let's go, ____!" he howled, sprinting towards the ledge.

You looked over your shoulder, fear in your eyes, "Luffy, don't you dare!"

Luffy, ignoring your pleas for a safer entrance, leapt onto the ship with a battle cry, landing perfectly on the wooden deck with you in hand. He gently set you down, flashing a grin as he patted your shoulder.

"Wasn't that fun?!" Luffy exclaimed, dusting off his straw hat.

You collapsed in shock, sprawling your limbs out on the deck as you recovered from your near-death situation.

"We'll...we'll work on that," you panted, desperately attempting to catch your breath.

"Sweet! Let's go now!" Luffy cheered, pulling you back up

"Go? Where?" you asked, astonished, "we just got back to the ship?"

"I told ya, I'm gonna be and extra super awesome boyfriend!" he beamed, "now we have to go do some extra super awesome stuff!"

He once again wrapped you up in his arms, flashing a smile as he hugged you.

"I promise I'm gonna be a way better boyfriend from now on, I won't disappoint you!" he beamed.

You smiled back and ruffled his hair, kissing his forehead.

"You're already the best boyfriend I could ask for, Luffy."

"But I can be better!"

"Better than best?"

"Best of the best!"

You threw you head back and laughed, squeezing him back.

"Alright, Luf. Show me what you have in mind."

[star-byeoli]

I Missed You - Jongho Oneshot

[Minors Do Not Interact] - [18+]

Genre: Established relationship, fluffy smut, tiny bit of hurt/comfort(?)

Pairing: idol!Jongho x fembodied!reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, porn with a smidge of plot, unprotected sex (pull out method), morning sex, no major kinks/power dynamics, small miscommunication but quickly resolved, y'all are sickly sweet in love, my sweet Jjong-bear 💜

Lazy Sundays are the best day of your week. Just being able to spend a whole day, curled up on your sofa, watching tv, drinking tea, and eating snacks – it’s pure bliss.

Jongho, however, rarely gets weekends off. Your sweet boyfriend works at such unsociable hours that even a whole afternoon together is unusual. His busy schedule usually limits you to late night movie dates or early morning coffee runs.

Today is different, however. Jongho had managed to clear his schedule for a couple of days after returning from tour. He was extremely tired; he had barely been able to keep his eyes open through the ‘welcome home’ dinner you made him last night. Waking up this morning, you take a minute to admire Jongho’s soft cheek smooshed into his pillow, his plush lips pushed into a gentle pout. Taking mercy on him, you leave him be to sleep a little longer – he clearly needs it.

Instead, you opt to go about your normal Sunday morning routine; a hot cup of coffee, a delicious pastry, and your favourite tv show. You bundle up under a soft blanket in your usual spot on the sofa, sighing contently. You slowly drift into distraction, lulled by the cosy nest you’ve made for yourself.

Eventually an hour or so later, a tousled Jongho appears in the doorway, eyes barely open and hair sticking out in every direction. He groans as he stretches his arms up, a slither of his tummy poking out from under his t-shirt. Smiling warmly, you pat the sofa beside you, inviting him to partake in your peaceful little ritual. He doesn’t hesitate to walk over and flop down next to you, immediately cuddling into your side.

“Good morning, Jjong.” You lace your fingers into his messy hair, partially brushing it out, partially enjoying his proximity.

“Morning babe.” He mutters drowsily, clearly still half asleep. No more words need to be shared as you fall into a shared serenity – silence falls comfortably over you both, apart from the occasional contented sigh or shuffle of positions.

Eventually you end up lying down, with Jongho nestled in behind you. He breathes your scent in deeply; his nose pressed into your hair and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. His fingertips ghost over your tummy softly, drawing small circles and pulling you deeper into his protective grip.

“Babe?” He mutters, voice still deep from sleep. You look over your shoulder, responding with a short “Hmm?”

