#both inside and outside the network

[grassangel]

One of the things that annoys me about billionaire romance/power fantasy books, as a lower-middle class kid who had the fortune to go to semi-private Montessori schools and thus knew upper class kids and is fortunate enough to have inherited some wealth from my deceased dad, is the lack of visible infrastructure to maintain or increase that wealth.

Like yeah, most of it will be invisible or done by people hired by the protagonist but only sometimes will there be a mention of a financial advisor such as an account or bank manager. (Both of which by the way, are not what people with millions of dollars would use as financial advisers. At least not solely.) Wealth management as a service like legal advice, security, household staff (ie cleaning, cooking, landscaping & household maintenance), personal assistance (ie secretarial, health, exercise & nutrition; hair, makeup & clothing) and public relations, where a whole team is involved, is rarely if ever mentioned. There's almost certainly no active management mentioned, just what's in the bank and maybe whatever investments in stocks, businesses and properties a character owns. There aren't discussions about seeking higher returns through private equity or claiming a loss on devaluation of an asset purposefully bought to lower their income (on paper) for tax purposes. There aren't characters talking about how they'll vote at the annual meeting for shares held in direct ownership because they want a board member ousted, or directing their custodian to vote that way. No discussions about the tax rates of investments held in trusts vs held by shell corporations vs held in their name, nor the privacy benefits of the first two.

I know billionaire romances are just fantasy and most people don't care about the economics of wealth, just the projected image of it.

But I think it is morally correct for such authors to do at least a little research into the wealth management of the rich by reading articles like this Financial Times one, and rip away the curtain a little bit to show their readers how billionaires actually obtain their high scores in money. Because it's definitely not through hard work.

[lillymmb]

"Finish Line"

husband!charles leclerc x interviewer wife!reader

warning: none

summary: you are a interviewer and you go to interview your husband after race.

It had been a long race day. The sun was setting over the Monaco Grand Prix, casting a golden hue over the circuit as the cars rolled into the paddock after a grueling race. The crowd was still buzzing, the air thick with excitement, but inside the Ferrari garage, Charles Leclerc was both exhausted and elated. He had finished strong, a solid podium finish, but his mind kept drifting to one thing—and one person.

You.

You, the sharp-witted, kind-hearted interviewer who had somehow become more than just a face on the grid to him. The two of you had met years ago, when he was still rising through the ranks. You were a reporter at the time, covering F1 for one of the biggest sports networks, and there had always been an undeniable connection between you two. What had started as a professional interview blossomed into something much deeper—a friendship that grew into love.

Now, years later, you were no longer just an interviewer for the press. You were his interviewer. You had been married for almost a year, a beautiful and intimate wedding that had taken place in the heart of Monaco, far from the watchful eyes of the media. You both had done your best to keep the relationship under wraps, but when you were in a room together, there was no hiding the way you looked at each other. The love was clear to anyone who saw you.

As Charles walked into the media pen, his heart raced not because of the crowd or the anticipation, but because he knew you were waiting for him. You were set to do your usual post-race interview with him, and although it was just another professional exchange on the outside, to him, it was something far more personal.

You stood in front of him, holding a microphone, your eyes lighting up as he approached. The moment you locked eyes, he felt that familiar spark. You both exchanged a quick, affectionate glance, but quickly composed yourselves as you began the interview.

“Charles, congratulations on a strong finish today!” You smiled, your tone warm but professional. “How do you feel about your performance today?”

Charles chuckled, wiping sweat from his forehead, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “It was a tough race, but I’m happy with the result. The car was great, and my team did an amazing job.”

You nodded, maintaining your composure, but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered as you watched him. He was glowing—physically tired, yes, but still exuding that charm that had first drawn you to him.

“And, of course, with this result, it means more points for the championship standings,” you continued. “How do you feel about the way the season is shaping up for you and the team?”

Charles leaned in slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye, his voice lowering just a little. “I think it’s going to be a great season. But you know what? I’m just happy I have a lot of things to look forward to, both on and off the track.”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the heat of his words, though he kept his tone light. You knew he wasn’t just talking about the race. There was an underlying meaning, a private moment only the two of you shared, and you could see the spark of something in his eyes. But, of course, you couldn’t let your personal relationship slip into the interview just yet.

“Of course,” you replied, trying to maintain your professionalism. “And speaking of looking forward to things, we all know how hectic this life can be. How do you balance your career with, well, everything else?”

Charles paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours, and the room seemed to quieten. “Well, it helps to have someone special by your side,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a vulnerability that only you could detect. “Someone who gets it. And, you know… someone who keeps me grounded.”

The subtle confession hung in the air, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. You knew he was referring to you, and your heart skipped a beat at the way he spoke so openly, even in front of the cameras. But you had learned to read his cues by now—there was only so much he could say in public.

As the interview wrapped up, Charles stepped a little closer to you. “I’m done here,” he said with a grin, clearly eager to leave the media chaos behind. “Let’s go somewhere quieter, yeah?”

You nodded, trying to suppress the excitement coursing through your veins. You knew exactly where this was heading.

As you both made your way toward the back of the paddock, the sounds of the crowd and the camera flashes faded into the background. You turned to him, glancing up at his handsome face, and before you could say a word, his hand found yours.

“I’ve missed you,” Charles murmured, his voice low and sincere, filled with longing.

“You saw me this morning,” you teased lightly, though your heart was racing.

“I mean, really missed you.” His thumb gently caressed your hand, sending a rush of warmth through your body. “Every time I leave you, it’s like there’s a part of me that stays behind.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and without thinking, you stopped walking, turning to face him. There was a hunger in his eyes, a need that mirrored your own.

“Charles,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “We’re in public.”

He didn’t care. His hand came up to your cheek, gently cupping it, his thumb brushing across your skin. “I don’t care. I’ve waited all day for this moment.”

And before you could protest or say another word, his lips were on yours, gentle at first but quickly deepening as he pulled you closer. The kiss was everything you had both been holding back, a rush of passion and relief as the world around you seemed to disappear. It was raw and real and completely unapologetic.

You moaned softly against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck as he deepened the kiss, pressing you against the cool metal of the paddock wall. There was no race, no crowd, no cameras—just the two of you, lost in each other.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily, he smiled. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you this morning.”

You laughed softly, still catching your breath. “You’re insufferable.”

Charles grinned. “You love it.”

You smirked, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “I do. But we should probably get out of here before someone sees us.”

“Who cares?” he murmured, taking your hand once more. “I’m married to you. I’m proud of it.”

You smiled, knowing that despite the rush of being part of this high-stakes world, it was moments like this—private, genuine—that made everything worth it.

“You’re right,” you agreed. “Let’s go home.”

And with that, you both walked away, side by side, ready to face whatever the world had for you, but more than anything, ready to enjoy the quiet moments together.

a/n: i love charles so much i wish i was a formula 1 interviewer

© LILLYMMB do not repost and do not copy!

[saetiate]

love, pancakes & robots

sae x reader fluff (suggestive) for @pixelcafe-network 's challenge friday!

excerpt: "You," you stab him in the chest with a finger. "Are a robot whisperer."

"I read the instructions on the box like a normal person."

"I did too!"

"Oh really? You can read? That's surprising." He grips your wrist before you can smack him again, eyeing you playfully like he's just daring you to try, pulling you in until his arms are wrapped around you.

“What are you doing?”

Looking for you the moment he's up is rare for Sae. It's the weekend, you love to sleep in, and he's usually heavy enough to keep you tucked into him even if you rise first.

“I was trying to make pancakes." There's a set of ingredients to your left, a plate of half-baked and burnt ones to your right…

"Doesn't look like it's working."

He says the comment off-handedly, but you catch that almost-grin of his before he manages to turn away and you shove him, your hand meeting the hard muscle of his chest. He barely budges, but he presses a hand to himself like you knocked the wind out of him, eyes wide with faux-pain that finally has you out of your pancake-making stoop and laughing.

"It's a fancy pancake maker! The one we got gifted, remember? They're meant to pop out perfectly every time."

"Y'know, there's nothing wrong with making them the old fashioned way." He grabs the box to the side, casually flipping it in his hands.

"This is new tech, Sae! New tech! It's supposed to just spit a pancake out at you like a robot!"

"Like that dumpling maker that doesn't actually roll a dumpling together no matter how you put it in?"

You wave your hand. "That's just proof that dumplings need to be folded with hands and made with love."

"Hmm," Sae puts the box down, pours the pancake mix in along with some chocolate chips.

It pops out perfectly.

"You," you stab him in the chest with a finger. "Are a robot whisperer."

"I read the instructions on the box like a normal person."

"I did too!"

"Oh really? You can read? That's surprising." He grips your wrist before you can smack him again, eyeing you playfully like he's just daring you to try, pulling you in until his arms are wrapped around you.

He dips his head to speak softly in your ear. "Maybe the robot just likes me better."

You pull away from him, tapping your hands on his cheeks. "Then the robot is misogynistic."

"A robot with skewed moral values? Governments might start using it for politics."

He spins you around in his arms so you're both facing the pancake maker, where he pours it in again and watches as it chucks out yet another perfect piece. The pure shock on your face has him chuckling into your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"It's alright. I love you enough for both me and the robot."

He squeezes your waist, and you miss his warmth immediately as he moves towards the doorway.

"Hey! Come back here and do the rest, magic robot man!"

"Mm," he makes an act of considering it, tilting his head. "What do I get in return?"

"Outside of chocolate pancakes?"

"You know I don't care about pancakes." He swoops towards you fast and lifts you up by your thighs, placing you on the countertop, hands on either side of you as he leans in. "So?"

"Well," you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him in even closer, "what do you want?"

He grips the back of your calves, tipping you until you're lying flat on the counter, looming above you.

"I think it's clear," he tells you in a low tone, "what I want."

"Sae," Heat rushes through you, hyperaware of everything -- how warm his hands are, the cool countertop underneath you, the way his stature is the only thing that makes a position like this even possible.

"Pancakes first, you try to tell him, your heart beating fast in your chest, "or we'll never eat today."

"You sure?" He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then one higher up, and it has you gripping at his hand.

"We eat at this table."

"Who says that's not what I'm about to do?"

"You're cruel."

this is my first time doing a challenge!! the prompt i was given was: “What are you doing?” “I was trying to make pancakes but it didn’t exactly work” i hope i've done it justice!!

[enjakey]

Light Switch in the Dark

Or, the train to Paris that led to Shanghai

Pairing: architect!Sunghoon x author!fem!reader

TWN | (30k) | strangers to lovers, right person wrong time | a single perfect night could change the course of everything | so much yearning | angst, suicide, blood, mental health issues, loneliness, loss of partners, reader gets Alzheimer’s | not your average happy story and very sad ending ig | written into five distinct parts, each framing a significant point in their lives | heavily inspired by HIMYM and Grey's Anatomy and this reel.

Summary: two strangers travelling on the same path with different journeys in mind meet on a train to France. They spend a night of adventure, only to part ways the next morning. A decade later, they cross paths again in a book store in Shanghai. They’re both different people now, obviously, with so much life under their belts- success, loss, age. But the spark of the train still flickered between them. Did that mean the pair would live happily ever after or would they still have to struggle the curveballs thrown at them- Alzheimer’s, depression and utter fear of mortality?

i. The Train to France

The train was part of an old European railway network- one that spanned four countries, took three days, and moved like it was in no rush to arrive. Neither were the passengers. Most people opted for this train because it was slow and tranquil, because it was built for expansive journeys and for people that wanted a break, an escape from their lives.

Outside the window, the world blurred in gentle motion. Some places looked untouched with rolling pastures dotted with wildflowers, sleepy cottages tucked into hillsides and rivers that stitched their way across valleys like threads of silver. Occasionally, the train slipped by cities, glass buildings flickering in the reflection of early afternoon sun or passed small towns where the houses were still painted in vibrant pinks and yellows and bougainvillea grew like wild weed. Sometimes, the train passed through forgotten stations where no one ever boarded and no one wanted to get off.

Inside the train, things were quiet. It wasn’t the quiet that hushed like peace but the kind that vibrated with restrained life. Babies cooed or cried in soft bursts, children were coaxed to sleep, tourists tried to speak over headphone wires to gesture at maps (that were far beyond folding back) with crooked fingers and somewhere in the coach, there was an old married couple who started off with affectionate intent but ended up in an argument their son was trying to fix. There was also an old man with wiry hair that was asleep, his walking stick clutched between his knees like a weapon- so one saw him eat or drink water or even wake up, but the steady rise and fall of his chest indicated his life.

There were families with matching suitcases, travel groups with heavy coats and light eyes and lovers who couldn’t stop touching each other and then there were people like Y/N who boarded in Istanbul alone and waited for their destination in France alone.

She sat by the window with a modest stack of books beside her- books she tended to read again and books she had never read before, waiting to be explored. She told herself that in the three day train ride, she would finish reading them- but honestly, she was far from it. Some were underlined and dog-eared, others held paper scraps as bookmarks that no longer made sense. It was easy to get distracted in that train, as surprising as it was. Watching the scenery would immediately have her hand itching towards her pen to fill her notebook- her notebook that now lay open in front of her, nearly every page covered in scattered handwriting and ink-smudged sketches of things she noticed. People, trees, buildings, the flow of the rivers. And not all the words in her notebook made sense. Some were quotes she found and forgot to cite, some were just scribbles that looked like Russian cursive- absentminded movements of a restless hand.

There was an empty coffee cup tipped slightly on its side, leaving a pale brown ring on the edge of a page. When she grew bored of writing or reading, Y/N dipped her fingertips into the puddled remains of it, painting quick strokes in the margins- little trees, the silhouette of a bird mid-flight, a sketch of a mountain that might have been a memory or a dream.

That was all she really did in the first two days of the trip- read, wrote, watched the world move backwards from the glass. Sometimes, she liked to pretend like she was leaving things behind to start a new life, to create a new identity as the eccentric traveler. But Y/N could never be that- she was too quiet, too grounded into her reality. And perhaps, that was where her loneliness stemmed from. She felt lonely- not in the heavy, aching sense that people seemed to love succumbing to. This was the loneliness she had grown immune to- a dull companion that hummed in the background but never really asked for attention. 

Now, at twenty-five, Y/N was content with it. She grew accustomed to the quiet. She liked that her days were filled with Greek and Latin literature and academia while her nights were stolen by books and philosophical texts to analyse. She liked that she needed no one- this was enough.

Outside, the sky had begun to change- the golden wash of the late afternoon slipped into a cooler blue, edges softened by lavender. Towns gave way to sharper silhouettes of buildings and the world wasn’t moving backwards anymore, slowly catching up to Y/N’s pace. The train began to slow down as it curved the edges of a waking city.

Y/N looked up as the wheels beneath her softened into a screeching halt. The platform signs were in German now. People were beginning to stir, stretch and gather their things- people who left were replaced by new passengers. Her fingers were still damp with coffee. She wiped them on the inside of her sleeve and closed her notebook with a sigh, head leaning against the window again.

Zurich.

She wasn’t getting off here, but the brief lull in motion always felt significant- like the story might shift if you paid close enough attention.

And it did.

Because somewhere amidst the movement of passengers, the hiss of doors, and the tired shuffle of new bodies settling into old seats, someone slipped into the space across from her. No suitcase, no coat- ust a tall cup of coffee, a phone, and a man with dark eyes and an expression that said very little.

He didn’t ask if the seat was taken- he didn’t need to. For the first time since Y/N got on the train, the seat across from her had been claimed. It was out of pure luck, she thought, that no one wanted to occupy it- there were either enough seats or not enough passengers. Perhaps, this time, it was that there were no more seats left to occupy but the seat in front of her.

The man just looked at her, nodded once like they were already acquainted and turned to face the window. And just like that, the table she had thought was hers alone- her sanctuary of scribbles and silence- was now shared. And Y/N, for the first time in two days, found herself watching something other than the world outside.

Y/N tried not to stare, she really did. 

But there was something curious about him- this stranger who came bearing nothing but a steaming drink and a phone he hadn’t looked at once since sitting down. He leaned back against the seat like he’d done this before, like he belonged to this train more than the tracks did. His eyes moved slowly across the scenery as if he were trying to memorize the shapes of things. He looked so fresh, so bright despite the scowl look of his resting face- sharp eyes and eyebrows, a clenched jaw.

He didn’t look out of place. But he definitely didn’t look like he was a local either. His hoodie, navy in color and looking stiff, gave it away- it was brand new, most likely bought in account for a trip.

She returned to her notebook, flipping to a clean page. The tips of her fingers were still stained with coffee. Without thinking, she began painting again- small birds, crooked rooftops, the tracks the very train moved on.

He noticed.

“You draw with coffee?” he asked, his voice low, lined with amusement.

Y/N blinked. It was the first time anyone had spoken to her on this train. She glanced up. “Only when I run out of ink.” It felt new to even be talking. It felt like she hadn’t heard her own voice in eternity- she almost sounded foreign to herself.

He smiled at that, and it softened him. “Seems inefficient.”

“Only slightly,” she said. “But I like the color. Feels more honest than black ink.”

He nodded thoughtfully and sipped his coffee. “That’s poetic.”

“I’m a writer,” she said, as if it explained everything.

“Ah,” he gestured to the pile of books beside her. “I figured you were either that or a librarian on the run.”

A small laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Depends. Did you commit a literary crime?”

She leaned forward slightly, propping her chin on her hand. “I guess I stole too many endings that weren’t mine.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of interest deeper than casual banter. “Then maybe we’re both criminals.”

She raised a brow. “You’re a writer too?”

He shook his head. “Architect. I steal pieces of cities and try to turn them into buildings.”

“That sounds noble,” she said, tilting her head. “Or maybe romantic.”

“It’s mostly just paperwork and disappointment,” he admitted. “But maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to build something that stays.”

Y/N fell quiet at that, because she knew exactly what he meant.

“So,” he said, tapping his cup lightly against the table, “how does this work? Do we exchange names now, or do we pretend we’re ghosts passing through each other’s lives?”

She studied him a moment longer, then extended her hand across the table.

“Y/N.”

He took it, his grip warm and firm. “Sunghoon.”

And just like that, the train began to move again, slowly at first, then with a growing rhythm.

The scenery shifted once more. But the air between them was different now- thinner, sparking. Something had changed. Not loudly, not all at once. But enough for Y/N to realize that loneliness had finally taken a step back. And someone else had taken its seat.

The train hummed like a lullaby beneath their feet as Europe unfolded around them under moonlight. Seats hummed with quiet life, arranged in open clusters with personal tables- no compartments, no doors to close behind. Just people and stories and the soft flicker of overhead lights as the train curved gently around valleys and mountains alike. In the corner of it all was Y/N and Sunghoon, listening to each other share life stories- two attractive strangers, staring into each other's eyes like this was permanent. 

Y/N told him about her degree in Greek literature and how her parents were against it when she first announced her decision. Their distaste towards her academic goal was understandable- what kind of living would their daughter make out of such a fickle degree? And truth be told, Y/N was struggling. After graduating, she barely made a living through small writing gigs and coffee shop jobs as a barista. Now, she was on the hunt for a story to hopefully write her first book- hence her lonesome presence on a three day train, from Istanbul to France. 

“Oh, you haven’t published yet?”

“That’s why I call myself a writer. Not an author yet,” she grinned, hiding her embarrassment. 

“There’s a difference?” Sunghoon’s brows raised.

“It’s clear how much you don’t read.”

Sunghoon listened with the kind of attention that didn't feel performative. His gaze didn’t waver, but it didn’t press either. Just there… with his warm curiosity towards this new person he met.

And when Y/N finally asked him to speak about himself, he started ranting about his architecture career- twenty-seven years in the making, since the day he was born. Apparently, when he was born, his parents went to an astrologer who said that Sunghoon would grow up to be an architect. And the gola never changed, only manifested deeper into him as he grew up- from stacking legos that stood taller than his body as a kid to his professors adoring his models in college. 

“I just want to contribute to a skyline,” he said. “Doesn’t matter which city. Doesn’t even have to be famous. I just… I want people to look up and feel something.” His voice grew softer. “My boss doesn’t get it. He’s just… numbers and deadlines and grey rectangles.”

There was something oddly touching in that, a boyish idealism that had somehow survived into adulthood. He wasn’t jaded- not fully.

“Is he a brutalist?” Y/N asked.

“No, he’s just… boring. And brutalist architecture isn’t boring.”

He explained he’d been on a trip across Europe with his two best friends- a plan they’d made years ago, when life was still about university cafeterias and late-night dreams. But he’d broken off from the group for a detour to Zurich, to see his younger sister, now studying there. It had been a short, sweet visit. Familiar in the way only siblings could be- awkward hugs, sarcasm, shared complaints about their mother’s relentless texts. Now, he was rejoining his friends in Paris. “They’ve probably eaten their way through half the restaurants by now,” he grinned. “And argued over where to go next.”

“They’re all architects?”

“No, just me,” Sunghoon nodded, proudly. “But, one’s studying to be a lawyer. The other is gonna be an intern for surgery soon.”

Their conversation melted into the sound of the train wheels against the track. Their conversation didn’t feel like two strangers getting to know each other. It felt like slipping into a rhythm that had always existed, like picking up a thread from a story that had already begun. There were no awkward pauses, no searching for the right words- just an easy back-and-forth that felt strangely familiar. Like they were old friends who had somehow forgotten they were old friends. Like this was a reunion, not a first meeting.

At some point, he coaxed her up, dragging her down the aisle with a mischievous “You can’t sit still forever, writer girl.”

She resisted at first, rejecting his grip on her wrist with a hesitant gaze of her eyes. But he was too persistent- that sharp smile of his, was too persistent. And shyly, almost awkwardly, she stood up and followed him. And that would be the first time Y/N got up for reasons other than using the washroom or finding a meal to eat.

The train during the night was more alive than it was in the morning. That’s just the way it was with things like this- when a group of strangers came together to travel across borders. It was a silent promise of haven, of comfort. They walked past the soft flicker of reading lamps, the faint rustle of pages and whispered exchanges in many languages. They passed a woman knitting tiny socks with blue yarn, a man asleep with his head tipped back and opera music playing from his phone, a child pressing glow-in-the-dark stars against the window.

In the lounge coach, someone was playing the harmonica. The sound was low and imperfect, but so achingly human that it felt like a story in itself. 

“This is definitely something I want to write about.”

Sunghoon looked at her, confused. He couldn’t see the expression on her face, he was towering over her to get a glimpse of her hair that was hidden by her hair. But by her voice alone, he could hear the sparkle in her eyes.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon said. “What can you say? It’s just a guy playing a harmonica. Incorrectly, at that.”

“But do you hear the history in it?”

Somewhere near the middle of the train, tucked into a dimly lit dining car, was a makeshift poker table- though it wasn’t official, and the chips were mostly replaced by foreign coins, buttons, and old candy wrappers. A group of old men sat around it, the air thick with the scent of tobacco that no one was actually smoking, and laughter that came in easy bursts like waves hitting a dock. They sang as they played- old folk songs in accented English and native tongues, clapping along to choruses only they knew. One had a flute he’d chime in with between rounds; another drummed his fingers rhythmically on the edge of the table like it was a snare.

Sunghoon was the first to slow his steps, then Y/N. Something about the scene pulled them in- the warmth of it, the chaos, the openness of strangers too old to care who joined as long as they knew how to smile. The invitation came with a gesture- a crooking finger, a grin, a gap-toothed nod toward the table. They didn’t resist.

They slid into the seats like they’d always belonged there, excited smiles and palms rubbed together. A few coins from Y/N’s pocket, some spare notes from Sunghoon’s wallet- it wasn’t about winning. The old men were ruthless and charming, teasing them in thick accents, telling them the rules only after they'd broken them. Sunghoon forgot which suit beat what, and Y/N mistook her hand for something stronger than it was. They lost every round, but they laughed harder each time. It was never about the cards. It was about the way joy could travel across decades, across languages and lives, and land right there between two young people on a midnight train.

One of the men told a story about a girl he almost married in Portugal after two drinks too many, another about a time he danced barefoot in a rainstorm on the German border. One told the story of how he lost his arm during the war- Y/N and Sunghoon didn’t know which one, but were too scared to ask. Their words stitched across the table like quiltwork- melancholy in parts, hilarious in others, but always rich. Y/N listened with wide eyes, mentally bookmarking characters she hadn’t even written yet. Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, one arm resting behind her, the other fiddling with a useless hand of cards. Every now and then, they’d glance at each other and grin- caught in a secret moment neither of them could explain.

By the end of it, they had lighter wallets and heavier hearts, full of names they’d forget by morning (Sunghoon would forget, not Y/N) and faces they’d remember forever. When the group eventually dispersed, the men wished them luck- at life, at love, at whatever came next. And then the dining car emptied slowly, leaving Y/N and Sunghoon alone at the table with empty glasses and leftover laughter.

For a long time, they just sat there. But Sunghoon dragged her up again, like he was impatient on what he would find next. 

They reached the back of the train. The stars were louder there, with no glass to filter them- sharp and endless, scattered above the moving world like they’d been nailed into the fabric of the night. The wind whipped fast and gentle all at once, lifting their hair in small chaotic dances- Sunghoon’s dark strands tousled back like the wind was styling him on purpose, while Y/N’s hair tangled and curled around her face, occasionally catching on her lips, on the collar of her coat, in the crook of Sunghoon’s arm when they stood too close.

The railings were rusted, chipping with time and weather, flecked with the stories of thousands of travelers before them. They leaned on it anyway- elbows pressed into the cool metal, fingers curling over the edge, palms warming the cold. It groaned slightly beneath them, like it remembered what it meant to hold someone’s weight.

The air smelled like the wild- earthy and crisp, threaded with something that felt like memory. Below them, the world blurred in soft motion- dark forests, sleeping towns, rivers that shimmered like liquid glass beneath the stars. Above them, constellations took their time- Orion with his quiet confidence, Cassiopeia lounging in her eternal curve. Neither Y/N nor Sunghoon said anything for a while. 

There was a stillness in that speed- a paradox only night trains seemed to understand. The kind where time slowed down just long enough to notice the way his knuckles grazed hers on the railing, or the way her eyes reflected stars like she’d been born from them.

And then Sunghoon said, quietly, like he was saying it to himself, “I feel like I’m running out of time.”

Y/N didn’t look at him, but she listened. You could tell she was listening by the way her breath caught a little, and how her fingers curled tighter around the metal bar.

“I’m twenty-seven. I know that’s not old,” he continued, “but it’s not exactly new either. And there’s this pressure- this... noise in my head that says I should’ve done something big by now. Left a mark, built something that outlasts me.”

The train curved then, slow and smooth, and the stars tilted slightly in the sky. Y/N still said nothing.

“I feel like no one gets it,” he added, half-laughing, but it was a bitter kind of sound. “I feel like no one understands why it’s so important to build something beautiful. All everyone seems to care about these days is money and loopholes.”

She looked at him then, finally. Just a glance, soft and brief.

He looked over at her. “But you get it, right?”

Y/N nodded, then turned back to the night. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.” Her voice was quiet, not in a sad way but in the way Sunghoon understood that she was feeling it too- his plight. “When I say I want to write a book, I don’t mean just anything. I mean… I want to leave a mark, I want my work to be talked about. I want to be as great as Clarice Lispector or Kazuo Ishiguro.”

Sunghoon said nothing, mostly because he didn’t know the authors she’d just mentioned. He just watched her speak.

“But lately... I don’t know. I feel like I’m borrowing other people’s words. Like I haven’t lived enough to write anything worth reading.” Her fingers brushed the railing again. “My parents still think I should’ve picked something safer. Like business or economics or something. And maybe they’re right.”

“No, they’re not,” he said, too quickly. “You need to live to write. You can’t just… watch life through windows and call it enough.”

“I know,” Y/N’s eyes were welling with tears at that point. But she convinced herself that it was the wind hitting her eyes and not the weight against her heart. “I think I’m just scared.”

“Of what?”

“Living,” she said, almost laughing. “Living, experiencing everything right- only to ultimately fail and write something unforgettable. It’s so stupid. Sometimes I feel like writing is so stupid.”

“It’s not,” Sunghoon shook his head. He stared straight ahead, crossing his arms on the railing. “You know how they say every artist hates their own work? I’m sure Louis Sullivan hated his first building. But it didn’t stop him from completing it.”

Y/N tilted her head, blinking away the burn behind her eyes. “Who’s Louis Sullivan?” she asked.

Sunghoon smiled faintly. “Architect. They call him the father of skyscrapers.” He hesitated, then added, “His buildings didn’t even get much attention when he was alive. It all came later. But still, he kept going. Even when it felt like no one cared.”

“I’m assuming with your career, you learnt a lot about architects,” she chuckled.

“I’ve got a whole archive of information,” he grinned proudly.

Y/N looked away again, the wind catching the edge of her jacket and lifting it gently behind her. The rusted railing creaked softly beneath their weight, but they didn’t move. There was something sacred about the discomfort- like they owed it to the moment to stay right where they were.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” she asked eventually. “Giving your life to something that might never be seen?”

“I’d like to think it’s better than not trying at all,” he said. “But sometimes, I don’t get it. When I saw my sister, she was thriving- university and all that. But I’m still figuring shit out. It’s like I always have been.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Y/N said. “I don’t think anyone really figures it out. Some of us are just better at pretending.”

He smiled. Not a big one, just enough.

“I used to sit on my roof as a kid,” he said. “Stare at the stars and make wishes even though I didn’t believe in them.”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “What did you wish for?”

“A lot of things,” he shrugged. “Toys, lenient parents, a sibling… and I eventually got a sister. Then eventually, I stopped believing in it.”

She didn’t respond. Just leaned into the railing a little deeper. 

“The stars remind me of myths,” she said after a while. “The ones I studied. Greek tragedies, gods turning into animals, lovers becoming constellations just to be together.”

“You believe in that?” he asked.

She paused, then smiled. “No. But I like that someone once did.”

And in that space between them, something invisible and delicate bloomed. Not love, not yet. But something heavy and soft, rooted in the chest. The kind of connection that only happens at the back of a moving train, with stars sharp above and wind in your teeth, and a stranger who suddenly isn’t one anymore- something permanent, even if they were not.

Eventually, they made their way back through the softly dimmed train- past the poker table now quiet and empty, past sleeping passengers curled beneath jackets and scarves- to their seats. The overhead lights buzzed gently above, their little corner of the train wrapped in a hushed stillness.

Y/N pulled out a pen from her tote and tore a napkin into squares. “Tic-tac-toe?” she asked, already drawing the grid.

Sunghoon grinned. “Prepare to lose.”

She tore the corner of an old train pamphlet and started scribbling grids. Tic-tac-toe. Then hangman. Then the dumbest drawing contest either of them had ever participated in. She dared him to draw a duck and he came up with a lopsided blob with antennae. She laughed so hard her eyes watered. He laughed too, head tossed back, his knees pressed into the seat in front of him, body curled like it was trying to hold the joy in.

They spoke less as the hours dragged on. There was no need to fill the silence. The kind of quiet they shared wasn’t awkward- it was warm, stretched like a blanket over the two of them. They sipped from a tiny carton of orange juice they found buried in her tote and whispered about the most useless superpowers they’d want to have. (He said being able to always know which lane moved fastest in a grocery store. She said being able to taste colors.)

Eventually, her eyelids drooped. She laid her head on her folded arms, right there on the tiny table between them. Her hair spilled over like ink, her breathing evened out, and her mouth twitched slightly in sleep- like she was smiling at something in a dream she wouldn't remember.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

He watched her for a long while. Not in a creepy way. Just… in awe. At how still she was- how peaceful. There was something about the way the moonlight through the window painted across her face that made him feel like this moment was borrowed- like time had paused and he’d been given a glimpse into something sacred, like an old Victorian painting.

He turned to the window. The stars were fading now, washed thin by the first hints of dawn. He pressed his palm against the glass and felt the faint thrum of motion beneath it.

And he thought- about how fleeting everything felt lately. About how moments like this- ones that sneaked up on you and made you feel deeply human- never lasted long enough. He thought about the future, about buildings he hadn’t yet sketched, about lines and edges and spaces that could become something living. He thought about asking her for her number, how he’d even phrase it, how not to make it weird.

He thought about what kind of book she would write- maybe something strange and wandering, the kind of story that didn’t apologize for taking its time. He thought about how her characters would probably be like her: observant, quiet, a little brave without realizing it.

The train kept moving.

And then… morning came. It wasn’t loud- just a slow blooming of gold across the sky. The clouds turned soft and lilac at the edges, and the air began to shift. The train started to slow. The brakes hissed, metal groaned.

They were in Paris.

The station was already awake- blurred voices, hurried footsteps, the distant beep of announcements he couldn’t quite make out. But inside their little cabin, everything still felt untouched.

Sunghoon looked at Y/N. She was still sleeping, arm tucked under her head, breath warm against her sleeve.

And for a moment- just one- he didn’t want to wake her.

He let the idea wash over him like a wave. What if they stayed on? Just didn’t get off. Let the train roll again, take them to another city, maybe even another country- Vienna, Lyon, wherever. Just so he could sit beside her a little longer. Just so he could hold onto this stillness.

But reality was patient. And it always catches up.

So he reached out, gently pressing his fingers to her shoulder. “Y/N,” he said, voice low, almost apologetic. “We’re here.”

She stirred slowly, blinking against the light. “Huh?”

“Paris,” he said.

Her eyes widened. She sat up, sleep still clinging to her limbs, disoriented but already reaching beneath her seat for her suitcase. Her hair was tousled, face creased slightly from her nap, and she looked so real (he didn’t even know how to explain it, it was the fact that she wasn’t his imagination, that she was a person, had a life, outside of the night they had together) in that moment that Sunghoon’s chest ached.

He stood too, grabbing her bag and guiding her to the exit. The train doors hissed open with a kind of finality that neither of them were ready for.

They stepped onto the platform.

It was colder here than he expected- a sharp, Parisian morning air. It was the kind that carried the scent of fresh bread and motion. People hurried past them with cameras and coats and open maps, but the two of them just stood there- still holding their luggage, still close enough to touch but too far to say anything meaningful.

And then it hit her.

That this was it.

This was goodbye.

She looked at him, like, really looked. Not like someone she met on a train, not like a stranger. But like someone whose existence, however brief in her story, left a ripple.

“I guess this is…” she began, then trailed off.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said, swallowing. His adams apple bounced. “It is.”

His attention, however, was ripped towards the opposite direction- Sunghoon heard them before he saw them.

“SUNGHOON! LET’S GO!”

Jake’s voice echoed across the platform, followed by Jay dramatically flailing his arms like he was about to take flight. “WE'RE GONNA GET CHARGED AN EXTRA HOUR FOR PARKING!”

They were standing near the exit, beside a wheezing rental car with an uneven paint job and too much luggage crammed into its trunk. They looked like they belonged in a different world, one that hadn’t just stood still all night; one that hadn’t just sat across from someone and quietly fallen into a version of affection that didn’t need time to grow- it bloomed instantly, and painfully.

Sunghoon looked at them.

Then… looked away.

He turned back to Y/N.

She was already pulling her suitcase handle upright, her face composed, wearing that brave expression that people wear when they know the goodbye will hurt but they’re choosing dignity over drama. Her eyes were a little puffy from sleep- or maybe it was emotion. He didn’t ask.- he would never know.

“Guess that’s your ride,” she said, the smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes.

He didn’t reply. He wanted to say something- anything- but every sentence that formed in his throat felt too small, too stupid or too late. His emotions didn’t make sense to him anymore. His heart skipping a beat at the way the sunlight hit her eyes didn’t make sense anymore.

Y/N took a small step forward and stuck her hand out between them. Her fingers were steady, her voice wasn’t.

“Maybe we’ll meet again,” she said, smiling softly. “But for now… goodbye, Sunghoon.” It could’ve ended there. But she blinked- just once- and added, quieter: “Thank you for making the night a little less lonely.”

And just like that, he was ruined.

Sunghoon took her hand, firm, certain- like that moment deserved at least that much clarity. And maybe that was the saddest part of it all- how their story ended the same way it began: with a handshake.

Two people. One shared night. A lifetime’s worth of unanswered questions.

He held on for a beat longer than he should have. Then he let go reluctantly. Then stepped back with a nod, his eyes memorizing the shape of her one last time. And without another word ((he didn’t even find it in him to reciprocate a goodbye), he turned and jogged toward his waiting friends, who were still dramatically yelling about the parking ticket.

Behind him, Y/N turned in the opposite direction, hoping to hail a taxi to her hotel.

She didn’t look back. Neither did he.

When Sunghoon finally caught up with them, breath uneven and head a little too full, Jay and Jake didn’t waste a second. They manhandled him into the backseat like he was carry-on luggage.

“We’ve been waiting for hours,” Jake exaggerated from the passenger side, twisting halfway around to stare at him. “You better have a Nobel-worthy reason for making us risk another parking fine. How’s your sister, mate?”

Jay, hands on the wheel, sunglasses on even though it was barely sunrise, shot a look at Sunghoon through the rearview mirror.

“Fuck that,” he said. “Who was the girl?”

Sunghoon groaned, dropped his head back against the seat, crossed his arms over his chest like a sulky teenager. Suddenly, the night that had felt so luminous, so important, shrunk down into this weird, private ache. The kind that couldn’t be explained without sounding stupid. Because how do you tell your best friends that one night on a train with a stranger made you question everything you thought you wanted? Made you feel more than you had in months?

