#but in the background they are emailing and texting and calling each other

[bisexualdinahlance]

One day I'm gonna write the pimms/jackparse canon adjacent fic of my dreams where during Jack's rehab therapy they start exchanging letters and then emails as part of the healing process and this evolves into an off and on friendship then relationship that lasts throughout canon

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

Do you have any tips on doing accurate research for people without access to formal education

Sure! This can't be one size fits all for every field, but I can give some starting points for history.

If you're reading a book, here's what to consider:

1. Are there footnotes or endnotes? In academia this is our way of being transparent with each other about where you got information. If a book doesn't have them, they're more interested in telling a good story than being accountable to their peers. That's a red flag.

2. Don't trust claims that seem very specific but don't have a source. Broad claims can be the author's analysis. But specific things "so and so said this" "there was a rumor that (x)" should be coming from somewhere and it is the author's job to tell you where.

3. Look out for choppy quoting. Even if someone has a source, they may not be using it well. If someone is paraphrasing a lot and only uses bits and pieces of the text while also using a lot of ellipses, you will want to try to find the whole text to make sure it's being quoted fairly.

4. Look at the publication date. Knowledge changes with time and old books tend to be outdated. You don't have to stick to the academic rule of thumb of "25 years is the threshold for new scholarship" but do be aware that if something is over 50 years old, many many people have likely revisited and revised what it's saying. Not that new books can't also be bad and incorrect, but they tend to be working with better tools generally.

5. Look up the author. I cannot stress this one enough. The author's background and political convictions can matter a lot to how they interpret things. For example, one of the biographies people tend to pick up about my dissertation topic is from the late 1920s by a man who later applied to join the NSDAP. That fact really can't be separated from his interpretations no matter how hard people try.

6. Stop reading if someone is making a lot of moral or personal judgements on a historical figure. I'm talking about the "Elizabeth I was a frigid hag and men found her ugly"-esque takes, not things like calling historical atrocities morally bad. Does it feel like bitchy gossip? That sort of thing is unprofessional, uninformative, and means someone has an axe to grind. Spite can be motivation for research, but axe grinding shouldn't show up clearly in published work.

These are things to keep in mind to make sure you're getting better information. Others are free to add on for their field or if there's something I forgot.

One very important thing to add: professors and academics like people emailing them about their research. You can do that! You can ask for copies of pay walled articles. You just have to go through the mortifying ordeal of expressing interest in an email.

[thedensworld]

Red Sign | Y.Jh

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Conglomerate au! Heirs au! Marriage Contract au!

Type: fluff, humour, slow-burn, smut (mdni!)

Word Count: 18k

Summary: Ignoring all the red signs, what started as a friendship blossomed into something Jeonghan never expected. He'll marry you? No way! Right?

It was Saturday night. Jeonghan had just wrapped up drinks with his friends and stumbled through the door close to 1 a.m. With the grace of a man on autopilot, he showered, slipped into his pajamas, and flopped onto his bed, already picturing a peaceful descent into sleep.

That peace lasted all of three minutes. As he casually checked his email—just to pretend he was a responsible adult—his phone lit up with a familiar name. Your name.

He blinked. Once. Twice. What now? he thought, already sobering up just from the possibilities. He swiped up with a sigh and answered the call.

"Hmm, what's up?"

“I'm sorry to call this late, Mr. Yoon, but Doctor Ji is very, very drunk right now—and none of us know where she lives.” The voice on the other end was one of the residents, clearly panicked, with the chaotic background noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and someone yelling about karaoke.

Jeonghan stared at his ceiling, jaw slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then muttered to himself, “What kind of doctor gets drunk before the residents do?”

He could already feel a headache forming—not from the alcohol, but from the sheer absurdity of the situation. Nevertheless, he dragged himself upright and asked, “Where is she? Text me the address. I’ll pick her up.”

As soon as the call ended, he stood up from his bed with the dramatic flair of a man who’d just been betrayed by the universe. Again. He trudged into his closet like a soldier going to war.

“It hasn’t even been an hour since I got home,” he grumbled while throwing on a hoodie. “And now I have to babysit this disaster of a genius.” He paused, briefly considering calling for backup, he can’t be alone.

“Why don’t you go there alone?” Seungcheol grumbled, slouched in the passenger seat like a sack of regret, his eyes barely open, hair pointing in every direction.

Jeonghan didn’t even glance at him as he started the engine. “Because you’re the only one who can carry her without dislocating something. She went full spaghetti mode, apparently.”