“I really missed this. I missed you, a lot.” He presses light kisses along your hair line, pulling his arms even tighter to have you completely pushed against him. “I’m never letting you go again.”

You laugh lightly, letting him enjoy his bearhug. After a while of silence, you think he’s fallen asleep again. Craving another coffee, you shuffle to stand up. Immediately a hand flies to your hip, gripping tightly and pulling you back.

“I said I’m never letting you go.” You can hear the grumpy pout in Jongho’s voice and give in almost immediately. He’s just so damn irresistible. However, the hand on your hip doesn’t loosen. Jongho holds firm, seemingly craving your touch even more than you crave his. You’re back-to-chest, legs tangled together, his arms around you, and it’s still not enough for him.

“Babe, I- I just- Fuck, can I have you? Like right now?” He rambles out, clearly reaching his breaking point. You nod, still struggling to look at him over your shoulder. His hand on your hip begins to shake slightly as he immediately presses his half-hard cock against your ass. A shuddering groan escapes him, encouraged by your hips rolling to meet his movements. His hands instantaneously abandoned their posts to roughly knead your tits through your shirt.

“God, I missed this so much. Never want to leave again.” He moans into your neck. You laugh breathily in response, amused by his sudden candidness but aroused by his intense grip. Jongho’s lips begin to press carelessly onto your nape while his hands endeavour to reach under your shirt. He hums contently when his palms graze against your pert nipples. You struggle to contain your moans, clinging to his arms to ground yourself.

Jongho begins to trail one hand down your body and under the waistband of your shorts. His fingers probe into your underwear; he groans heartily once he feels your arousal. His fingertips rub firmly over your clit, pulling a squeal out of you.

“Jjong-”

“Fuck, babe, I’m sorry. I just- let me stretch you out, yeah? Relax for me.”

Two of his fingers press into you, hastily curling to find your sweet spot. As you begin to thrash at the harsh pleasure, Jongho presses firm kisses to your temple and gently shushes your mewling. His fingers are relentlessly bringing you close to the edge, but his cock still rubbing against your ass lets you know he’s feeling just as desperate.

“That’s it, babe. Are you gonna cum for me?” Jongho gently taunts. Your enthusiastic nodding brings a breathy chuckle out of him, but he graciously continues his ministrations as your abdomen starts to tighten. Your hips begin to jerk on their own as your release washes over you, Jongho continuing to rub over you until you fully relax back into him. His fingers eventually pull out of your shorts, his hand resting gently back onto your hip.

“D’you need a minute?” He asks softly, but his own desire is thinly veiled.

“No, I’m okay. How’d yo- Oh!” He’s pulling down you shorts and panties before you can even finish your sentence. He’s really getting close to his breaking point.

“God, babe. You really soaked these through.” He holds your wet panties out in front of you both, giggling to himself. You instantly whip them out of his grip.

“Shut up, Jongho. I thought you were the one who came in here all hot and bothered.”

“Oh yeah?” You feel him shuffle to lower his pyjamas, his cock springing out and tapping against your bare ass. You attempt to turn to face him yet again, but Jongho’s arms pin you in place once more. “Just like this, babe. Okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” You sigh out. One of Jongho’s hands reattaches to your tits whilst the other begins to stroke himself. His patience doesn’t last long though – swiftly he lifts one of your legs into the air and rubs his cock over your cunt, his tip occasionally catching on your entrance and bumping your over sensitive clit. Beginning to get frustrated yourself, you reach a hand down to guide him properly into your cunt. You moan in unison.

The stretch is overwhelming; Jongho has always been very thick, to the point that you’d struggled to take him when you started dating. Jongho is barely faring any better than you. Whilst he knows it’s safer to finger you open first, having to wait even longer for his release when he was already so highly strung has pushed him to an all-new level of sensitivity.

Jongho tries to hold back, for all of a few seconds before rapidly descending into his own pleasure. His hips begin to hammer into yours rapidly, his hands still holding onto you tightly. You still can’t see his face, but his groans let you imagine his eyebrows knitted and mouth hanging open.