Sunghoon just stared out the window as the city passed in a blur and tried not to think about how fast it was all slipping away. Jake and Jay didn’t wait for an answer. Of course not- they were already in full chaos mode, cooking up scenarios like they were writing for a shitty soap-opera.

“You sat beside her?”

“Made a new friend?”

“Fucked the new friend, perhaps?” Jake added with a dramatic gasp, clapping once. “Train version of the mile-high club, huh?”

“In the bathroom?” Jay asked, feigning shock. “Dude, gross. Those toilets flush like portals to hell.”

“Oh, wait-” Jake snapped his fingers, “you kissed her. That’s it. You kissed her and then cried about it while looking out the window like you’re in a sad indie film.”

Sunghoon inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. “You guys,” he said, voice low and deadly calm, “are disgusting.”

Jake and Jay erupted into laughter.

“Which means,” Jay said smugly, tapping the steering wheel, “something definitely happened.”

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He just leaned his head against the window, the cold glass pressing into his skin. The city of Paris unfolded outside, but he wasn’t really seeing it. Not the cafés, or the early risers with fresh bread tucked under their arms, or the old men reading newspapers on benches.

He was still on the train. Still in that quiet, starlit space. Still listening to her say thank you for making the night a little less lonely.

ii. Ten Years Too Lonely

When Y/N was young, her parents used to tell her about how they met. Her bedtime stories weren’t made up of dragons or fairies, but of reckless youth, of laughter echoing in tiny bars that no longer existed, of impossible nights that somehow still lived on in memory. Her parents had lived like people in novels- messy, brave, complicated. They told her stories filled with bad decisions that made great memories, spontaneous road trips, heartbreaks that healed over time, and a small group of friends who stayed, who always stayed.

Those friends were still around- her honorary uncles and aunts. They showed up for the big moments: the day she was born, the major birthdays, and all her graduations. They were the ones who took her out for her first legal drink, who called her kiddo even when she was twenty, who looked at her like she belonged. And maybe it was only around them that she ever felt like she did. Like she was part of something bigger, warmer, something permanent.

But outside those rare, glowing reunions, Y/N felt like a ghost of a person. Like she hadn���t been fully written yet. Like her edges were blurry, her voice a little too quiet, her presence too easy to miss. She used to think that one day, she’d grow into herself. That she’d wake up and suddenly feel whole. But the days kept ending and nothing changed.

She’d always been unlucky with friendships. People liked her, sure- they said she was nice, called her sweet. But no one stayed. No one ever fought to keep her close. She was the kind of person you texted when you were bored, not when your world was falling apart. She was always the one listening, nodding, comforting. Rarely the one being held. She didn’t know what she did wrong- maybe she didn’t shine enough. Maybe she was just forgettable. She tried to tell herself that wasn’t true, that she mattered, that someone would one day see her the way she longed to be seen. But most days, the silence was louder than any hope she tried to build.

Relationships? Those were worse. Crushes that never looked her way, dates that fizzled before they even began, almost-loves that ended in vague texts and unreturned calls. She couldn’t even be mad at them. She understood. Why would anyone stay with someone who didn’t really stand out? She wasn’t the bold, flirty girl with a spark in her eyes. She wasn’t magnetic, or mysterious, or even particularly witty. She was just… there, easy to walk away from.

And that was the thing that hurt the most- the thought that people would forget her. That she could pass through someone’s life and leave no mark at all. That years from now, someone she once shared a laugh with wouldn’t even remember her name. That she was the kind of person you had to try to remember. Not because she was unpleasant. But because she was just so easy to overlook.

She hated that. She hated how much it bothered her. She hated that she wanted to be seen so badly, wanted to matter to someone- anyone- just for a little while. And more than anything, she hated that she’d let life pass her by. That she hadn’t been brave enough to chase the moments she dreamed about. The semester abroad she kept telling herself she’d apply to. The marine research internship near the beach she’d bookmarked five times but never actually submitted an application for. The universities she never left her hometown to attend. She watched opportunities drift by like trains she couldn’t get herself to board.

And every time she missed one, she told herself it was fine. That there would be another. That she was just waiting for the right time. But deep down, she knew. She knew she wasn’t waiting. She was hiding. From the possibility of failing. From the pain of not being enough. From the crushing weight of trying her best and still falling short.

But the thing is… her parents had always known that Y/N would make a life for herself. From the day she was born to the day she graduated and began the daunting task of job hunting, they’d looked at her with a kind of certainty that Y/N never really understood. “It’s just that your life hasn’t begun yet,” they would repeat to her like a prophecy.

And for a long time, she believed them. Or at least she tried to. She clung to the hope that one day, her plight would mean something, that she'd wake up and suddenly become the person she was always supposed to be. But that hope wore thin. Especially in the years that followed graduation- years where nothing really happened. Where she lived at home again, working part-time jobs she never talked about at family dinners, feeling more and more like she was treading water in a pool where everyone else was learning how to swim laps.

Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore- the guilt of still living under her parents' roof, the quiet shame of watching life pass by like a train she kept missing. So, in a burst of desperation or courage or maybe both, she booked a trip to Europe with the savings she’d been hoarding for no particular reason. She drained her bank account in one impulsive night of scrolling and airfare. And just like that, she was gone.

And suddenly- suddenly- her degree in Greek Literature didn’t feel so useless anymore. Not when she was exploring a three-day train with a stranger. Not when she was wandering through the streets of Athens, tracing the ruins her textbooks used to speak of in dusty academic tones. Not when she stood beneath the Parthenon at sunset with a backpack and a journal and no plans for the next day. And just like that, her life started to change.

In the month she spent abroad, she felt herself unfold. Like some slow, patient blooming. She talked to strangers without rehearsing the conversation beforehand. She danced at rooftop bars in Lisbon with people whose names she barely caught. She took a spontaneous night bus to Prague with a pair of Finnish siblings she met in a museum café. She broke down crying in a quiet alley in Florence and was comforted by a woman named Elif from Istanbul, who shared her gelato and told her heartbreak was a sign of living. In Barcelona, she accidentally joined a group of traveling circus performers for three days because they mistook her for someone else and she was too embarrassed to correct them- until she wasn’t. She even kissed someone under a broken street lamp in Amsterdam, someone whose name she still remembers but whose face is already fading in her mind.

There were so many stories. Wild, unthinkable, movie-scene type stories. But perhaps the most unbelievable part was how alive she felt. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like a background character. She didn’t feel like someone waiting for something to happen to her. She was the happening.

She met people. She lived with them. She cooked pasta in tiny hostel kitchens, shared beds with near strangers, drank cheap wine in public parks, danced barefoot, and got lost more times than she could count. She met Luca, a Sicilian med student who taught her how to flirt in Italian; Josie, a Canadian street artist who carried a notebook filled with secrets from people she met; and Santiago, a chef from Buenos Aires who taught her to make empanadas while talking about love like it was a religion.

They were fleeting people. But they mattered.

And she kept in touch with most of them- at least for a while. They exchanged numbers, promised to visit, sent postcards and songs and memes across time zones. Luca sent her a blurry photo of his med school graduation. Josie invited her to a pop-up art show in Toronto that she couldn’t attend. Santiago messaged her every few months just to ask how she was, calling her mi poeta.

But life moved on. As it always does.

Y/N came back home, and things had changed, but she wasn’t quite sure if she had. She floated through a string of jobs- proofreading textbooks, writing content for lifestyle blogs, tutoring high school students in Greek mythology. Nothing ever stuck. Nothing ever felt like hers. Until one day, almost on a dare to herself, she sat down and started writing again- not for money, not for work, but for herself.

The book came quietly. No agents, no fanfare. A small indie publisher picked it up. And somehow, her first novel resonated with enough people to warrant a tiny book signing tour. She visited three cities. Five bookstores. Signed a hundred copies with her slightly messy, unsure signature.

And still… She felt alone.

As the years passed, the messages from her travel friends became less frequent. The jokes grew stale, the memories stopped coming up in conversation and eventually, keeping in touch became just liking each other’s Instagram posts or sending the occasional emoji reply to a story. 

When she moved to Shanghai to teach English at a small local university, she barely told anyone. She packed her life into two suitcases, boarded the flight alone, and arrived in a city where no one knew her name. The loneliness there was quieter, less sharp. It didn’t ache the way it used to. Because in times like this, feeling lonely was inevitable and she didn’t beat herself up for it. Because this was going to be her new life, her new norm.

She taught classes, went to the market, and drank tea by her apartment window. Life was simple. She liked it. And she realised how her age was catching up to her, that she was yearning for the peaceful moments in her life rather than late night travel trips.

And yet, some nights, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d scroll through old photos- grainy hostel selfies, street corners, sunset skies she had once sworn she’d never forget. She would look at those faces and wonder if any of them remembered her too, if she’d been as temporary to them as they were eternal to her.

Because the truth about Y/N was that no matter how much she saw, how many stories she collected, or how far she ran, she still came out of it alone. Not broken, not bitter- just… still waiting. Still wondering if her life had really begun yet, or if she was still standing on the edge of something bigger, too afraid to take the leap.

Though some nights, the memories haunted her, most days, Y/N kept moving. She walked the same narrow streets from her apartment to the university, nodded politely at the same old man who sold dough strips by the metro station, and let her world stay predictable and repetitive.

But it was on a rainy Sunday- one of those Shanghai afternoons where the air hung heavy with the scent of wet concrete and jasmine- that things would change again.

She’d been wandering aimlessly, an umbrella tucked under her arm, letting the drizzle kiss her skin as she browsed street vendors and quiet alleys she hadn’t taken the time to explore before. She wasn’t even looking for anything in particular when she ducked into the tiny bookstore nestled between a tea shop and a dry cleaner, a place so unobtrusive she’d passed it a dozen times and never noticed it.

Inside, the lighting was dim and golden, the smell of old paper and incense wrapping around her like a blanket. There was jazz playing faintly from a record player near the counter. A cat slept on a stool in the poetry aisle. And for the first time in weeks, she exhaled without even realizing she’d been holding her breath.

She wandered through the shelves slowly, fingers brushing over cracked spines and titles in Mandarin, English, French. It reminded her of a place she visited in Lisbon, one she never thought she’d think of again.

She turned the corner of the aisle, absently reaching for a poetry collection when her eyes landed on him.

At first, she only saw the profile- the clean lines of his face, the sharp curve of his nose, the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead- and for a heartbeat, her mind couldn’t quite place it. Her body stilled before her brain caught up.

Then he turned slightly, lifting his head toward the Popular Picks display by the counter, a stack of three books balanced in his arms, one tucked awkwardly beneath his chin.

And she knew. She just did.

The recognition crashed into her like a wave she hadn’t braced for.

Sunghoon.

Just like that, the bookstore shifted from quiet nostalgia to something surreal. Her fingertips curled slightly around the spine of the book she was holding, as if steadying herself. Her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. And suddenly,she was naive and twenty-five again, sitting in a train with a stranger to entertain.

And as if he felt her gaze, Sunghoon looked up- eyes landing on hers instantly.

The air between them was still. The jazz in the background faded. So did the cat, the incense, the muffled rain tapping at the windows.

He blinked, almost like he didn’t trust what he was seeing. Then slowly, the corners of his mouth turned upward- not quite a smile yet, just the beginning of one.

They just stared at each other for a second too long. Not out of awkwardness- but because neither of them wanted to be the first to break whatever this was.

Then Sunghoon shifted, took one step forward.

And that was her cue.

Y/N slipped her book back onto the shelf and walked toward him, steps careful, like she was still half-convinced he might disappear if she moved too fast.

“Hey,” she said, voice quieter than she expected. “I wasn’t sure it was you.”

Sunghoon let out a soft breath, the ghost of a laugh caught in his throat. “I wasn’t sure you were real.”

They both smiled- wide and full this time- the tension breaking like light through overcast skies.

Y/N blinked, still grounding herself in the impossible fact that it was him. “What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly would break the spell.

Sunghoon gave a soft breath of disbelief, almost a laugh, like he wasn’t quite sure how this moment existed. “I live here now… I’ve been living here for three years.”

Y/N gave a half-smile. “Five years for me.”

And that was the moment it hit him. Five years. They’d been orbiting the same city, breathing the same air, living maybe a handful of metro stops apart- and somehow, they never crossed paths until now. It felt like too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. Like the universe had deliberately waited, held its breath, timed this to some impossible rhythm only it understood.

“I teach at the public university,” she offered before he could ask. “English. But I publish sometimes as well.”

Of course it was her. The name had been bothering him ever since he picked up that book, strung together in a delicate serif font on the spine- a first name and a last name that brushed up against something familiar in his memory, but not enough to sound the alarms. He’d held it in his hands, flipped through the pages, even lingered on the blurb wondering why it made his chest ache a little. But he hadn’t made the connection. Not until she was standing in front of him, telling him, almost offhandedly, that she wrote now- had published a few books. And then it hit him like cold water: that book. The one he’d nearly bought before settling on something else. He almost felt guilty now, absurdly so, for not choosing hers. As if picking another novel over hers had been some kind of betrayal- to her, to that night, to the unspoken space they’d both carried all these years.

He nodded slowly, his chest tightening. “Still an architect,” he said, then glanced at her with something just shy of a smile. “I think you’d be proud of me.”

It was a soft, unassuming statement, but it hung between them heavily. He was thinking of that night- the train, the way her words had stayed with him long after the lights of the station faded. Ten years ago. Ten full years. He didn’t know if she remembered.

But Y/N’s expression shifted in that subtle way that told him she did. Of course she did.

“Yeah?” she asked, eyes bright.

“Yeah,” he looked down for a second before meeting her gaze again. “I’m glad you finally published.”

And he meant it. Beneath the sincerity sat his quiet guilt- one he wasn’t going to admit just yet. He hadn’t searched for her name. Not once. Not online, not on bookshelves. And now that he knew, now that he held the knowledge of what she'd gone on to do, it felt like an ache. Because he had thought of her- more often than he let himself admit. He’d bring her up sometimes when he was drunk, recalling that weird night on the train, the girl who talked about words like they were living things. But he hadn’t done anything more. 

And now here she was.

“This feels insane,” he murmured, voice softening.

He was staring at her- not just with disbelief, but with the kind of quiet reverence reserved for things once lost and now unexpectedly found. And as he stood there, barely hearing the rustle of pages or the distant hum of jazz, a thought rose, unbidden and almost embarrassing in its honesty- this was the girl who had changed him.

In one night- a single stretch of hours between train stations and tangled conversations- she had shifted something fundamental inside him. He’d started reading not long after that. Nothing big at first- just a book she’d mentioned, something he'd scribbled down on a receipt in his wallet. But it became a habit, then a hunger. Because of her. Because of how she spoke about stories, about words like they were holy. Because of how she saw the world- like it was both tragic and beautiful and worth telling anyway.

And now, a decade later, here she was. Not a memory, not a story he told his friends after two beers. But real and alive, standing in front of him again- older, softer in some ways, sharper in others. Still her, always her.

And all he could think was: I can’t believe it’s you.

Sunghoon arrived at the café early. Of course he did. He always did that when he was nervous- pretending it was about punctuality, about professionalism, about making a good impression. But really, it was about control, about giving himself a moment to settle the way his heart had been stammering in his chest for days.

Since that day in the bookstore, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her- Y/N- her voice, her eyes, the way the rain had traced soft lines down the bookstore’s fogged windows while they talked. He hadn’t said it out loud, but as soon as they’d agreed to meet again, he’d gone home and done something impulsive- something a younger Sunghoon might’ve laughed at. He bought all of her books. Every single one. Three novels, each with a cover so delicate and so deliberate, he almost didn’t want to crack the spines.

But he did. In fact, he devoured them. He read like he was chasing something. Like he was trying to catch up on a decade of her life that he hadn’t been a part of.

Her writing stunned him. It was raw and strange and poetic and painfully observant. But it wasn’t just that. It was familiar. Not in the stories themselves- they were nothing like him, nothing like the night they’d shared- but in the details, in the quiet gestures of a supporting character, or the rhythm of someone’s speech, or the offhand way a man in his late twenties scratched the back of his neck when he was uncomfortable.

That was him. That was 27-year-old Sunghoon. He remembered doing that on the train, mid-conversation, when she’d asked him about the kind of buildings he wanted to design someday. There was a character in her first book who did the same thing- and that character had a way of seeing cities like they were made of feelings, not steel. It was him, even if it wasn’t.

He hadn’t known she’d remembered him. Not like that. He’d told himself it was just one night. A good night. But fleeting. Something the world would blur out with time. And yet… she had remembered. She made it permanent on ink- she eternalized him.

And here he was- in Shanghai, of all places.

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe it. He’d said yes to the opportunity three years ago- an architecture firm in Seoul was invited to pitch a design for a mixed-use skyscraper, and he’d poured himself into it with the hunger of a man who needed to be consumed by something. It was his vision that won. A sinuous, glass-and-steel tower that mimicked the ripple of the Huangpu River, with an atrium shaped like a lantern- part office space, part museum, part observation deck, a living homage to old Shanghai meeting the new. 

The project had saved him. Or maybe it had given him something to hold onto after everything else fell apart.

Nora.

Even now, her name carried the weight of a thousand sharp edges- soft at first, then all at once like glass. He met her at a work party, back when his firm was still small and barely making a name for itself. It had been hosted in a high-rise lounge, the kind where conversations floated over clinking glasses and low jazz murmured beneath everything. He remembered spotting Nora by the bar, laughing with a group of journalists, her voice rising and falling like it belonged to the room. She was magnetic- self-assured in a way that didn’t demand attention but still received it, effortlessly. She had this grin, this unmistakable fire behind her eyes, and when she asked what he did, she looked at him like she actually cared about the answer.

They started seeing each other after that night- cautiously, at first. She was always busy, always moving between studios and press conferences and flights to cover some political chaos. But she made time. For him, she made time. She’d wait for him at his office sometimes with takeout, wearing heels and an oversized coat, telling him that he worked too much and kissed too little.

They dated for two years. Two golden years that felt too good to be real. There were lazy Sundays with her head on his chest, whispered fights over whose turn it was to do the laundry, travel plans never taken, and endless conversations about buildings and breaking news and what it meant to chase something until you caught it.

He proposed on a rainy night in Busan, when they’d gone for a vacation and spent the evening ice skating in a mall. She was trying to keep up with him, giggling while finding her balance. And just like that, he glided towards her on one knee and revealed the ring and he just… said it. Marry me. And she had said yes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

They were married for four years. Four whole years of learning each other in all the quiet, invisible ways- the morning rituals, the favorite side of the bed, the type of silence that felt warm instead of cold. He’d never known that kind of peace. Even with her career constantly pulling her toward chaos, even when they were barely passing each other at home- it still felt like they were orbiting something steady. 

And then, one morning, she left for work like she always did. Hair still damp from the shower, still brushing lip balm onto her mouth as she stepped into her heels, grinning at him like she had some scandalous news she couldn’t wait to share after her segment.

She never made it to the station.

The accident happened in a flash. A truck ran a red light on the Olympic-daero. Witnesses said the rain had made it hard to see. She was gone before the ambulance even arrived, but they tried. Jake tried.

He remembered Jake’s call- the way his voice cracked over the line. "Come to the hospital. Now."

Sunghoon remembered sprinting through corridors, his hands cold, his lungs burning, shirt and tie astray with wide eyes and matted hair. And then- Jake, his closest friend and one of Seoul’s top trauma surgeons, standing outside the trauma unit, drenched in blood that wasn’t his, eyes hollow, surgical mask hanging off one ear. No words- just a slow, agonizing shake of the head.

Sunghoon collapsed.

The days after were a blur of numbness, sirens and screaming silence. There was no funeral that could contain that kind of grief, no eulogy that could articulate how deeply broken the world had become in just one moment. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t look at the chair she used to sit in. Her mug sat untouched for months. He buried himself in work until even the blueprints started to blur, until the only thing that snapped him back was his other best friend, Jay- who took one look at him and told him to press charges.

The man who caused the accident had been drunk. Slightly below the legal limit, but enough to impair judgment. Jay, relentless in a courtroom, helped Sunghoon file lawsuits that dragged on for nearly two years. They won. But it didn’t bring her back- nothing would, nothing did.

And then came the offer, an international firm asking him the chance to design a tower in Shanghai- something iconic, something bold. He said yes without thinking. He needed to go, to leave, to start over, to breathe somewhere else.

And now here he was, four years later. Sitting in a sunlit café in Shanghai, about to see the only other person who had ever made him feel like the future might be a story worth reading.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to tell her all of it- the job offer, the building, the wife, the accident, the ache. But he knew one thing: telling her all of this, over coffee, across a tiny round table in a quiet café… it felt oneiric. Like time had folded in on itself and handed him a second chance he hadn’t dared hope for.

Y/N listened like she always had- with stillness, with presence, with that rare ability to make silence feel like safety. When he spoke about the building, her face lifted, just slightly. Her eyes softened, like she was genuinely happy for him- not surprised, not performative- just quietly proud. 

But when he said Nora’s name, something shifted. The subtle tension in her brow, the way her fingers paused mid-motion on the coffee cup’s handle, the sudden stillness in her breathing- it all changed. She didn’t interrupt nor did she didn’t look away. She just let it wash over her, the grief, the enormity of it. Her eyes, when they met his again, held something solemn and full- not sympathy, not pity, but that unspoken understanding of loss. And for a moment, Sunghoon wondered if that’s what had drawn them together again- not fate, not coincidence, but the quiet ache of having both learned how to live after breaking.

“I lost someone, too,” she nodded. “My uncle- well, technically, one of my parents’ best friends. But we were close. He was my godfather.”

Then she told him, how her godfather had taken his own life just months before she made the move to Shanghai. Y/N had been in the middle of her own upheaval, getting ready for the transition that would take her to this city, to this life. But before she could even leave, she had to contend with the shock of losing him in the most horrific way. His death was nothing like the natural rhythm of loss that people often prepare for. No, this was the kind of pain that tore through the fabric of life with no warning, no sense. She never had the chance to say goodbye, never had the chance to make sense of it- her parents never let her read the suicide note.

Y/N’s aunt had found him, face-down in the bathtub, the water around him turning crimson. The image of it must have haunted her even now. Sunghoon could imagine the cold shock that must have flooded her godmother’s body as she found him there- her best friend, her partner in life, lifeless in a way that made the world seem unreal. The knife had slipped from his hand, the weight of it barely more than a detail in the aftermath. But the emptiness in his eyes, that was what stayed with her. 

It didn’t make sense, the way Y/N described it, the way the world just seemed to stop making sense after that. Her godfather had always been a constant, someone everyone relied on, someone who had always been there. And yet, just like that, he was gone, leaving behind an ocean of unanswered questions. His kids, her honorary cousins, had been the most affected. They had been too young to grasp the weight of what had happened, but in their confusion, they’d come to resent him. They couldn’t understand why he had chosen this moment, why he had left them without a second thought. It was that kind of loss that tore at the edges of families, that strained relationships with no answers to make it right.

Y/N’s parents had struggled too. In the wake of his death, they didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know how to explain it or how to handle the grief that had flooded their lives. So, in an attempt to do something, they set up a fund in his name. The money went to children in need, a small part of it allocated to his family to keep them afloat, to provide for them until they could get back on their feet. But in truth, nothing really ever settled. The ache never fully left, and the questions remained unanswered.

Y/N never spoke of the details, the parts of it that were too horrific to describe, the part of the story that would stay locked away, untold. But Sunghoon could feel the weight of it all. The pain, the loss, the confusion. The fragility of life, of the people we think will always be there, and how suddenly that certainty could be ripped away. 

Both of them had experienced it- the kind of loss that reshaped everything, that left scars that didn’t heal. It marked them, carried their loss, holding it within them, even now. 

"Okay, so... all of that," she started, hesitating before looking for something to shift the conversation. "Tell me more about your building. How far along is it… considering," She trailed off, smiling a little. "I’d love to hear more about it."

Sunghoon exhaled slowly, his hand instinctively reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and swiping to the photos he’d been saving. The sleek, minimalistic sketches of the building, fuzzy early shots of its half-constructed frame, and the sweeping views from the construction site filled the screen. He held the phone up for her to see, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her reaction.

"It... it’s still a work in progress. Probably gonna take a couple more years- there were a lot of legal constraints to worry about in the beginning," he admitted. "The final designs are much more refined, but this is the stage we’re at right now,” he scrolled through the images, showing her various angles of the building, the steel beams twisting upward like a forest of metal. "It’s supposed to be a mixed-use space- office floors at the top, public space at the bottom, some retail. It’s going to contribute to the skyline, be one of those landmarks that people would look at and think, 'Yeah, that's part of the city now.'"

Y/N leaned forward slightly, peering at the screen. She nodded appreciatively, her eyes scanning the images with curiosity. "It looks amazing," she said, her voice a little lighter now. "I’m proud of you, Sunghoon."

She was proud of him- not just for the building, but because this was the man he’d dreamed of becoming, the path he’d mapped out for himself on that train ten years ago, now finally real and unfolding in front of her.

Sunghoon grinned, but there was something in his eyes- an edge of quiet pride. 

Sunghoon’s voice broke through the gentle quiet that had settled over their table. “How have you been, Y/N?” he asked, not like a casual question, but something deeper. Something closer to how did the world shape you, after we parted ways? “How was Europe… after that train ride?”

Y/N smiled, and it was the kind of smile stitched with memory. She set her coffee down and reached for her phone, unlocking it with ease, swiping through the familiar glow of her gallery. “Messy,” she said, almost laughing. “But good.”

She turned the screen toward him, letting the photos tell the story. Blurry hostel mirrors, cobbled streets washed in soft morning light, a half-eaten croissant on a balcony in Lisbon, a tiny annotated map with a coffee stain in the corner, a carousel in Florence, a dog she didn’t know the name of but still remembered.

“This one,” she said, pausing on a photo of her standing by a stone archway in Athens, sunlight catching her cheek, “was taken the day I finally got the courage to walk up to a stranger and ask for directions.”

Sunghoon leaned in, quietly taking it all in- not just the images, but her voice, the tone of it, how alive she’d become in those moments. He watched the way her thumb lingered over some pictures longer than others, how her smile flickered when she reached one taken in the rain. He didn’t ask what it meant. He just listened.

“It was everything I hoped it would be,” she said. “And nothing like I imagined.”

And Sunghoon nodded, because he understood that too well. Maybe not for the same reasons as her, but he understood it, at least, to an extent. 

She went on, showing him more- strangers who became friends, books scribbled with notes in the margins, sunsets over rooftops that looked like paintings. There was something sacred in how she shared it, like she was letting him hold a decade of her life in the palm of his hand, one swipe at a time.

Most people, when they finally receive the thing they long for, the thing they had built up in their heads, carried in the quiet pockets of their hearts- don’t really know how to sit with it.

At first, it felt surreal, like handling porcelain so fine you were afraid it might break just by looking at it wrong. They moved carefully around the edges of it, half-believing, half-doubting, waiting for the catch, the sudden hand that would snatch it all away. And then, slowly, imperceptibly, it shifted. The dream stopped feeling like a dream. It became ordinary. The extraordinary blurred into everyday life the way sunrise blends into morning- so gradual you didn’t even realize it was happening until you looked up and found yourself living inside what you once thought was impossible.

Because when something becomes real- when you brush your teeth beside the person you once thought was lost to time, when you argue about laundry or grocery lists, when you kiss them goodnight without even thinking about it- that’s when you know it’s yours.

Not a moment snatched from fate. Not a miracle about to be undone.

Just yours.

That’s what it was like for Y/N and Sunghoon.

They didn’t crash into each other the way they had once imagined, all desperate declarations and sweeping promises. No, they folded into each other the way dusk folds into night- quietly, inevitably, without needing anyone to announce it had happened.

Their days together began quietly. The café became a second home- tucked between two stone buildings in YuYuan Garden, its windows fogged with steam and stories. They always met at the same table near the back, beside the bookshelf that tilted slightly to the left. When Sunghoon wasn’t at site meetings and Y/N wasn’t buried under red-marked essays, they sat across from each other. Sometimes they spoke, other times they didn’t have to.

Sunghoon would talk about things like glass density and foundational anchoring- things Y/N barely understood but always found beautiful in the way he described them. And she, in return, would read out loud lines from her students’ essays, shaking her head in disbelief, saying, “even I wouldn’t have thought of something so beautiful.”

Eventually, coffee dates gave way to quiet afternoons in the city. The café wasn’t enough anymore. It was Sunghoon who suggested they meet somewhere else. “Just a change of pace,” he said, “we don’t have to talk,” he said it like he always did- casually, softly, like he didn’t want to scare away whatever fragile thread was stretching between them.

Their first outing was to the art museum. A safe place, one where quiet was expected. They walked side by side through galleries washed in cold white light, pausing before each painting with the solemnity of churchgoers. Y/N liked watching Sunghoon look at art- the way he tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. She wondered if he’d always observed the world like that.

Then, from there, the places they’d visit became less quiet, but somehow even more intimate- an afternoon at the aquarium, a stroll through the zoo, then a trip to Shanghai’s architectural icons- the Pearl Tower, the Shanghai Tower, and finally the World Financial Center.

When Sunghoon pointed up at the tower’s iconic trapezoidal aperture and told her, with absolute conviction, “A plane could fly through that,” Y/N laughed and promptly named it the keychain tower because, well, it did look like a keychain. He didn't even argue. He just smiled like someone who had been waiting a long time to be teased like that.

Eventually, their meetings moved indoors.

Y/N invited him to dinner one night. She made a strange mix of Italian and Chinese dishes- spaghetti with a recipe learned from an old Roman chef who once told her that Italians lived without regret through their pasta, and mala tofu with stir-fried bok choy, a dish she had perfected alone in her Shanghai kitchen which they had with a small bowl of sticky rice.

They ate slowly, in no rush, their conversation trailing between bites. Sunghoon leaned his forearms on the table as she told him stories about the Roman chef who had taken her under his wing for a week after she accidentally helped him carry groceries through cobbled streets. He laughed harder than he had in weeks, his mouth full of overcooked noodles and his heart unexpectedly light.

After dinner, they opened a bottle of red wine Y/N had been saving for a "meaningful occasion"- the label long peeled off, the cork slightly stubborn. They sat on the floor, backs against the couch, wine glasses in hand. She asked him about his time in university, about what he had been like before architecture turned into a career and not just a dream. He asked her about the books she didn’t publish, the ones she kept hidden in folders titled things like maybe one day and this one’s a mess. She didn’t deny it- just sipped her wine and smirked into the glass.

Later, Y/N reached behind the couch and pulled out an old, mismatched box of Jenga, the kind where a few pieces had pencil doodles and one was mysteriously chipped at the corner. “No pressure,” she said. “But I haven’t lost a game since college.”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. “You wrote your thesis on Greek tragedy, and now you’re challenging me at Jenga?”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “I’m well-versed in watching things fall apart.”

They played three rounds. She won two. The third collapsed in a drunken fit of laughter when Sunghoon accidentally sneezed and nudged the table, knocking the whole tower down.

It was one of those nights- quiet, unassuming, the kind you don’t realize is special until much later. Nothing big happened- there were no confessions, no kisses. But the air between them had changed by the time they stood at the door. There was something gentler in the way she leaned against the frame, something softer in the way he adjusted his coat before stepping into the cold.

He didn’t stay over.

He called a taxi, waited with his hands in his pockets, and when the headlights turned onto the street, he looked back at her- just once. She was still standing there, arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. Not asking him to stay, not pushing him away. Just there, like always.

When Sunghoon invited her over for the first time, it wasn’t for dinner. It wasn’t even for coffee or idle conversation. He had something he wanted to show her- something that felt almost too private, too close to the part of himself he rarely let anyone touch.

The original blueprints.

He had spent years sketching versions of this building in the margins of notebooks, on napkins, on the backs of receipts. Rough ideas first, then refined ones- layer after layer of graphite and ink until they became something almost real. And now, sprawled across his living room floor, they looked delicate, almost fragile, like pieces that belonged in a museum archive.

Y/N knelt beside him without hesitation, legs folded underneath her, her hands moving carefully across the pages as if they were ancient ruins of history. She didn’t speak at first. She just traced the lines with the tip of her finger, pausing now and then to tilt her head, her brows knitting together in thoughtful concentration.

Sunghoon watched her more than he watched the drawings. The way her eyes scanned the layers of floor plans and elevation sketches, how her mouth twitched upward at the little handwritten notes he’d left for himself in the margins: rethink lobby entrance, sunlight angles too harsh?, find better material for glass- don't cheap out.

“This,” she finally said, looking up at him with something shining in her expression- not awe exactly, but something heavier, something fuller- “is incredible.”

They spent hours like that, sprawled across the floor, Y/N asking questions, Sunghoon explaining the angles of support beams and the challenges of balancing beauty with function. At some point, he realized he was rambling, getting too technical, but she never once looked bored. She just listened, the way she always had, like every word mattered.

At some point, night swallowed the city outside. The only light in the room came from a single dim lamp near the window, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. And when she finally left, long after midnight, he felt a strange ache in his chest- the kind that only comes when you realize you’ve just given someone a piece of yourself you can’t take back.

The next morning, he brought her to the construction site.

It wasn’t glamorous. The building was barely a skeleton of what it would become- exposed steel frames reaching skyward, the floors still raw and unfinished, the air thick with dust and the scent of wet concrete. Workers moved around them like ants, shouting instructions in Mandarin, the noise of drills and hammers clattering through the cool morning air.

He didn’t know why he brought her there. Maybe because part of him wanted her to see it- not the polished, finished dream, but the messy, imperfect beginning. Maybe because part of him wanted her to understand that this wasn’t just work. It was a piece of him, standing stubborn and half-built against the skyline.

She wore a bright yellow hard hat that was slightly too big, the strap loose against her chin, and an oversized reflective vest that swallowed her frame. She looked ridiculous, she looked adorable.

Sunghoon pulled out his phone and snapped a picture without thinking.

In the photo, she was smiling- not a big, posed grin, but a small, shy one, the kind of smile you give when you’re proud of something, even if it’s not yours. Behind her, the skeleton of the future loomed, all raw beams and silent promises.

He would keep that photo tucked away for years. Through the good days and the unbearable ones. Through everything that would come after.

Their friendship blurred, slowly. It didn’t surprise either of them. Somewhere, in the back of their minds, they had always known it wouldn’t stay platonic forever. From the moment they met on the train ten years ago, there had been something- not chemistry, not even longing. Just... inevitability.

It was the way their silences folded easily into each other. The way their glances lingered a beat too long, not searching, just... settling. It wasn’t some great romance that unfolded with fireworks and declarations. It was subtler than that. Quieter, like the way you reach for a light switch in the dark- it was instinctive, without needing to think.

There was no single moment when the line between them vanished. It just stopped mattering. It was in the way Sunghoon started buying her favorite kind of breakfast without asking. In how Y/N started showing up at the café with a book tucked under her arm, one she thought he might like even though he rarely read. It was her making him lunch boxes when he needed to go to the construction site. It was in the pauses between conversations- the way they both leaned in just a little, without meaning to.

They didn’t talk about it, they didn’t really need to. There was no confession, no careful declaration of feelings. It was all already there, hanging between them in the air, in every shared look, in the quiet comfort of knowing that somehow, inexplicably, you had ended up in the same place as the one person who once felt like a fleeting moment.

It wasn’t falling, it was remembering.

Remembering that even if they’d only spent a single night together on a train a decade ago, it had never truly ended when she said goodbye. That night had only paused and carried itself across years, across cities, across grief and growth- just to arrive here. And now, sitting across from each other again, it finally resumed. Like picking up a song mid-verse. Like they were simply continuing something that had never really finished.

Sunghoon told his friends about her not long after. It was during one of their three way calls that occurred once a few months, when they could accommodate the time difference and their busy schedules. And when Sunghoon told them that he was seeing someone, that it was getting serious, Jake and Jay hollered for him like they were in a football locker room. Despite their age and the sophistication that was expected by their professions, when they were around each other, they were still the weird trio from university that seemingly did everything together.

“It’s the girl from the train,” Sunghoon said. “Y/N, the girl from the train.”

And the call reached a ceasing silence. It stayed like that for a second, so quiet that Sunghoon couldn’t even hear them breathing.

He pulled his brows together in confusion. “Hello?”

“Sunghoon,” Jake finally said. “What are you saying?”

In all the nights Jay and Jake had stayed up with a drunk Sunghoon- back when they were younger, when heartbreak still looked like bruises instead of scars- they listened to him whine about a girl he met on a train. Mystery Train Girl, they called her, even though Sunghoon had told them her real name a dozen times. It became a running joke between the three of them, a sort of coping mechanism, maybe. Naming her made her feel less dangerous, less real- just another lost figure from a hazy, romanticized past.

But it wasn’t really a joke, not when Sunghoon would sometimes, in the thick of too much whiskey, talk about her like she had been a fixed point in his life. Like somehow, even though they’d only spent a single night together, she had left fingerprints on his ribs.

The stories didn’t stop even when Sunghoon met Nora- even when he fell in love again, even when he married.

They didn’t come often- only sometimes, in the quiet hours between drinks, when Nora was asleep and the weight of old memories pressed too heavily against his chest. But when they did, the fact that he still spoke about Y/N at all said more than Sunghoon probably meant it to. Jake and Jay never pointed it out. Some things didn’t need pointing out.

After Nora died, Sunghoon stopped speaking about love altogether.