Seungcheol let out a long, tortured groan, dragging his palm down his face like he was trying to erase himself. “I was asleep, Jeonghan. Deep, peaceful sleep. Like dead-to-the-world sleep. You dragged me.”

“You were snoring like a truck,” Jeonghan said flatly. “You needed the break.”

“I was asleep for forty minutes!”

“Exactly. Power nap. You’re welcome.”

Seungcheol shot him a side glare, but it was hard to be intimidating when he still had pillow creases on his cheek and was clutching a bottle of water like a lifeline. Jeonghan smirked as he turned the corner. “Come on. It’ll be fun. Like a surprise field trip, but worse.”

“God,” Seungcheol muttered, leaning his head against the window, eyes still half-closed. “This better be the last time your friend gets wasted on a Saturday night.”

“She’s your friend too,” Jeonghan shot back, eyes fixed on the road. Seungcheol nodded solemnly, resting his temple on the cool glass. “And every time this kind of thing happens, I regret that fact deeply.”

It had always been the three of you—Jeonghan, Seungcheol, and you—since junior high. The kind of trio fate stitched together because your parents were business acquaintances who ended up liking each other enough to start arranging awkward family dinners. None of you particularly cared what the grown-ups did, but somehow, you stuck together anyway.

Jeonghan’s family owned a sprawling property empire—buildings, department stores, hotels—you name it. He was groomed from birth to take the reins, and it showed. By college, he was already studying business with laser focus, juggling classes and internships at his grandfather’s company. The strange part? He actually enjoyed it.

Seungcheol, on the other hand, came from a construction family. He’d been on-site since his teens, wearing hard hats and acting like he knew what rebar was. Unlike Jeonghan, he wasn’t the eldest son, so the pressure wasn’t as intense. His older brother was the heir to the business empire. Seungcheol? He was more like the wildcard—half working man, half professional napper.

And then there was you. The doctor of the group. Your family ran hospitals, dabbled in healthcare business and insurance, and made sure everyone had a checkup whether they liked it or not. You were the brainiac—dedicated, overachieving, caffeine-fueled and sleepless. Safe to say, you were the smartest, most disciplined, and most respected member of the trio.

Until alcohol entered the chat.

“Let’s go to the unicorn world! I’m flying, I’m flying!” you had squealed, arms spread out like wings, as you practically pirouetted across the party. Jeonghan could’ve melted into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment. He bowed to every stunned resident in the room, murmuring apologies on your behalf like a PR intern during a scandal. You had originally told him about the gathering. Said you wouldn’t come. That you didn’t want to intrude on the younger residents’ night off. That you needed rest. Clearly, that plan had gone off the rails somewhere between the tequila shots and the glittery karaoke mic.

Seungcheol looked like a man betrayed by both fate and gravity as he crouched down and hoisted your limp, giggling self onto his back. “Why does she keep saying lollipops?” he grunted, adjusting your deadweight on his back like a dad carrying a sleep-paralysis demon.

Jeonghan tried not to laugh. “Maybe it’s a metaphor.”

“I want rainbow lollipops for my unicorn friends!” you declared joyfully, as if this were a medical order. Seungcheol’s face looked like he aged ten years. “She’s a whole doctor,” he mumbled. “With a license. Who let this happen?”

He maneuvered you into the backseat with the delicacy of someone defusing a bomb, while you hummed a melody only you understood. Jeonghan got behind the wheel with a sigh that carried the weight of several lifetimes. “We’re getting too old for this.”

“And too sober,” Seungcheol muttered, rubbing his temple.

Jeonghan glanced at you through the rearview mirror. You were smiling at the ceiling, whispering something about glitter. Somehow, this was still better than paperwork.

*

You woke up to a splitting headache and the unpleasant dryness in your mouth that only came from a long night of drinking. The ceiling above you wasn’t familiar—it was too neat, too modern, too... Jeonghan. You blinked slowly, trying to piece together how you had ended up here.

Turning your head, you noticed the soft navy sheets and the glass of water placed neatly on the bedside table. Beside it was a strip of painkillers and a small folded note. You reached for it with heavy limbs and unfolded it.

“You owe me. Water and meds provided. – YJ”

A sigh escaped your lips as you sat up, every movement making your head throb. The memories returned in fragments—bright lights, the sound of laughter, someone shouting something about unicorns—which you were that someone. Then Jeonghan’s voice, steady and annoyed, telling someone to get the door. Seungcheol’s back. Your shoes. You winced. Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way slowly into the hallway, guided by the faint smell of toasted bread. The apartment was quiet, bathed in the soft gray light of the overcast morning. You passed by the minimalist decor—clean lines, neutral tones, everything in its place. Jeonghan’s taste had always been meticulous.