You’re not doing much better; your moans keep tumbling out uncontrollably as you begin to become overstimulated from your earlier orgasm. Your cocked hip is beginning to ache, and you can’t catch your breath. Trying to find purchase against his powerful thrusts, one of your hands manages to reach behind you, missing his bicep and finding his loose t-shirt sleeve instead. Jongho notices and stills immediately.

“Babe?” When you struggle to reply, he pushes up onto his elbow, finally looking down at your face. He gently lowers your leg, stroking your aching thigh gently. “Sorry, fuck- I got carried away.” He attempts to pull out, but you’re quick to lean back and grab his wrist.

“I’m okay, Jjong. Can we maybe just change position? My hip’s gonna give out.” Jongho giggles heartily in response, before pressing another kiss to your temple.

“That’s okay, babe. On your back?” A gentle hum from you is enough to have him slowly pulling out and pushing you onto your back. He briefly kneels above you, languidly stroking his cock while taking in the sight of you. Hair messy, t-shirt pushed over your tits, cunt slick. He takes a moment to lift your hips and pull a cushion under you. He smiles contently at you before ducking down to firmly press his lips to yours. His cockhead finds its way back to nudge at your clit, which leaves you whining into the kiss and your hips twitch slightly. When he finally pulls back, his eyes scan over you once more, checking in on you once more before hesitantly sliding back in.

“Just a little more for me, yeah? You’re making me feel so good, beautiful.” Jongho whispers whilst nuzzling into your jaw. His cock drags agonisingly slow and shallow, drawing another whine out of you. He coos slightly, a short chuckle tickling your neck. His hands slither down to hold your waist steady, rocking his hips smoothly against yours. He tries to disguise his own moans in firm kisses to your neck, which doesn’t escape your notice. Lacing your fingers into his hair, you struggle to hold in a giggle at his coyness.

“Fuck, babe. Don’t laugh, you’re squeezing me too tight.” His whining has the unfortunate effect of making you laugh more, leaving him groaning loudly. His hips remain slow, but he’s painfully precise in his angle, plunging repeated against your sweet spot. The buzzing overstimulation lingering from your earlier orgasm pushes you quickly towards another.

After a few more minutes of mumbled curses and chaste kisses against your neck, Jongho’s thrusts start becoming shaky, his fingers sinking further into your skin. Knowing he’s getting close, you gently pull his face out of your neck. Jongho’s expression confirms your suspicion; his nose scrunched up, mouth hanging open, and eyes glazed over. When he eventually meets your gaze, he cracks into a giddy smile.

“God, I love you.” Jongho breathes out, losing himself even more.

“I love you too, Jjong.” You say back effortlessly. You take the brief moment you can to appreciate his sweetness, before his thrusts begin to speed up deliciously. “Never gonna let me go, yeah?”

“Yeah, babe. Never let you go again.” His eyes stay locked on yours, unable to look away for a second. Your thumbs stroke over his flushed cheeks, as you find yourself shaking with a second orgasm. Jongho’s pace doesn’t slow, but he takes mercy on you by thrusting shallowly instead. As the buzz relaxes, you feel boneless and hazy against the sofa cushions, but still find the energy to tease your desperate boyfriend.

“You gonna cum?” You ask with a smirk, already knowing his answer.

“Yeah, babe. Shit.” He escapes your grasp to plant another firm kiss onto your lips. He takes only a few more thrusts before he’s pulling out and stroking himself frantically against your belly. With one hand you reach down, finding his cock and applying gentle pressure to his sensitive tip. With a final groan into your mouth, he shudders into his orgasm, cumming over your stomach.