He didn’t date, he didn’t flirt, he didn’t even look at anyone the same way anymore. After Nora died, the idea of opening himself up again felt unbearable. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love- he did. He had lived it, fully, with Nora. She had been his real love story, the one he thought would carry him to the end of his days. And losing her had carved something hollow inside him, something too fragile to risk breaking again. It wasn’t about moving on and it wasn’t about forgetting. It was fear- plain and sharp- the fear that if he let himself love again, he would have to survive losing it again too. And he wasn’t sure he could.

It wasn’t until Sunghoon first relocated to Shanghai- when his career finally cracked open and handed him everything he had worked for- that the two friends acted on a thought they had laughed about for years. One night, after too many beers and too much unsaid worry, they pulled out Jake’s laptop and typed her name into the search bar.

And there she was.

Older, yes- different, a little. But still unmistakably the girl Sunghoon had described with a kind of reverence no drunkenness could dull. Her picture stared back at them- in a small university profile, smiling faintly, hair tucked behind her ear.

She had published three books by then. She taught English at a local university in Shanghai. She was real. And terrifyingly close.

Jake and Jay stared at the screen for a long time, the silence between them heavier than either of them expected. They could have told him. They could have shown him. But something about it felt wrong- like opening a door Sunghoon had already chosen to leave closed.

So they didn’t say anything. They closed the laptop, and the next morning, neither brought it up again. And if there was a trace of guilt that lingered between them when they saw Sunghoon staring too long out of windows, lost in thought, or smiling a little too sadly at passing strangers- well, they buried it. Along with the rest of the secrets you keep out of love.

“Mystery Train Girl?” Jay gasped and they could imagine that his eyes were widening. “You’re joking. Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nodded, pressing his phone closer to his ear as he chuckled. “Can you believe it? I found her. Y/N- Mystery Train Girl.”

“That’s…” Jay trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“That’s incredible, Sunghoon,” Jake said, firmly, as if he was answering for both of them. “I’m happy for you, mate. Are you happy?”

“Unbelievably, so,” Sunghoon breathed, and they could hear the smile on his face- the smile that highlighted his pointy teeth and made his eyes squint.

Jay and Jake didn’t comment much after that, only listened as Sunghoon recalled the story of how they found each other again in a tiny book store. And while listening, they were bracing for the impact of Nora’s name falling out of his mouth- that maybe he would mention her again, maybe he would break down over his first love, his dead wife. But it never came. And it sounded like Sunghoon was happy again. And his two friends didn’t have to worry about him feeling alone in another country.

A month later, Jay announced he was taking a weekend trip to Shanghai. He said it was for business, something about meeting international colleagues. Sunghoon didn’t ask many questions and simply offered him the guest bedroom, knowing it would be Jay’s first time visiting the city. It was usually Sunghoon who made the trip back to Korea, although he preferred not to. The last time he had gone back was for Christmas Eve the year before. This year, he planned to stay in Shanghai and spend the holidays with Y/N.

Sunghoon picked him up from the airport. He had booked a driver to meet them; living in a foreign country didn’t leave him much reason to own a car, and most foreigners in Shanghai got by without one anyway.

When they finally reunited at arrivals, Jay hugged him like a brother lost to time, gripping him tightly and nuzzling his head into Sunghoon’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh. Sunghoon laughed, patting his back with more affection than he realized he still carried.

On the drive back, as the city blurred past the window in streaks of neon and rain, Sunghoon casually mentioned that Y/N had prepared dinner for them. Jay blinked, the words settling slower than they should have. For a moment, he didn’t say anything- just stared out the window, watching the city streak by in blurs of gold and gray.

“Y/N,” he repeated eventually, like he was trying the name on his tongue, reminding himself it was real.

Sunghoon didn’t notice the way Jay’s fingers tightened slightly around the strap of his bag, or how his chest rose just a little sharper with the next breath. He just kept talking- about the dinner she was cooking, about how it wasn’t anything fancy, how she insisted it was "just empanadas" even though she spent all morning preparing it.

Jay nodded, smiling faintly, his throat too tight for much else. And inside, he told himself he wouldn’t ruin this. He wouldn’t say a word about the night he and Jake had found her online, sitting in some Seoul bar with Wi-Fi sticky and regret thicker. He wouldn’t tell Sunghoon that he had almost reached out once, almost booked a flight years earlier just to shove him toward her.

No.

This was Sunghoon’s story now. Finally, it was finding its way back.

Jay leaned his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes briefly, letting the city rush by.

Maybe some things were meant to take the long way around.

Jay was normal again by the time they reached Sunghoon’s apartment. It didn’t take much- just a lot of conviction and slipping back into his usual cocky persona, the one he wore like a second skin. Most lawyers had it; Jay had perfected it. Still, as they crossed the threshold, something in him braced without meaning to. His eyes swept the room instinctively, looking for proof, for her. For a second, it felt absurd- this quiet desperation to confirm that she wasn’t just another ghost Sunghoon had built out of grief and old memories. That she was still real after all these years.

And there she was. Y/N. Sitting at the dinner table, mid-bite, blinking up at them with a startled, awkward little smile that somehow made Jay’s chest tighten.

“So you’re the girl Sunghoon’s been unbelievably happy with,” Jay said, smiling.

His voice was easy, his posture relaxed- all charm, all mischief- and he didn’t mean any harm by it. This was his way of showing acceptance- approval, gratitude.

Sunghoon groaned, already dragging a hand down his face. “She doesn’t need to know I talk about her to you.”

Jay stepped forward and pulled Y/N into a quick hug- a brief, casual squeeze that made them acquaintances, allies, something realer than strangers but not yet friends. More importantly, it let Jay swallow the last of his disbelief, let him anchor himself to the fact that this girl was real. That Sunghoon had found her again. He couldn’t wait to talk to Jake about this.

He pulled back with an easy grin. “Don’t worry, all good things,” he said.

“I sure hope so,” Y/N laughed, soft and easy, wiping her hands on her jeans. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

As she turned toward the kitchen to check on dinner, Sunghoon called over his shoulder, “By the way, Jay. When’s the business meeting or whatever?”

Jay flashed a mischievous grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not really a business meeting,” Sunghoon immediately understood what Jay meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that line. He knew Jay well enough to know that when he said he needed a break, it wasn’t from work, but from the suffocating life at home. “Just needed to get away from the wife and kids for a while,” Jay continued, as if it was nothing more than a simple errand.

It wasn’t the fact that Jay was going out to a club, or that he’d been doing it for years now. What gnawed at Sunghoon wasn’t even the affairs. It was the contradiction that Jay had become. Jay, the man who could charm anyone, the man who always knew how to treat his friends with unwavering loyalty and kindness. Jay, who would never let his mother lift a finger, who’d drop everything for a friend in need, who was the first to volunteer to help anyone. He was the perfect son, the perfect friend. He was the kind of man you’d want your daughter to marry. And he was an amazing father to his kids, too. His son adored him; his daughter looked up to him with the kind of love only a child could give.

But as a husband? It was a different story.

Sunghoon had tried to make sense of it. He’d never been one to pry, but he’d known something was off for a while now. There were the fights, the tension that seemed to hang in the air when Jay spoke of Emma, his wife. The woman who, on the surface, was everything Jay needed- beautiful, intelligent, and ambitious. But beneath that exterior, there was something darker. Something... volatile. Emma was a storm, and Jay was constantly caught in the eye of it. She never seemed to be satisfied, always complaining, always accusing him of neglect. It wasn’t the life he had envisioned when they first married.

Sunghoon had learned the truth two years ago, though. It had been over the phone, after another one of Jay’s “business trips” that seemed to stretch on longer than necessary. Jay had been in Spain, hiding away from his reality. The phone call had come late at night, the words slurred, his voice raw with emotion and shame. Jay had admitted it then, between half-chuckles and half-sighs: his marriage wasn’t just falling apart- it had already shattered.

Jay had been cheating. Not just once, but over and over again. The guilt was written all over his face when he finally confessed, his eyes avoiding Sunghoon’s. It was an open secret now, something neither of them could pretend didn’t exist. 

But Jay asked one thing: that Sunghoon not tell Jake. Jake was too pure for this, too innocent to understand. Jay’s words stuck with Sunghoon, gnawing at him every time he saw his friend. Jake, who was the embodiment of what every relationship should strive for. He was the one who would never hurt anyone, let alone his wife, not intentionally.

Jake was probably the happiest in his marriage out of all three of them. He and his wife had built a life together, with shared goals, trust, and respect. He was everything Jay had once wanted to be, before everything fell apart. Jake wouldn’t get it. Jay knew it, Sunghoon knew it. If Jake found out, it would disgust him.

“Guys, dinner’s ready,” Y/N called from the kitchen, unbeknownst to the stare Sunghoon and Jay were sharing, her voice casual but a little shy at the edges.

The table wasn’t grand- just a small spread of empanadas glistening under the soft kitchen lights, bowls of salad thrown together with whatever they had left in the fridge, a bottle of cheap red wine breathing in the center. But it felt like a feast anyway because Jay was in Sunghoon’s city for the first time and it was celebration enough.

They gathered around with clattering feet. Jay joked that he hadn't had a home-cooked meal since his kids started insisting chicken nuggets were a food group, and Sunghoon rolled his eyes, already grabbing a plate like he belonged here, like they all did.

The conversation started simple- work, weather, flights, cities. Jay filled the gaps easily, weaving stories with the kind of natural charm only a seasoned lawyer could pull off. He talked about his firm back in Seoul, how his youngest daughter had tried to draw on his legal documents with crayons, how his son still teased him for losing an argument to a four-year-old. Y/N laughed, head tipped back slightly, that kind of laugh that warmed the room more than the radiator ever could.

Eventually, the stories shifted and, predictably, they turned toward Sunghoon.

Jay grinned around a mouthful of salad as he launched into tales Y/N had never heard- how Sunghoon, back in college, once pulled three consecutive all-nighters trying to finish a model for an architecture competition, only to sleep through the final submission. How he once broke his wrist during a drunken dare to skateboard down the steepest hill on campus, and still showed up to class the next day with his notes balanced on the cast. How he used to draw intricate skylines in the margins of every notebook, even in classes that had nothing to do with architecture.

And of course, Jay couldn’t resist mentioning the infamous Europe trip- the one that changed everything without them realizing it at the time. He talked about how Sunghoon had been so annoyingly hopeful during that summer, so convinced that life was about to open itself up to him in some grand, cinematic way. How he came back different after that trip- quieter, a little more weighted- but never explained why.

Y/N listened closely, soaking in every word.

There was something almost reverent in the way she paid attention- like she was piecing together the missing years of a story she had unknowingly starred in for far too long. She laughed at the right moments, gasped in mock horror when Jay described the skateboard incident, shook her head when he revealed how Sunghoon had once nearly gotten arrested in Barcelona for accidentally trespassing on a historical site he was “admiring too closely.”

Sunghoon mostly kept quiet, nursing his wine, his gaze flickering between his best friend and the woman sitting beside him. He didn’t mind being the subject tonight. If anything, he liked it- liked the way Y/N looked at him with that half-smiling curiosity, like every ridiculous thing Jay said only made him more real to her.

“You know, on that train?” Sunghoon started, looking between Jay and Y/N. “We played cards with this group of old men. And before leaving, they wished us all the best for the future and for love.”

“I remember that,” Y/N’s smile spread softly as she recollected the memory.

“Isn’t it insane? How things worked out.”

Eventually, the night wound down. The dishes were cleared, the wine finished, the laughter tapering into that familiar, comfortable tiredness that only comes after a good meal shared between people who no longer feel like strangers.

Y/N stood and grabbed her bag, pulling out her phone to book a cab. She moved easily, like she had done this a hundred times before. But Jay frowned, watching her from his place on the couch, a sliver of unease threading through his expression.

“How’s it alright,” he muttered under his breath “for a woman to travel alone this late?”

Before he could say more, Sunghoon cut in, already waving him off. “It's safe here,” he said simply. “Safer than Seoul, honestly. She’s done this a million times.”

Jay didn’t argue further. He just pressed his lips into a tight line, nodded once, and disappeared into the guest room, trust stitched into the quiet way he left the conversation.

Sunghoon pulled on his jacket and walked Y/N down to the road where her taxi was waiting, the night wrapped heavy and slow around them. The city had quieted into a low hum, the air thick with the smell of rain and petrol, streetlights buzzing overhead like tired lullabies. They didn’t speak as they walked. There was no need to fill the space between them; the silence had its own kind of gravity, pulling them closer with every step.

At the curb, they paused. Y/N fiddled with the strap of her bag, glancing at the taxi, then back at him. The cab’s engine purred in the background, patient. Sunghoon stood there, watching her, a hundred words building and crumbling behind his teeth. He didn’t want her to go, not again, not even for the night. Without giving himself the time to overthink it- without giving the fear room to grow- he leaned down and kissed her like he did most nights they were parting ways to go to their respective homes. It was a ritual, an agreement that this was how they chose to end their days, some sort of contact, some form of affection.

She smiled at him, softly, like how she always did, her doe eyes staring back at him. He was sleepy, she could tell by his droopy eyes and ruffled brows.

“Move in with me,” he said, his voice low, almost too casual for the weight of what he was asking.

“What?” she whispered, frowning slightly as if she hadn’t heard him right.

“Move in with me,” Sunghoon repeated, steadier this time. “You basically live here anyway. Half your stuff is already here- your books, your sweaters, your coffee cups...” He gave a small, helpless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Might as well make it official.”

For a long second, she just stood there, caught between him and the waiting cab, the night buzzing softly around them. And then, slowly, impossibly, she smiled and kissed his cheek, her free hand softly cradling his face. She didn’t explicitly say yes, she didn’t have to. She just climbed into the cab with a lingering glance over her shoulder, the answer shining in her eyes before she even closed the door.

And as the taxi pulled away into the night, Sunghoon stood there for a moment longer, jacket hanging open, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling like maybe- finally- he had stopped running.

They found an apartment tucked between Y/N’s university and Sunghoon’s office- a green building at the edge of a sleepy, semi-gated community, where the sidewalks were cracked but clean, and trees arched overhead like old, patient guardians, their branches laced together like clasped hands. Stray cats wandered the streets freely, their coats dusty and proud, weaving between parked bicycles and the crooked legs of plastic chairs.

The building itself was four stories high, its walls covered in creeping ivy that turned gold in the autumn, burgundy in the winter. The paint was chipped in places. The elevator creaked every time it climbed past the second floor. But it was homey in a way most new constructions weren’t- a place that had been lived in, softened at the edges by years of small, ordinary lives.

Their unit was on the third floor, just high enough to catch the breeze but low enough to hear the neighbor’s piano practice in the evenings. The windows were tall and stubborn to open, framed by old iron grilles that let the light scatter across the walls in slanted, golden bars. The living room was small but bright, with just enough space for a second hand couch they picked out together and a low coffee table cluttered with books, half-finished crossword puzzles, and Sunghoon’s abandoned sketches.

The kitchen was recyangular, a single counter running along one wall, stained and scratched from a dozen past tenants. The stove clicked stubbornly before lighting. The fridge leaned slightly to the left. But still, it became a place where pasta boiled over and dumplings burned slightly on the bottom, where mugs clinked in the morning quiet, where grocery lists were scribbled on sticky notes and slapped onto the fridge door.

Their bedroom was tucked into the farthest corner, modest, almost shy. A narrow balcony stretched out from it, barely wide enough for two chairs and a crooked table where they sometimes sat on humid nights, sipping beer or eating cheap ice cream, watching the street lights flicker like tired fireflies.

Downstairs, the community buzzed with a life of its own. There was an old woman who sold baozi from a folding table near the gate every morning, always shouting friendly scolds when Sunghoon forgot his wallet. There was a florist who only opened his shop at odd hours and once gave Y/N a wilting rose for free, just because she said she liked the smell. There were children who played soccer in the narrow lanes, their laughter bouncing off the weathered stone walls, and a retired artist who painted landscapes on the sidewalk with chalk, only to watch them wash away with the next rain.

Inside, they built a life that settled into a rhythm almost without them realizing. Mornings meant fumbling around the kitchen together, half-asleep and heavy-limbed, passing mugs back and forth with clumsy hands and sleepy smiles. Sunghoon usually made the coffee- strong and bitter- while Y/N hovered near the stove, pretending to help but mostly just getting in the way, stealing sips from his cup before her own was ready. Their jokes were softer in the mornings, murmured around yawns, laughter curling lazily into the sunlight pooling across the tiled floor.

Evenings were a little louder, a little messier. Dinner at the small wooden table by the window became a ritual neither of them ever bothered to question. Sometimes it was takeout- greasy dumplings or cold noodles in plastic boxes- and sometimes it was whatever Y/N could cobble together from the fridge after her classes: one-pot pastas, stir-fries that set off the smoke alarm more often than not. Afterward, they curled into each other on the sagging couch, the city flickering outside the window. Y/N would read aloud from whatever novel had captured her that week, her voice threading gently through the room, while Sunghoon rested his head against her shoulder, letting the sound of her fill in all the tired spaces inside him.

Sometimes it was him doing the talking instead- late-night ramblings about impossible project managers, bureaucratic nightmares, steel orders delayed yet again. He would pace the living room in frustration, tossing out architectural jargon, until Y/N tugged him back down beside her and told him, simply, stubbornly, that he was brilliant. And somehow, the knots inside his chest always loosened a little when she said it.

They argued, too- like all real couples did. Sometimes about big things, but mostly about nothing at all. Y/N wanted a pet- a dog, a cat, even a bunny, she said once, her face half-buried in a blanket, grinning. She wanted something living and soft and theirs. Sunghoon resisted, citing their long hours, their unpredictable travel, the fear of leaving something small and trusting behind. Neither of them ever won those arguments outright, but somehow they circled back to it again and again, a low-burning want that never fully left the room.

The balcony plants were another battleground. They had bought them in a fit of optimism one spring- small pots of basil, rosemary, a lemon tree that Y/N insisted would one day bear fruit- but between Sunghoon’s site visits and Y/N’s grading marathons, the poor things wilted and browned faster than they could save them. Every time a plant shriveled into nothing, they pointed fingers half-jokingly at each other, sparring over who was supposed to water them that week.

Some nights, they bickered over movies, scrolling endlessly through the options, each rejecting the other's picks with increasingly absurd excuses. In the end, they usually gave up and flipped to whatever Chinese drama happened to be airing on local TV- always badly acted, always wildly over-the-top, full of improbable plots about secret twin siblings and dramatic amnesia. They would sit side by side on the couch, trading sarcastic commentary, laughing until they couldn’t breathe, until the night felt stitched together with something stronger than just habit.

And just like that, three years had slipped by since they reunited in that quiet Shanghai bookshop, and two years since they moved into their creaky, stubborn apartment- the one with the ivy-covered walls, the third-floor balcony, the kitchen that never fully heated up in winter but somehow became the warmest place they knew. Their home had filled itself over time- birthdays celebrated with mismatched streamers taped hastily to the walls, cooking disasters they cleaned up side by side, little wins toasted with cheap wine until they laughed themselves breathless on the worn-out couch. The walls bore witness to it all- Y/N’s cluttered shelves of trinkets, Sunghoon’s architecture sketches pinned in loose, sprawling lines across the living room, the hum of music on lazy Sundays, the clink of coffee mugs in the mornings, and the quiet, sacred moments of intimacy that didn't need words.

And now, it was time to mark the next chapter. 

Sunghoon’s building- the one he had sketched and dreamed and fought for- was finally complete. His name was folded into the skyline of Shanghai, stitched into concrete and glass, visible only to those who knew where to look. He'd done it- he finally did it.

To celebrate, his company hosted a grand opening, a party far more extravagant than anything Sunghoon would have thrown for himself. It was held in the top floor of the building where the champagne flowed, velvet ropes cordoned off the important people, and unfamiliar faces mingled under bright lights. It was supposed to be about his achievement, his vision made real- but to Sunghoon, it felt heavier, more personal. It felt like surviving. It felt like standing on the other side of everything that should have broken him.

Jay and Jake flew in from Seoul for the event, carrying the kind of chaos and heart only old friends could bring. Jay, with his reckless grin and booming voice, immediately made enemies with the event staff over "no kids running" rules. And the tension between him and his wife didn’t go unnoted. Jake arrived with Minji and their two children, presenting Sunghoon with an aged bottle of whiskey so expensive he almost dropped it in shock. 

When asked what gift Jay had brought, he slapped Sunghoon hard on the back and joked, "Who do you think is gonna be your lawyer when the lawsuits come in?" But later, when the crowd thinned slightly, Jay leaned in and muttered that the real gift- a carved jade vase picked out for him and Y/N- was waiting in his hotel room, too fragile to be dragged through the crowd.

As Sunghoon was swept away by a crowd of people- clients, architects, and reporters, all eager to speak with him, interview him, and congratulate him on the success of his building- Y/N found herself momentarily adrift, the hum of conversations around her blending into a distant background. But before she could get lost in the noise of it all, Jay’s voice broke through, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Y/N,” he called with a warm smile, one that seemed to soften the usual edge in his eyes. “Come meet everyone.”

He introduced her first to Emma, who gave her a polite, though reserved, handshake. Emma’s eyes were kind, but there was something guarded about her smile, as if she were measuring Y/N before deciding how much to let in. Next, Jay introduced her to his children. His son, a bright-eyed eight-year-old, immediately started chatting about his favorite cartoons, while his daughter, a few years younger, shyly held out a hand for a quick shake before retreating to her mother’s side.

Y/N smiled warmly, watching the kids interact with Jake’s, whose boisterous laughter seemed to fill the air as they played together like long-lost friends.

And then, Jake’s family appeared, standing close behind them with easy smiles and a regal air about them, as if their wealth and poise were as much a part of their DNA as their names. Minji, Jake’s wife, stood confidently beside him, her hands full with the impeccable, expensive gift they had brought. She, too, offered Y/N a warm handshake and a glance of approval, one that spoke volumes about the quiet power she held within their circle.

“Your boyfriend’s quite the star tonight,” Jake grinned and raised his wine glass, scanning his eyes across the crowd.

Sunghoon stepped up to the mic, his hand briefly adjusting the collar of his shirt as the room fell silent. A soft clink of silver against glass echoed through the space, signaling the beginning of his speech. He looked out over the crowd, his gaze finding familiar faces among the sea of guests. He looked nervous, his friends could tell by the smile tugging at the corner of his lips and his squinted eyes. Y/N chuckled, clasping her hands together and coaxing him.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," he began, his voice steady but filled with gratitude. "This building has been a lifelong dream of mine, something that’s been in the making for years. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid, when I was still playing with LEGO.”

The crowd lulled at him. 

"This moment wouldn’t be possible without the support of my family, my friends, and everyone who believed in me. I’m especially grateful to my parents, who have always been my foundation, and to my friends- Jay, Jake, and everyone who’s been by my side through thick and thin."

He paused for a moment, his gaze softening as it landed on Y/N. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"And to Y/N, my wonderful girlfriend who never stopped believing in me- for fifteen years, you’ve always been patient and supporting me. In your own, quiet ways." The room was quiet, everyone’s attention rapt, as Sunghoon continued. "This building- this achievement- it's as much as all of yours as it is mine. So, thank you, all of you, for helping me get here."

The crowd erupted in applause. 

He raised his glass slightly. "Here’s to many more moments like this."

The crowd cheered, and the applause filled the room, but Sunghoon’s eyes stayed on Y/N, his heart full.

The applause still echoed in the room, but Sunghoon barely noticed. His heart was pounding, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as his feet moved instinctively toward her. His eyes locked on Y/N, standing at the edge of the room, her smile brighter than he’d ever seen it before.

He could feel the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him- the pride of the night, the weight of the years of work, and the absolute certainty that in this moment, in this life, all that mattered was her. Everything else- every achievement, every challenge- had led to this.

Without thinking, he jogged towards her, ignored everyone that reached towards him, the excitement in his chest pushing him forward. He took her hands in his, the warmth of her touch grounding him in a way nothing else could. The world felt distant, muted, as if the room had shrunk down to just the two of them, standing in a bubble of their own.

Y/N’s wide, surprised eyes met his, her lips curling into a smile as she looked up at him, unsure of what was coming. Sunghoon didn’t let the moment slip.

"Marry me," he said, his voice low but certain, no hesitation, no ring, no preparation. Just the raw sincerity of what he felt.

Y/N stared at him, stunned, the question hanging between them like a breath neither of them could take. For a second, the whole room seemed to still- the lights, the music, the people- all blurring into the background. All that was left was him, and her, and the weight of everything they had built without ever daring to name it.

"Sunghoon?" Her voice was soft, unsure, like she couldn’t quite believe what he was asking.

"Marry me, Y/N," he repeated, the words tumbling out with all the confidence he had in her, in them, in the life they’d built together. "Make me yours. Marry me,” he looked at her like she’d written his life, like she hung the stars that his building touched. His hair fell on his forehead, eyes sparkling under the white light of the room, his pointy teeth peeking under his lips.

The room continued to buzz around them, but all he could hear was the beating of his heart and the way her hands tightened in his. It was as if everything had led to this point- every smile they’d shared, every quiet moment, every fight, every laugh. It was all right here, and in that one moment, all of it felt like it was finally falling into place.

Y/N’s eyes were searching his face, taking in the rawness of his plea, her breath catching in her throat as her heart caught up with what he was saying. For a beat, it felt like the world had paused. The future, their future, stretched out ahead of them, and for the first time, it didn’t seem so uncertain.

“Yes,” she whispered, fighting the smile that inevitably spread across her face, her eyes beaming. “I’ll marry you, yes.”

That night, their apartment was filled with the kind of laughter that wrapped around the walls and stuck there, soaked into the wood and the floorboards and the worn fabric of the couch. Jay and Jake’s families crowded into the small living room, balancing wine glasses and plates of leftovers, their kids weaving between legs and couch cushions, building forts out of pillows and throwing giggling fits that made even the neighbors downstairs stomp once on their ceiling in protest.

The celebration wasn’t just for the building- although Jake made a big, showy toast about Sunghoon “finally putting something other than Legos together.” It wasn’t just for the engagement, either- although Jay yelled loud enough for the entire floor to hear when Y/N showed off the temporary ring Sunghoon had bought from a street vendor just to make it official. It was for everything- for the survival, the endurance, the blind faith it had taken to get here.

The whiskey Jake had brought from Korea was uncorked, its rich, smoky scent curling through the apartment, mixing with the smells of cheap takeout and someone's abandoned lavender hand lotion. They drank too much and laughed too hard and retold old stories, the ones that had been dragged out a hundred times before but still hit just as hard. They toasted to love, to family, to new beginnings that had been a long time coming.

At the center of it all was Y/N and Sunghoon, pressed into each other on the couch, still a little dazed, still blinking like they couldn’t quite believe their luck. Sunghoon leaned into her, his forehead bumping against hers, their hands tangled loosely in the space between them. Y/N laughed at something Jay said across the room, the sound spilling over Sunghoon’s shoulder like warm water. He looked at her the way you look at something you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life memorizing.

The next morning arrived heavy and slow. The hall smelt of whiskey and cold takeout with sunlight slanting lazily across the messy apartment floor. Jay and Jake groaned their way out of the guest room, looking like they'd aged a decade overnight. The kids and the wives were still sleeping, Y/N still locked in the room with her head buried in pillows. While Sunghoon, somehow, had the audacity to be chipper, already showered and dressed, pacing the living room with a cup of coffee in hand.

"Let’s go," he said brightly, nudging Jake with his foot where he slumped on the couch.

"Go where?" Jake grunted, rubbing his face.

Sunghoon just grinned and said, "You’ll see."

Half an hour later, they were standing in front of a jewelry store in downtown Shanghai, still half-hungover, blinking against the polished glass and diamond shine like they’d stumbled into a parallel universe. Jake muttered something about needing sunglasses. Jay just stood there with his hands in his pockets, squinting at the window displays like they personally offended him.

When they went inside, it didn’t take long for chaos to start.

"I’m telling you, oval cut is the way to go," Jake said, leaning dramatically over the glass counter, pointing at a delicate, glittering ring.

Jay scoffed. "Oval is boring. Get her a princess cut. Classic. Clean. Also sounds badass- princess cut."

Jake rolled his eyes. "You're a lawyer, not a jeweler. Stay in your lane."

"And you’re a surgeon, not a stylist. What do you know about jewelry?"

“I know more about cuts than you!”

They kept going, arguing louder and louder, drawing a few raised eyebrows from the staff, while Sunghoon- unnoticed- had already chosen. The moment he saw it, he knew. Simple and elegant, a solitaire diamond, set low in a slender band of platinum. Not too flashy, not too plain.

Exactly Y/N- exactly her in every way that mattered.

Without saying a word, Sunghoon pulled out his card, signed the receipt, and slipped the velvet box into his jacket pocket. By the time Jake and Jay turned around, still bickering over cushion cuts versus marquise cuts, Sunghoon was already walking out the door.

"Wait- did you pick one?" Jay called after him, confused.

Sunghoon didn’t even slow down. He just tossed a grin over his shoulder and said, "Already done. Keep arguing if you want, though. Maybe you can pick your own next time."

“Excuse me, next time?”Jake looked at Jay, comical confusion on his face. But they ignored him and dragged him to a restaurant for lunch.

iii. When The Lights Start to Flicker

They'd been married a little over a year now, still living in the same apartment. The place had become a reflection of them- a small, sunlit sanctuary amid the constant rush of Shanghai. Sunghoon had started designing a house for them to build one day, a place they could call their own. He envisioned a space with wide windows to catch the morning light, a garden with space for their future children to play, and maybe even a little patch of grass where they could set up a swing. The plan was to settle in Shanghai, to raise their family here, to grow old together and, eventually, die here. Shanghai had become their city, their home.

Above their bed hung their only wedding photo- a courthouse wedding they had to have in Hong Kong. They hadn’t had time to plan something big, but the simplicity of it made it feel real in a way nothing else could. Their faces were flushed from laughter, hair messily styled from the winds on the ferry, clothes wrinkled and etched, eyes bright and full of hope- a stark contrast to the quiet mornings that followed.

The jade vase Jay had gifted them for their wedding day now sat on their balcony, a tiny lemon tree growing from it, its leaves stubborn and green despite the occasional gusts of wind. It was one of those small symbols of their life together- not perfect, not always flourishing, but resilient. Framed pictures dotted the apartment- photos from holidays with their families, snapshots from trips they’d taken with Jake and Jay’s families, and spontaneous polaroids of the two of them in various places, their smiles as wide and unguarded as the moments in which they were taken. 

Jay and Emma were divorced now, but they still kept in touch, if only for the sake of the kids. Jake’s children were growing fast, entering middle school now, a milestone Sunghoon couldn’t quite wrap his head around, hearing them yell “Samchon Sunghoon” over the phone all the time. Sometimes, they’d talk about their plans for the future- whether it was dinners at the new restaurant in Shanghai or weekend trips to the coast- always something to look forward to, always an excuse to keep moving forward, to keep adding to the timeline of their life.

Life seemed good. No- life was good. Better than Sunghoon had ever dared hope for. In the mornings, Y/N would make coffee while he sat at the kitchen counter, scrolling through his sketches for the house, and they’d talk about their day- trivial things at first: what they’d have for dinner, what he should wear to the meeting later. Then, there were the deeper conversations, the ones where they talked about their future, the one they were building together, like they were planting seeds for something that would last a lifetime.

Evenings were quiet. After dinner, they’d curl up on the couch, wrapped in soft blankets, watching old movies or the latest series they had gotten hooked on. Y/N liked to talk about their plans as if they were already there- as if the house was already standing, the kids already laughing in the garden. It felt like a dream Sunghoon was terrified to wake up from. There were nights he lay awake beside her, her steady breathing grounding him, his mind racing with the fear that it could all be taken away with a single misstep, a wrong decision. He felt too lucky, too undeserving of all of this. He couldn’t help but wonder, sometimes, if this was just a dream, one that he would wake up from at any moment- a dream that, apparently, was their life.

There were small moments, too- the way Y/N would smile when he’d finish a long day at work, the way she hummed a quiet tune while tending to the plants in their living room, the soft rustling of pages as she read before bed. Little things, but they were the rhythm of their life, the foundation of something they had both worked for and built from scratch.

Yeah. Life was great.

Until the night he came home and found her sobbing on the couch.

The sound cracked through the apartment like a whip, stopping him in his tracks. His bag slid forgotten from his shoulder as he rushed to her side, crouching in front of her, reaching out without even knowing what he would say. Y/N was folded into herself, shaking, the kind of sobs that came from somewhere deeper than just grief. It took long, fumbling minutes to piece the story together through her broken words.

“Do you remember my uncle John?” Y/N asked between sobs. “The one who…”

Killed himself?

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nodded, his hand gripping hers and holding her against her chest. 

“His daughter,” she sobbed. “His daughter hung herself.”

Her cousin- the eldest daughter of her late uncle- was gone. A suicide, barely days away from earning her PhD. She had flown home under the pretense of rest and family- and instead had left a note explaining she had come to say goodbye.

Sunghoon’s arms wrapped around her instantly, pulling her against him, shielding her from the world with nothing but his own helpless warmth. He listened as she cried out memories, old guilt, new grief, her voice cracking apart in ways he didn’t know how to fix. He stayed with her through the night, through the tremors of her heart breaking open again, whispering comfort into her hair even though he knew it couldn’t patch the hole now yawning wide inside her.

The days that followed blurred together. Y/N couldn’t sleep. She wandered the apartment like a ghost, curling into Sunghoon at odd hours, talking in tangled loops about death, about missing signs, about how unfair it all was. Sunghoon held her through it, steady as he could be, biting down his own helplessness because what else was there to do?

And then, one night, it shifted into something worse.

She sat on the couch again, curled up in her favorite worn sweatshirt, the fabric soaked with tears. But this time, when she spoke, the names were wrong. The story was wrong. She wasn’t talking about her cousin anymore- she was talking about her uncle. About the bathtub, the blood, the knife slipping from his hand. Events that had happened years ago, long before they met. Like all of that was happening now.

Sunghoon’s heart stopped cold.

He knelt in front of her, his hands cupping her tear-streaked face, his voice shaking as he tried to pull her back. “Y/N,” he said softly, urgently, "that was... years ago. Not now. Not this time. It's your cousin, remember?"

For a long moment, she just stared at him like she didn’t know where she was, like he was speaking a language she couldn’t quite catch. And then, slowly, she blinked, wiped her face with trembling fingers, and whispered, “Sunghoon? Right. Right… years ago.”

Sunghoon didn’t think much of it- he chalked it up to exhaustion. In all the time she spent crying and juggling work and keeping herself alive, it could easily have been her brain trying to keep up. The stress of grief, the late nights spent tossing and turning, and the constant pressure to appear okay- it all had to take its toll somewhere. He convinced himself it was just a phase, something temporary that would eventually pass. But deep down, there was a quiet, nagging feeling he couldn't quite shake.

Because one day, when she woke up beside him, Sunghoon felt it in the air before she even opened her eyes. She stared at him like she had never seen him before, like a stranger had slipped into their bed overnight. The seconds stretched and cracked, her gaze flickering with confusion, then panic. And in a heartbeat, she was scrambling out of bed, shouting “Bloody Mary!” like some kind of primal instinct had taken hold of her.

“Who are you?” She demanded, voice breaking, hands shaking, frantic. “How did you get in here?”

Sunghoon’s heart sank, raw and painful, as he sat frozen for a moment, the silence between them suffocating. He couldn’t breathe. He slowly got out of bed, each step toward her feeling like a weight around his chest, every word that left his mouth laced with fear.

“Y/N, it’s just me. It’s me- Sunghoon,” he whispered, his voice shaking, as if trying to pull her back from some invisible abyss. She froze, eyes wide, unblinking, but she wasn’t seeing him. Not really.

It took minutes- long, painful minutes- before her eyes cleared, and she blinked slowly, the pieces clicking back into place. She looked at him as if waking from a nightmare, and the moment she realized it, she crumpled into him, sobbing uncontrollably.

He didn’t leave her side that day. She didn’t go to work. She didn’t even get out of bed. Her body seemed to collapse in on itself, the weight of her confusion pressing down on her, and he held her tighter, as if that might make the pieces fit again.

There were other days, too, small moments that cut through him like a knife. She’d stand in front of the fridge, staring at it like she had no idea what it was for, no idea what she was looking for. He'd ask if she needed anything, and she’d shake her head with a small, distant smile, as if she were trying to remember the question.

And then there was the train.

The train ride that had started it all- the one that had sparked their first conversation, the first connection, the first laughter. Sunghoon would bring it up from time to time, a simple, warm memory to anchor them both. But Y/N would look at him, eyes soft and unfocused, and tilt her head.

“Train?” she’d ask, brow furrowing. “What train?”

He would try again, his voice gentle, coaxing. “Y/N, our train. Sixteen years ago, when we met. In Europe. You remember? We talked for hours.”

“Europe?” Her voice was small, uncertain, as if the word was a strange, unfamiliar sound in her mouth.

Sunghoon’s heart would crack a little more every time, and he’d blink back tears, trying to hold it together. She wasn’t her in those moments. The woman who had laughed with him for hours, who had stolen his heart on that train ride, seemed to slip farther away with each passing day.

He'd search her face for something- anything- that resembled the woman he knew. But all he’d find was a faint trace of recognition, a distant look in her eyes, as though she was staring at him from the other side of a foggy glass.

“I... I don’t remember, Sunghoon,” she’d say softly, a frown pulling at her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“How did we meet, Y/N? When was the first time we met?”

Y/N broke down in tears again because she, in fact, could not recall.

But then, the memory lapses seemed to fade. As she began to come to terms with her cousin’s death- after the funeral, after the guilt, after the crushing waves of grief- she seemed lighter, steadier. The moments of confusion slipped into the background, infrequent enough to feel like grief-induced fog rather than something concerning. And Sunghoon, so desperate to believe that everything was okay, let himself believe it too. He didn’t tell anyone. Not Jake, not Jay, not even her family. He pushed it away like a bad dream, convinced that maybe it had all just been stress, and that maybe, just maybe, they were fine again.

Until one day, when Y/N was on her way to the metro station for work and called him in full-blown panic. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered into the phone, breath sharp and uneven. “I don’t know where I’m going, Sunghoon. I don’t know why I left.”

He ran out of the apartment, sprinting down the streets near the station, his heart thudding so hard it made his ears ring. When he found her, she was sitting on the sidewalk by the flower vendor, her knees pulled to her chest, hands trembling. And when she looked up at him, her eyes flooded with relief. “Hoon,” she gasped, like she had been holding her breath the whole time. He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms right there on the pavement. And at least she still remembered him. That was something- that was everything.

But the small incidents began piling up like dominoes. One evening after dinner with friends, she fumbled through her purse for the house keys, her anxiety rising with every second. “They're gone, I can’t find them, I must’ve lost them.” Her voice cracked with panic- until Sunghoon gently took her hand and unfolded her fingers to reveal the keys she’d been clutching all along. Another day, she left the stove on while boiling eggs and stepped out for groceries. The fire alarm screamed through the building, and Sunghoon came home to the smell of scorched metal and neighbors in the hallway, shaken.

Then there were the names- she’d start stories and stall mid-sentence, unable to remember who she was talking about. She began confusing days of the week, missed appointments she’d never forget before, and sometimes called objects by the wrong name- a toothbrush was a “face stick,” a clock was a “time circle.” She started repeating herself too- asking if they had milk three times in ten minutes. Sunghoon would answer each time like it was the first, but the silence that followed hurt worse than anything else.

Eventually, with a shaking hand and dread thick in his throat, Sunghoon called Jake.

“She’s forgetting things, Jake,” he said, voice low and broken. “Not just little things. Big things. She gets scared. She’s getting words wrong, she’s leaving the stove on. She called me from the metro station and didn’t know why she was there. And... it’s happening more and more often.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Jake’s voice came through, steady but grave. “Sunghoon… She's showing signs of dementia. It sounds like she’s on her way to Alzheimer’s. You need to find out if anyone in her family has a history of it. Now.”

Turns out, after a gentle, seemingly harmless conversation Sunghoon started one afternoon while folding laundry beside her- “Hey, do you know if anyone in your family ever had memory problems?”- he found out that Y/N’s maternal grandmother had died of Alzheimer’s. It happened in a way her family never really talked about it. It had been brushed off as “old age,” but the signs were there, Y/N’s mother admitted later. She had forgotten her children’s names in the final years. She couldn’t even recognize her husband.

And from then on, it was like the truth became impossible to ignore.

Y/N’s memory declined like the last embers of a dying fire- slow at first, barely visible, but then suddenly collapsing inwards. She’d forget what room she was walking into, or why she was holding a spoon in the bathroom. She began writing notes on post-its and sticking them everywhere- Keys are on the hook. Your uncle and cousin are dead. You’re married to Sunghoon. Sometimes, even she couldn't read her own handwriting.

She stopped cooking. She’d forget she had started, then come back hours later to find uncooked rice soaking or wilted vegetables on the counter. Sometimes she’d call Sunghoon in tears because she couldn’t find the phone she was calling from. Her mood began to swing without warning. Sweet one moment, then suddenly furious, accusing Sunghoon of hiding things, or worse- cheating on her.

She’d wake up in the middle of the night and scream because she didn’t recognize their bedroom. There were days she wouldn’t even let him touch her, claiming he was an impersonator. “Where’s my husband?” She’d cry. “Sunghoon would never keep me here.” And then, as if a switch had flipped, she’d melt into his arms and sob.

Eventually, she quit her job and stopped working on her next book. She couldn’t remember her passwords, couldn’t keep up with deadlines, and once left her office because she got scared that the people there were “pretending” to know her. Sunghoon stopped going into the studio too. He asked to work remotely, spending most of his time beside her, trying to anchor her to the present. But she started living almost entirely in the past.

The outbursts became violent. She once threw a mug across the kitchen. She started locking herself in the bathroom, refusing to come out. Jake and Y/N’s family began to insist gently- and then firmly- that Sunghoon consider long-term care. That he couldn’t do this alone, that she was slipping away and needed help.

Sunghoon didn’t want to let her go. He couldn’t imagine a day without her- her real, true self, even if she only appeared in flickers now. But after one especially bad night- Y/N screaming and crying, hitting herself, convinced her dead uncle was still alive and had just called her- he brought it up.

“I think maybe…” he whispered, kneeling beside her where she was curled up in the hallway, “maybe we should find a place. Somewhere safe. Somewhere with people who know how to help you.”

Her eyes blazed. “You want to lock me up?” She spat. “You think I’m crazy?”

“No- no, baby, that’s not-”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” she shrieked. “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere! You’re not taking me!”

They tried again later. Her mother came, and Jake, and even her old colleague from the university. But each time, Y/N fought like a wild animal. She screamed and sobbed and clung to Sunghoon like a drowning woman. And each time, they had to remind her- again and again- You’re in the future. You have dementia. You don’t remember because your brain is forgetting things. You have Alzheimer’s.

Some mornings, she’d dress up in old college hoodies and ask what time her environmental psychology class was. She’d talk about a boy named Henry- someone she dated when she was 19- and wonder why he hadn’t called. Once, she set the table for dinner and asked if her uncle was coming. Another time, she stood by the window for hours waiting for her cousin to come pick her up.

Worst of all were the moments when her eyes would light up, recognition blooming, and she'd talk to Sunghoon like she remembered everything- only to forget his name halfway through the conversation.

One afternoon, they were walking back from a small bakery, when she wandered toward a street vendor selling baozi. She smiled warmly at the woman and launched into fluent French. The seller blinked, confused, and Sunghoon gently placed a hand on Y/N’s back.

“She thinks she’s in Marseille,” he whispered, forcing a smile.

Y/N turned to him, delighted. “Can you believe this aunty sells baozi in France?”

Sunghoon didn’t correct her. He just nodded, voice tight, “Yeah, baby. That’s wild.”

Because sometimes, lying was the kindest thing he could do.

And then… Y/N wasn’t lucid anymore. Not even for a moment, not even in the in-betweens. The disease had taken everything- her memories, her language, her personality. It stripped her of everything that made her her- and what remained was just a flickering ghost, a body that moved and blinked and sometimes smiled at nothing. A shell. Breathing, yes, but not alive- not really.

Sunghoon wasn’t her husband anymore. He was a kind man who brought her food and gently wiped drool from her chin. A stranger who helped her get dressed when she stared blankly at her hands like they didn’t belong to her. A shadow in her life that didn’t mean anything to her anymore, though to him- God, to him- she was still everything.

He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly there with him.

Was it months ago? When they went to that new Chinese film- the one they’d talked about for weeks? He remembered holding her hand in the theatre, feeling the tremble in her fingers, how she laughed at a joke five seconds after everyone else. Or maybe it was more recent- last week, maybe? When he was cooking dinner, she wandered in, looked at him for a long, glassy-eyed second, then slowly wrapped her arms around his waist. She just held him. No words, no explanation- just a small human miracle.

But that was gone now. Completely, utterly gone. 

She stared through windows like she was waiting for someone who would never arrive. She whispered to herself, nonsense words, phrases from decades ago. She forgot how to use the bathroom. Forgot how to chew. She didn’t recognize mirrors, or her own name.

And her eyes- those beautiful, sharp, sparkling eyes- were just fog now. Pale glass. Empty, like a house with all the lights turned off.

Sunghoon sat beside her every night and read the books they used to love. Even though she didn’t respond. Even though she didn’t blink. He combed her hair. He played her favorite music. He held her hand until she pulled away like he was nothing but static.

Jake flew in from China after a call with her doctors, something urgent in his voice. He couldn’t stand the silence on the other end of the updates anymore. Couldn’t stand the breaking in Sunghoon’s voice- the exhaustion, the hollowness. He met with every doctor, every specialist, brought files and reports and records. But they all said the same thing, their eyes filled with pity:

“She’s in the final stage.”

Jake stood in the cold hallway outside Y/N’s room that night, phone to his ear, as he talked to Jay back home. His voice was low, cracked.

“I don’t think Sunghoon can live through this,” Jake said. “Not this time. He loses Y/N, we lose him too.”

Jay didn’t respond for a long time. When he did, his voice was barely a whisper.

“There’s no cure for Alzheimer’s… is there?”

Jake’s silence was answer enough.

There was a long, bitter breath. The kind you let out when there’s nothing else to say.

“He’s dying in pieces,” Jake finally said. “Watching her fade day after day- he’s dying with her. But slower. Crueler.”

And it was true.

Sunghoon hadn’t been sleeping. He hadn’t been eating right. His eyes were rimmed red all the time, the edges of his mouth permanently turned down like someone grieving something invisible. He sat beside Y/N’s bed for hours, watching her blink at the ceiling or hum some broken tune from childhood. He whispered her name so many times it stopped sounding like a real word.

And sometimes, just sometimes, she would glance his way. Not with recognition. Not with warmth. Just the barest flicker. A look that said: You seem kind. But not: You’re mine. You’re the man I loved. The life I chose.

That had died a long time ago.

“No, no, don’t touch me!” Y/N screamed, thrashing her arms violently, knocking over the bedside lamp.

“Y/N, please- please, it’s me,” Sunghoon pleaded, hands hovering midair, helpless. “It’s me. It’s Sunghoon.”

“Don’t say my name like you know me!” She howled, eyes wide and wild, spit flying from her lips. “Where’s my Uncle?! Where’s my cousin? What did you do to them?!”

“Y/N, they’re not-” He couldn’t even say it. Not dead. Not gone. Not again.

She stumbled back into the dresser, knocking down her perfume bottles. The crash made her scream louder. “You kidnapped me! You sick bastard, get away from me!”

His legs gave way and he knelt on the floor, arms limp. The weight in his chest felt like drowning, like suffocating underwater and knowing no air was coming.

His Y/N, who once kissed him under the rain in Prague. Who held his hand through every storm. Who made burnt toast every morning and danced barefoot in the kitchen when she thought he wasn’t looking.

That woman was gone. And this… this terrified creature screaming at shadows- was what remained.

He watched her curl into a ball near the window, sobbing into her knees, whispering names of people who hadn’t existed in years. Her cousin. Her uncle. All dead. Yet in her head, they were just in the next room.

His lungs burned. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

She’s dying.

Not fast, not clean. But slow and fucking torturous- like a sun going cold over weeks, months, years. He couldn’t even scream. The pain was too heavy for sound.

He crawled toward her, barely able to speak. “You’re safe, Y/N. You’re safe. I would never hurt you.”

She flinched from him like he was a monster.

And it broke him. God, it broke him in a way no words could hold.

He wanted to tear his skin off. Rip out his heart and offer it to her like: Here. Take it. If it means you remember me again for just one minute- take it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice hollow. “Even if you don’t know who I am anymore. Even if this- if this is all that’s left of us.”

She just kept sobbing.

And Sunghoon sat beside her like a ghost in his own home, rocking slightly, eyes glazed with tears that would never stop falling.

He was losing her. Just like before.

But this time… this time, it wasn’t death that took her.

It was forgetting.

And that was worse.

Because now, he had to wake up every single day… to watch the woman he loved disappear right in front of him.

Over and over again.

Until there was nothing left.

iv. The Bath Water Was Cold

Y/N was lucid.

For the first time in weeks- maybe months- her mind was still. No fog, no missing names, no confusion. Just unbearable, crystalline clarity.

She sat on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, trembling, knowing that something was wrong. The moonlight streaked across the wooden floors like ghostlight, pale and haunting. The house was quiet. Too quiet, like it was already mourning her. Sunghoon was asleep beside her, his face serene like the past few years weren’t filled with the torture Y/N had brought upon him- she’d become a burden, she knew it.

The walls no longer combined into a collage of framed pictures, Sunghoon’s sketches and movie posters anymore- they were sticky notes, all small reminders of Y/N’s life and what it really was- the real version, not the jumbled memory version. The house was messy with ripped pillows, strewn blankets, a shattered mug in the corner of the kitchen, a broken window- she didn’t know what happened to cause it. But she knew it was probably because of her.

In the mirror, she saw herself.

Not the version Sunghoon kept insisting still existed- the brave, curious woman who once dove off boats and kissed him under stars. Not the woman who used to teach English, who quoted Greek philosophy, who went on a spontaneous Europe trip alone. No. This version was frail, hollowed, yes sunken, lips pale, skin dull. She looked like someone halfway to the other side already.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink, nails digging into the ceramic. She thought of her cousin, of her uncle, of the smell of her old childhood home, of France, of baozi, of the train ride with Sunghoon, of the moment she fell in love with him, of the night he asked her to marry him. But she couldn’t remember what had been happening for the past couple of years- she didn’t remember how Sunghoon was killing himself to take care of her, she didn’t remember the pain her condition brought upon her family- she just knew, like it was some sort of gut feeling.

She thought of what would happen tomorrow when she woke up. The blank stares, the panic, the shaking, the way Sunghoon’s voice cracked every time he had to explain who he was again. Like carving a wound into his chest, again and again, daily.

She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t be a monster in his story and he couldn't be the martyr to her story. She wouldn’t allow it.

So she ran a bath. Not hot. Not warm. Cold- the kind of cold where you hissed at the contact of water. And she wanted to feel it- wanted it to shock her back into herself, wanted the bite of it to remind her that she was alive- right now.

She stepped in slowly, like stepping into a grave. The porcelain shivered beneath her as she slid down, letting her head rest back.

And then, she slipped under.

No gasping. No flailing. Just… silence.

The last thought that crossed her mind was of Sunghoon’s face when she first kissed him. How his eyes fluttered shut, how gentle he was, how scared he was to fall in love. And how he did it anyway.

I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

And just like that, Y/N was alone- ceasing to exist. The shadow she thought she’d gotten rid of had returned in a form much more permanent, much more numbing.

Sunghoon woke up to cold sheets.

That was the first sign. Y/N was always up early, but she always tucked herself back in, wrapped herself around him like ivy. The second sign was the silence. No kitchen clatter, no soft footsteps, no humming of French lullabies. The third sign was the open bathroom door.

“Y/N?” he called softly, walking barefoot across the wood.

Nothing.

He stepped into the bathroom and saw her.

At first, he didn’t understand. He blinked, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Then it hit him like a train. Her body, limp in the tub. Water still, blue, like glass around her. Her face turned slightly to the side, lips pale, eyes closed. So still, too still.

“No,” he breathed, and the world cracked.

He fell to his knees, the sound that escaped him not even human. It was raw, unhinged, guttural. He plunged his arms into the water, ice biting his skin, and pulled her out with all the strength he had left. Her body was heavier than he remembered. Deadweight. Dead. Dead. He screamed her name, pressed his ear to her chest, shook her, slapped her face gently, kissed her cold lips, sobbed into her skin.

“Come on,” he begged, voice hoarse. “Please, wake up, Y/N. Please. Baby. Just one more time.”

He tried CPR. He screamed until his throat bled. He called the ambulance. He called the police. He called Jake. He called her mother. Called his mother. He called anyone and everyone. But she was already gone- had been for hours.

He lay on the bathroom floor with her cradled against him, soaking wet, rocking back and forth like a man possessed. When the paramedics arrived, they had to pry her from his arms. He fought them. He kicked and screamed. He cursed God. He cursed the mirror. He cursed himself for not waking up earlier. For not sleeping with one eye open. For not knowing.

Jake arrived just as they were wheeling her body out. He caught sight of Sunghoon- barefoot, drenched, shaking like a leaf, bloodshot eyes, face a ruin of grief.

“I should’ve known,” Sunghoon rasped, collapsing into Jake’s arms.

Jake couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Just held him as Sunghoon shattered.

In the days that followed, Sunghoon stopped eating. Not out of protest, not out of some conscious decision to spiral- but because food simply didn’t make sense anymore. The smell of it nauseated him. His stomach didn’t growl; his body didn’t ask. It was like it too had given up, echoing his refusal to accept the world without her in it. He didn't move from their bedroom, except to use the bathroom or stare blankly out of the balcony where the lemon tree still stood tall in the jade vase Jay had gifted them, now with one yellowing leaf curling at its edge. The rest of the apartment felt like an unfamiliar museum of their life together- every framed photo now a relic, every memory preserved in glass. He sat curled up on her side of the bed for hours at a time, her old scarf clutched between his hands, threadbare and faded but still faintly warm with her scent. He would press it to his face, over and over, inhaling until his chest hurt- like if he could just breathe deep enough, she’d come back to him. But with each passing hour, the scent faded, and so did his hope.

The funeral happened without him. He couldn’t bear it- the thought of standing before a coffin and admitting aloud that it contained her. That the girl who once ran barefoot through summer rain with him, who cried watching terrible documentaries, who held his face and told him she would love him forever- was now a cold, still body in a box. He didn’t want the last time he saw her to be like that. He wanted to remember her in motion- laughing, crying, living. So when her parents and Jake pleaded with him to come, when Jay sent messages begging him to say goodbye properly, all he could do was shake his head and whisper, “I already did.”

People came and went- friends from university, colleagues from work. Emma and Minji came by with a bouquet and left it in silence. Jake and Jay stayed. They cooked, cleaned, and took calls when Sunghoon couldn’t answer them. They spoke in hushed tones with her family, organized papers, and cleared out her drawer of medications. Once, Jake heard Sunghoon crying softly in the kitchen, trying not to be heard, and for a split second, he wanted to go to him, to lean on someone. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. Because the only person he had ever learned to lean on was gone. And in her place was just this howling emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.

He whispered into the silence at night, curling into himself on the cold mattress. “I love you. Come back.” He said it like a prayer, like a mantra, like a spell. Over and over. Sometimes it was a whisper, sometimes it was a scream into the hollow dark. But she never did. There was no sign. No dream, no flicker in the corner of the room that maybe, just maybe, she was still around. The scarf didn’t smell like her anymore. The lemon tree began to wilt. And one afternoon, he caught a glimpse of their wedding photo, and it felt like looking at strangers- a man and a woman in love, two people he no longer recognized. Because who was he now? What was left of her, other than ashes in an urn and silence in the house they were supposed to grow old in?

The bathwater was cold. He remembered the moment he found her like it was still unfolding in slow motion- the door ajar, the silence unnatural, the steam long gone, and her body submerged- pale, still, floating like she belonged to another world. He remembered the sound of his own scream. The way he’d collapsed to his knees and tried to lift her out- how heavy she was, like her spirit had left her behind, leaving only a shell. He remembered slipping in the water and choking on sobs, calling her name, begging, pleading, wailing until the neighbors banged on the door and Jake had to pry him away from her lifeless body.

She was gone. No coma. No miracle. No bargaining with God. No gentle goodbye. Just gone. And he had no one but himself to blame. 

And now all he had was this echoing ache, a grief too big to fit inside his ribs. He wished she had left a note. Something-  anything- to make sense of why she chose to leave like that. But maybe she didn’t need to explain. Maybe knowing her mind was unraveling was enough explanation. Maybe she didn’t want him to have to see her forget again. Maybe she thought she was saving him.

How ironic- how utterly, grotesquely hilarious- that the universe seemed to have written his life as a tragedy with no intermission. He had lost his first wife in the kind of grief that rots you quietly, only to stumble into Y/N’s love like it was salvation. But now she was gone too, and in her place was nothing. No redemption, no closure- just silence and rot. He had lost his first wife to find Y/N. He had lost Y/N to lose himself. It was as if love had only ever existed to teach him the shape of absence; as if love was nothing but a punishment wearing a beautiful face.

v. Epilogue: The Lightswitch 

When Sunghoon told people that he’d been married twice- that had been widowed twice, people looked at him with disbelief. As if someone with such an attractive face and impeccable talent as an architect could not possibly receive such punishment from the universe. And usually, it was the young women that reacted this way, the ones who had daddy issues and looked at him like he could fix them for the night. And to these girls, his loss and grief and brooding past was more attractive.

Sunghoon was old now. In another world, he would have been a grandfather by now- if life went according to his plan, if no one had passed away and if no one walked away like idiots and luck was on his side. And with age- since a young age, actually- Sunghoon had attended a plethora of funerals. He knew funerals the way he knew an old friend- always there in the back of his mind, stored with random information, but not knowing where to let that information go.

The first funeral he attended was when he was a kid. It was his grandfather’s funeral. And after his, more of his grandparents passed away and his life circled around grieving parents, white flowers hung around framed pictures of the deceased and rituals that he didn't understand the need for performance but since his parents dragged him to it, he had no choice. The funeral he attended as an adult- the first true loss he faced- was of his first wife’s. He was the one that organized her funeral- through tears and pain and weight he couldn’t carry himself but did anyway. Because as a husband, he was responsible for it. And because he respected her too much and loved her too much.

And the funeral after that? It was of his second wife’s- Y/N’s. And he didn’t exactly attend the funeral, nor did he play a part in organizing it. His friends and Y/N’s parents had taken full responsibility, letting Sunghoon grieve over the love of his life- because she truly was, Y/N. The girl he met on a train, the girl he reunited with in a random coffee shop in a random city and the girl who let him rediscover himself. And she was gone too fast, too soon. Sometimes he'd wonder how many good years they had together- four years? Maybe five? Before her cousin had passed away- he still remembered the date.

There was a piece of her in everything he did- his building in Shanghai, the rest of the buildings he’d ever design, the clothes he bought for himself now (he’d only buy clothes in colors Y/N liked) and the food he cooked for himself. Usually it was her spaghetti recipe or her mala tofu recipe. And everytime he cooked one of Y/N’s recipes, he’d cry while eating the food. 

Sunghoon even wrote a book, in the memory of Y/N. He’d dedicated it to her and also his first wife, his friends, and his family. The book was a collection of short stories that revolved around two characters- two characters who met in a train and chose to adventure through life together, who explored themes of love, grief and all the other complicated emotions Sunghoon never got to confront until writing that book. And when publishing it (with the help of Jay’s connections), he’d included his favourite picture of Y/N in the back page- it was of her standing in front of the skeleton of his Shanghai building wearing a bright yellow hard hat and ridiculously large reflective vest. He even had that picture framed on his desk.

The funerals that would follow felt more natural that the previous two. His parents passed away with old age, his dog (who he adopted a few months after Y/N’s death) passed away due to cancer and more older people he knew- Jake’s parents, Jay’s parents, Y/N’s parents… one by one, they all passed away. But Sunghoon wondered why he was still alive. He wondered why the universe had taken away everyone from him but refused to take him instead. 

Sometime after Y/N’s passing, he moved back to Korea. And he lived with Jay for the time being- both bachelors (but Jay had his kids over a lot), both focusing on their careers and both holding onto each other for support. Some nights, they went to Jake’s house where they would play with his kids and eat the dinner Minji cooked. And other nights, they would both be buried in their work, not a word exchanged between them. 

He didn’t intend on visiting Shanghai, not even to see his building. He was too afraid, too weak to look at the building and not remember the glow on Y/N’s face when he asked her to marry him. It was too personal, too obvious. Sometimes, a picture of his building would show up on the paper or on social media would bring an ache to his chest. And he tried moving on, to replace the memories, but somehow, everything that was his had also been hers. 

Eventually, living in Korea felt like a burden, too. And so he relocated to Paris, where he got a job with double the pay and where his company provided him with accommodation in a fancy apartment. He went to France because it was the country Y/N spoke about the most during her last few days- always recalling the Eiffel tower, always spewing in the little French she knew and always calling baozi baguettes. When he reminisced, Sunghoon was able to chuckle at those moments now.

Her death still defined him- it still defined how he lived his life and the choices he made, like he was running again. But it wasn’t negative anymore. Sunghoon was able to live on and he was able to do it contently. When asked if he was happy, he didn’t really know what to say. Or, to be precise, he never understood the question. Because during moments where he was watching some of his and Y/N’s favourite shows, when he was reading one of her favourite books, when he was working and designing buildings and houses that he knew were going to be used and when he found himself laughing in certain fleeting moments, he thought he was happy. There would be a spark, a heat, in his chest that came from the brief thawing of his heart.

But then, there were the nights Sunghoon would stare at one of herold pictures and feel his chest clench- like, physically feel his heart contract. There were the nights when he would look at himself in the mirror, old now with a slight stubble and a permanent weight in his brows, and wonder where his life was leading to, what he was planning on doing next. There were nights where he would come home to an empty house and realise that he was… empty. Truly, empty.

To his friends, Jake and Jay, he was hanging onto life. He was living his life, day by day, working and eating French food and going to operas and plays with his colleagues and drinking expensive French wine. And it wasn’t a bad life, not at all. Most people would dream to have his life. But Sunghoon dreamed of sharing this life with Y/N. Because, somehow, he knew she was the only person who could appreciate it like he did- he knew only she could brighten his days filled with wine and food and art.

He wouldn’t call himself suicidal, but Sunghoon had thought about it a few times- during lonely nights where the cold wrapped him and he wished it was water instead, or during days he had to cook meals for himself and he wished the knife was slicing through his wrists instead of fresh tomatoes. They were intrusive thoughts, really- thoughts that emerged when he was tired and exhausted. 

To save himself from his thoughts, Sunghoon adopted a bunny. A grey, fluffy thing that hopped around his apartment and followed his feet, batted her ears and nibbled on carrots when he gave them to her. She also liked napping near his jade vase that stood in his balcony- the one that Jay gifted them all those years ago- which now potted a mint tree instead of a lemon tree. She was quiet, gave him company and made him smile with how dumb she was sometimes- knocking over pencils, jumping on counters to reach him and wiggling her tail to get his attention. In many ways, the bunny reminded him of Y/N- that she was quiet but always around him, always filling his space when he didn’t know he needed it. 

Y/N did used to say she wanted a bunny- especially during the first few years of their marriage. She wanted all sorts of animals- cats, dogs, bunnies, hamsters, birds, fish. Sunghoon had always refused- not because he hated animals but because he feared he had no time to care for one. He’d already gotten a dog, one that eventually died due to cancer. So the next best thing was this bunny, who he named after Y/N’s favourite color- Red.

She used to say red was her favourite color because Sunghoon’s favourite sweater was red in color. And also because the train they had met in, the one in Europe, was also painted in red. She used to tell him that a lot- well, until her dementia kicked in and she forgot she even had a favourite color. 

It was Sunghoon and his pet bunny against the world. It was odd, telling his colleagues and friends that he adopted one- a man so old who should have been worried more about taxes and acquiring property was more concerned over pets. But Sunghoon didn’t mind it. He liked that a pet was all he had to worry about- a pet that reminded him of her. And he’d send folders and folders of pictures of Red to Jake and Jay and they’d always make fun of him, but eventually admitted that they loved the bunny too.

Jake and his family even took a trip to Paris once and the kids got to play with Red. They loved feeding her and by the time they left, Red was a bit chubby and overweight for her size. 

When Jay finally visited him in Paris, they had spent a weekend exploring parts of the town Sunghoon didn’t have the heart to go alone. He finally got to eat at restaurants and cafes that seemed too posh to dine alone in and he finally went to museums that were the hotspot for tourists. 

And sometimes, during times like this when he was reminded that he had a support system who were willing to travel across borders to come see him, he didn’t feel as lonely anymore. He didn’t feel the need to feel sad, to feed into his depressive cycle, to wonder what would happen next. Because Sunghoon had lived- he’d lived enough to make himself proud, to make Y/N proud. And he’d lived enough to honour his first marriage- the fact that he didn’t give up then. 

Sunghoon, until his last breath, lived for the girl who gave him a second chance, in remembrance of the girl who taught him how to hope again. Because it wasn’t the end of the world- not yet. And it wouldn’t be for a long time. And he realised that even though Y/N might have been the lightswitch, Sunghoon had been his own bulb the whole time.

END CREDITS

It was one of those slow, golden evenings in Shanghai, the kind that curled into your bones and made you believe that maybe- just maybe- life could stay gentle forever. The sky blushed a deep rose, and the warm autumn breeze carried the scent of sweet osmanthus from the trees below. On the balcony of their little third-floor apartment, Y/N and Sunghoon sat cross-legged, sharing ice cream mooncakes from an artisan cafe, laughing at each other’s messy eating habits.

Y/N had a smear of ice cream sauce on her cheek, and when Sunghoon pointed it out, she’d stuck her tongue out at him in defiance. He leaned over to kiss it away instead of wiping it, and she’d giggled like she was twenty and in love for the first time.

Inside, the record player spun something old and scratchy- an Ella Fitzgerald vinyl she insisted she didn’t buy just for the aesthetic. The music floated around them like a lullaby, soft and warm. They hummed along, pretending to know the lyrics, pretending the world wasn’t hurling toward something unknowable.

But outside, the real magic was happening.

It was the Mid-Autumn Festival. Lanterns, thousands of them, were drifting up into the night sky, glowing softly like heartbeats in the dark. From their rooftop, they had a perfect view. Lights rising like dreams, weightless, fearless. The entire city felt like it had collectively exhaled.

Y/N, eyes wide and glittering, rummaged under the deck chair and pulled out a little paper lantern of their own. It was handmade- clumsily folded, leaning slightly to the left, the soft red tissue already creased from too many attempts. She held it out to him with both hands like it was sacred.

“Write something,” she said, handing him a pen.

Sunghoon quirked an eyebrow. “What are we, teenagers?”

“Obviously,” she replied, grinning. “But it has to be a secret. Fold it up, tuck it inside the lantern, and then we’ll let it go.”

He hesitated- but the look in her eyes disarmed him. That look always did.

So they wrote.

Y/N sat quietly for a long time, chewing her lip, as if she were trying to write something that might change the trajectory of the universe. When she was done, she folded the paper twice, kissed it once, and slid it into the lantern.

Sunghoon finished his in half the time but held onto the paper longer, staring down at the ink as if the words might disappear if he blinked too long. Then he, too, folded it gently and tucked it inside.

They lit the flame together. And as the lantern began to rise, fragile and glowing, Y/N turned to him, her voice softer than the wind. “Let’s promise each other something.”

He looked at her, not the lantern. Always her.

“What?”

“Let’s promise to grow old together. Really old. Wrinkled and annoying. Still dancing in the kitchen at 80, still calling each other stupid names. I want to be the weird couple yelling at pigeons in the park. You and me, always.”

He chuckled, a sound from deep in his chest. “Okay,” he said quietly, hand finding hers. “Promise.”

She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder like she’d done a thousand times before. “Even if I forget everything one day,” she whispered, almost too softly, “promise you’ll remind me.”

His heart ached without knowing why. He tucked his fingers into her hair, breathed her in.

“Every day,” he murmured. “I’ll remind you every damn day.”

The lantern floated higher, a red star against the indigo sky.

Later- too much later- he would find the tiny notes tucked inside the lantern box. Burnt at the edges from the heat of the flame but still legible.

Y/N’s said: “I hope I never forget how it feels to love you. But if I do- please love me loud enough that I remember.”

Sunghoon’s said: “Please let this last forever. Let time be kind to us. Let her be happy.”

They stood on the balcony long after the lantern disappeared from view, hands entwined, the city alive around them. Time, for once, pausing just long enough to let them exist in peace. And in that single, suspended moment, it felt like nothing could ever touch them. That their love, reckless and tender, would outrun everything. 

Even memory. Even death.

[deja-you]

Starling: Act VI

bucky barnes x reader

masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

word count: 2.8k

summary: Fake relationship. Real feelings. One bed. All the tropes.

The hotel is all marble floors, golding lighting, and professional employees who don’t blink at fake names and beautiful couples. 

Bucky’s got one hand on the strap of a leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The other, gloved, is wrapped around your waist. His hand placement is intimate but not inappropriate. 

“Checking in for Mr. and Mrs. Alpine,” Bucky tells the concierge. 

You arch an eyebrow but wait to say anything. The concierge looks up your reservation, hands you over key cards, and tells you both to enjoy your stay. 

You loop your arm into Bucky’s as he leads you over to the elevators. 

“Really,” you say dryly, “you named us after the cat?” 

He doesn’t even look up. 

“She deserves better than shared custody.”

A smile pulls at your lips. “Mm, I’m sure she’s tired of being a child of divorce.” 

Bucky–Mr. Alpine–shrugs. 

“This is a healing moment for her.”

This elicits a soft laugh from you. You lean into his shoulder and lower your voice. 

“Smile, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want them thinking we’re in this for the free minibar.” 

“I’m smiling on the inside.”

“Great. Now try that on the outside too.”

He attempts a sharp, forced smile. It’s horrifying.

You snort. 

“Okay, I take it back. Never do that again.”

The elevator rise up is short and you make your way to the hotel room. You enter the room. Clean. Elegant. Floor-to-ceiling windows. A balcony. One bed. 

You both notice it at the same time.

“Guess we’re really selling this marriage thing,” you say, tossing your bag onto the bed. “I’m going to change. 

You slip into the bathroom with your change of clothes while Bucky assembles tiny ear-comms, scans for bugs with a handheld reader. The hotel room is clean, but he checks twice. 

A few moments later you step out of the bathroom in dusk spun into silk–a dusty blue gown that looks almost like glass when it catches the light. Sheer sleeves float off your shoulders, barely tethered to the sweetheart neckline. 

“So… how do I look?” 

He turns. Freezes a beat too long. His eyes sweep over you once. Slowly.

“Be honest. Too much for fake-wife espionage?” You ask. 

Bucky forces himself to look away. “Nah. You’ll blend right in with all the other supermodels taking down trafficking rings.” 

He turns to grab his suit hanging in the closet and pauses in the bathroom doorway. He turns to face you, a small, boyish smile on his lips.

“Remind me to frisk you before we leave.”

You throw your head back and laugh. “Buy me dinner first.” 

“Let’s just get through this mission, Birdie.” 

He reemerges shortly after threading cufflinks in his shirt. A crisp, black tie. Gloves on both hands.

“You ever take those off?” You ask curiously. 

Bucky doesn’t look up. There’s a beat. 

“Not when I’m someone else.”

Your tone is softer, slightly teasing. “So if this were real, you’d take them off?” 

He takes a step toward you, one of his gloved hands tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. When Bucky speaks his voice is low. 

“If this were real,” he says, eyes flickering over your dress once more, “they wouldn’t be the only things I’d be taking off.”

At his words you’re frozen and you barely register the hand that is still at your cheek gently tucking a comm into your ear. It crackles to life and you don’t get the opportunity to respond. 

“You two lovebirds ready?” 

You hear Sam’s voice in your ear. Bucky grumbles a confirmation. 

“One of the donors from Virell’s network is at the welcome reception tonight,” Sam continues, “You’re lifting a card key from his wife’s bag. No screw-ups.”

“We never screw up,” you reply sweetly, “just…improvise. With flair.” 

You hear Sam scoff.

“I’m logging that for when this goes sideways.”

You enter the elevator with Bucky and lean against him just slightly. Your arm brushes his chest. You feel him freeze behind you. 

“Always this stiff on vacation, honey?” You ask innocently. 

“I’d be less stiff if you stopped poking me with that knife in your garter, doll.” 

He exaggerates the pet name, rolling his eyes performatively. You shift closer. Real close now. 

“S’that what you would call me? If you were deeply, tragically in love with me?”

You keep pushing. 

“Doll? Not love? Not darling?” 

His eyes flick to yours. Unblinking. 

“I’d just call you Birdie.” 

You go still. He’s already looking away. The elevator doors roll open. Showtime. 

-

The ballroom has high ceilings and gilded accents. Waiters mill about the room in white jackets, crystal chandeliers brighten the space, a string quartet is playing a familiar Vivaldi piece. You and Bucky are arm in arm. 

“Remember,” you whisper to him, “you’re crazy about me.”

“Of course I am.” 

You bump his arm with your shoulder, grinning. “You didn’t even hesitate.” 

The two of you drift around the perimeter of the party, champagne glasses in hand. You find a reason to fix his tie. He’s watching you instead of the room, gently adjusting a strand of your hair and murmuring something about “obscuring your comms.” 

Your eyes scan the room until they zero in on your target. A woman in her mid-50s, silver dress, hair spun like glass. She’s on the arm of a large, red-faced man. You nudge Bucky gently.

“Silver clutch. Five o’clock.” 

In sync, you both shift your direction with ease. Like a dance you’ve practiced.

Bucky intercepts a waiter and, with effortless coordination, “accidentally” lets a champagne flute crash dramatically to the marble floor. Crystal shatters. Heads turn. 

Your target gasps. Her husband mutters something about “hiring better staff.”

Everyone is distracted and you move like a ghost. Your fingers catch the strap of her purse just right. Lift. Twist. Slip. The keycard is yours. You slide away toward a side curtain. Bucky joins you soon after. 

“You got it?”

“Of course I got it. You planning on thanking me or just brooding attractively for the rest of the night?” 

“Depends. How do you want me to thank you?”

Once more this evening, you’re stunned into silence. You blink. He looks at you, expression unreadable but certainly not innocent. You don’t reply, and Bucky takes your hand and turns down a hallway and beckons you to follow him. 