For a moment you both stay still, lips still pressed together but open and panting for air. You allow him to take his time to recover, running your hands up his back as he stays hovering over you. Eventually, he lets out a contented sigh and pulls back enough to look at you again. He’s flushed and sweaty, his t-shirt unfortunately stained with his release too. He presses a few scattered kisses over your nose and cheek before sitting back on his knees, tucking his softening cock back into his pyjamas, and pulling off his shirt. He uses it to mop at stomach in silence. Then, finally:

“Thank you.” He says softly, suddenly unable to make eye contact. You hum in response, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, I just missed you so bad and I got a bit lost in my head.”

You can’t help the short chuff that escapes you. He finally looks up coyly to your face, internally relieved at your light-hearted reaction.

“You’re okay, my sweet Jjong-bear. It wasn’t anything we wouldn’t usually do. I guess I just got unaccustomed while you were away. What I’m saying is: I missed you too.” He’s silent and stern-faced for a few seconds. Unreadable. You start to panic a little that he’s taking the little ‘mishap’ to heart before he cracks another grin.

“’My sweet Jjong-bear’? Jeez, I guess you really did miss me.” He hops off of the sofa before you can swat his arm, giggling to himself. He fishes your discarded shorts and panties from the floor, before disappearing into the kitchen. You can vaguely hear the sound of the washing machine turning on before he returns, still shirtless but wearing an annoyingly amused smile.

“Wanna shower?” Jongho stands over you, taking in the messy state you haven’t attempted to move from. You nod quickly before holding your arms up, a silent message that you don’t expect to walk to the bathroom. He rolls his eyes, but still steps forward to lift you into his arms.

“I go away for a month, and you can’t even walk without me.” He sarcastically mutters, but his firm grip gives away his tsundere agenda.

“I think you’ll find, my sweet Jjong-bear, that it’s your fault I can’t walk.”

A/N: Sorry I've been gone, but I have an idea for a series of oneshots, so keep an eye out :3

[chirp-a-chirp]

Otome Commandments

A list of tropes/unofficial commandments in otome games. There’s more than 10 listed because these days most games have more than 10 suitors choices.

Shoutout to @writingwhimsey for the impromptu collaboration!

…

Otome Commandment 1: Thou shalt have at least one emotionally constipated suitor. This suitor speaks in commands, growls, and eye rolls. He is hot AF.

Otome Commandment 2: MC shall have at least one miscommunication with their suitor that could have been resolved if they had actually spoken their mind.

Otome Commandment 3: Thou shalt have at least one suitor who looks pretty in pink. Prettier than you.

Otome Commandment 4: Thou shalt have a suitor who IS sex on a stick whose every word is innuendo.

Otome Commandment 5: Thou shalt have one eye patch dude. 50% fewer visible eyeballs, 200% increased sexiness.

Otome Commandment 6: There shall be one suitor who is the default tired elder looking after everyone else. He shall know how to use whips accordingly. Yes Daddy.

Otome Commandment 7: No sexual experience? No problem! Thou shalt still have a hot steamy night and not get pregnant. MC is covered by protagonist protection.

Otome Commandment 8: There shall be several gentlemanly choices among suitors. Whether they are gentle is up to interpretation.

Otome Commandment 9: There shall be at least one route where MC gets kidnapped and must be rescued. Unless we are talking about Ikemen vampire. Then MC shall be kidnapped at least once per route.

Otome Commandment 10: Thou shalt have suitors whom exhibit violence to protect MC. The readers will swoon. MC will freak out and question their life choices.

Otome Commandment 11: Readers shall rise up in annoyance at MC when they get scared of the suitor. The suitor’s crime? Doing exactly what he said he was going to do.

Otome Commandment 12: Yandere(s)? Yes please. Note: this commandment may not be applicable in real life.

Otome Commandment 13: The cold, stoic consort is secretly the biggest romantic. Hey, we don’t make up the rules here. We just write them down.

Otome Commandment 14: Swords and an inordinate number of belts immediately make consorts more attractive. Bonus points if there’s blood on them.