You both slip into a service elevator. You don’t let go of his hand. Neither does he. 

Neither of you mention it. 

The elevator whirs to life. 

The doors open to your floor. The mission isn’t over. You still have the keycard. You still have a job to do. But something changed between the two of you this evening. Or maybe it started changing long before that. 

For now, you don’t talk about it. You just keep walking down the hallway together. Slowly. Quietly. Fingers still intertwined. 

-

You’re barefoot on the balcony, leaning against the stone railing. Bucky’s inside going over details of the mission on the phone with Sam. 

The dusty blue dress still clings to your body, the fabric getting swept up in the cool evening air. The city buzzes. Glass towers reflect the horizon. You focus on your breathing. 

You’re not sure if you’re calming down or winding up. Tomorrow is your chance to take down Virell and his operation once and for all. But something about the quiet unnerves you. 

The weight of the dress. The memory of Virell’s voice. The feel of Bucky’s fingers laced with yours. The feel of cool metal against your skin from nights before. 

The door creaks behind you. 

Bucky steps onto the balcony. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, slow and sure. His chest presses into your back so close you can count his heartbeats. 

He lowers his head. A soft kiss to the exposed skin on your shoulder. Another to your neck. His voice low as his lips brush against your ear.

“They’re watching the hotel,” he says coolly. 

Your body melts into his on instinct, hands finding his. 

Your eyes flick across the street. Three figures. All in black suits. Tinted windows. Virell’s men, watching the lobby. 

Bucky brushes his lips against your temple.

“Come to bed with me, doll,” he murmurs softly. 

You recognize the callback to the elevator. Fake couple. Real danger. 

You turn in his arms to face him, playing along. One hand trails over his chest, the other behind his neck. 

“If you wanted me, you should’ve just said,” you say gently.

You kiss the sharp edge of his jaw, just enough to blur the lines between the mission and reality. 

His breath hitches–barely. A low hum escapes his chest. He kisses your cheek. Then your neck. Collarbone. Shoulder. Everywhere but your mouth, although he gets awfully close. 

His hands curl under your thighs and lift you without much effort. You wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you inside. 

Bucky carries you to the bed and lays you down gently like you’re something fragile. The bed dips beneath your weight. The fabric of your dress pools around you like a lake. 

He leans down and places one more kiss to your jaw, his stubble brushes against your skin. 

Then he’s gone, moving toward the windows. He draws the curtains shut slowly. Deliberately. He doesn’t look at you. Not once. 

“If I didn’t know any better, Barnes,” you say coyly, “I’d say you enjoyed that.”

Bucky doesn’t reply. Jaw tight. He doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he walks stiffly to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You hear the shower start. Steam curls out from the edge of the door. 

You exhale and touch the space on your jaw where he kissed you. You lay back fully on the bed and stare at the ceiling. It’s getting harder to separate what’s pretend and what’s real. 

-

Later, the bathroom door opens with a soft click. 

Steam spills out behind him, curling toward the ceiling like smoke. Bucky steps out shirtless in low light that catches the water beads across his shoulders. A subtle glint where metal meets skin at his left arm. Sweatpants. That ride just a little too low on his hips. He’s still drying his hair roughly with the towel before hanging it on the hook on the door. 

He glances toward the bed. 

You’re lying there, half tangled in the sheets, facing the empty space beside you like you’re daring it to stay empty. 

You blink once, slowly. Your brain short-circuits halfway through forming a thought and reroutes to something safe, something boring. 

He doesn’t notice your stare. Or maybe he does and is pretending not to. Which might be worse.

You don’t say anything. You watch him from the corner of your eye. Your breath is steady. Your heart rate is not. 

He crosses the room slowly. Avoids your gaze. There’s only one bed. It’s not that big. 

You scoot slightly to one side, giving him more space. 

“I won’t bite,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t miss a beat.

“I’d let you.” 

It’s not fair, the way your whole body flushes.

You turn slightly toward him, trying to play it off like it didn’t affect you. Trying to be normal. Chill. Capable of human speech. 

He doesn’t meet your gaze, just climbs into bed like he didn’t just set your skin ablaze.

The mattress shifts under his weight. The space between you narrows. You lie back on your pillow, close enough to feel his breath, not close enough to calm your heartbeat. 

And God help you, he smells good. He smells like clean soap and warm skin. Cool metal and rain that hasn’t touched down yet. 

You shift. So does he. Your knees brush. Neither of you pulls away. 

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You pause. Then nod. He probably can’t see it in the dark. 

“You?” You ask, just as quietly.

“No.” 

You both fall quiet again. The truth hangs heavy between you.

He lets out a breath. You think maybe this will be it and he’ll head to bed without another word. You pull some courage out from somewhere deep in your stomach. 

Softly:

“You ever think about what it’d be like?”

He blinks. 

“What what’d be like?”

You smile faintly.

“If this was real.” 

His breath catches. 

The silence feels deafening. Charged. 

Your heart beats like a caged bird against your ribcage. You feel something shift between the two of you. You think you’ve made a huge mistake, just ruined something good, and you open your mouth to say as much. 

“I–I just meant–” 

“All the time.” 

His voice is even. You can hear the truth on his lips. You’re both inches away from something that will break everything or fix everything. Or both. 

Neither of you speak again, silently agreeing not to speak about this further. 

At least for now. 

Under the sheets, his fingers brush lightly against yours.

-

You jolt awake well past midnight. A sharp, soft gasp. 

Your chest is heaving, pulse thudding in your ears.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, damp with sweat. One hand clenched tight against your ribs like you can hold in the fear. 

Bucky’s awake in seconds, his body rigid scanning the room for a threat. It softens once he realizes it’s still only the two of you.

He turns toward you carefully, not touching you yet. He watches carefully, doing his best not to crowd you. His voice is low and gentle.

“Hey. You’re okay. It’s just me. Just a dream.” 

You clench your eyes tightly closed, hand shaking slightly as you lift it to wipe your face of a tear you don’t completely notice is there.  

“Didn’t feel like one,” you mutter hoarsely. 

Bucky sits up slightly, propping himself on an elbow. He doesn’t ask you what it was about. He knows. 

He slowly extends his hand but pauses. His vibranium hand is closest to yours. He moves to pull it back but you grip it in your hand, pulling him closer. You don’t move to pull away and he gently threads his fingers through your hand, his thumb rubbing gently circles into your skin. It’s cool and grounding. 

“Breath with me, okay? In…out…” He tells you. 

You follow slowly at first. Then steadier. You match his rhythm. 

You’re aware of the cool metal against your skin. It’s not scary. It’s safe. Real. It’s hurt people before, but never you. It only provides comfort. 

Eventually your eyes begin to flutter shut again. Exhaustion ebbing in gentle and slow. Your voice is drowsy when you speak again. 

“Thanks.” Almost inaudible.

“Not going anywhere,” he responds. 

-

You wake first.

Still on your side, curled against Bucky. His arm is slung loosely around your waist, the other tucked under the pillow. 

His breathing is deep and even. He’s fully asleep. Maybe the first real rest he’s had in a while, too.

You shift carefully, trying not to wake him, but:

“You always this wiggly in the morning?” His voice is gruff, still laced with sleep.

“Only when I wake up with someone’s arm wrapped around me like a weighted blanket.”

He groans and stretches, keeping one arm looped lazily around your waist. 

You can’t remember the last time you’ve woken up this peacefully. 

Then you whisper into the quiet morning: 

“We forgot to feed Alpine.”

Bucky’s eyes remain shut. “Soraya’s got her.” 

A pause. 

“I miss her.”

“She’s got a better bed than we do.”

“She deserves it.” 

His eyes finally open and you share a look. It lingers. 

You stretch your arms above your head and the blanket slips slightly. Enough to catch his attention. He looks, then immediately looks away. You caught it. 

“Are you checking me out, Sergeant?” You ask mischievously.

“Just checking for weapons,” he deflects.

“Smooth recovery.” 

You finally roll out of bed with a groan and start rummaging through your bag for clothes. 

Shortly after there’s a knock at the door. You glance at Bucky. He frowns and moves quickly, grabbing a gun from his bedside table. 

“Subtle,” you say.

“Habit,” he replies. 

He checks the peephole and sighs. 

“Sam.”

Bucky opens the door and Sam and Torres enter, Sam’s got two coffees and a folder tucked under his arm. He hands one to Bucky. Torres has a grin and a latte for you. 

“Good morning, sunshine,” Torres says to you. “Hope Barnes didn’t hog all the blankets.” 

“She was warm enough,” Bucky says, unamused. 

He gives Torres a look that says try that again and I’ll put you through a window.

Sam ignores both of them. “You two look cozy. Bed bugs treating you well?”

“They unionized,” you say, deadpan. “We let them have the minibar.”

“That’s generous,” Sam replies. “I’ll be sure to put that in the mission report.” 

Sam sets the folder down on the desk and opens it. A full file of updated intel. Maps, guest lists, surveillance stills.” 

“Virell’s confirmed. He’ll be at the gala tonight,” he informs you. 

You and Bucky exchange a look, the calm of the morning dissolves piece by piece. The weight of what comes next settles in. 

Sam begins to brief the two of you. Torres hands you your latte and backs away. Smart man. You take a long sip. 

Somehow Bucky has made his way to your side, your shoulders brushing slightly.

 “We’re gonna burn it all down, right?” You murmur to him.

Bucky’s voice comes out quiet and certain.

“Every last piece.”

[revolvingsaturn]

Summary: Work parties are boring. Why not fuck in an office instead?

(Teacher!Izuku x reader smut)

🫧🌱

You’ve always thought Izuku was pretty. It’s probably one of the main reasons you married him, you think absentmindedly as he fucks you against the desk of his little UA faculty office. You turn your head backwards slightly and get met with watery green eyes behind fogged lenses, wet lips and messy hair as your husband pants into the air of the room.

Half an hour previous, you’d been lounging awkwardly on the wall of the meeting room that’d been converted to a party, slowly nursing a drink. ‘Party’ in the loosest sense of the word you supposed, making awkward small talk with past teachers about hero work and how life was going. It wasn’t boring, per se, but it wasn’t exactly stimulating either- the entire affair felt much more like a hero commission networking event than a party. And, to make matters worse, you couldn’t stop staring at your husband.

You always thought he was attractive-how couldn’t you-but watching him through mascara coated eyelashes as he moved around the room in his suit and his glasses was almost too much to bear for you; the minute he walked away from the conversation he was having you were dragging him into the hallway and pressing your lips to his. He reciprocated, admittedly with mild confusion, and gazed down at you with stars in his eyes as you spoke.

“You’re so hot when you’re professional,” you get out through breathless lips.

“You think?” He replies, almost shocked at your sudden change in demeanour. While never one to shy away from public intimacy, having sex right outside the same room all of your previous teachers and his current work colleagues were in was too risky even for you.

“You got any idea of where we can take this?” You say between planting kisses on his neck, being careful not to smudge makeup on the collar you ironed for him.

He doesn’t reply-not with words, anyway- just a searingly aroused look through half lidded green eyes and he’s intertwining his fingers with yours and leading you to his office. You briefly take a moment to gaze at his desk- covered in reminders, notebooks and scattered pens with a framed photo of you both in the corner; there’s even a few ‘thank you’ cards from students pinned to the wall and you smile- until you’re swiftly being bent over the desk, chair kicked to the side by Izuku as he leans over you.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” He breathes down your neck, hot enough to make you shiver as his hand softly trails its way from your hip to the hemline of your skirt. That’s the thing with Izuku- he’s always soft, always caring- he’ll edge you until you’re crying, sure, but he’ll never snap or grab you so hard you’re left with bruises.

“Notice what?” You say, feigning false innocence, even as you feel yourself practically flood your underwear at the thought of being fucked into oblivion on his desk.

“You.” He breathes back. “You’ve been watching me all night, distracting me- you’ve been trying to get me to do this, have you? Get me to bend you over my desk and fuck you like the needy slut you are.”

You intake a sharp breath at his words- he’s never spoken to you this crudely before, and the thought only makes you slicker as you hear the telltale noise of his belt unbuckling behind you, clasp clinking through the office. It’s out of character for him, but then again you did ask for this.

A hand travels up the curve of your spine to entangle itself in your hair; not tugging, just resting there as its counterpart slowly, teasingly skirts its way up the back of your thigh to gently push the fabric of your dress over your hips until you’re completely exposed. You hear Izuku’s breathing rate rise when you let out a little squeaky moan at the feeling of his fingers starting to rub tiny sharp circles over your clit before they eventually push your soaked underwear to the side and enter you.

Your nails scrabble at the desk when he starts to crook his fingers inside you, but when you raise your head to turn and look at him the hand in your hair pushes you back down so your cheek is squished against the desk. It’s torture, you love seeing Izuku’s face during sex and you can just picture his fogged up glasses skewed slightly on his face, lips parted as he grins down at your squirming form.

He’s mean, fingers scissoring inside your pussy while his hand shoves your face more onto the desk. You can’t even raise a hand to cover your mouth because the hand on your scalp moves to insert two fingers into your mouth. You moan around them and he laughs, actually laughs behind you; you know how you must look, so fucked out and he hasn’t even really fucked you yet. His fingers withdraw from your pussy and you groan, annoyed at the loss, the sound muffled around the fingers still prodding around your mouth.

You hear the faint noise of a zip being undone and fabric rustling behind you and the anticipation is killing you; he drags the tip of his cock through your folds until you’re practically begging for it as best you can around the fingers in your mouth. A thin trail of drool makes its way down your chin to rest on the desk. Izuku pays it no mind as he suddenly and without warning slips fully inside of you; you gasp at the sudden pleasure and your manicured nails scrabble for purchase on the wood of his desk.

They find none.

You can only moan loudly into the office, Izuku’s cock prodding the soft spot inside of you that you can never quite seem to reach with your fingers. His hand keeps moving, one moment it’s on your clit rubbing tiny shapes and next it’s gripping your hip or shakily brushing hair back from your face so he can watch the way your cheek rubs against the desk with every snap of his hips.

But it’s still not enough- he’s being harsh, sure, harsher than usual, but he’s still whispering praises into your hair and using the thumb outside of your mouth to rub adoring circles into your cheek. You wrack your pleasure addled brain for something you could do to make him finally snap, and then it hits you- just this morning you were discussing kids over breakfast. Was it slight weaponisation of his deepest feelings? Yes, but did you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t stand properly for a week? Absolutely.

And so, you gasp out through drool covered lips, around his fingers:

“Want you to put a baby in me, Izu..” you moan.

He practically freezes, hips stalling.

“You- you mean that?” He breathes out.

You simply nod back, eyes locking onto his, and that’s all it takes- he’s withdrawing his fingers so he can bite at your lips and lick into your mouth while his hips snap into yours again and again and again until there’s literally nothing else on your mind; you know that you’re being loud, that your ex teachers are just down the hallway but you honestly can’t find it within yourself to care.

Your husband is frantically fucking into you with all the grace of a bull in a china shop as he desperately whimpers into your ear praise about how pretty you are, how lovely you’ll look full of him. He’s as delirious as you are, panting and moaning and whining into your ear the most depraved sentences you’ve ever heard exit his lips.

You’ve never been so turned on in your life.

“Gonna- gonna cum-“ he’s whimpering into your ear as you clench around him.

“‘S okay.” You manage to slur back at him. “Want you to- to fill me up, Izu.”

You cum around him as his fingers rub shapes into your clit, the sensations almost too much as you writhe under him. You know he’s close, his thrusts are sloppy and miscalculated but ever so good as he humps wildly into your spent pussy. And just like that, with you whispering promises of babies to him in the dimly lit office, Izuku Midoriya cums into you with the longest, most drawn out, broken moan you’re ever managed to wrench from him.

You just lay there for a moment, his forehead pressed to the back of your sweaty neck while you feel his cum slowly drip out of you after he whimpers and pulls out. But then he’s pushing it back into you with shaking fingers, one hand holding your hips in place as you squirm in overstimulation. You stand on unsure legs, messily wrenching your dress back down with one hand while Izuku does up his pants.

You catch a glimpse of you both in the window and almost grin; you both look so entirely fucked out it’s almost comical- the makeup smeared across your face with your own saliva and messy hair, Izuku’s fogged up glasses he’s bending down to pick up from the floor and his sweaty face.

One thing for sure, you absolutely cannot go back to the party like this- he rushes out and emails the staff a fake excuse about you getting ‘food poisoning’ before you’re both giggling as you flop into the front seats of your car.

Izuku clears his throat first- “did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” You say in response.

“About the whole baby thing, because I’d really like to have a baby with you and I think we’d be really good parents. Number one you’re really funny, number two-“

And he’s rattling off a list at you the whole drive home.

🫧🌱

[helenanell]

I’ll Be Seeing You || Dr. Abbott

Dr Jack Abbott x OC - (Functions as an x Reader too)

This is Part Two of - You’re Good

Summary: The shift ends and in the aftermath, it’s once again Dr Abbott who anchors me.

Notes: Minor Spoilers. Angst. Emotional hurt / comfort. (Sort of…in the way these two know how) Yearning. Denial of feelings. Mention of trauma and death.

WC: 2.3k

Tagging some people who interacted with the first part (thank you ❤️): @madsmilfelsen @nyheartbreak @lc-birdie @pear-1206

A hundred and twelve mass casualty patients and there were only six we couldn’t save. Not only. Never only. Each of them was a world— someone’s world.

Those we saved are safe within the hospital walls, in the best hands, one hundred and six that made it to nightfall.

Outside, only a few paces beyond the entrance to The Pitt, I stand on the sidewalk with the six we lost. I hold them with me beneath the stars they didn’t get to see.

I was with one of them when he died. A sixteen year old boy who clutched onto my hand, not as a patient to a doctor, but a terrified kid who’s always believed adults had all the answers. That an adult could save him.

Scrape your knee and run until you’re swept up into the safety of stronger arms. He looked up to me in the same way, but I wasn’t stronger, not in the ways that matter.

My shift has ended, but sirens still sound throughout the city. They’re always ringing, both in the streets and in the darkened network of my mind.

My head drops, chin against my chest and a quiet sob wracks my body. No tears fall. I keep them inside and with nowhere else to go, they run down deep and corrode something at the core of me.

I hear the steady swish that tells me the doors to the ED have expelled someone, but I don’t turn.

Once again, when I am adrift, it is Dr Abbott that finds me.

“First Robbie, now you.”

“He was up on the roof.” I say, not a question.

“He was on the roof.” Abbott affirms, the edges of his words jagged as if he’s torn them out of himself.

“He took your spot.” I say, almost managing to sound teasing.

“That’s exactly what I said.” He answers gruffly. Then, he’s leaning to the side, nudging his shoulder into mine. “Get yourself home, Doctor. Eat. Shower. Sleep.”

Neither of us have looked at the other yet. Well, I suppose I can’t know for sure that he hasn’t glanced at me but…I feel like I would know.

He’s never had the consideration to look at me in a way that doesn’t leave a trace.

Fighting off the sense of intimacy that always appears unbidden when I’m with him, I opt for sarcasm that I’m too weakened to make convincing. “You better tell me to brush my teeth too or I might forget.”

He scoffs indignantly. “Joke all you want, but you forgot to eat today.”

There it is. That feeling I get when he’s looking at me. It makes me more than furious with him.

Unfortunately, that anger doesn’t come out when I speak. Instead, I’m wilting beneath his scrutiny. No, not wilting because of him. He’s seeing me and I can no longer pretend to myself that I haven’t already wilted. Dead or dying, or at least feeling like part of me is.

“No, I ate—“ I cut myself off, realising the truth of it and the ache of absence in my stomach.

Shit. He’s right. The bastard wasn’t even on the whole shift and he knows I didn't eat.

Then, as if he can hear my thoughts, Abbott produces a protein bar from his pocket and holds it out in front of me. They’re not in the break room, so I know he must have brought it in. It’s also the only protein bar I like. All of others taste like sand.

I also know, that he doesn't eat these, always turns his nose up, says it tastes like soap. But he brought it. He made the conscious effort to grab one as he rushed to help with an emergency.

My throat tightens as I reach out and force myself not to snatch it out of his hand. He releases it into my shaky grip, hand hovering for a second before he drops it.

I feel like I owe him now. I hate it, so I pay him back by meeting his eye with as little ire as possible. I can’t examine why his consideration burns in a way his apathy cannot and never has.

He holds my gaze, quietly, kindly. Not reacting or uttering a word. Letting me test myself.

I break eye contact and shove the protein bar in my hoodie pocket. When I’m back to staring at the street, he seems to feel he can speak to me again.

“Six years and you’re still not taking care of yourself,” he says, “Patients suffer if you’re not operating at a hundred percent.”

I sigh, releasing a grieved breath and yet all of the hurt of the day remains lodged within.

“Okay, Abbott, I’m exhausted and so are you, could you save the lecture for another time?”

I feel him shake his head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why?” I say tightly.

His next words are so soft it feels like they don’t belong in the place we’re standing in. Doesn’t belong in the night that I know he uses to hide himself away in. He stands in his safe place and releases some real part of himself to me.

“Because I don’t see you,’ he says hoarsely. “I never see you anymore.”

I slowly turn my head to look at him, and he’s already watching me. I falter at the sincerity sitting boldly in his eyes.

I’ve never known what to do when he looks at me like that. I always shrink away, curl into myself defensively.

I do all that I’m capable of in my current state: I throw the sentiment I can’t decipher back in his face, but this time the words are too loaded, too heavy. They land right by my feet again.

“Well, that���s good for me isn’t it? I’ll never hear the lecture.”

A frustrated divot appears between his brows.“For someone so exhausted, you’re putting a lot of effort into fighting me.”

“I am exhausted!” I exclaim. “That’s why I’m fighting you, you fucker, I can’t talk to you when I’m—“

“Sad.” He finishes for me.

He’s right. He’s right again and I want him gone all the more because he’s articulated an emotion in myself that I didn’t even want to say out loud. He used to do that all the time when we were on shift together.

My emotions are something I struggle to offer up, they always come in a closed fist that someone would have to pry open to get to. With everyone else it works, but Abbott doesn’t need to pry, he just looks at me and sees what I’m trying to hide as if I'm wearing it.

He takes from me without touching me. He knows me, without my ever freely giving him anything.

I feel held hostage by his knowing of me, an intimacy he snatched in that very first week of my internship.

“You’re sad,” I throw back at him, furious at being perceived. I’ll hurt him by showing him I see him too. “You- you’ve always been sad. You hold it within you and don’t stop moving so you can ignore the feeling. You work at night so none of it sees the light of day.”

His eyes are the overspill. Seeking, searching for people he can help, a fight to throw himself into because he can’t bear to be stationary. Because it is all he knows and if he does stop, he fears he’d atrophy and never move again.

So maybe sad isn’t the right word, instead it’s a silent devastation that he harbours like a secret. He hasn’t successfully kept the secret from me, but I’ve kept it for him.

Abbott doesn’t react to what I’ve said. Instead, he steps closer, then in front of me. He ducks his head into my field of vision.

“I’m not lecturing you, Doctor,” he says, “I want to know that you will go home, eat and rest.”

“You forgot shower.” I grumble.

Abbott reaches up a hand and scrubs it over his weary face. “You are testing my patience. Six years and that’s not changing anytime soon, huh?”

“It’s a test you are voluntarily taking! You came over to me!”

“You were alone.” He says as if those three words are an acceptable answer. An obvious answer.

“And?” I prod.

It’s his turn to snap. “And- what do mean fucking and? We just went through hell and back! We lean on each other!” He hisses.

Abbott looks wrecked as the words spill out. They’re ragged, almost as if barbed, cutting his way up out of his throat.

“You don’t.” I say frankly. “You never lean on anyone, Jack.”

A sharp intake of breath. Then his head drops defeatedly, a strained admittance coming out of his mouth. “I did. Against my better judgement, I did lean on someone.“

“Did?” I question, curious despite myself. “Why the past tense?”

He lifts his head, his eyes back to searching me for…for what? For more to take? More to know?

What he comes out with, is a body blow. “You should be proud of yourself, for…all that you are.”

The blow has caused a crack, and I’m terrified of what will find its way out. “Hmm, I’ll pass on that.” I snark.

Abbott groans, deep and from his chest. “Christ, you’re a walking headache. Learn to take a compliment.”

“Haven’t you heard, Abbott? Pride comes before a fall.” I say, already trying to fill in that crack with feigned aloofness.

“No, you’re not falling any time soon,” he insists, “listen to Robbie. Be proud. Let your heart break, but don’t think it can’t be put back together. Feel the grief of this day.”

“Put my heart back together so it can break over and over?”

“That’s what this job is. It’s what we choose every day.”

My eyes prickle with unshed tears. “I…I don’t know that I can choose this anymore. This shift…I thought I had a hold of myself, that I could cope with whatever's thrown at me.” My voice breaks and I look to the ED entrance with watery eyes. “I couldn’t cope with this.”

Abbott takes a step, then another. He moves until the distance is closed, he’s looking down at me and we’re toe to toe.

“You did. Coping isn’t a lack of feeling.” He says huskily. “It’s staying on your feet. You’re on your feet. Exhausted and hurting, but standing.”

More tears rise, too much to hold in. They spill. One, then two, roll down my cheeks.

“Fuck.” I hiss, reaching up to furiously wipe them away. “Nope, not doing this in front of you.”

I try to take a step back, to put distance not between our bodies, but to between myself and the weight of his stare, the agony of his knowing. The pain of being perceived by a man who has always felt out of reach.

But, as I try to back away, Abbott’s hands fall on my arms. Not heavily- light, but comforting, like the first layer of snow. But he’s not cold. He’s warm and steady and holding me in place.

“Hey,” he says. I feel his attention sweep my face but all I can do is look down at his shoes. “You absolutely can do this in front of me. Just…stand still for a minute. Breathe.” The last word is a whisper on his own tremulous breath.

His voice trembles not in fear or anger, but I don’t know what it is.

There’s an unsteadiness unfurling in both of us as we stand there together. Something, somehow, blooming in the darkness of the night.

Unsteadiness has my head dropping and I sway forward, into him. My forehead brushes his chest. I don’t let myself lean on him, not fully, because then what will I do when he steps away? Fall?

I can’t let myself lean on him.

Abbott’s thumbs ghost over my skin, almost a soothing back and forth, as if he also knows he can’t press in.

I extricate myself from him as if tearing something asunder. I almost stagger back.

“Goodnight.” I look up at him, his dark eyes shining, more affecting than the starlight above.

He nods. Reluctantly. Resignedly. I can’t know. I don’t know that I want to.

“You take care of yourself.” He says, backing away himself. “Take care and come back.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can and you will. You’re made for this. It’s in your goddamn bones. You’re the light of salvation, doctor.” Abbott says, giving me no room to resist. “And I will see you around.”

It’s not an order, but it’s not a plea either. Just like everything else with him…I have no goddamn clue.

“You never see me, remember?” I say.

Jack actually smiles then. It’s small, but it’s there. It’s painfully tender. Not painful for me, but as if in some way it hurts him. Something hurts him.

“If this job teaches you anything, doctor, it should be that anything and everything can change.” He begins to back away but stops himself. “You know what?…Robbie and I are going for a drink. Come.”

“You told me to go home.”

Abbott rolls his eyes. “Come for a drink. Then go.”

“Why?”

“So that I can see you sooner rather than later.”

Despite myself, I crack smile. “I—“

The ED doors open again and Robbie steps out into the night. He looks between us, eyes sparkling curiously before he focuses on me. With the hand still holding onto the strap of his backpack he lifts and finger and points. “You’re coming for a drink.”

My eyes drift to Jack. “It seems that I am. Good to show my face. Be seen.”

The three of us walk to the nearby benches and crack open a beer with our colleagues. But, I soon realise that more than anyone else, I'm with Abbott.

And I have no idea what to do with that feeling. Worse still, I don’t want the feeling to go away.

Part III - Pushing It Down

[fueledbysano]

˚୨୧₊♱ study partners

Zayne is a brilliant and accomplished medical student, proficient in a number of fields such as cardio, neuro, trauma, pediatrics, ortho, and a lot more. However, an upcoming exam in his area of weakness, obstetrics, has him feeling anxious and unprepared. who's more qualified to help him study than you, his pretty childhood friend and roommate? ♡

♱ med student! zayne x afab!reader

♱ content/warnings: slowburn, friends to lovers, fingering, cunnilingus, piv sex (cowgirl), soft dom, switch, virgin zayne, virginity loss, you teach zayne the female anatomy, body worshipping, possessive zayne, soft sex ♡

♱ tags: @enchantedforest-network @crisae

♱ 5k

You woke up late in the evening in a panic, startled to find that it was already dark and cold outside. You had spent the entire afternoon sleeping after an intense training session, and had begun to worry that you had missed the day entirely and that it was time to get ready for another day. Your heart was pounding with trepidation as you left your room.

However, you discovered Zayne seated in the living room, still engrossed in his study materials that took up the entire coffee table. Realizing you had only been asleep for 8 hours, you felt both embarrassed and relieved— Embarrassed that you had woken up so late in the evening, and relieved that you had not missed an entire night after all.

“Look who's up... Good morning,” Zayne spoke when he heard your door open, still engrossed in the study material he was reading. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the highlighted texts and diagrams in front of him, not even looking up to glance at you.

“Hey, Zayne,” you chuckled softly, heading towards the kitchen to help yourself with a glass of water. He seemed thoroughly absorbed in his studying and appeared to have been extremely immersed in his studies. “Pulling an all-nighter?” you asked, tone light and pleasant despite the fact that you had gotten a late start to the day yourself.

“Staying up late to intake information impairs one's cognitive functioning,” Zayne explained rationally, looking through the pages of his book as he spoke. “It's not worth it,” His tone was calm and practical, as if he was stating a fact rather than expressing a personal thought. He didn't appear to be tired at all, seemingly not bothered by the fact that he had been studying for so many hours. “I’ll call it a day in a while.” He added to answer your question.

You nodded in response, quietly looking around the cupboards for something to eat. Your stomach growling reminded you that you hadn't eaten anything yet. Just then, Zayne spoke up again, “I made vegetable frittatas for dinner. I already put your portion aside in the microwave, so just heat it up yourself.”

“Thanks, Zayne.” you smiled as you looked inside the microwave and saw the beautifully plated vegetable frittatas that Zayne had prepared for you. You pressed the buttons and the dish began to spin slowly. The light inside gave you a good view of the dish that Zayne had so meticulously prepared. As you waited for your food to heat up, your stomach rumbled louder, reminding you that you were indeed very hungry and had not eaten anything yet.

Zayne yawned as he turned the page in his study material, noticing that you had been quiet for a while. His gaze drifted to you as you ate the dinner he had made, the smile on your face as you tasted the delicious flavors making his body feel warm. The hour he had spent preparing the dish paid off, as he could see how happy and appreciative you were of the effort he had put in.

"Did the ice bath work?" Zayne asked, recalling his previous advice and wanting to see if you had followed it. "Yes, it works like a charm," you smiled as you continued to eat, your tone light and cheerful. You were pleasantly surprised that the ice bath had worked so well, and was grateful to have a roommate who is a med student.

You couldn't help but notice how effortlessly attractive Zayne was. His appearance was captivating, and his demeanor was effortlessly attractive. You thought about how even if he was having a breakdown right now, the way he carried himself suggested otherwise. You couldn't help but gaze at him again for a moment, appreciating his undeniable charisma and attractiveness.

You looked away when you realized that you had been staring at him for too long, feeling embarrassed by your gaze. You were aware that you had been staring for a while, and felt your face start to warm up. You kept your head lowered, focusing on your dinner as you tried to avoid looking at him.

"Thanks for the dinner, Zayne." You eventually finished the meal.

"You're welcome," Zayne responds politely, glad that you have enjoyed the dinner he cooked for you. He watches as you get up and heads towards the bathroom, noticing your head lowered as you did. He couldn't help but smile to himself for the fact that you liked his little gesture.

After spending some time in the bathroom, you emerge to your surprise finding Zayne in his place, his nose still buried in books. You were surprised that he was still studying despite the late time. You had thought that he would've already finished up and gone to bed by now; but it seemed like he was still dedicatedly studying.

"What happened to 'sleeping early to stay alert'?" you tease playfully, approaching him with a cup of green tea in hand. You gently place the cup on the desk, the steaming hot tea filling the nearby air with an aromatic scent. His stoic and practical approach to studying seems to have been abandoned in favor of continuing to ingest information even after an all-nighter.

"I may have underestimated this exam," Zayne answers, pushing his glasses up and adjusting his sitting position slightly. His eyes seem bleared, but his voice still remains calm and focused. He seems to have realized his mistake in overestimating his ability to study after an all-nighter, and is now recognizing how hard this examination will be.

“Take a break. I promised grandma to keep you alive this semester.” You pushed the cup of green tea closer to Zayne. You were aware that his study sessions were often intense and grueling, and would sometimes even include all-nighters.

Zayne sighed softly and sipped the tea, as it provided a much-needed warmth that softened his tense demeanor. The tea's warmth eased his tense muscles and made him feel slightly more relaxed, which was something he very much needed in the middle of a study session that felt like it would never end.

"That's the one I got at the train station when we first moved in here. I also added just a teaspoon of honey to really balance the flavors. What do you think?" you ask, sitting next to Zayne as you continue the conversation. Zayne noticed how you seem to be making an effort to keep the conversation going, wanting to engage with him more and to get his opinion on what you have done.

"It's really good. I can taste the difference between the usual and yours. The honey adds a nice subtle sweetness that really complements the flavors of the green tea.” She smiles in response to his compliment before peeking at the books on the desk, curious to see what he's currently studying. "What's got you so stressed anyways? Is it a certain subject?"

Zayne pauses for a moment, the steam from his cup of tea fogged up his glasses. Then, he finally replies, slowly and with a bit of hesitation in his voice, "Uh...yeah." You shrug, not particularly concerned about the situation at hand. You has faith in Zayne's abilities and intelligence, as you believe that he will eventually come around and figure it out. You spoke with a carefree and relaxed tone, as if the issue was trivial and not something to worry about. "You'll figure it out. You're smart, Zayne," you assured him, the last part of your statement being an expression of positivity.

Zayne appreciated the positivity from you, but he couldn't deny that he was not the best at the subject in question.

"Actually… I may not," he admits, his tone sounding slightly more genuine and honest. He was clearly not confident in his abilities, which was in contrast to your carefree and optimistic attitude.

Zayne took one particular book from his desk and handed it to you, as if surrendering. The title of the book caught your attention and sparked your curiosity, which read, "D.C Dutta's Textbook of Gynecology".

"I suppose I never really dabbled so much in this particular specialty," Zayne explained, still looking somewhat defeated and frustrated with himself. He was acknowledging that he had never really put much time and effort into studying this specific area of medicine.

He wasn't necessarily saying that he was completely unfamiliar with it, but he was admitting that he wasn't experienced enough to feel comfortable and confident with it. You chuckled, responding to his self-doubt and frustration. "Trust me, even us girls still figure it out as we get older."

Zayne tilts his head, “Are you suggesting that even from a female perspective, it is normal to not have everything completely figured out when it comes to this particular… specialty?”

“Oh yeah.”

“That’s even scarier.” Zayne comments, sipping his cup of tea and seeming to be slightly troubled by the revelation.

You lean forward to place the book back down the stack beside the table, and Zayne gently places his hand on the edge of the wooden surface to prevent you from knocking into it. When you got back up, the proximity in between you and Zayne flustered you; and the fact that his free arm was just on the couch behind you.

You felt your breath quicken and your cheeks start to warm, as if your body was involuntarily reacting to his subtle closeness.

"You know... since... I'm not sleepy anymore, maybe I can... help you out with that?" You ask, voice trembling slightly with shyness as you toy with the hem of your dress, a subtle gesture that added a flirtatious context.

Zayne's cheeks heated up when you made the flirty offer, as he was not expecting it. His breath catches in his throat, and he speaks in a breathy and slightly nervous tone, avoiding direct eye contact with you.

"Don't speak like that, Y/N..."

"Why~?" You ask innocently, in reply to his flustered reaction to the offer.

"Because...I won't say no. I won't hold back," He responds, voice now growing even more flustered as he acknowledges that he is vulnerable.

Zayne's breath increased slightly, but he kept his movements subtle and respectful of your personal space. But despite this outward appearance of behavior and restraint, his eyes revealed a much different story. The way he was looking at you, with such intensity and desire, was a clear indication that he was feeling increasingly attracted to you and was struggling to resist your advances.

"Where do you need help~?" You ask candidly, your finger lightly tracing the frame of his glasses and causing him to shudder. Zayne finally caught your hand and locked eyes with you, the heat between them growing more intense as his hand overlapped yours. “Do you really want to help me?”

You noticed the way Zayne's eyes kept wandering down your body, as if you were his focal point of attention. You nodded and placed his hand on your hip, giving him permission to touch you. “I’m a girl, and I’m your friend, aren’t I?” Your playful and mischievous actions made the situation even more titillating.

“I’ve already gone through everything but…” He said, his voice slowly growing more confident and bold, as he grabbed your face. "We can go off-textbook..." He suggested brushing her hair in a sensuous way. His tone and manner were becoming more confident and bold, implying that he was willing to take things to a different level.

He was giving a subtle hint that he wanted to take things further, that he was ready and willing to explore your connection in a different way.

You lean down to whisper into his ear, "Yes...way better than photos and texts on paper," sending a shiver down his spine. You weren't just giving a playful response, but actually agreeing with his suggestion, making you even more provocative and irresistible and made him feel overwhelmed with desire.

Zayne sat you on his lap and held your chin, making contact and bringing you even closer. “I need to hear it from you, is this okay?” He asks, first, to make sure that he had your full consent before proceeding. Second, as a verification that it wasn't a dream, confirming that he had successfully taken you down this path.

"Yes, Zayne. I want this. Do you?" You confirmed, letting him know that you were willing to explore this connection further. You placed your hand on his chest, trying to feel the rhythm of his heart.

“Yes, please… teach me.” He was surprised by his own outburst of desire and infatuation, completely overwhelmed by your beauty and allure.

After stealing glances and gazes from each other's lips, Zayne finally took the first move to kiss you. The moment of your first kiss, your lips finally touching, felt even more intense and exhilarating because of this buildup.

Zayne sighed as you kissed, lifting you in his arms so that they could move to the couch together, continuing this intimate moment. The feeling of his arms wrapped around you and the way he moved with ease was like heaven.

He was taking initiative and taking you to a place where you could be more comfortable and where they could explore your desires to the fullest extent, which turned you on even more.

"You're even more beautiful to me right now, [ Y / N ]...may I see all of your beauty?" He asks softly, his hands now gently stroking your hair and taking in your physical presence and warmth. He was slowly building up the anticipation, slowly moving his hands down to parts of your body that would reveal your beauty even farther.

You are seeing a completely different side of Zayne, one that was passionate and expressive rather than just reserved and focused on productivity. And you were more than willing to allow him to dictate the pace at which things progressed. “Yes, we can go at your pace, okay? I know you have been studying so hard.” You place a kiss on his cheek, giving him the space and freedom to explore this more intimate side of himself.

Zayne lifted your dress and gasped softly when he saw what was underneath, astonished by your beautiful body. He proceeded to start from your tummy, using his large hands to gently stroke your skin with delicate touches and soft kisses. Every touch, every stroke, every kiss that he placed on you felt like sanctuary, as you felt him enjoying and fully appreciating every inch of your physique.

Zayne stops just on your lower abdomen, and he looks up at her as he says, "I'm gonna examine the figure now, my dear tutor." Instead of immediately moving to the more intimate parts of her body, he deliberately pauses before moving on to the next step to pull your panties off.

Zayne is still in the process of studying and learning about the beauty of the female figure, so seeing your body for the very first time is quite an experience for him. He had seen pictures and read many things in books, but there is nothing like the real deal. He wants to explore and examine your body but doesn't know where to start and unsure of how to proceed.

You found his flustered reaction so adorable and sweet. “Why don't you… tell me what you know~?” You sit up slightly to stroke his cheek,

Zayne’s breath was hot against your soaked pussy, he brushed his thumb against your entrance, inspecting the sheen layer of arousal. “I see that this is the physiological activation response of the dopaminergic and serotonergic system to my… stimulation.” He made eye contact with you by the end of his sentence. All the scientific terms and smart talking was adding to your arousal.

Zayne took your wrist with his other hand and pressed his fingers against the side, feeling your pulse. “Increased heart rate, too. I'm flattered.” He chuckled softly and let go of your hand, his thumb still sliding against your entrance.

“Yes, I'm very turned on right now.” You sigh softly, pussy clenching around itself as he keeps teasing your entrance. “Good, good…” He whispered, now taking his index and middle finger to run up your labia. “Your skin here is sensitive, I shall be careful.” He spoke, leaning forward to get a better look. He adored the way your folds reacted to his fingers with every stroke and spread. “Zayne…” You sighed softly, your back falling back onto the throw pillows as his fingers explored your pussy. You were already struggling keeping your legs open and he was just barely getting started.

“H—ahhh—hhh” You let out your first moan of the night when his fingers come in contact with your clit. “Oh, did I find it right away?” His question laced with smugness to it. “Yes, you did.” Your eyes fluttered close when he established a slow rhythm circling it.

“This is the most erogenous area of the female anatomy, is it for you?” He asks, genuinely curious about your preferences. “Yes, I like being touched there.” Your legs tangled together on his back to pull him closer. “My, my…” Zayne’s breath started to uneven, his face heating up and glasses falling down his nose.

Zayne wants to forget his med school responsibilities for this moment, and he wants to simply enjoy the moment with you, focusing solely on you and your pleasure.

He wants to show his dedication to you in a tangible way. The medical studies and the test can wait, as he knows that he is currently with the girl he likes and he doesn't want to waste any time.

“Mmm— try to relax, dear… I’ll try to be thorough with you.” Zayne’s words made you quiver before you felt a finger slipping inside your pussy, making you gasp loudly. His fingers were long.

“Ah, yes, doctor… please…” You begged. All it would take from him was a little more of this and you would reach your peak. Almost immediately. But Zayne wants the moment to last longer. He used his finger just inside you to slide it around your opening and spread your arousal across your entire labia. Adding another finger, he penetrated even deeper and without warning, his digits crooked up and started to stroke your g-spot.

“Such a good study aid for me.” He sighed. “This soft spot here… it’s fascinating… does it feel good to you when I do this?” He made eye contact with you, your heart rate increasing rapidly. “Yes, when you do it, it feels so good.” You pant in between whimpers, subconsciously grinding your pussy on his hand. You find it so sweet and sexy of him to be checking and asking you these. He is reaching spots that you couldn’t with your own fingers.

“Ah— Zayne—” You almost screamed out when he placed a delicate kiss on your clit. You try to stifle a loud moan but it was too much to take. “May I try a more oral approach?” You stroke his hair and nod. Zayne’s cheeks flushed and attached his lips to your sensitive bud once more, closing his eyes as he sucked softly.

You tilt your head back, eyelids fluttering and trying to stay sane. Feeling it for the first time drives you to a new place; the sight of his head in between your legs, and the sounds from his lips truly sends you over.

He grips your thigh for support as he pushes his fingers deeper. He lifts one of your legs higher to slide more of his digits inside you, his mouth still latched on your clit and his tongue swiping your folds every now and then. You gasp and struggle against his strong arms.

“Mm—mmmh, you’re so good.” Zayne pulled away from your cunt and curled his digits on a different angle. His final touch sent you hurtling off the edge and your pussy erupted in a massive orgasm, your juices drenching his hand, making him gasp in response.

“I made you—”

“Yes, you did.” You whispered as your body kept quivering. He stepped back and you noticed the massive bulge straining in his trousers. “I think we need to do a more thorough internal exam, [ Y / N ]. Is that okay with you?” Zayne shyly pushed his glasses back up, a trace of your orgasm dropping down the lens.

You got up from the couch and held Zayne's hands, your bodies close together once more as you spoke. “From this point on, we have to learn together, because...it’ll be my first time doing this.,” You speak softly, looking into his eyes.

Zayne lightly stroked your cheek with confidence and certainty, his facial expression reflective of that. "Me too. Let's trust our feelings, okay?" He says. The mutual trust and willingness to follow your instincts is stronger now.

Zayne grabs her thighs and lifts her up in his arms, giving her a soft kiss. "Your room or mine?" He asks playfully, offering two choices. The ball is in Y/N's court, and he's giving her the chance to make the ultimate choice.

It doesn't matter. I want you. She answers confidently, making it clear that she's ready and willing to take things further and that she also wants him. Zayne nods and opts to bring it to your bedroom, giving you deep and slow kisses.

Zayne gently lays her down on the bed, kissing her gently and tenderly. Zayne keeps the kiss careful, as if he's being thoughtful and mindful of how delicate she might be feeling with what you are about to do.

"Do you...have protection?" You ask tentatively when you pull away, unsure of whether you should even say that out loud.

"Shit" He rarely curses, and that catches you off guard. He looks frustrated, and you can tell that he's annoyed by the situation. He says, "Well, since we're on the topic, I don't have any on me.."

"Don’t worry about that…I... have some." You shyly admit, letting him know that she does have protection, which puts his concerns to rest… for now.

A moment of relief for him as he took the box from your hand and saw that you had planned for protection. He took out his size, although he also questioned why you had these on hand.

Were you going to bring anyone else with you? An unusual sense of possessiveness surged to his neck, as though it were choking him. He fought out since he never wanted to think of you doing this with someone else but also didn't want to spoil the moment.

As if you had read his mind, you quickly tossed the box aside. “It’s not what you think!” you exclaimed, as you knew how this looked to him. “It’s a gag gift from Jenna for my last birthday.” You shyly admit.

You were cut off by Zayne's quiet laughter. “[ Y / N ], it’s okay, I believe you.” All traces of the dark possessiveness had vanished.

Zayne rises to his feet, his fingers making a descent down the front of his black shirt, slowly releasing each button as his eyes rake over your body. Parting your legs, you make space for him.

He removes the tie in the same unhurried fashion, seemingly content with his view of you. He shrugs out of the shirt sleeves, exposing curved biceps and defined pecs and abs. Then he crouches to remove his socks, never looking away.

You have such a keen sense of his proximity, the rhythm of his breaths, and the minute movements of his hands. It is rooted in the libido you get from being in his presence and is reinforced by the certainty that he will never let you down.

He moves as efficiently as possible, opening his slacks, releasing the belt, and shoving the remaining items of clothing onto the ground. His rock-hard body parts have been glimpsed in bits and pieces, but never all of him at once, fully nude.

His manhood lifts, protruding beyond the toned muscles on his v-line. He leans down with his eyes fixed on yours and an intense expression.

His eyes have a predatory look that makes you gasp. With his legs on the outside of yours, he crawls over you, straddling your thighs and prowling on hands and knees.

You were expecting him to pry open your legs and thrust between them, but he has consistently shown that he is not like the others.

With his mouth fused to yours, he hovers over you, caressing and fondling your thighs, chest, and hips with his hand. you can't breathe for how much his heavenly touches, heavy breathing, and passionate tongue drive you wild.

You tug at his shoulder, attempting to bring him closer. "Take off my dress, Zayne?"

Squeezing your thighs together, he uses both hands to remove the dress before lowering himself on top of you. His chest covers yours with muscle and heat while his eyes search your face as his weight presses you both into the mattress.

Your mouth opens to a delicious gasp, and he seizes it, his lips strong and aggressive, all his, his tongue sliding and claiming. His power acts as a shield, his large stature envelopes you, and his hands, seemingly in prayer, hold your face.

With your hips grinding greedily and your foreheads pressed together, you kiss through an infinite symphony of moans and heartbeats. Your bodies convulse in unison, holding the steely expanse of him in between you.

You squeeze your fingers around his cock, enjoying the sound of his strangled breath. His hips shift beneath you, his voice tortured. “Do you want to… top?” You nod without thinking twice.

In the next breath, he flips you, rolling you on top and folding your legs to straddle his hips. God, he's strong.

“I'll hold you. I'm going to lie and hold still until you tell me to move.” He softly strokes your hip. Until you gaze down at the huge, long cock rising up in front of you. Nervous energy trickles through your veins. You grip his shaft with both hands, stroking up and down, reacquainting yourself with his size. "Will it fit, Zayne?” Your breath rushes out.

“Mmhmm, we'll make it fit.” He chuckles softly and slides his palms up your torso, then plants a needy kiss on your lips.

You bend down and place a kiss over his temple, then you rise on your knees and help him put the condom on before positioning him between your legs.

True to his word, he doesn't thrust or move his hands. His eyes glow like a galaxy as he waits for you to draw him inside.

You lower onto him, inch by inch, marveling at the stretching sensation, the easy slide, the perfect fit. It's never this wet, this careful. You felt so full. Hungry. Relieved.

The sound of his guttural groan spurs you faster. When he's all the way in, you squeeze your inner muscles around him.

Zayne’s eyes clamped shut, muscles flexing in his jaw, his body relaxed beneath you. His eyes are shut. "Zayne?"

A throaty grunt is the only response he gives, charging your already overloaded senses with giddiness. And you haven't even moved yet.

You lean forward and press my lips to the ridge of his tense chest, then take off his glasses so he could be more comfortable. "This is it. We're doing it."

His eyes fly open, and he releases a satisfied chuckle. “Are we?” His hands tighten around your hips, his glare hard and demanding. "Fuck me, [ Y / N ]."

You were surprised by his sudden desperate and lewd display of affection. You roll your hips, testing the feel of him sliding against your insides and filling you with jolts of static.

His entire body trembles beneath you. “[ Y / N ]...” He wanted to move.

With your palms on his chest, you rotate along his shaft, lifting and rocking. The dragging, tickling strokes are unreal. The little shocks of electricity, the panting sounds of our breaths, everything centers around where you're joined.

You let loose, lifting your arms behind your head, closing your eyes, and circling your hips. When you bounce, your breasts press against his chest and the bed frame creaks. When you rock, your clit convulses.

“[ Y / N ]...” The headboard groans on his back.

You open your eyes and collide with his, a smile pulling at your cheeks. "You’re…good." You kiss his nose.

"God, [ Y / N ]." His biceps flex around your body, his thighs hardening beneath you. "I've never felt so…good."

“Move, Zayne. You can move…” You say and slide up his chest and thrust your hips, delighting in the feeling of the new angle. When you reach his lips, his tongue seeks yours, twirling and tasting.

If he wasn't your roommate and hadn't known him since childhood, you wouldn't believe that this is the first time he's felt the touch of a woman.

His kisses strengthen the brewing tide inside you. You sweep your hands over his biceps and cup his face. He deepens the kiss, the strong stretch of his jaw as erotic as the sinful way he glides his tongue.

With your hands on his face, you kiss him fiercely, passionately, while working your pussy up and down his length, while he dabbles with gentle thrusts.

"It's tight…" He grunts softly when you squeezed him with your pelvic muscles just to reinforce that side of things for him. It felt so naughty to be fucking your hot friend right in your bed. You could hear his cock sliding in and out of your slick tunnel with every thrust.

"I can make you feel better." You panted. Sliding a hand between your legs, you began to play with yourclit, knowing that it would make you squeeze and cum. The combination made your back arch hard and made you have to bite down on Zayne’s lips to stifle a loud moan.

"Come for me again..." He groaned softly, eyes fluttering close. And you did, your entire cunt contracting and you felt yourself squirt all over his cock, puddling out of your pussy and onto your bedsheets. He closed his eyes and you could feel your muscles milking his impressive dick into an orgasm.

When he opened then he met yours and it was almost primal the way he was looking at you— like you were the hottest woman he'd ever seen. His hips sped up and you feel yourself being pushed to another orgasm.

With one last thrust, his throbbing cock and fills up the condom, cock still balls deep inside you. The thick white stream kept coming as he gripped your hips and gasped silently.

"[ Y / N ]..." he gripped his cock and pulled out, stroking it, then pushing out the last few drops of his load.

“So Zayne, did you learn anything?" Your breath was coming in short pants. You let a finger trail down his abs while you both recovered from your highs. "I think you were quite thorough." His eyes followed your finger and you watched his muscles twitch before taking off the protection and tossing it to the trash can.

"I've learned a lot. Definitely." He gently lay you on his side and put your hair aside. He surprised you by grabbing your face and pulling you in for a soft kiss.

"Are you feeling okay?" Zayne asks, wanting to make sure that you are comfortable and pleased.

“Yes, you?”

"Yes, I am." You respond as he smiles down at you, adoring the way you brush the raven curtain from his face.

"Want me to change the sheets?" Zayne offered, wanting to make sure you had a comfortable sleeping environment. "No, stay, please..." The way you insisted him to stay, the way you wanted to not end the moment, made his stomach flutter in a different way entirely.

"But, can we sleep in your bed?" You look up at him with puppy eyes and he cannot resist that sight.

He smiles back and accepts your request, "Of course.” Zayne scoops you up in his arms and covers you with a blanket to keep you sheltered and warm from feeling exposed.

You lay together in bed and he holds you close against him, your head resting against his chest as your body lies next to his. "Comfy?" he says as he gently grabs your hand and kisses it.

"Very," He can feel your soft and sweet kisses on his neck, and he enjoys the warmth of your body as curled up next to him.

"Tomorrow... let me take you out for breakfast." Zayne says, kissing your forehead softly as he asks.

"How about your exam?" You ask, mentioning his test.

"It won't be until noon…” Zayne strokes your back. “Maybe we can squeeze in a last minute review too?"

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Consider this: Tony x F!Reader where they both have an insanely high sex drive…which leads them to do it at any and all given moments, regardless of where they are 🤔🤭

Libido

A/N: This ask has been marinating in my inbox for a long time now. Heart it, reblog it and comment if you’ve enjoyed reading :)

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ smut, fluff.

Tony Stark Masterlist

.

“What was that, Y/N?”

You covered a needy little moan that escaped with a cough as you squirmed in your seat, trying to appear as normal as you could in front of the camera. This pushed your colleague to ask if you were okay, a question he really didn’t need answered.

Not when you had a certain cocky, billionaire genius between your legs, stroking your glistening folds with a shit-eating grin on his face. The table you sat at conveniently covered your lower half, making you appear perfectly innocent on the meeting call while your boyfriend teased you relentlessly.

It was payback for the time you’d snuck into his lab to give him the best head of his life - which he admitted to, while he was on a phone call with Thaddeus Ross.

Not that he would ever discourage you from doing it again but the dichotomy of Tony’s warning glares and vice-like grip in your hair to guide you along his length had felt too good to miss.

“I um—I’m sorry I think there’s something wrong with my network here.” Quickly switching off your camera, you went on mute as you felt Tony slide two fingers inside your pussy, grinning victoriously as you let out a moan you’d been stifling.

“I hate you, Stark.” You panted, lifting your hips to match his pace as he massaged your slick walls.

“Love you too, baby.” He smirked, kissing your inner thigh lovingly while bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Put that mouth to good use now, make me come.” With that you guided his face where you needed him the most.

The two of you often had a hard time keeping your hands off of each other. And you didn’t even try. Finding any and every place you could to get naughty. Be it on missions, plane rides or meetings, you two would make sure to christen the unlikeliest of places.

.

“What if they hear us?”

You would think your urgent whispers would make the man halt his ministrations but no, they seemed to spur him on.

“Better be quiet then.”

Tony murmured against your lips as he slid into your wetness with ease, muffling your moan that almost escaped by covering your mouth with his hand.

While the communal kitchen pantry was a sizeable space, the door wasn’t exactly sound proof. And with the team lounging right in the adjacent room, you were walking a thin line of hot, sneaky sex and outing your relationship to them all.

It was movie night, and while the team seemed blissfully unaware, you and Tony had snuck into the kitchen under the pretext of getting more popcorn. His wandering hands led you to pull him into the pantry urgently, wanting him to take you right there. You craved the man as if it were a primal need.

“Tony, I need more. Please..” you cried, digging your fingernails into his shoulders while he held you up against the cabinets, your legs wrapped around his hips as he began moving ever so slowly.

“Shh. I got you, sweetheart.”

With his lips murmuring promises against your skin, he picked up his pace, making his length brush deliciously against the spot that made your knees weak.

You weren’t sure if you could hold your moans in any longer as he drove you closer to the edge, his thrusts picking up on the urgency you both felt.

“Y/N? Are you in there? I thought you were getting popcorn.” Bruce’s voice made you stop abruptly. He was right outside and could come in any minute.

“Yeah! I just wanted to get some extra candies too. I’ll—I’ll be right out.”

You felt Tony grin against your neck hearing your lame reason, knowing all the candies you could possibly imagine were already laid out on the kitchen island.

“Alright. Do you know where Tony is?” Bruce frowned as he glanced at the array of snacks already sitting there.

Tony resumed his actions, not bothering to cover your mouth any more while your eyes were fixed on the shadows of Bruce’s feet that were visible at the bottom right outside the shut door. You held your breath, glaring at the man who was now moving inside you without a care in the world.

“Uh, not really, Bruce. He’s probably back in his room, old man needs his sleep!” You joked, watching the doctor finally walk away as Tony bit down on your neck.

“You’re gonna pay for that, Y/L/N.” he warned.

“Yeah? I can’t wait, Stark.”

.

“Wait! Found another twig.”

Turning around, you blinked in confusion as Tony’s arms went around you, movements exaggerated as his fingers carded through your hair to pluck stray leaves and a twig from them.

“Don’t look so innocent, you know where your mouth has just been.”

He smirked, giving your hair a gentle but firm tug as his lips descended onto yours, tasting the last of his saltiness on your tongue.

The team was on a mission and you’d just happened to have found a secluded spot in the woods that surrounded the area. Your make out session had turned into a quickie while the team was oblivious to your activities.

You hadn’t officially announced you were together, the thrill of all excited you, plus, you wanted to keep what you had to yourself just a bit longer. It was nothing short of a wild ride sneaking around with Tony Stark.

Though you had a feeling Rhodey had his doubts that something was up, then again, he knew Tony inside out. And according to him, his behaviour had changed significantly since you’d walked into his life. He laughed and slept more, cribbed less, and the way his eyes lit up every time you were near, Rhodey was certain his best friend was smitten.

His eager length twitched against your thigh once again as you kissed, making you nip at his bottom lip before playfully pushing him away.

“I’ve already taken care of my distraction for the day.” You called over your shoulder, heading back to where the team was. Nat gave you pointed look which you dismissed, your heart still beating faster as you took a seat next to her.

I think you lost your underwear somewhere —Your favourite distraction.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, revealing a message from your secret boyfriend. While you made up an excuse to where you had been, Tony caught your eye and pulled something out of his pocket with a victorious grin. Your panties.

[urrmomzfavorite]

PICK A CARD YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE

psstt check my masterlist if you want more readings from me !

Pile one :  cards ( the devil, judgement, the lovers)

Pile one i’m hearing that it was a long time coming. Your future spouse feels truly intense about you, it’s weird you just provoke a reaction deep inside them. It’s not uncomfortable but it takes some time to get used to. I feel a sense of belonging and celebration, your fs feels like you’re a dream come true, the sexual tension between the both of you is intense. I could cut it with a knife. This person spends a lot of time watching you sleep, not in a creepy way but they like how in peace you look when you sleep. This person is experienced when it comes to sex, and they love taking charge and having you at their mercy. This person is quick witted and sharp when it comes to their mind. They would spend a lot of time looking at your pictures, they can’t get over how beautiful you are.They have a zest for life and a sense of freedom that truly inspires you. They would be amazing mentor to you ( you guys could have a big age difference, big for you at least). You are going to learn a lot from this person. I feel they get surprised by how much power you have over them, it truly feels like saying no to you is difficult, they just want to serve your desires.

CHECK MY MASTER LIST FOR MORE READINGS !!

message me for a personal reading <3

Pile two: cards ( the magician, three of coins, eight of cups) 

Pile number two your future spouse manifested the sh*t out of you ! they truly feel like they did lol, down to the look i’m hearing. They truly find you enticing and sexy. They are going to love to show you off. You are going to meet your FS after a period of grief in your life, you were a bit depressed if i’m being honest. You might meet them at a social networking event, I feel like they’re just going to appear in your life and you’re going to just “know”.I didn’t get the tower card but it’s going to feel like a tower moment meeting this person, seeing this person. This person has so much power, they are a boss, manager, and could own their own business. But yet they find themselves kneeling in front of you. I LOVE THIS ENERGY! They have a lot of passion for you, and they will constantly compliment you. I feel like they notice the little details and it makes you feel seen. This person feels like you were the only missing piece in their life and i feel like everyday that goes by they realized how true this statement is.

CHECK MY MASTER LIST FOR MORE READINGS !!

message me for a personal reading <3

 

Pile three: cards ( Page of coins, The fool, Strength, Four of coins)

Pile three you will be friend with your FS before you guys get in a relationship, this person is really going to surprise you. The amount of joy in this relationship is uncanny. This person brings a lot of good things in your life, emotionally and financially. I see you guys going on several vacations together. Sometimes things could feel unclear and your person could spend a lot of time in their mind. But their love for you is real and you will feel like they have the key to your heart. You will keep your relationship private for the most part. People will know you guys are together but outside of this information I don’t feel like they would know much more. This is a powerful love that makes you appreciate the little things and life and someone for who they are not what you think they could be. A lot of trust in each other too. You guys stand like a pillar next to the other. 

CHECK MY MASTER LIST FOR MORE READINGS !!

message me for a personal reading <3

[tigerpearlsworld]

Pick a card

( How to move forward? )

Before you choose a pile, take a moment to breathe deeply and connect with your intuition. This is a general pick-a-card reading, where the universe's infinite energies align with your path to bring you the guidance you need. Know that you can only choose one pile. The message you receive is not just for you to resonate with, but for you to realize in time as the truth unfolds in your journey. To truly receive your message, you must follow your heart’s instinct, not your expectations. Look beyond the surface and see what your soul is trying to reveal to you.

How to Choose Your Card: Breathe in deeply. Breathe out slowly. Light a candle or incense, and clear your mind. Meditate on the beating of your heart, allowing your thoughts to flow naturally. Let go of doubts, and trust what your heart is guiding you towards. Close your eyes, visualize a light forming in your heart, and feel its pull. When you open your eyes, choose the image that your heart calls to the most.

For some of you maybe number, colour, or image will help.

A Final Message for You: Your heart is your guide, not your mind. Surrender to the wisdom that lies within you.

And for those who are seeking answers about love, fate, and destiny, I send my prayers to the stars to bless you with clarity, strength, and the energy to embrace your path.

May you receive what you are meant to know.

( Choose the pile: )

Pile 1:

Pile 2:

Pile 3:

Pile 4:

The reading starts. . .

Pile 1:

Words: tears, rage, resentment, sorrow, loud, betrayal, identity, name.

Element: Water

Animal: Fox and Fish

Vibes: A storm brewing inside ready to burst

Key to move forward: Acknowledge and process emotions

Cards: ( king of wands in reverse, three of wands, two of pentacles, the magician, four of cups, knight of pentacles)

What's blocking you?

You might be feeling like you're stuck in an endless loop, unsure of how to proceed....there seems to be a conflict between your desires and your ability to take action.

You may have a strong passion but are unable to channel it effectively. Either you are doubting your abilities, or external circumstances are making you feel powerless. You may be feeling dissatisfied with your options...rejecting what’s in front of you while longing for something else. There is also this lack of direction, confidence, or vision. I also see for some there is this mismatch or difficulty in balancing your priorities in life. Like perhaps you are overwhelmed with responsibilities, struggling to manage work, relationships, or personal goals. You may feel like you're juggling too many things without real progress.

How to move forward ?

I see that your current struggles are actually paving the way for you for something big....Allow the chaos to guide you towards clarity. And like stop resisting change-your true growth lies in embracing the discomfort and pushing forward.

I also see you just need to believe in yourself more. Instead of waiting for the perfect moment, use your current skills and start making things happen. Because I see opportunities are there but you just don't want to see them because you wanted something else. Try to make work of what you have right now so you can get what you actually wanted. Yk. Also if you’re feeling stagnant, consider learning something new, networking with people outside your usual circles, or exploring different opportunities. Your future is bigger than your present reality - you just have to start moving towards it. And like You don’t have to figure everything out at once. Just start with small actions that build towards your larger goal.

Messages from the animal which came for you

(I have a special delivery for you as I sense this both animal coming means you have the talent and the traits of both this animal in some way or shape)

::Fox & Fish::

The fox is cunning the fish is lost.

The fox is earthly the fish is not.

The fox moves smart it finds its way,

The fish just drifts caught in the sway.

The fox stays sharp it sees the game,

The fish feels deep yet lacks a name.

The fox adapts, it bends, it weaves,

The fish must choose where it believes.

The fox seeks paths not just the tide,

The fish must swim not run and hide.

So take the wisdom, take the flow,

Be like the fox—yet let waters go.

So, Instead of drifting aimlessly you must make intentional choices. Instead of overthinking and being overly cunning you must trust the journey. Moving forward requires balancing both the fish and the fox inside you. Knowing when to act cunning and when to act with intuition not abandoning one for another.

As the fish says: don't just drift swim with intention

And the fox says: stay connected to those who support you-don’t isolate yourself.

Final words for you:

Right now you are in this important transitional phase in life. It might feel chaotic....but this discomfort is necessary for your growth. Instead of letting fear, indecision, or dissatisfaction hold you back...trust in your ability to rebuild. Start small plan strategically, and embrace the transformation that is already happening within you. You have the power to create the life you want-it’s time to take the first step.

A song for you (this one's my fav btw)

Pile 2:

Words: boundless, innocence, light, unlimited, persistence

Element: Ether

Animal: Octopus and Phoenix

Vibes: Cycle of renewal

Key to move forward: Forgive yourself and others

Cards: ( Three of cups, six of swords, ten of wands, the hermit, five of cups, six of swords )

What's blocking you?

you’re carrying a heavy emotional or mental burden that is making it difficult to move forward. you will face many setbacks which may feel like failures but are actually opportunities to begin again tbh...

Responsibilities may be overwhelming you making it feel more difficult to see a clear path forward. I also see you're in deep worries, overthinking, or even have sleepless nights. My question to you is are you holding onto guilt, regret, or anxieties about the future? *it's okay to feel anxious about the future but dont punish yourself for it*

*It's okay*

I see lingering sadness and disappointment clouding your aura you might be dwelling on some past disappointments, heartbreaks, or missed opportunities. I feel that you are focusing way too much on what went wrong rather than what can still be built. I see you are also withdrawing from people or avoiding seeking help. You might feel like you have to go through this alone but that is not the case.

*it may feel like you're stuck in a situation and that it's the end and there is no escape that this it. But i see you'll get another chance. Trust me... I see a light returning in your life. You need to give yourself a chance. Forgive yourself. And try again. I know it's difficult but I also know you have the strength to move pass it. Don't lose faith. *

How to move forward?

You need to understand one thing and that is setbacks are not failures but opportunities to try again with more wisdom. Instead of seeing closed doors, look for the new paths opening up. Yk. You have ability to recover and move pass this obstacles but only if you allow it. You need to allow yourself to let go of old disappointments and shift your mindset. You need to move on from painful situations.*i know it's difficult but I know you can do it* Whether it’s past relationships, old failures, or toxic patterns now is the time to leave behind what no longer serves you. Release it!!! Release the wounds, the emotional weight!!!! Release the mental weight!!!! Release!!!!

[ YOU CANNOT DO EVERYTHING ALONE! DROP WHAT ISN'T YOURS TO CARRY!!!!!! ]

You don’t have to go through this alone.

Joy, laughter, and companionship will help break the cycle of sadness and isolation. Even if it’s just opening up to one person, reach out.

Messages from the animal which came for you

(Hope my special delivery message coming from both your animals cheer you up and make you see your light which finally helps you move forward)

:::Octopus & Phoenix:::

The Octopus clings and it stretches thin,

Lost in the weight of where it’s been.

It reaches far and holds too tight,

Dimming its own for another’s light.

The Phoenix rises its flames ignite,

Burning the past and embracing flight.

You are not chains and nor scars,

As you are the fire that births the stars.

Release the weight let go, be free,

To rise from the ash to be who you're meant to be.

»»————>»»————>»»————>

*( ╥﹏╥ ) that last line didn't rhyme but you get the gist*

So... Your animals ask you "Have you been too emotionally invested in other people’s problems? Do you take on too much responsibility for others?" To regain balance, learn to say no and create space for yourself. Allow yourself to prioritize your own well-being.

Also burn away the past and step into your true power as its time. You are not defined by your mistakes, your heartbreaks, or your struggles. This is the time to consciously release what has been keeping you stuck. It may take effort, but once you commit to healing, you will lighter, braver, free and more strong and most importantly more you.

As the octopus says: don't give too much to others at the cost of your own well being.

And the Phoenix says: Release the past, step into transformation and embrace your true power.

Final words for you:

You have been through emotional exhaustion, disappointments, and self-doubt, but now is the time to rise. Stop carrying the past.....stop isolating yourself, and start reconnecting with your inner fire.

You are stronger than you realize, and the future is waiting for you to step into your power.

A song which came for you

Pile 3:

Words: Solitary, analytical, secretive, truth, healing, sharp, visions, rebellious, detach

Element: Air

Animal: Tarantula and Moth

Vibes: Acknowledge your hidden wounds

Key to move forward: Acceptance

Cards: ( seven of swords, judgement, ten of swords, ace of wands, eight of cups and death )

What's blocking you?

you are in a phase of healing and deep self-examination i see you may be facing difficult realizations about your past, your choices, or your relationships.

I see that someone may have hurt you deeply, or you might have been involved in a situation where trust was broken. If this was a relationship, you may have been lied to, used, or manipulated. If this is about career or life choices, you might feel like you've been misled or that your own self-doubt kept you from making the right decisions. I see you're running away from facing the truth which I feel like deep inside you already know...if that makes sense? you don't want to face it. I also see the fear of the unknown, fear of opening your wounds, fear of letting anyone in again....You like to feel sure, confident you know life is full of unpredictability but you don't like that....that part where you aren't in control. you want to be sure of yourself.

I also see there is a resistance on your part ....Are you resisting walking away from something (or someone) that no longer serves you? You might be avoiding a hard truth either about yourself or someone else.....Are you refusing to see something that is obvious? Are you repeating the same mistakes? Are you drawn to things that burn you, even though you know better? These are the questions which keep popping in my head for you. You may feel like you’ve hit rock bottom but this is actually a turning point and like If something is draining you...whether it’s a relationship, a job, or a mindset - it’s time to let it go.

How to move forward?

Whatever has ended in your life....whether it's a relationship, a job, an old version of yourself - accept that it had to ended for your highest good. The old version of you can't carry on for long....the old version of you.....the one that tolerated deception, settled for less, or lived in fear it's is dying. Instead of clinging to what no longer serves you, embrace the change. Let the past burn away so something new can take its place. I also see you have been hesitating, but you already know what must be done. you need to listen more to your Intuition and avoid self-sabotage. You need to move on from situations that no longer serve your soul. Whether it’s emotional baggage, toxic relationships, or an outdated mindset, it’s time to let go.

Don't jump from one situation to another just because you don't want to feel or see the truth inside you.... You keep jumping from one thing to another without committing. You try to act tough...not wanting to see the truth that you're in pain. The pain still controls you and deep inside you know it's the truth.that is why for some of you....you may like to serve, be there for others, help, fix others....its like a unconscious thing you do where fixing others make you feel like you're doing something for yourself. But are you? You can't fix people. You have a love and a heart too...which has so much love to give but you need to first tend and take care of your own hurt before you try to fix/tend others. A question comes for you asking have you been distracted by illusions instead of focusing on real growth? If you want to break free from this....choose one path and commit to it fully. Whether it’s career, healing, or self-discovery, see it through to completion.

I see a new something will start in your life soon.... You need to act quick. Whether it’s a new passion, a new vision, or a new way of living, act on it NOW!

Messages from the animal which came for you

The tarantula says: Slowdown, reflect and follow your true purpose.... You know your TRUTH... Stay true to your path.

The moth says: STOP!!!!! Stop jumping impulsively into new things just because they seem easier or more exciting.

Basically this combination for you is a easy way of basically stop chasing distraction and stay true to your path. What it means is moving forward requires committing to a path, avoiding unnecessary distractions, and not letting indecision or overthinking lead to inaction.*i literally felt like a mom scolding a child during this reading lol but ayyyy.... That's how it's coming. Don't shoot the messenger I'm just saying what I'm seeing*

Final words for you:

You are being pushed to evolve whether you like it or not but you will be pushed until you acknowledge....and that's on period* This is your moment of truth. Let go of the past pain, the deception, and the illusions don't be delulu and face the hard decision you have been avoiding.

*for some I see maybe it's a death of someone close to you which you haven't processed yet you need to feel and not bottle it inside.... Let go of them tears.....Feel what you must feel*

Stop chasing temporary distractions and focus on what truly matters.

Lastly, You already know what must be done and now my question to you is.....will you take the step forward?

A song which for you

Pile 4:

Words: Speed, energy, instinct, selfish, vitality, healing, action, rejuvenation

Element: Earth

Animal: Buffalo and Golden Egg

Vibes: Taking the step

Key to move forward: Shift on perspective

Cards: ( The world, The moon, The chariot, Six of wands, Ten of pentacles, Six of swords )

What's blocking you ?

I clearly see you're in a verge of Major breakthrough.... a major transition is happening moving from one phase of life to another, but doubts, fears, or unfinished emotional business is kinda making you slow.

I see there may be some sort of subconscious fear or emotional confusion keeping you from fully embracing the next step. There is desire in you for success which is good but I see it kinda effecting in a way where you are trying too hard to control the outcome instead of trusting the process. I even see for you that the success you're running for is within reach too.....but you might be too focused on external validation- which makes me ponder like are you moving forward for yourself, or to prove something to others?

You are heading towards something better which is great but are you emotionally prepared to leave the past behind? because I clearly see and I am seeing it very much that there is or may be some unresolved lessons that need to be integrated before moving forward.

*Tbh usually i get reading where the cards forces to leave the past behind for people but in this case ig it's different ...which I find hilarious.personally.(⁠⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠⁠)*

Random ik but I also see...hmmm.... It's random but anyway I see.... some long-term stability is at stake now idk what it is you'll know better but whether financially, emotionally, or in relationships I'm being asked to ask you this that "Are you hesitating because you’re afraid of losing security?"

How to move forward?

"TRUST YOUR PATH" Ikr.... In the entire reading from the start this was literally getting repeated over and over and over and over..... Istg... It was buzzing in my ear.

Listen you came here to know how to move forward right?