Otome Commandment 15: There shall be one consort whom readers will agree is the in real life standard. The walking green flag. The man to bring home to your parents. The man who is the embodiment of protectiveness, teasing sweetness, and an overall great guy.

He shall not be the most popular consort.

[a-d-nox]

how a retrograde is influenced by the sign(s) it's in

aries

everything slows down, leading to more impulsive actions, which then make everyone second-guess their decisions. frustration, lack of motivation, and feeling stuck when you’re trying to move forward are all normal during this time. the key is patience - planning before taking action and managing frustration in a healthy way. this phase can affect personal goals, stir up competition, bring self-confidence issues to the surface, and cause shifts in physical energy.

taurus

there will likely be disruptions in your routines, finances, and personal comfort zones. money issues may surface, and people can become more resistant to change. this is often a time for questioning what truly makes you feel secure. it’s a great opportunity to evaluate your financial habits and focus on what will support your long-term stability.

gemini

miscommunication, scattered thoughts, and tech issues are common during this time - often leading to overthinking and misinformation. this is a period to slow down, double-check facts, and focus on improving your listening skills.

cancer

beware of heightened emotions. the world around you may gaslight you or trigger you into overreacting - or reacting at all. family issues can resurface, bringing old wounds to the surface. but you’re not meant to cling to the past; this is a time to heal and resolve emotional baggage. reconnect with loved ones, embrace your home, nurture your inner child, and find comfort in what truly matters.

leo

it’s not personal - your confidence might take a hit, and your creativity could feel blocked. feeling unseen and struggling with self-worth are common during this time. but this is an opportunity to embrace humility and reconnect with your true passions. focus on self-expression, relationships, ambition, and, most importantly, your ego.

virgo

your perfectionist ideals might catch up with you. stress and overanalyzing every detail reach an all-time high, slowing productivity and bringing health concerns to the surface. disorganization may feel inevitable, but this is a chance to go with the flow, prioritize mental health, and restructure your routines to better align with who you are.

libra

imbalances in your relationships may surface, bringing heightened indecision - especially around breakups, past partners, or unresolved emotions. fairness might feel nonexistent, making it harder to find clarity. instead of seeking external validation, focus on setting boundaries, finding inner balance, and prioritizing what truly serves you.

scorpio

intense emotions, hidden truths, and power struggles are likely to surface. if you struggle with trust issues, obsessive thoughts, or old wounds, expect to face some challenges. this is a time to embrace change - intimacy, vulnerability, control, depth, and psychological healing will take center stage.

sagittarius

you might experience spiritual doubts, a longing for adventure yet feeling restricted. questions about your life’s purpose may arise, pushing you to reassess your beliefs and redefine what personal freedom truly means to you.

capricorn

you might notice your career goals shifting, or your authority in the workplace could be challenged. life may become more responsibility heavy, making it easy to feel overwhelmed or on the verge of burnout. take care to manage your energy and set boundaries to avoid pushing yourself too far.

aquarius

tech issues are likely to pop up; along with social disconnection and questioning your personal identity outside the group. you might feel isolated from friends or your usual circle. this is a great time to reconnect with your authentic self and focus on your individuality, rather than seeking validation from others.

pisces

feeling confused, emotionally overwhelmed, or experiencing a lot of déjà vu is common during this time. it’s a time to clarify any unclear boundaries and embrace healing in all forms. pay close attention to your dreams and mental health, as they may indicate a valuable message...

have ideas for new content? please use my “suggest a post topic” button!

return to nox's guide to metaphysics

return to the masterlist of transits

© a-d-nox 2025 all rights reserved

[buckysprettybaby]

everything but the truth

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ pairing: roomate!steve rogers x reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: roomate!au, hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication trope, jealousy, roommates to lovers, pet names (sweetheart), no use of y/n, crying, one-sided feelings (resolved), brief mentions of emotional distress.

summary: steve rogers is oblivious to how you feel about him, even though he feels the exact same way. the two of you keep dancing around your feelings until one day, he goes on a date and it all becomes too much to bear.

steve rogers masterlist

a/n: gif not mine, first steve fic! kinda nervous 🙈

“You going somewhere?”