So it's this simple.... You do not need to have all the answers right now. Yep. You don't. But... trust that you are on the right path, even if the road ahead is unclear even if it doesnt match the big picture right now which you had in your head for a while but for now just move with faith, not fear okayyyy?? Because I see you need clarity on big time! And I see you'll get your clarity when you begin to forward.

I also see you guys are the kind of people who just rush forward without thinking what is ahead of you and that you may seek external validation alot...even if not consciously you guys do it subconsciously and that's on PERIOD!!!! Don't lie to me....i can clearly see that through and through. But listen here I don't judge but I feel what you need is not the external validation but the intenal truth....and I see your deepest truth is already within you, but you must create space to hear it. Engage in meditation, solitude, or introspection. Instead of seeking answers externally, listen..LISTEN to what your inner self is telling you.

Also practice with writing down what you are ready to leave behind, then consciously let it go. This will create space for your new chapter to begin. Because i see success for you. BIG TIME SUCCESS!!!! but make sure you are moving towards what truly fulfills you, not what looks good to others. Also focus on long-term stability whether in career, love, or personal goals rather than short-term recognition.

Messages from the animal which came for you

As you got both the Buffalo and golden egg contrasting energy yet not Yk? But this animals basically will help you understand your energies better and how you could use it.

(Special delivery poem from the animals for you)

::::Buffalo & Golden egg::::

The Buffalo walks strong and wise,

Through storm and dust ...beneath vast skies.

It trusts the path it does not fear,

Each step is steady, bold, sincere.

The Golden Egg so still, so bright,

Holds whispers deep a heart’s true light.

No rush, no chase, just space to be,

To hear the sound of destiny.

One moves ahead, one waits within,

A dance of earth, a song of wind.

To move ahead...embrace them both,

The strength to walk & the soul to growth.

▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▥▧▧▧▧▧▥▥▧▥▧▥▧

So your animals say that you need the company of both of them to move forward you can't rely and depend on one abandoning the other. To move forward you will need to integrate both energies....If you focus only on pushing forward (Buffalo) you will lose touch with your inner truth. And If you focus only on introspection (Golden Egg), you might struggle to take action. So you need to create a balance you understand?

Final words for you:

You are on the edge of something amazing. The only thing left to do is trust yourself, release the past, and step forward with faith.

No song came for you when channeling...I'm sorry :((

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the kleptocrats and oligarchs hunt civil society groups to the ends of the Earth

It's a great time to be an oligarch! If you have accumulated a great fortune and wish to put whatever great crime lies behind it behind you, there is an army of fixers, lickspittles, thugs, reputation-launderers, procurers, henchmen, and other enablers who have turnkey solutions for laundering your reputation and keeping the unwashed from building a guillotine outside the gates of your compound.

The field of International Relations has studied the enemies of the Klept in detail: the Transnational Activist Network is a well-documented phenomenon. But far more poorly understood is the Transnational Uncivil Society Network, who will polish any turd of sufficient wealth to a high, professional gloss.

These TUSNs are the subject of a new, timely scholarly paper by Alexander Cooley, John Heathershaw and Ricard Soares de Oliveira: "Transnational Uncivil Society Networks: kleptocracy’s global fightback against liberal activism," published in last month's European Journal of International Relations:

https://ora.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid:5e5a3052-c693-4991-a7cc-bc2b47134467/download_file?file_format=application%2Fpdf&safe_filename=Cooley_et_al_2023_transnational_uncivil_society.pdf&type_of_work=Journal+article

The authors document how a collection of institutions – some coercive, others organized around good works – allow kleptocrats to take power, keep power, and use power. This includes "wealth managers, company providers, accounting firms, and international bankers" who create the complex financial structures that obscure the klept's wealth. It also includes "second citizenship managers and lawyers" that facilitate the klept's transnational nature, both to provide access to un-looted, prosperous places to visit, and boltholes to escape to in the face of coup or reform. It includes the real-estate brokers and other asset facilitators, who turn whole precincts of the world's greatest cities into empty safe-deposit boxes in the sky, while ensuring that footlose criminal elites always have a penthouse to perch in when they take a break from the desiccated husks they've drained dry back home.

Of course, it also includes the PR managers and philanthropic ventures that allow the klept to launder their reputation, to make themselves synonymous with good deeds rather than mass murder. Think here of how the Sacklers used charity to turn their family name into a synonym for culture and fine art, rather than death by opioid overdose:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Beyond providing comfort to "Politically Exposed Persons" and "High Net-Worth Individuals," TUSNs are concerned with neutralizing TANs. Activists in these transnational networks play an inside-outside game: in-country activists will recruit peers abroad to bring attention to the crimes of their local kleptocrats. These overseas partners target the klept in the places they go to play and spend, spoiling their fun – and if they succeed in getting corrupt leaders censured abroad, then in-country activists can leverage that bad press to fight the klept at home.

To fight this "Boomerang Effect," TUSNs seek to burnish corrupt officials' reputations abroad, getting their names on humanitarian prizes, beloved sports teams, cultural institutions and great universities. They seek to capture international governance institutions that might wrong-foot kleptocrats, co-opting them to enable and even celebrate looters.

When it comes to elite philanthropy, TUSNs are necessarily selective. Kleptocrats' foundations don't fund anti-kleptocratic groups – they stick to "education, public health, the environment and the arts." These domains steer clear of human rights questions that might implicate their benefactors. Russian oligarchs love children's charities and disability rights – provided they don't target the Russian state.

If charitable giving is reputation laundering's carrot, then "reputation management" is the laundry's stick. Think of organized copyfraudsters who clone websites that have criticized their clients, then backdate the articles, then accuse the originals of infringing copyright in order to get them de-listed from Google or taken offline altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#dark-ops

Reputation managers also spend a lot of time in court. In the UK – the world's leader in libel tourism, thanks to a legal system designed to let posh monsters sue muckraking journalists into silence – Russian oligarchs have perfected the art of forcing their critics to shut up and go away:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/04/londongrad/#enablers

Indeed, London is a one-stop shop for the global klept, a place were forelock-tugging Renfields will buy you a Mayfair mansion under cover of a numbered company, sue your critics into silence, funnel your money into an anonymous Channel Islands account:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

They'll sell you whole galleriesworth of "fine art" that you can have relocated to a climate-controlled container in a Swiss or Irish freeport:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/14/poesy-the-monster-slayer/#moneylab

They'll give your thick-as-pigshit progeny a PhD and never check to see whether he wrote his thesis himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LSE%E2%80%93Gaddafi_affair

Then they'll hook you up with a cyber-arms dealer to hunt your enemies by capturing their devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/27/gas-on-the-fire/#a-safe-place-for-dangerous-ideas

But don't let Brexit stop you from shopping for bargains on the continent. The Golden Passports of the EU – available in a variety of flavors, from Maltese to Cypriot to Portuguese – offer the discerning failson access to the luxury good shops and fleshpots of 27 advanced economies, making it a favorite of the Khmer Riche – the junior klept of Cambodia's ruling faction:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

But golden passports are for amateurs. Skilled klepts travel on diplomatic passports, which offer the twin benefits of free movement and consequence-free criminality, thanks to diplomatic immunity. The former Kazakh dictator's son-in-law enjoyed a freewheeling diplomatic life in Vienna; one daughters of the dictator of Tajikistan had a jolly time as an envoy to DC; another, to London (where else?).

All this globetrotting serves a second purpose: when rival elites seize power back home and force the old guard into exile, those ex-monsters can show up in the lands they called their second homes and apply for asylum. It turns out that even bomb-the-boats UK will welcome any asylum seeker who enters via the private jet terminal at City Airport (to be fair, these "refugees" have extensive properties in Zone 1 and country places in the Home Counties, so they won't need housing).

This stuff works. After Kazakh state goons murdered at least 14 protesters at a Zhanaozen oil facility in 2011, human rights groups around the world took up the cause. But they were effectively neutralized by TUSNs, with former UK PM Tony Blair writing on behalf of the Kazakh government to the EU condemning any kind of international investigation into the mass killings (add "former Prime Ministers" to the list of commodities for sale in the UK to sufficiently well-resourced murderer).

The authors close their paper with two case-studies. The first is of the daughters of Uzbek dictator Islam Karimov, Gulnara and Lola. And President Karimov was indeed a dictator: he trapped his population within his borders, forced them to use unconvertible scrip in place of money, and ordered the murder of hundreds of peaceful protesters, plunging the country into international isolation.

But while Uzbeks were sealed within their borders, Gulnara Karimov became an international player, running a complex network of businesses that mixed the products of the nation's oilfields with her family's fortune. She solicited – and received – bribes from Teliasonera, MTS and Vimpelcom, who were all vying for the contract to provide service in Uzbekistan. All told, she extracted more than $1b in bribes, laundering them through Latvia, Hong Kong and New York. She acquired real-estate in France and Switzerland, and her spree continued until her father collaborated with Uzbek security to seize her assets and place her under house-arrest.

Lola Karimova-Tillyaeva was Gulnara's estranged younger sister. She and her husband Timur Tillyaev ran the Dubai-based SecureTrade, which did extensive business with "opaque Scottish Limited Partnerships," laundering more than $127m in a single year to offshore accounts in the UAE and Switzerland. They acquired many luxe assets – a jet, a Californian villa, and an LA perfumier.

Lola styled herself as the face of the Karimovas abroad, a "philanthropist and cultural ambassador." She was a UNESCO ambassador and commissioned works of monumental art – and also sued the shit out of news outlets that reported factual matters about her family repressive activity at home. She organized AIDS charities in the name of Uzbekistan – even as her father was imprisoning a writer for publishing a book explaining how to have safer sex.

The second case-study is on Isabel dos Santos, "Africa's richest woman," daughter of Angolan dictator Jose Eduardo dos Santos. Isabel's vast fortune stemmed from her personal capture of vast swathes of the third-largest economy in Africa: "telecommunications, banking, diamonds, real estate and cement, among many others." Isabel enjoyed seemingly limitless access to state credit and co-investment, and was given first crack at newly deregulated industries. Foreign firms that invested in Angola were required to "partner" with Isabel's businesses.

Isabel claimed to be a "self-made woman" – a claim credulously parroted by the western press, including the FT. She used her homegrown fortune to become a major player abroad, especially in Portugal, where she was represented by the leading Portuguese law-firm PLMJ. Her enablers are who's who of corruption-loving lickspittles: McKinsey, Ernst and Young, Boston Consulting Group, and the Spanish BigLaw firm Uri Menendez.

Isabel cultivated a public facade of philanthropic giving and public spirited activism, serving as head of the Angolan Red Cross. She attended Davos and spoke at the LSE (she was also invited to Oxford, but her invitation was subsequently rescinded). On social media, she dismissed critics of her wealth and corruption as "colonialists," decrying their "racism" and "prejudice."

Isabel dos Santos's corrupt sources of wealth were finally, irrefutably exposed through the Luanda Leaks, in which the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists mapped the network of "top banks, management consultants and legal firms that were central to dos Santos’s operations."

Both case studies shed light on the network of brilliant, driven enablers and procurers without whom the world's greatest monsters would falter. It's a rare window on a secretive world, one that is poorly understood even by its inhabitants. As Michael Mechanic wrote in Jackpot, his 2021 book on vast, intergenerational fortunes, the winners of the lucky orifice lottery often lack any real understanding of how The Money is structured, grown and protected:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

This point was reiterated by Abigail Disney, in a brave piece on what it's like to grow up subject to the oversight of these millionaires who babysit the children of billionaires:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

This is an important contribution to the literature. We naturally focus on the ultrawealthy individuals whose reputations and fortunes are the subject of so much attention, but without the TUSNs, they would be largely helpless.

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/24/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

--

Colin (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palace_of_Westminster_from_the_dome_on_Methodist_Central_Hall_(cropped).jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[starillusion13]

Poisoned Love

Pairing: bff! Renjun x f!reader x bff! Haechan

W.C: 10.5k

Genre: Yandere, Friends to lovers, SMUT

Warnings: Pervert! Hyuckren, Dom! Haechan, Dom! Renjun, manhandling, toxic ex, possessive, restraining acts, obsession, anonymous messages, calls, texts, gifts, threats, crying, scared, privacy invasion, gaslighting(?), pwp (don't do it sillies), oral(f. Rec.), fingering, nipply play, cum as lube, praising, sucking, biting, double-penetration, lots of kissing, anal sex, finger sucking, multiple sex scene, forgot to add anything? maybe

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LOVE @renjunnnaaa

Network: @kvanity-main

MINORS DONT INTERACT UNDER THE POST 🔞

"I told you not to put those choco chips now. Those were supposed to be the last step." The older boy grumbled and placed the bottles on the countertop, before glaring at the younger one who started laughing all of a sudden.

"you think I have put those in the mixture?" the younger one smirked and took away a bottle from the row. The other one cursed him in his head for disturbing him at every step.

The younger leaned against the counter and pulled out his phone with a smile. He seemed too excited about what he was about to do. The older one hit his bicep and glared, "then where is it?"

"in my tummy." He said but didn't glance at the furious boy who was about to kill him with the knife beside him.

He stared at him in disbelief, "seriously?" The younger one nodded and smiled at the small screen in his hand and this made the boy beside him to snatch away his phone and was about to throw it away when they heard their house bell ringing.

It was not like usual but someone was desperately pressing the switch as if they got attacked by someone or being chased by a mad dog. Haechan, who was near the kitchen door, quickly stepped towards the grand living room and then walked towards the door. He didn't hesitate to waste any time to open the door because if the person outside was a possible threat, then the guard must have informed him about it but without any commotion from anyone, he opened the door.

Two arms wrapped around him and someone's face was pressed against his chest. The familiar touch and the soft voice calling out his name, "Haechan...." was enough to make him realize the person who was hugging him. He raised a hand and stroked her hairs while the other hand pulled her inside the door, before locking it behind him.

Renjun was standing in a distance from both of them and when he noticed the figure in his hold, his eyes went wide and quickly stepped forward, "what happened?" he patted her back and caressed her to calm her down because she was too scared of something and clutching the younger male's shirt tightly in her hold.

"y/n...tell me what happened?" Haechan whispered the words, not wanting to raise his voice higher than that volume. You didn't pull apart when he tried to look at your face so he guided you to the sofa and made you sit with him. Renjun stood in front of you with folded hands. When he noticed a maid passing by the stairs, he called her and asked her to prepare the cake from where they had left. She obligingly nodded and went towards the kitchen and his attention was again brought back to you when you spoke up.

Pulling yourself away from Haechan, you took deep breaths and bit your lip. He brushed your hairs back and pulled your face up by your chin and noticed your tear strained cheek and red eyes with red plump lips because of your habit of biting lips in nervousness, "tell me, y/n. Is it the same reason?"

He knew. Both of them knew. Renjun scoffed as soon as you nodded. The way you were scared and nervous, they were more furious. It's getting too much. They can't let you live like this with the same thing repeating without any trace of stop from the other end of causing this mishap.

"Heachan, we need to stop this. She has already been through so much and now..." the younger one nodded at his words and smiled at you while patting your head, "how about you freshen up? You look like a mess. You already have so many things, even a room for yourself so go upstairs. We will be there soon."

Renjun extended his palm for you to grab and you did it. Looking at his face, he was smiling all the way when you stood up and turned towards Haechan and exchanged soft smiling goodbyes, just to leave for your supposed room. Renjun was holding your hand as if you were the fragile doll, well to him you were, his precious angel. He always reminds you that even if your status doesn't match with his and Haechan, you will always be their bestfriend, his angel.

Leaving you inside the room, he jogged to where Haechan was.

Looking around the room, you felt like you were at home. Well, you feel safer here than being at your apartment all alone. They have asked you to move in with them so many times but your common phrase that you don't want to be a burden to them makes them irritated. Well, not really. They appreciate your choices and decisions but not when you are living out there scared of the shit going on in your life recently.

Taking the necessary things from the drawer for a shower and then when you opened the closet, you were surprised. There were a lot of dresses, each of them being your favorites but there were only a few last time. It must be because they bought all of these because of your nearing birthday. You shook your head, chuckled and stepped inside the bathroom.

Meanwhile, the two boys were preparing everything to take along with them to your room. For the dinner, they opt to have it with you in your room and their maids arrange it in the way to their liking.

Renjun didn't allow anyone to enter your room so he took the trays and entered the door. Haechan was carrying other necessary stuff like extra pillows and water bottles.

"Hey! Are you fine?" He greeted you with a warm hug after putting all the stuff on the couch. Renjun placed the tray on the center table and turned towards you two. "So, what should we do now? What about movies?"

You pulled apart from the hug to reply to the standing male beside the table, "um...I don't want to bother you two if you have something to do but......thanks for letting me come here."

"y/n, we have said this before. You are our best-friend and it's natural for you to come here. Even we asked you to stay here to move in but you are the one not listening to us." Renjun stepped towards you before saying those words and cupped your face to plant a kiss on your forehead. "Come on. Hop on the bed."

"Let's have our time, forgetting all those negativities. Just let it be how you are feeling with us." Haechan said and brought a spoonful of cake to your lips.

"I can eat." You chuckled but he shook his head and urged you to open your mouth, "no, tell me how is the cake? I made it for you."

"you knew I was coming?" you were surprised.

Renjun shook his head, "No. we would have sent you the cake as a surprise and I made the batter for the whole process and he had just put it in the microwave without choco chips."

Haechan glared at him when he continued spilling what the younger one was doing since evening. Your laughter filled the room with their giggles while moving from one topic to another.

For a moment, you forgot what was the reason you came knocking at their door.

Their actions were too sweet. Always, they treat you tenderly. As if you are a porcelain doll to them, making you feel like one of the sophisticated items from their household. Skinship is very normal between you three, not in a weird way but hugging, cuddling with each other or kissing the other one for reassurance regarding a thing is common. Mainly, you are the one who receives kisses from both of them a lot. You are the one who kisses when you are joking with them a lot and also, they are missing your funny side when you are so quiet today.

Scooting towards the bed frame, you sit in between them and notice the double toned hair boy to place the tray in front of you. Haechan pulled you to his side when he noticed you zoning out and rubbed your arms, "do you want to talk about it?"

You blinked and turned towards him, "why is he doing this?"

He hummed and nodded to himself, "knew he was crazy for you. You thought of him as the perfect boyfriend but look when you found out his real intention, he is pulling off this shit." He hugged you and kissed the side of your head, "but it's okay. We are here to keep you safe."

"I know. You are here, both of you but what if he does something more? What if he tries to harm both of you." You clutched his wrist which was around your collarbone.

Renjun sat in his place beside you and smiled while patting your legs, "he won't. you know, no one can do anything to us, so stop thinking about that shithead and let's enjoy our time."

Yeah. Why are you still thinking about him? it's just going to make you feel more stressed and then scared to be alone. Well, should you say something that's been bugging your mind since afternoon. You wanted to say this for the last few days but your hesitation and what if... you don't know what to think more but you just want to stay closer to someone who feels like family.

"I want to move in with you here."

>>>><<<<

You once had a family, a nice one but the sudden storm in your life snatched everything from you. Your teenage life and your happiness, everything was gone but these two met you at the park in the colony changed your life. Of course, it was nowhere near your mediocre environment but that day after having your part time job, you were strolling around the streets when you stumbled to the grand exposure to the park with a huge garden. The place belongs to all the luxurious apartments and their wealthy owners.

You were just crying to yourself when a boy extended a handkerchief towards you. "Haechan." That was the only introduction he had with you. When you hesitated and tried to stand up and look away, the one named Renjun pushed you down lightly and held your hands, "hey...what happened?"

Their soothing voices, warm lingering touches and soft smiles made you let your heart out to them. Since that day, you somehow bumped into each other a lot. Them arriving at your café, or pulling up in front of the university in a luxury car. Everything was surprising to you. You didn't want so much attention on you or never wanted to live like a wealthy person but you wanted to stay with people who will be close to you.

Honestly, the apartment where you stay is the one these two helped you to buy so that you don't have to stay in that previous old and rusted area. You were so happy that, with an affordable rent and two friends supporting you was enough to motivate you to move forward. They were literally a blessing in your life and your gloomy days were soon turning into the bright ones.

Not long enough after having those happy days with your two new best friends, comes your school crush, rather your childhood best friend, Wooyoung. The way your eyes went wide when you noticed him standing at your university gate with Bouquet of red roses and him dressed up in a black leather fit. You instantly ran up to him and hugged around his neck whispering, "I missed you, woo."

"I missed you too, baby."

And then you shared your whole life story with each other at a restaurant where he invited you for his success. He finally got his father's business position and now moving to this new city, he got to know about you from a common friend.

The daily meetups and the reunion of the friendship blooms into a new stage of bonding. The kindle of love. He was the first one to approach you with the proposal and to both of your surprises, you accepted it quickly. Why not? He was always the one to care for you, to be there for you and now, to love you. You are more than blessed to have three of them with you in your life.

But, as we know, the happy days don't last long enough. It's been six months you were dating Wooyoung, and once, Renjun suddenly told you that your boyfriend seems a bit unusual to him. you let him be assured that you know your boyfriend for too long and he can't be bad. He just nodded and smiled at you.

It was early in the morning that you woke up, all smiles and in a terribly good mood. You didn't have your university classes to attain so it was not a big deal to spend your day as a lazy one. You were in the middle of making yourself lunch when the doorbell rang. You quickly rinsed your hands and wiped them on your apron before going to open the door.

There was no one but when you were about to close it, there was a gift box and a rose Bouquet with a letter attached to it. You were hesitating to pick it up and noticed your name written on the red card with a silver glittery ink. Closing the door behind you, you placed yourself on the sofa with the gifts.

'Dear y/n,

You seem so happy and lively every day. Is it because of me? I think so. Well, I am sure it must be the reason. Who else is going to keep you happy like me?

Let's not talk about this surprise when we meet. I want to see you blushing while remembering my gifts. You can do this for me, right?

I love you so much.

From unknown (your love)'

"Unknown? Wooyoung is really weird sometimes and I love you too." You kissed the letter before sliding it on the table top and inhaled the sweet smell which was already spreading across your room from the flowers in your hold. Deciding a nice place for them, you picked it up and put it in the vase. The gift box had a ring inside it with one more letter telling you how perfect and beautiful you would look with it.

As he told you, you kept it a secret from him. Every day, you received many gifts from him and never for once, you raised the topic about the gifts.

. .

One day when you were holding hands and returning to your apartment, you suddenly blurted out, "Thank you, Woo."

he was surprised, "for what?"

oh, you almost mentioned the gifts, "for...for everything, Woo. Thank you."

He turned you around to face him and kissed your lips, "Thanks to you too for accepting my love."

Who knew after that day, your life was about to change.

He texted you the next day that he was going for some business programs with his dad to a different country and he won't be able to meet you for how long he doesn't know and even though you were sad, you texted him back with enthusiasm and being a supportive girlfriend, you appreciated his work.

It was afternoon and you knew the timing, his gifts. But he was not there, then?

You opened the door, greeting with a teddy bear and chocolates.

'Sorry, y/n. I know you are missing me but for the compensation. Here, a gift for you.'

You smiled while happily taking the teddy bear to your room.

But later in the day, you got more letters and more flowers and these ones were not the usual ones like other days. Now, everyday your excitement for the gifts were turning into a nightmare. It was about pure obsession.

The letters were all about questions related to why you were wearing the dress to the restaurant, why you are not going to the university or why you are still in your bed and not eating properly. How the hell does he know about this? You were scared and the closest person to share this was your two best friends.

"Are you sure, that's him?" Renjun asked you the question for the third time and exchanged looks with Haechan who was equally stressed like you. They were so annoyed with the fact that someone or rather your boyfriend was invading your privacy. Even when you were throwing away some letters without reading, he dared to threaten you. He even sent pictures of you doing your chores in your apartment.

"Who else would do that? It's clear that he is the one who knows everything about me. He is my boyfriend and it clearly mentions that whatever the person is telling or doing is for the lover. In some he even mentioned himself as my boyfriend and who else will know that he is out of town?"

Haechan patted your back, "it's okay, y/n. calm down for me. we will find a solution to it. We won't allow him to do anything anymore."

"I'm scared...what if he tries to do something more."

"You should break up." You looked up quickly towards Renjun hearing his words. He was staring at you as if he expected your sudden gaze on him. He raised a brow at you and you felt defeated when you didn't know what to reply to him. you should break up then what else is holding you back.

Well, the idea of breaking up was the only option that seemed right when after a few days, you got a call from Wooyoung, "y/n! have you received my gift?"

Gift. The word was so endearing and loving from his mouth but to you it was a curse. You nodded as if he could see you, well all those pictures, then he might see you right? You have searched for the hidden cameras and all with your best friends, but nothing you could find, then how?

"I want words, y/n. don't just nod."

Your eyes went wide and quickly you cut the call and threw it on the bed. How?

He called you again and again but you didn't pick up, you kept staring at the phone.

A message popped up in your phone,

'hey! I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you were nodding because I got the mail it had delivered.'

'I'm sorry, love.'

'Please tell me. Do you like it?'

Didn't mean to scare you......

You stared at the gift box in front of you. Didn't bother to open it but you texted him like usual 'yes' with emojis. He was too happy because of the way his next messages were flooding in your inbox.

.

.

.

It started to feel suffocated and exposed in your own apartment and your two best friends repeatedly inviting you to stay at their place. Yes, you gladly accepted it and started to spend most of the days at their house. Sometimes, having sleepovers and movie nights or you all going together for short trips for half of the day. Renjun showed you his recent paintings dedicated to you. You couldn't really decipher the meanings behind each of his paintings but still you liked it because his hard work behind it was showing.

Haechan learned some new recipes to cook for you and honestly, most of the time, he made a mess of them. Still, the love for you was showing in the work.

These two were actively keeping your mind off from the incidents happening back at your apartment.

Renjun was driving you to your apartment when he offered you again, "why don't you move in with us? It will be safe and easier for you."

"no. I don't want to be a bother. I should talk with him. Why is he doing this with me?  Hope, it can solve the problem." you looked down on your lap.

"and you think he will? Will he leave you after that? He is obsessed with you. His obsessions are clearly showing. A healthy relationship is not like this. when there's still time. Come out of it."

He pulled the car in front of your apartment and you nodded, "I will think about this. Thank you, Jun."

He nodded and patted your head, planting a kiss to the side, "take care and be safe. Call me or Haechan if it's too much."

You exited his car with a smile but your smile soon disappeared when you reached your doorstep. Again, those flowers and letters.

And this time a message popped up in your phone from an unknown id,

'How was the trip, love? Did you enjoy it? Are you missing me?'

You were so scared that you quickly dialed Renjun's number and he was quick enough to reach your location and engulfed you in a hug.

"It's okay. I am here. Don't be scared."

When he asked you for the keys, you shook your head. You didn't want to enter the door and whispered to him to take you somewhere else. And he did. He listened to your pleading, he himself didn't want to leave you there alone. So, he drove you to a cliff where you love the most to spend time talking about your life. This is the place where only three of you come often.

When you reached the place, you were surprised to see Haechan with a white leather jacket and Black jeans standing, leaning against his bike and you exited the car, only to run towards him, "Haechan..."

"Baby...are you okay?" his voice was soothing just like other times. His tone becomes sweeter when he speaks to you. He really treats you like a baby.

And the next day how you ended up at their doorstep, finally having too much of the threats and scared that he might pull up something more crazy.

They blocked his number and shifted all your things from the apartment to their house. Even, they managed to change your university classes to online. Haechan even bought you a new phone with a new number so that you don't have to feel scared of him texting you again.

Was it all over? Or something more crazy was supposed to happen?

>>>><<<<

It's been over six months, you are staying with them in their house, which they make you feel assured to think of yours too. But something, you did notice. Their skinship with you. The tension between you when either of them is too close to you. Why? You have a boyfriend. Well, maybe you had.

Then, what's this they are trying to show you? Trying to make you feel.

You were standing beside Haechan who was beside you cutting vegetables because last night, he decided to learn to make you a new meal which a lover should try to impress their crush.

"So, am I your crush?" you asked him and raised your brow when he blushed and turned away.

He shook his head while washing the knife, "keep quiet. I am doing something important. Don't distract me."

"So, am I your distraction?" you neared him and stepped beside him, leaning against the counter. "Tell me."

He glanced at you before placing the knife to the side and with a quick move, he caged you between his arms, trapping you between the counter and his body.

"Haechan..." you gasped because of his sudden action.

"Ask me the question again." his breath was near you, fanning your lips. His soft voice yet a tone of demanding was enough to make your breaths heavy. You averted your eyes away when he grabbed your jaw, "look at me and ask the question."

His lips were almost touching yours and the only thing that was crossing your mind was to kiss him. Why? You don't know. But you wanted to.

"Kiss me." you whispered the words, your mind going blank and your hands clutching the marble edge of the counter, nails colliding against the slippery surface and you bit your lower lip.

"Fuck, I would've never thought you wanted me in the same way I wanted you," he took your hand and pulled you towards him so your bodies were pressed together more. "So you are attracted to me too?" He whispers low in your ear, making your breath hitch.

"Well, I guess-"

"A direct one word answer is what I want." he cut you off, nibbling on your earlobe. "Are you enjoying this, y/n?"

"Yes," you answered him, finally relaxing in his arms. you held onto his shoulder to prevent yourself from collapsing, your knees feeling weak at his touch. "I love you."

He continued peppering your neck with soft wet kisses, his breaths fanning over it. You tilted your head to allow him more access. You placed a hand on his chest, then began to untuck his black shirt, both hands starting to roam under it.

His lips pulled your lips into a kiss, a soft sensual one. Never in a while, you thought to be like this with him and even going further into it.

At the same time, he was busy moving his hands up and down your sides, still moving his lips with the rhythm of yours. He grunted when your soft hands met his bare skin, his heart beating erratically. Tongues intertwining and hands roaming each other's bodies. You tugged his shirt eagerly and he helped you to take it off before throwing it away, he stopped you when you were pulling your shirt.

He wanted to do it on his own. He wanted to see you on his own.

He separated his mouth for a few seconds so he could take your shirt off. You admired his bare tanned chest and abs, not being able to keep your hands off him. He went to pull your pants off.

"Fuck...you are driving me crazy." He smirked and you were nervously looking at the door to see if anyone would accidentally see you in that position with him."don't worry, no one is at home. Not even Renjun."

Before you could say a word, he again dominated your mouth once again, making your mind go blank. His hands traveled to your ass, squeezing it. You moaned into the kiss, grinding against his still clothed hard-on. "Fuck, you're so hot," he grunted, gripping your ass harder. "He had this all to himself. Lucky bastard."

"I didn't fuck him." You whispered.

"Then am I the first one?" He smirked and held your chin upward. You nodded and shyly looked at him. "Words y/n.." he pecked your lips.

"Yes, Haechan. You are the first one. Please do something."

He lifted you by your thighs and placed you on the counter. You gasped when your lower half came in contact with the cold surface. He crouched down to kiss your belly. Your chest heaved up and down in anticipation as you felt his touch, trailing kisses starting from your ankle and going higher. you began squirming when the soft lingering touch of his lips reached your inner thigh. "Hae-Haechan..." your breathing labored.

He poked his tongue out to trace the edges of your underwear, dangerously close to your heat, but avoided the spot on purpose just to tease you a little longer. He is a tease and he is even proving it to you in this situation.

your hand grabs at his hair, the other gripping the edge of the counter. "please, stop teasing me," you whined, getting more and more frustrated.

He removed your panties with his teeth, staring up at your face, twisted in frustration. "God, I can't get enough of your look. You are perfect, y/n."

Your knuckles start hurting from the tight grip you had on the counter but it's the only thing that's keeping your grip strong because your grip on all other senses has been lost completely. Is it right to do this with your best-friend? But your body betrays you with the excitement building inside. You feel yourself attracted to him but...

You were distracted when you didn't notice that he parted your heated lips and inserted his index finger inside your lips, making you let out a choked up moan. It glided in easily, emitting a squelching sound as wetness surrounds it.

"Haechan, we should stop this. This is not right." you breathed out, sounding almost as if you were in pain.

Haechan, too preoccupied with his task, didn't even acknowledge your plea; he adds a second finger, watching how they get swallowed up by your heat. He began a scissoring motion, feeling your walls pulse around them.

" Fuck, Haechan...that- that's...more please" you cried out when you felt his thumb press on your sensitive clit. you breathe heavily, your skin sticky with sweat, legs shaking and fingers going numb from the grip on the marbled counter-top.

"I will give you more, baby." he kissed your belly and  nuzzled his face, his breath tingling against your hot skin. "Let's have the fun. I will give you everything, I promise."

When he couldn't take the insistent throbbing of his cock anymore, he stood and made quick work of lowering his pants and boxers. you whimpered at the loss of his fingers. He held your thigh with one hand and grabbed his length with the other, rubbing the tip against your wetness. "Tell me how much you want it, baby," he demanded and slid his cock against your clit.

"Want it so bad, need it, Haechan, please fill me up," you panted, swerving your hips.

"I want you too. So bad. My filthy girl. My princess is going to be mine." he unclasped your bra and quickly plopped a nipple in his mouth. You moaned out his name and grabbed his hair, his grunts vibrating against your skin. When he heard your plea to stop again, he chuckled against your chest while still licking and sucking your nipples, "don't fight yourself, princess. You know you want this. I know you want this. He couldn't have given you this like me." he bit your skin near the collarbone, "fuck...he should not have come into our life. I would have gotten you sooner."

your back arched off the countertop when the tip slipped in and he simultaneously groaned in delight. He pushed the rest in slowly, filling you up as promised. He leaned over your body to press his lips to your neck and leave wet kisses.

Both of your hands were buried into his hair, making it messier than it already was. He pulled away and pulled you a little closer to the edge by your thighs. you gasped and grabbed at the edge again to stabilize yourself. He pulled you in for a passionate kiss and he moaned into the kiss feeling you clenching around him. Your tears strained your face and this time, it made him smile because you were not crying because of that shit and his threats but because of him and his sweet tortures on your sensitive parts.

He gave you no warning before he pulled out, only leaving the tip in, and pushing back in.

he grunted, feeling the squeeze of those tight warm walls around him. "Shit," he swore, staring at your figure. His hands went up to squeeze your breasts and fickle your nipples, igniting your senses and making your body react to his touches more.

"You," Haechan praised, pushing in, "are...so...sexy" Each word was punctured with a powerful thrust, knocking the breath out of you beneath him.

His movements gradually started to get faster, his hands gripping your hips. He slowed down to put your legs over his shoulders and held on to your thighs instead, thrusting harder, reaching deep inside your warmth. "Haechan!" you clawed at his back, letting out lewd moans that mix with the sound of skin slapping on skin. he pecked your lips and smirked.

"Ah- Yeah, baby, scream my name! Let me hear you who's fucking you this good," He said in between thrusts.

"Haechan, yes, fuck me!" you repeated his name insistently, overcome with ecstasy.

he rolled his hips, grunting in pleasure each time. His tongue glided across his lower lip as he watched you with hooded eyes. Haechan moaned when your walls clamped down on his cock, pulsing around him, tightening and squeezing."Fuck!"

"y/n, so, so good, you are doing so good I'm so close, fuck!" your vision went white as you hit your high, body spasming with aftershocks and toes curling while your hips keep moving against his.

your orgasm along with your blissful facial expression triggered his own, causing him to release hot, sticky spurts of cum. He pulls out and jerks off over you, more coming out to paint your lower stomach.

he pressed an affectionate kiss on your leg that was still over his shoulder. "God, that was awesome," he breathed, running a hand through his sweaty black hair.

He helped you sit up comfortably before pulling you in for a heated kiss, your arms going around his broad shoulders. you sighed in satisfaction, softly dragging your nails down his naked back.

He bit your bottom lip in return, hands roaming your thighs. "Good?" Haechan asked you after pulling away. you nod in agreement, "all good."

He pulled his pants back up and stepped back to collect your disposed dress. He carefully dressed you back in your clothes, leaving the inner wears still on the floor. You didn't bother to wear it as you were going to shower anyways.

He kissed your cheek and you blushed, "I can't believe we just did that on my kitchen counter..." you hid your face in the crook of his neck. "but..I...it feels so wrong."

"Why?" He hugged your body and kissed your head. You murmured against his bare skin, "we are best friends and this feels so wrong...we are not even dating..."

"Will you let me be your boyfriend?" he pulled back to look at your face. Your surprised expression earned a chuckle and a kiss on your tip of the nose from him. You asked him softly, "are you serious?"

He nodded and pressed his forehead to yours, "yes. I am. Will you?"

"Y-yes. I can try."

He pressed his lips to you and whispered, "I promise I will treat you better than him. I love you."

."I love you too, Haechan."

.

.

The sun shone brightly on the two figures lying comfortably in bed. Haechan blinked his eyes open and stretched, accidentally waking you up. you gently placed your hand on his cheek, caressing it slowly. You were still in disbelief after the last event.

"Good morning," he greeted in a gruff sleepy voice. The sound of his low voice made your cheeks heat up slightly as you smiled back at him with a greet. you both giggled and cuddled closer; your activities from the last evening had you both glowing in happiness and excitement.

"Sleep well, baby?" Haechan, stroking your hair. "hm, best sleep I've had in a while." you offered a small smile but he frowned. "What do you mean 'in a while'? Have you not been sleeping well?" He asked, concerned.

"It's not that... I just slept better since you were next to me," you buried your face in his chest in order to hide your embarrassment.

.