Steve glances up from the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Yeah. Got a… thing tonight.”

“A thing?”

“Just dinner. Natasha set me up.”

You nod. Try to smile. “That’s great. Should be fun.”

You want to disappear.

Steve musters an awkward nod as he grabs his jacket from your shared hanger. In truth, he didn’t want to go on this date. He’d much rather be sitting on the sofa, watching a movie with you, maybe pretending not to memorise the crinkle of your eyes every time you laugh at his cheesy jokes.

But he goes anyway.

Because what’s he supposed to say? “Actually, I’m in love with my roommate. The one who keeps extra cookies in the cupboard because she knows I like them with tea. The one who walks around in oversized shirts and doesn’t realise she’s breaking me a little more every day.” No. That would be insane.

So he says nothing.

And you don’t stop him.

Even though your fingers are clenched tight under the throw blanket, knuckles white, like you’re holding something back too.

You stay there long after he leaves, just staring at the screen, not even watching the movie anymore. Your mind occupied on how the date might be going—if he held the door open for her like he always does for you, if he laughed at her jokes the way he does at yours, if she touched his arm and he didn’t pull away.

You hate it. You hate that you care. You hate that somewhere along the line, your heart decided it belonged to him without your permission.

You pull your knees to your chest and bury your face in the blanket, trying not to cry over something that was never yours to begin with.

He’s your roommate.

That’s all.

Except it’s not. Not really. Not when he memorised your tea order. Not when he picked up your favourite snack after that rough week without saying a word. Not when he told you his nightmares weren’t as bad when you were around.

You thought—maybe—there was something there.

But now he’s out with someone else. Someone who probably doesn’t freeze every time he brushes their hand. Someone who might be exactly what he needs.

And you’re just the girl on the couch, pretending you don’t care.

The tears fall down your face before you can stop them. They start off small at first, warm and silent, but quickly snowball—until sobs wrack your body, sharp and sudden, like they’ve been waiting all day to escape.

The tears don’t stop for a while. You cry until your throat aches, until your head throbs with it. Until the blanket is too warm and too heavy and not nearly enough to make you feel okay.

Eventually, your body gives out. The sobs fade into shaky breaths, then slow, uneven inhales. Your limbs feel like lead. Your eyes sting with salt and exhaustion.

You turn over, pressing your cheek into the tear-soaked pillow. The quiet is louder now, somehow. Like it knows exactly what happened. Like it’s mocking you for hoping.

You don’t even remember closing your eyes.

You just know that sleep finally drags you under—heavy and dreamless, the kind that comes after heartbreak—and when it does, it feels almost like surrender.

steve’s pov

The apartment is quiet when he comes in.

He closes the door softly, careful not to wake you, if you’re even asleep. Part of him hopes you are. Part of him hopes you’re not, because he wants to see you. Just for a second. Just to prove to himself that this is still the place that feels like home.

He steps into the living room and finds you curled up on the couch, blanket tucked to your chin, the flickering blue light of the TV painting soft shadows across your face.

You look small. And tired. And like you cried.

He hesitates, his heart tugging as he sees the tear tracks on your cheeks.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly, his hand reaching out to wipe away the stray tears.

Even in your hurt, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It’s instinct. Muscle memory. Home.

“You’re crying,” he says gently, like he didn’t already know. Like it isn’t ripping him apart.

You swallow hard, voice hoarse. “Didn’t realise you’d be back so early.”

“I left early,” he says. “Didn’t feel right.”

You blink up at him, heart pounding. “Why?”

He lets out a breath, thumb brushing your cheek again, like he’s grounding himself with every pass. “Because I spent the whole night thinking about you. About this. And how I never should’ve gone in the first place.”