.

.

Well that was not the end, even though you started dating Haechan. You could see Renjun was in a bit of a sour mood recently. Snapping at Haechan every now and then and sometimes, he even glares at you for no reason.

"Y/n...are you busy?" Renjun was standing at your doorstep, you plugged out your earphones and sat up properly and patted the place beside you. You shook your head and smiled, "no. I'm just chilling. Haechan said he will be coming home late. Why, do you need something?"

He stepped forward and locked the door behind him. Your eyes went wide in surprise, "Renjun?"

He chuckled and noticed a photo frame on a shelf beside him, you and Haechan smiling brightly at the camera. He himself clicked that picture for you two. He had also clicked a picture with you but why not he is there as well? Oh, beside it there is another picture but all three of you smiling, you in between staring at the camera and them staring at you.

"How are you and Haechan doing?" His slow steps made your heart beat fast. Your breath heaving with his low voice and chuckles in between his questions. You gulped and scooted towards the bed frame.

You managed to smile, "we are fine."

He placed himself beside you and scanned your body, in shorts and a short tee. You are really a tease. He thought to himself and his gaze darkened with the thought that you are dating his step-brother. You tried to move away from him when he held your wrist and pulled you in front, "where are you going?"

"no..I'm not going anywhere."

"Am I not good for you?" his dark voice and the tight grip on your wrist didn't let you avert your eyes away. He curled a lock of yours between his fingers and traced your face, "speak...angel. I know you can use your words." he kissed the tip of your nose and smiled.

"Yes, you are good." you breathed out the words. He pulled your ankles and wrist together towards him, a slow tug upwards made you sit on his thigh. Your legs folded by your knees and resting on either side of his leg.

"You know, haechan is not the only one who loves you in the way you are attracted to him." he leaned and whispered in your ears, "you don't know how bad I want you angel. I want to ruin the innocence of you." his breath tickling your earlobe and his teeth grazing over your back of the ears, where he pressed a kiss and trails down wet and sloppy kiss downwards to your neck and throat.

"R-Renjun...stop.."

He darkly chuckled in your ears and pulled apart to stare at your scared face, the look he is used to seeing because of the past incident of your obsessive boyfriend. He grabbed your wrist to bring your hand to his chest and leaned forward, "you didn't tell him to stop. And, look, do you feel the heart? That's beating for you my love."

"What do you mean?"

"I love you, y/n...please...I love you so much."

he pulled down the straps of your red tee, slipping them off your shoulders, unclipping the bra with one swift click and kissing the skin there. He moved lower to nip at your collarbones and you curled your hands above his chest, arching forward. He helped you slip your arms out, then proceeded to pull the fabric low enough along with your bra to expose your breasts. His head descended down to take a nipple into his mouth, making it harden as he swirled his tongue around it, gently toying with the other between two fingers. you squirmed, your chest rising and falling with every breath you took.

"Renjun, please..."

"It doesn't take much to have you begging, huh?" He teases, making you whine in response, "I'll have you begging even more in a minute, love."

Renjun kissed his way down your stomach, using his hands to pull down your shorts to reveal your panties. He pushed your knees apart, causing you to gasp in surprise. He pushed you down on the bed, your head hitting softly against the mattress. He traced his lips at the edge of your underwear, staring up at you with desire in his eyes; your reactions will never cease to entrance him. Them.

Your hands tightened in his hair, tugging at it softly as Renjun continued to tease you, softly nibbling at your thighs near the edges of your panties. he hooked his fingers through it and pulled it down your legs, taking it off and dropping it to the floor, leaving you bare apart for the tee bunched up at your waist.

your hands slipped out of his hair as Renjun scooted further down the bed, placing your legs over his shoulders. He kissed your inner thighs, tracing his tongue along your sweet skin before going even lower. you let out a loud gasp and your fingers twisted into the sheets when he licked at your heat. legs trembling with every contact of his tongue made with your clit. He held tightly onto your thighs, pressing his pointed tongue against your swollen clit in a teasing manner and flicking the little bud.

You were practically crying when Renjun pressed his tongue inside of you, slightly parting your walls. He looked up, seeing your face twisted in pleasure, panting and moaning as he thrusted his tongue inside your heat. He used one of his hands to rub your clit with his thumb and you whined loudly, trying to push your hips back against him.

"I want to cum," you stutter out, thrashing your head from side to side.

Renjun stopped all his movements to look up at you, "What's the magic word, baby?"

"Please," you begged, your hands pushing his head down. you couldn't take it anymore. you were so fucking close to the edge, you barely needed a push to reach your peak.

"You are so perfect, y/n."

He chuckled before diving back down to accomplish his task: he slurped and licked vigorously, swirling his tongue and flicking your most sensitive nerve. He pinned your hips to the bed to keep you from moving too much as he worked closer to orgasm. Renjun knew you wanted to cum before it even happened: the legs on his shoulders tighten around him and shake with the force of your climax, sending you crashing down.you pulled hard at his duo toned hair.

Soon after, your body turns slack, as if melted into a puddle. He kissed your inner thigh then your belly button and continued all the way up to your chest. He didn't waste any time removing the pant, throwing it to the side, he slowly pulled up his shirt above his head and your eyes locked at his chest, Renjun softly nips at the soft and supple skin of your neck, tasting the sweetness of it, inhaling the scent.

your hands held onto his broad shoulders and your nails dragged down his back when he finally pushed inside you, burying himself in your tight heat. He rolled his hips gently, enjoying the burning pleasure you brought to him.

"Y/n." He moaned in a low voice. you held onto him tighter, pushing back against him, trying to meet his gentle movements.

Renjun's hands roamed your body, caressing every curve of your form, leaving goosebumps in their wake. your breathing was erratic, heartbeat beating fast and loud in your own ears.

you could barely handle the way he was holding you close and making those erotic sounds right next to your ear. sweat slick bodies move in harmony, pushing and pulling, biting and scratching, lost in a flame of passion.

Renjun nipped softly at your throat then at your chin and finally your lips. He rubs your noses together affectionately and giggle at the sweet gesture.

No words were exchanged as you stared into each other's eyes, in the middle of your own little world, the only important thing being one another.

Renjun lowered your legs to around his waist and accelerated the cadence of his movements, already sensing you were close by the way you were gripping him even tighter.

The rhythm turned sloppy as you both chased pleasure, rocking against each other, holding on before finally letting go, flying high before spiraling down together and drowning in pure bliss. The heavy breathing fills the otherwise silent room and sweet kisses were exchanged along with soft touches.

Renjun hid his flushed face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and letting his body relax but not resting his weight on you. He couldn't get his heart to slow down; the proximity and your delicate touch were almost too much for him to handle.

"Angel," he called breathlessly, snuggling into you underneath him, "I love you," he finally said. Laying on his side, he traced your face with his index finger, from your closed eyelids to your cheek to the bridge of your nose, admiring every detail of your angelic face.

The only response he got was your soft breathing.

Renjun smiled to himself, closing his eyes and drifting into a deep sleep beside you, holding onto you tightly in his embrace.

>>>><<<<

"I'm sorry, Haechan." you were practically crying while hugging the boy in front of you and no matter how many times he did ask you about the reason, you were just clinging onto him and crying because of what you did last night.

He pulled you on his lap and rocked you in his embrace, "shh...baby tell me, what happened?" he kissed your head, "did he contact you again?" you shook your head and buried your head into his chest. "Then is it about, Renjun?"

You quickly looked up to him. Does he know what you did last night? He really answered your question as if he could read your mind.

"I know what happened yesterday." he combed your hair back and traced the purple and red marks on your skin around the neck and the exposed body parts. "If you are thinking, I'm angry with you. No, I'm not."

"Haechan?"

He smiled and pressed his lips to your temple, "I love you, princess. He loves you too. We both know our weakness for you. Because of this, we decided to have you as ours. But we were doubtful about you. How you will react and after yesterday. I'm sure you don't have a problem accepting him." he pecked your lips, and whispered into it, "Do you have a problem with this?"

"But this is wrong."

He chuckled and grabbed your neck softly, yanking your head back soft enough not to hurt you, his gaze darkened but quickly vanished with a smile appearing on his face, "you are doing no wrong, baby. This is what you want."

You were staring at his face. His words and his actions were more dominant than other days. As if he was punishing you for your deeds with his brother but also, holding back himself because that's the thing he wanted too. Or rather agreed to.

"I promised you. I would keep you safe and would protect you from everything then, why are you so afraid?" he leaned to your ear and said in a low voice, "Be brave, be strong, but take it easy. No rush baby. I know you got this."

"I love you, Haechan." you murmured and he kissed your earlobe, humming in satisfaction before returning to your lips. " You know I love you so much, right princess?" he pressed his lips to you and pulled your hair back to kiss your throat and left behind sucking on the spots.

You nodded and he asked you softly, "you will let Renjun join now?" you nodded and your mind was going blank under his sweet tortures of his mouth and hands roaming around your body. Your groans when he was pulling your hair earned chuckles from him.

He took his time teasing you, biting and nibbling and licking every sensitive part of your body, teasing you relentlessly until you were a hot whimpering mess.

You heard the door creaked open and noticed Renjun walking in, his eyes filled with lust and hunger for you. His each slow and cautious step made you squirm under Haechan's hold. He reached near the bed and pulled his belt around from the waist and tied your hands together to prevent you from moving them. your hands were by the top of your head.

"Renjun...why?" your voice was not recognisable, whether you were asking or pleading to him. He leaned forward, placing his palm on the mattress and smirked, "I haven't touched you yet but still you are begging."

Haechan pushed your top upwards revealing your body bare underneath. He quickly leaned down to trail wet kisses on your stomach, chest and flicking the nipples with his fingers and swirling the other one with tongue. Most of your body was already littered in little dark marks left by him. you squirmed as he continued his slow tortures, claiming you with love bites.

"I want you to do exactly as I say. Got it?" Haechan said in between kisses, looking at you expectantly afterwards. You nodded and when you tried to bring your hands down, Renjun caught them and glared, "did I tell you to move them?"

You shook your head frantically and whined, "No." Renjun discarded his pants and shirt, only in his boxers placed himself on the other side of you to claim your lips, holding your tied up wrist in place and other hand twirling the hardened nipples.

Haechan sat on his knees and palmed himself over the sweatpants and stared at you both. "Good girl. Now, spread your legs for me."

You did as told, spreading your legs with little resistance. He bit his lip at the sight, getting turned on. "Damn, that's hot," he gets on top of you, pressing himself against you. Your breathing stopped for a split second when both of them were right in front of you.

"You are ours, y/n. No one can take you away from us." Renjun said and kissed your cheek.

Haechan placed a light kiss on your nose, cheek then chin before descending lower.

"Please..." Upon hearing you beg, Haechan wasted no more time before diving into your heat, slipping in one finger and then followed by another. He made sure you were enjoying yourself by watching your facial expressions, grinding against the mattress at the same time to relieve his erection.

Your fingers clenched, twisting and crumpling the sheets when Renjun suddenly intertwined your pinned hands with his, your thighs squeezing around Haechan's hand involuntarily, the pleasure driving you almost wild. your breathing comes out in little gasps and your chest heaves up and down as Renjun continues flicking your most sensitive bud in hard circles, his tongue gliding easily across it. you could feel the familiar fire in the pit of your lower stomach blazing up. Just as it's about to explode, Haechan comes to an abrupt stop.

"Why?" you managed to whine through your heavy breathing.

"I like teasing you, baby. I like seeing you desperate and begging for my touch. Princess, you look so hot tied up like this, under my control. God, I wish you could see yourself from my eyes." you rubbed and squeezed your thighs together to ease the throbbing between the legs.

Haechan's dirty words, Renjun's manhandling, their rough voices and the animalistic looks in their eyes were making you feel things you never felt before. They were going crazy for you. The girl they dreamt of having for themselves was under their watch, their control, squirming and begging for them.

"I could just watch you all day." Renjun said and inhaled your scent from the crook of your neck and Haechan pulled down his boxers and took his erection in his hand, staring at you as he slowly moved his hand along his length.

Renjun continued whispering to you, he was enjoying watching you squirm and beg under his hold, "yes, angel. You are doing so good for us."

"Please, I can't! Make me cum..." you could hear the sound of him jerking off and making you even more desperate; they were free to do whatever they wanted while you had to take whatever they gave you.

"Aww, is my baby getting impatient?" The male above you smirked as he sees this and intentionally lets out loud groans, "Fuck..." He could hear you whining and the face you made looked like you were in pain. Renjun starts thrusting into his tight first, dangerously close to the edge. He bit his lower lip and forced himself to stop.

"Tell him what you want, angel."

"Fuck me. Ruin me, make me cum," you begged. you had never been more desperate in your entire life than in this very moment.

Haechan leaned over your body to leave more hickeys on your neck. "Mmh, baby is so wet for me," he said, running his fingers through your folds. He aligned himself with your heat and rubbed his length on your clit. You trembled at the sensation, trying to get him closer to you by wrapping your legs around his waist.

Haechan held onto your thighs to bring you closer and easily inserted himself inside your heat. You both moaned in unison as he pushed in slowly and dragged his cock back out before pushing back in and repeating. "Fuck."

None of your senses seemed to be working as you continued whining loudly and thrashing your head with your eyes closed, paying no attention to the almost crazed look on their faces.

"Baby, so good. Fuck, You are a poison to my mind. A sweet poison." He pronounced every word with a hard thrust, making it difficult for you to speak; you couldn't focus on anything around you, too overwhelmed by all the different sensations taking over your body. you pulled at the leather belt, nails digging into the palms of Renjun's hands.

The said man cursed in your ear, he quickly held himself up and spread his cum on your chest.

The man above you slowed down to a complete stop, making your eyes shot open. "Stop doing that, damn it!" you yell out in frustration.

you suddenly gasped in surprise when Haechan spanked your asscheek. "I'm in control here so I do as I please. Disrespect me again and I will leave you on the edge." With wide eyes, you nod frantically at the seriousness in his voice. "Answer me."

You swallow hard, flustered, "Yes."

"Behave, y/n." Renjun said beside you and pulled you in a deep kiss, muffling your noises. Haechan slowly starts thrusting again, making you choke on a moan. "God, that feels so good."

"Good. keep making those noises while I fuck you." Haechan didn't waste any time before he resumed thrusting inside at a fast pace, making you let out loud surprised moans. your hips clashed as he pounds into your wet heat, orgasms drawing closer.

" yes" you chant, followed by a series of moans. The noises made him lose control, letting out deep growls as he held onto your thighs for support and rams into you without mercy.

The bed squeaks in time with his rhythm, the sound being accompanied by the labored breathing, moans and grunts. Haechan slowed his pace but went deeper, one hand going to rub your clit to finish you off.

He grinds against you as your walls pulse around him, triggering his own climax. He quickly pulls out and releases his thick load all over your lower belly.

"Mhm, fuck yeah," Haechan leaned forward to kiss you shoulders, sticking his chest to you and nuzzling into the nape of your neck. When you try to speak something, he pulls you in for a kiss. The slow, lazy and affectionate kiss and you smiled in between.

Haechan pulled away from you, leaving your body feeling slightly cold under the touch of his brother, "Lay on the bed and spread those beautiful legs for me," Renjun ordered, licking his lips.

you, as always, followed the orders given to you but not without feeling a little embarrassed; Renjun liked the way you were complying to his orders and he smirked seeing your movements under his control.

As soon as you were lying comfortably on the bed, he went to situate himself between your legs at the foot of the bed and pulled you closer by thighs, kneading them. "Look at me," he continued giving orders, the authority in his voice making you shiver.

you lifted your upper body with the support of Haechan in order to see him, Haechan untied the belt from the wrists and your eyes widened as you watched him lift his middle and ring finger to his mouth, coating them thoroughly in saliva. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you keep watching him, while he just stares back at you with that wild hunger in his eyes, moving his tongue teasingly. He then pushes the two slick digits inside you, easing them into your wet entrance. you gasp and throw your head back into Haechan's chest, unable to control your body's response, and Renjun stops halfway, "Keep watching."

Haechan laughed and his laugh vibrated on your back. He held you down on your place, pinning your body against his chest, his length poking behind your lower back and the pleasure in front was driving you crazy. "She will be gone soon. My baby is loving this." Haechan said and laughed at your weak body in his hold.

Forcing yourself to not succumb to the pleasure Renjun was making you feel, you look at him again, licking your suddenly dry lips. Renjun's eyes flicker downwards to watch his fingers get sucked up all the way to the knuckles, his dick throbbing in want. He starts moving them in and out, scissoring them and stretching the tight walls.

you watch with hooded eyes the way his tongue pokes out from in between his teeth as he concentrates on his task, fingering her expertly.

"I want you to hold it in if you are near. Think you can do that?" you nod with furrowed eyebrows, whimpering in pleasure as his long fingers continue working their magic; they glide easily thanks to how wet you were, aroused by his dominant behavior. Haechan was trailing kisses along your neck and throat, often turning your mouth to kiss your lips.

Once your thighs start squeezing around him and you buck your hips, Renjun knew you were close to the edge. He moved his hand to replace it with his length and started to move a little faster, his warm breath hitting close to your nipples, when he sucked on them afterwards.

His hand left your thigh to go towards his mouth and he sucked on his fingers to taste you, tongue swirling around it before pulling it out and pressing it against your neglected clit. You were so into it that you didn't notice Haechan collected some of your arousal and started spreading it to your hole from the back and when you whined, he pushed himself from behind you. Renjun holding your body close to him and caressing your back. "Shh...that's it. You are doing so good for us."

Haechan groaned and held you still, the other male also stopping a bit to make you adjust, "relax. You are taking us so well. Good, baby." He caressed your sides. He planted a kiss on your shoulder and the other one who was still holding you close, kissed on your crown of the head. They started moving again, each cautiously looking at your expression, alert for your discomfort and they will stop. Haechan grabbed your breasts and squeezed them and Renjun grabbed your hips, you were clutching onto both of them for dear life.

your arms give out simultaneously as your legs begin to shake almost violently, white flashing behind your tightly closed eyelids, a loud and obscene moan leaving your lips. your back arches off the chest behind you as you are brought to the highway to heaven., tears spilling from her eyes and hands gripping him, nails digging into his skin.

"Please!" you cried out, whining loudly afterwards. your body wanted to scoot away and get closer at the same time, torn between the two. you panted in exhaustion and your body relaxes once they had stopped. they placed soft kisses all over your body, pulling out slowly. 

They lay you down between them and Haechan's hands comb through your hair while you stare at the ceiling absentmindedly, catching your breath. He whispered, "Happy birthday, Princess. I love you the most."

Before you could reply to him, Renjun turned your face towards him and kissed your lips, "Happy Birthday, Angel. I love you so much."

You glanced at the clock and it was 12' o clock, your birthday. "Thank you. I love both of you" you smiled sweetly at both of them.

"So, how was that? Feel good?" Haechan asks, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Of course it did... but " you trail off, making Haechan's smile fade into worry, "But?"

"But is it okay for us three to be together?" you asked, your face becoming warmer as you confess.

you had never done anything like this before, so you felt as if you were doing something wrong or must have gone crazy that you were liking all these things

."Don't worry, y/n, we'll be perfect with each other, promise. we'll show you all kinds of things in the future," Renjun reassured, squeezing her thigh, and giving her a sweet kiss before getting up, leaving you with Haechan.

"I'm gonna shower now. Haechan, can you freshen her up?" He asks and you whine, "don't leave me with him. Let's shower together. It's my birthday and you both have to listen to me now."

Before you could complain even more, Renjun scooped you in arms and laughed, "whatever you order, maam." you hit his chest playfully, his laugh becoming louder followed by Haechan who even started teasing you how heavy you look in his arms. Both of you glared at him and entered the bathroom.

You are glad that you are no longer in the past relationship with Wooyoung. You are out of his obsession and listened to your two best friends who stayed by your side, protected you and loved you. You are out of the toxic love. You are in a pure and innocent love.

Are you really, though?

Before Haechan could enter the bathroom, he heard a notification pop up on your phone. He stepped towards the table and unlocked to see it. He smirked at the screen, placing it back on the table top and he jogged towards the bathroom  when Renjun called out his name.

'Happy Birthday, y/n!'

        -Unknown (your love)

Love is poisoned by your innocence.

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated. Spread love not hate. If my favoritism is showing with any of the members then please try to understand coz Hyuck is my twin🎀

Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @hwanring @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon @hyuukah @kazscara @aceofspadesbiofalltrades @nvdhrzn @meowmeeps @vtyb23 @haechansbbg

[open!]

[gojosystem]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter one of ten

wc. 2.7K

prologue | part 2

The decision settled in your heart like a stone—cold, hard, and undeniable. You couldn’t stay at Jujutsu High anymore, not after everything that had happened. There was nothing left for you here but the constant reminder of Gojo’s rejection, and the emptiness it left inside you. Suguru Geto had offered a new path, one that resonated with the bitter anger building in your chest. It was risky, dangerous even, but at this point, you didn’t care. What did you have to lose?

The world outside Jujutsu High seemed vast and unforgiving, but it was nothing compared to the loneliness you felt within its walls. Geto’s name was whispered among the students with fear and disdain, but you saw something different now. He had the strength to break away, to challenge the system that had let him down, and if anyone could understand the pain of rejection, it was him.

The first step was to find him, which was easier said than done. Geto was no longer a visible presence in the sorcerer world. He had gone underground, building his own network of cursed users and spirits. The whispers about his whereabouts were few and far between, but you clung to the faintest rumors like lifelines, searching for any clue that would lead you to him.

Your chance finally came one evening, as you overheard two upperclassmen talking in hushed tones about a recent sighting of Geto. They mentioned a remote area where cursed energy had been felt, a place known for being a hideout for rogue sorcerers. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

You left that night, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. You knew the consequences of what you were about to do—if anyone found out, you’d be labeled a traitor, just like Geto. But that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was getting away from the pain that had consumed you and finding a new purpose.

The journey was long and arduous, taking you through unfamiliar streets and rural roads. With each step, the doubt in your mind grew louder. What if he didn’t want you? What if he turned you away, just like Gojo had? The thought of facing yet another rejection made your stomach twist in knots, but you pushed forward. You had to know. You had to try.

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, you arrived at the rumored hideout—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of na abandoned village. The air around the area was thick with cursed energy, almost suffocating. You hesitated at the threshold, fear creeping up your spine, but you steeled yourself and stepped inside.

The interior was dark, lit only by the faint glow of cursed energy radiating from various objects strewn about. You could sense the presence of others, though you couldn’t see them. Shadows moved in the corners of the room, watching you, but you kept your focus straight ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Suguru Geto stood at the far end of the room, his back turned to you as he spoke quietly with one of his followers. Even from this distance, his presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with power. There was something about him that felt both intimidating and strangely familiar, as if you were looking at the reflection of everything you had been feeling—the bitterness, the anger, the sense of abandonment.

He turned around slowly, his gaze landing on you with a piercing intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. His dark eyes seemed to see right through you, reading every thought and emotion as if they were laid bare before him. For a moment, you wondered if you had made a mistake—if this had been a foolish, reckless decision.

But you had come too far to turn back now.

“What do we have here?” Geto’s voice was smooth and calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it. He studied you, his expression unreadable. “You’re not one of mine.”

You swallowed, your throat dry, and forced yourself to speak. “I came to find you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I’ve been studying at Jujutsu High, but I can’t stay there anymore. I’ve seen… I’ve read about what you believe in. And I… I want to join you.”

There was a flicker of amusement in Geto’s eyes as he raised na eyebrow. “You want to join me?” he repeated, his tone laced with skepticism. “And what exactly do you think you have to offer?”

Your heart sank at his words. You knew you were nothing compared to the powerful sorcerers that surrounded him. You were just a student, someone who had been cast aside by the very person you had admired most. But you also knew that your desire to serve his cause, to belong somewhere, burned stronger than anything else.

“I don’t have much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I’m not the strongest sorcerer, and I don’t have any followers. But I understand how it feels to be abandoned, to be rejected by the world. I’m ready to serve your purpose, whatever it takes.”

For a long moment, Geto said nothing, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence was suffocating, each second stretching into eternity. You stood there, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for his judgment. In that moment, it felt as if your entire life hung in the balance. If he accepted you, you would have a new purpose, a new place to belong. But if he rejected you…

Finally, after what felt like na eternity, Geto’s expression softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“You’re eager,” he said quietly. “That much is clear. But eagerness alone isn’t enough. My cause isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s dangerous, and it requires a level of conviction that few possess.”

You nodded quickly, desperation creeping into your voice. “I understand. I’ll prove myself, if you give me the chance.”

Geto regarded you for another long moment, as if weighing his options. Then, with a slight nod, he turned away from you, signaling the conversation was over. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to join me, go back to Jujutsu High. Pack your things. Leave everything behind. Once you’ve done that, come back. If you’re serious, I’ll know.”

Your heart leapt in your chest at his words—he was giving you a chance. It wasn’t a full acceptance, not yet, but it was something. You bowed your head quickly in gratitude before turning to leave.

As you stepped out of the hideout and into the cool night air, your mind raced with a mixture of excitement and fear. You had taken the first step toward a new life, toward leaving behind everything that had hurt you.

Now all that was left was to return to Jujutsu High, pack your things, and leave for good. There was no turning back now.

The night was unnervingly quiet as you made your way back to Jujutsu High, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying you. The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the ground. Your mind buzzed with the events that had just unfolded—Geto had accepted you, even if it was only tentative. The prospect of belonging to something, of having a purpose again, gave you a strange sense of comfort, but it was wrapped in na unsettling realization.

To fully embrace this new path, you had to leave everything behind.

As you approached the school grounds, a wave of nostalgia hit you. The familiar hallways, the training grounds, even the library where you had spent so many hours—all of it felt like a distant memory, as if you were already na outsider looking in. These places had once held significance, but now they were nothing more than relics of a past life. You had made up your mind; you would abandon all of it for a chance at something more—something that could give meaning to the ache you carried inside.

The dormitory was dark and still when you returned to your room. Your belongings were strewn about, a quiet reminder of the life you had lived here. You hesitated for a moment, standing in the doorway and letting your gaze drift over the small space that had been your home for so long. It was strange how quickly it all felt irrelevant.

With a deep breath, you began packing your things. You moved with mechanical precision, folding clothes and stuffing them into your bag, taking only what you absolutely needed. As your hands grazed over small personal items, you realized how little they meant now. There was no point in holding onto these things—mementos of a life you no longer wanted to be part of. A gift from a classmate, a framed photo of your team during a mission, a charm you had once carried for protection—they all seemed to mock you now.

Your hand hovered over the chocolates you had made for Gojo, the same ones he had so casually rejected weeks ago. They had been sitting untouched for so long, the once carefully crafted gift now rotting and forgotten. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you stared at the box, the last remnant of your foolish hopes - now laying in your trashcan.

As you zipped up your bag, you felt a strange sense of liberation. You were finally doing it—leaving behind the person you had been, the person who had been too afraid to act, too afraid to take control of her own fate. You were stepping into a new future, one where you could be strong, where your pain had a purpose. Suguru Geto had shown you that.

You slung the bag over your shoulder, taking one last look at the room. It felt distant already, like a ghost of a life you once knew. Without hesitation, you turned and left, walking silently through the darkened halls of Jujutsu High. Every step away from the dorms felt like shedding na old skin, leaving behind the memories and emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

Your feet moved automatically, each step taking you further from Jujutsu High and further from Gojo, you didn’t dare look back, afraid that if you did, you might falter, might hesitate. You had made your choice. You had committed to this path, and there was no turning back now.

The night air was cold against your skin, and with every step, the familiar halls and grounds of Jujutsu High faded into the distance. There was na ache in your chest, a deep, gnawing pain that threatened to overwhelm you, but you forced it down, telling yourself that this was the right choice. That Geto would understand, that his ideals would give you the strength you needed to find purpose.

By the time you reached the outskirts of the town, the sky had started to lighten, a soft glow spreading across the horizon as dawn approached. You kept your head down, avoiding the few early risers who were beginning their day. No one paid you any attention. To them, you were just another traveler, just another person passing through.

Your destination was clear—the same dilapidated building you had found before, where Geto’s presence had been strongest. The cursed energy in the area was unmistakable, and the faint pulse of it called to you like a beacon, guiding you back to him.

As you walked, the reality of what you were about to do began to settle in. You were leaving everything—your friends, your teachers, your life as a jujutsu sorcerer behind. The people you had trained with, the ones who had fought alongside you, they would all consider you a traitor. But for some reason, that didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. You were tired of being invisible, of feeling like na outsider in your own life. With Geto, maybe you would finally belong somewhere.

After hours of walking, you finally reached the hideout once again. The building loomed before you, dark and foreboding, just as it had before. There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there the first time, as if the entire area was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

This time, the space felt different. The shadows seemed heavier, and the cursed energy more oppressive. You could sense other presences here—Geto’s followers, cursed spirits lurking just out of sight, their eyes on you, watching, waiting. But you didn’t waver. You had already made your decision.

As you ventured deeper into the building, you found him in the same spot as before, standing with his back to you, his long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He was speaking with one of his followers in a low voice, but the moment you entered the room, his attention shifted. Without turning around, he acknowledged your presence with a quiet, “You came back.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine—not out of fear, but because of the power it carried, the certainty in his words. It was so unlike the doubt you had felt at Jujutsu High. Here, in Geto’s world, there was no room for second-guessing. Everything he said, everything he believed, had a purpose. You wanted to be part of that.

“I did,” you replied, your voice steady despite the nervousness you felt. “I left everything behind, just like you said.”

Geto finally turned to face you, his eyes sharp and assessing. He looked you over, taking in the sight of you with your bag slung over your shoulder, your expression determined despite the fear you tried to hide. A slow, almost approving smile curled at the corner of his lips.

“And why, exactly, should I take you in?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with a challenge. “What can you offer me that my other followers can’t?”

You had expected this question, but it didn’t make answering it any easier. You had thought about this moment the entire way back, rehearsing what you would say, but now that you stood in front of him, words failed you. What could you offer? You weren’t the strongest sorcerer, you weren’t experienced in battle. All you had was your conviction, your desire to follow him.

“I—I’m not the strongest,” you admitted, your voice faltering for just a moment before you regained your composure. “But I’m ready to dedicate myself to your cause. I’ve seen how the world works, how it doesn’t care about people like us. I want to change that, to be part of something greater.”

Geto’s eyes remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He studied you for what felt like na eternity, and you could feel the weight of his judgment pressing down on you. Then, finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, but no less commanding.

“Conviction is important,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “But dedication without strength is a liability.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Geto raised a hand to silence you. “Still, you’ve come this far, and I can see that you’re serious. I’ll give you a chance to prove yourself.”

Relief flooded through you, though it was quickly tempered by the realization of what that might entail. Geto wasn’t someone who handed out second chances easily. Whatever he asked of you, it wouldn’t be simple.

“You’ll stay here, for now,” he continued, gesturing to the room around you. “Train with my followers, learn from them. When the time comes, we’ll see if you’re truly ready to stand by my side.”

You nodded, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. This was what you had wanted—a chance, a purpose, something to fight for. And now, Geto had given it to you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, bowing your head in gratitude.

Before you could fully process it, a voice rang out from the entrance of the hideout, sharp and commanding.

“So, this is where you ran off to.”

Your heart froze in your chest.

Satoru Gojo stood at the threshold, his blindfold gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes that glowed with a mixture of anger and something else—something deeper, more intense.

He had found you.

notes: thank you for reading the first chapter! if you wanna be tagged just let me know!

taglist: @username23345 @arminswifee @tomiokasecretlover @ffyona1214 @tojirin @eggrollforyou @ironicsss

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[nana-b0b]

And we have a cover, something quite simple to what I had in mind at first but I think this one fits much better with the concept I was looking for.

RAN… What is Ran? It means "orchid" in Japanese and it's the name I decided to give to this graphic novel, or whatever you want to call it.

The truth is that this project didn't even cross my mind, it was a complete improvisation on my part that was born with a vague sketch of Sukuna sitting and with the days, for some reason, I made another one where he is together with Aurora (OC) fighting because she didn't want to get dressed haha and the thing really got out of hand!!! I couldn't stop thinking about that drawing and a whole new narrative line for my OC and well, let's get to work! ❤

Ran is a short graphic novel of no more than three or four pages that I plan to publish weekly (or when my time adjusts) that tells the temporal space that Aurora (OC) is currently living, a kind of abduction that confined her to a domain that she cannot break and where only the king's will is done (or that is what he expects).

This novel is thought in non-linear time (it has no exact chronology, they are situations that I draw here, which happen in Aurora's day to day life in there where she does not know how fast time passes both inside and outside the domain). We will also venture on journeys into her past and learn more about her turbulent clan and her mysterious ancestor.

Inspired by the Heian period of Japan with erotic and fantastic overtones the idea of the sketches is to show that sensual and indomitable side of Aurora, how dare she take it against him?

❤This novel contains 18+ so be warned, please take your precautions.

Come sit down for a while and enjoy these graphic pieces as much as I enjoy doing them, and let's get to know this side of the garden.

List of cap (here you will find a link to them): RAN

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

Note from Nana: These are my other networks! Here you can find more of my content!

IG:

https://www.instagram.com/nana_bloog?igsh=MmRjaGt4ZjE5ODRm

[cumplane-forever]

part 3 of aeroplane transmigrates into sqq (i originally wanted sqh to be a reincarnated shen yuan but its funnier to have og sqh because then you get cumplane visuals with none of their usual unguardedness. no bros here, just two people very intensely trying to figure out each other's motives by the way the other holds their brush)

anyways aeroplane acts all cold and as close to the original goods outside of the bamboo house. the only one that gets to see his human(pushover) side is binghe, because aeroplane treats binghe with modern teenager expectations (can be moody, sensitive, rebellious) while binghe thinks he's absolutely being given total leeway because his shizun feels guilty. he puts the personality change up to this aspect of their relationship.

aeroplane confronts the original shang qinghua and blackmails him into handing over some of his spy networks. he also lies that his recent qi deviation has made him a seer and given him visions of sqh's death and he could help him prevent that. og sqh is suspicious as fuck and would not trust aeroplane with a single thing but realises that having the sect's (now with an improved in-depth knowledge of enemy cultures and conflicts) stategist at hand is extremely useful.

one thing i want to happen is binghe gets stressed out about his training in preparation for the immortal alliance conference(three years early) or maybe something similar and aeroplane decides to do something nice and makes him a treat. (version of asian parents cutting fruit) specifically sticky rice and sunset ripened starfruit(mango) for him. binghe eats it without any complaint or questioning and resolves to ask aeroplane for the recipe. the immortal alliance conference is coming up and he doesn't get a chance with how busy he is

aeroplane is forced to push lbh into the abyss by the system. but. at least he's prepared him for the madness of xin mo by gruesomely describing what happened to the unluckiest of its precious users. he pushes him off with a 'you can't stay here' but the system still rings in heartbreak points and the protagonist's revenge plotline renews itself.

(btw lbh is now under the impression that sqq(aeroplane) is a heavenly demon himself. why else would he be able to scoff at the beastiary of abyssal creatures and point out anatomical inaccuracies? he didn't seem as if he had learnt them, more so imparting an impression about them.

sqq told him a lot about heavenly demons and one of the main things he emphasized was their competitive nature and the fact that the last one remaining had been tianlang jun, the heavenly emperor. with the help of meng mo, he builds up and deduces a timeline of events that point to aeroplane waiting as the cultivation world suppresses other heavenly demons so that he can have the power to himself.

meng mo informs him that its also unusual for half-demons to have such stable cultivation and power, so he reframes everything as sqq trying to get rid of him) (sqq also has like- stable cultivation? some extra powers and maybe tattoos on his forearms (because he DID write characters that could overpower binghe at some point, and if those characters happened to be the gateway to an entire discarded plotline about cultivators that used tattoos that imparted impressive strength in an attempt to stage a coup in luo binge's reign and give him some competition . . and if he had discarded it in favour of more papapa . .at least it was a nifty power up))

an year before the immortal alliance conference,

og sqh and mobei-jun's relationship had been going pretty well! except. except. while on a mission with mobei-jun that sqq(aeroplane) blackmailed him into they stumble across a tree and (accidentally) bleed on it. and from it comes forth a fruit and subsequently inside it is their combined fruit- a kid.

both sqh and mobei-jun are shocked and aggrieved. sqh takes the squishy half ice-demon and demands assistance from aeroplane in covering up/managing this mess. said aeroplane is immediately struck dumb by the creation of this non-canon child of important characters. he tells og sqh that the child will grow to maturity within a few years (like renesmee from twilight .. which aeroplane had mayybee been inspired by) but until then someone has to take care of it!

so at this point in the plot mobei-jun hasn't ascended to the throne and it isn't safe for another contender to be announced because that kid will be dead within the hour. a safe option would be to get married but og sqh and mbj are not into that, at all. aeroplane can see the beginnings of a post-birth abortion forming in og sqh's eyes so he quickly introduces the concept of shared custody to them. and then aeroplane is assigned as the extra caretaker for the kid (og sqh/mobeijun's divorced couple aura intensifies)

to further prevent og sqh from erasing his new favourite child character, shen qingqiu decides to give the baby the shen name! thankfully most people don't think this one is his son because they've never seen him. he tries to be a good, responsible coparent with og sqh (he misses luo binghe) and teach the future prince some good values.

the baby is a reincarnated shen yuan.

shen yuan on qing jing peak