You close your eyes, the sting of fresh tears creeping in. “Then why did you?”

Steve’s quiet for a beat. His voice drops, low and wrecked. “Because I thought you didn’t want me the way I want you. And if that was true…I had to try and get over you.”

The words hang there, trembling in the space between your chest and his.

“I’ve been trying to stop,” he admits. “For weeks. Every time I make you tea, or find your hair on the bathroom sink, or hear you laugh from the other room. I keep trying to shut it off, but it’s everywhere. You’re everywhere.”

You’re silent, staring at him like he’s breaking your heart and mending it at the same time.

“I cried,” you whisper. “I cried because you left. Because I thought maybe I made it all up in my head.”

He leans in closer, forehead nearly brushing yours.

“You didn’t,” he says. “You never did.”

You don’t realise you’re crying again until his thumb sweeps another tear away.

“I was so sure,” you whisper. “That you saw me as just… your roommate. Your friend.”

“I tried to.” His voice cracks. “I really tried.”

The air is thick with everything you’ve both kept hidden. All the small glances. The late-night conversations. The laughter that lingered too long.

“Steve,” you breathe, “what are we doing?”

He exhales like it hurts. “I don’t know. But I can’t pretend anymore.”

You nod, slow and uncertain. “So don’t.”

And that’s all it takes.

He leans in, eyes flicking up to yours, searching—asking, wordlessly, for permission.

You nod. It’s barely a movement, but it’s everything.

Your eyes flutter shut, lips parting softly, and Steve closes the space between you with a breathless kind of reverence. His lips brush yours like a secret, like a question he’s been waiting years to ask.

And when you kiss him back, slow and trembling and real, he knows. This isn’t just a moment.

It’s the truth finally slipping between two people who’ve been too afraid to speak it.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of you says everything—but you say enough.

please like, comment and reblog to let me know what you think ♡

© buckysprettybaby; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.

[natfive9]

Here is the post that everyone is waiting for regarding Killerbait/kat/kit. 

I just want to preface by saying, if this blog gets confusing at any point, I am willing to answer questions that anyone has. I will NOT be exposing her real name or identity to the public. As there are pedophiles that interacted with her and could potentially cause harm if they became obsessive enough. I am all too familiar with the way that the online-world works and I do not wish any form of physical harm on her. After all, I knew Kat & loved her for nearly four years. 

I’m going to try to keep this as simple as I can so everyone can understand. But breaking down almost four years of details will get complicated. 

So let’s start from the beginning:

I met Kat during my sophomore year of high school. I was 15 at the time and she was 15 as well. We are the same age, I am just a few months older than her. Which makes us BOTH currently the age of 17. We are both still minors. We became friends very quickly and connected over TLOU because we both made edits of the game and met through TikTok which is how we even became associated with each other. I had a girlfriend at the time, but we both had (unstated) feelings for each other than didn’t get acted on until late into my junior year. In the mean time, she had a different girlfriend after realizing that I wasn’t “available.” We remained friends throughout this entire period of time, there were instances where we didn’t speak as much just because I have a very busy life and so did she. Towards the end of her and her ex girlfriend’s relationship, we got close again, and I even got close with her ex girlfriend. We had a group chat together and we all spoke everyday for a couple of weeks until eventually, her and her girlfriend’s relationship came to an end. Which brings me into the next chapter of Kat and I’s life “together.” 

Me and Kat started dating in December of 2023. And we broke up as of this Tuesday. We were together for a year and three months. Our relationship was completely okay up until around August/September. We started fighting over things but they always got resolved and things would be fine, until inevitably they weren’t. And I have just found out yesterday, that she had actually reached out to her ex girlfriend- claiming I was “aggressive” and that there were “other girls.” Both of which are false allegations against me and the person that I am. I would never have considered cheating on Kat, even when she started treating me like I was less than a person to her. 

Here is the proof of her and her ex girlfriends conversation about me with time stamps: 

This all happened in August, as you can see. We later broke up once in December almost directly after we had hit our one year. I broke up with her because of the mistreatment and then a small miscommunication that was genuinely just the last straw for me. I wish I would’ve kept things that way. But she insisted that we stayed friends and still spoke afterwards, we kept each other on social media, and we both made the mistakes of staying in contact after the break up- which inevitably led to us getting back together after three days.  

After that it just never got better. It was another draining 3-4 months of begging to be treated like a person. I begged her to love me, I begged her to care about my successes, I begged her to care about my problems when I had them, I just begged. I did a LOT of begging. And she could typically only give me the words “I’ll try to do better” or “I’m sorry.” Occasionally though, she would give a genuine apology. Occasionally. 

On Monday, March 10th of 2025, I asked her if we could call once or twice a month. As we barely ever called. I never even FaceTimed this girl. She never wanted to and would refuse. Calling is very important to me because quality time is one of my verrryyy big love languages. So It really meant something when I got to call her, I truly cherished every moment with her. But she would deny my request almost every time. Which is why I proposed  the idea of calling 1-2 times a month. To which she said “I can try” and when I was upset and started texting dryly, she did not respond. She just asked if she could go to sleep. To which I said yes, and then later that evening before I went to bed- I sent her a text telling her “if you don’t love me anymore, it’s okay. You can leave and I won’t stop you.” That morning when I woke up, I saw her response and she told me that she “no longer saw me as a girlfriend, and loved me more as a friend.” And when I asked her if we could fix it, she told me “I hope so.” Which is when I knew it was over. And I told her we should probably break up. 

Here is the proof of that conversation as well: 

The SS below is the second convo we had that day. Where I asked her if she had me blocked on tumblr. Because last time we broke up she posted about me, but nothing to this extent. I admit I was gonna look if she did, as any ex normally would lol… but I never expected to see the things she posted this time around.

After all of this. Things only got worse, as all of you guys know. Whether you are fans, haters, or neutral on her as a person. We all saw her account go “downhill” as most sane people would say. She started posting her nudes on the Internet and publicly sexting potential adults and minors, as well as saying that they could rape her. 

This is all while she is also a minor. She is 17 years old. Seven. teen. 

Here is the proof I can provide of that:

Killerbait enabling rape:

And her admitting to it, knowing that it is wrong, since some of you guys are saying that she “might not know better.”:

Proof that Killerbait is a minor:

This is a conversation between me and her mother. I’m keeping it cropped because I want NO part in any form of doxxing or harm towards her family. Or her, for that matter. Which is a big reason why I’m even doing this in the first place. I am SPREADING AWARENESS….:

This is a birthday post I made for her, the date is at the top of the post: 

And to provide more proof that she is a habitual liar, here is her lying about texting her ex-girlfriend about me “cheating.” Saying that she “never did that.”: 

This is proven to be a lie, as in the screenshots I uploaded above in this blog, show that she OBVIOUSLY messaged her ex girlfriend- claiming I cheated on her, as well as saying I was “aggressive.”  

I think that is all. This is all the proof that I have. If there are any questions please feel free to ask. I know I said this was solely about revenge, as I am very angry and hurt. I was molested from ages 6-11 by my own family member. The fact that she is capitalizing off of this kind of topic is sickening. And the fact that she is exposing herself online to potential predators, is sickening as well. I am with everyone when they say that they hope she gets the help that she needs. I genuinely hope that she stays safe and she recovers from everything that she has gone through/is going through. But she needs to stay off of the internet. There will always be creeps lurking, preying on girls just like her. I want to put an end to this.

Thank you to everyone who spent their time reading this and trying to understand the situation. I do not care about “sides” being taken. I just want her to be safe. 

(I also want to note that, after knowing her for four years. She never once mentioned having any trauma regarding rape. So throw that excuse for her behavior out the window.)