In the kitchen, Jeonghan stood by the counter, coffee mug in hand, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at the sound of your steps. “You’re up,” he said, voice calm, though his eyes lingered on you like he was assessing whether you could still walk straight. “There’s toast. Sit.”

You nodded silently and lowered yourself into the chair, still trying to sort out where the nausea ended and the shame began. He slid a plate toward you and turned back to pour more coffee. The kettle clicked in the background, the only sound filling the space between you. You picked at the toast, avoiding his eyes, though you could feel his presence—calm, composed, and, somehow, not entirely annoyed despite everything.

“Thanks,” you finally murmured.

Jeonghan took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t mention it. Just remind me to never trust you when you say you’re ‘just going to rest tonight.’”

You gave a quiet hum in response, unsure of what else to say. Your head still pounded, and your stomach twisted at the thought of facing the residents again. But for now, in the quiet of Jeonghan’s kitchen, you allowed yourself to breathe.

“Seungcheol’s going to kill you the next time you make him visit a site without sleep,” Jeonghan said casually, taking another sip of his coffee.

You groaned, just imagining the wrath that would follow. “Why’d you bring him anyway?”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow at you. “Because you’re heavy.”

You shot him a flat look. “That’s insulting.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “It’s just the truth. I wasn’t about to throw out my back for your drunken acrobatics.”

You pressed your palm against your forehead, partly because of the headache, mostly to hide your embarrassment. “I can’t believe I drank so much…”

Jeonghan leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, looking far too composed for someone who had hauled your half-conscious self home just hours ago. “You know I had to bow to your residents, right?” he said, voice dry with lingering disbelief.

You blinked up at him, wincing. “Like… say sorry?”

“No. Bow,” he emphasized, straightening his back before dramatically mimicking a deep, ninety-degree angle. “Full. Respectful. Formal. Like I’d committed a crime on behalf of my drunk accomplice.”

You covered your face with both hands, letting out a muffled groan. “God, no…”

“Oh yes,” he nodded solemnly. “You stood on a chair at one point and yelled, ‘Let’s go to the unicorn world!’ before asking a confused intern if he believed in candy rain.”

You let your forehead fall to the table.

“I had no choice,” he went on. “I bowed so deeply, I think I pulled something in my spine. Your future underlings now think I’m your guardian, therapist, or some combination of the two.”

You peeked up at him through your fingers. “Are you done humiliating me yet?”

He smiled, a little too satisfied. “Just making sure you know the price of your glitter-filled delusions.”

You groaned again and reached for your coffee. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Good,” he said, already walking away. “I’ll print that on a shirt for the next time you forget.”

*

The last time Jeonghan and Seungcheol had seen you cry was years ago—on a bleak afternoon neither of them ever forgot. It was ten minutes before the next class. Seungcheol had been looking for you, clutching a half-finished math worksheet in one hand, fully intending to beg for your help. He spotted you slipping into the restroom and figured you’d be out in a minute or two. But time stretched. One minute became five. Five became ten. You still hadn’t come out. Jeonghan showed up just then, sweaty from football practice, jersey clinging to him, his forehead glistening. He slowed when he noticed Seungcheol standing awkwardly near the entrance to the girls’ restroom.

“Why are you here?” Jeonghan asked, eyeing Seungcheol suspiciously, brows drawn together. “You better not be turning into some creep.”

Seungcheol scoffed, waving the math sheet. “Y/n’s in there. I need her help before class, but she’s been inside too long.”

Jeonghan was about to make a smart remark when the door swung open.

And that’s when they saw it.

You stumbled out of the restroom, pushed by a group of girls who scattered the moment the hallway came into view. You hit the floor hard, your knees scraping the tile. Egg yolk ran down your hair, staining the collar of your uniform. The shell fragments clung to your shoulders. You didn’t even look up. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the edge of your skirt, your shoulders shaking as silent sobs began to rise.

For a second, the hallway froze.

Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief—then fury. His voice roared through the corridor, echoing off the walls like a thunderclap. “HEY!” The rage in his tone sent students scattering, teachers peeking from classrooms. You could almost feel the walls tremble from the force of it. Jeonghan, quicker on his feet, rushed toward you. Without saying a word, he crouched down and gently reached for your arm, helping you up with a firm but careful grip.

Teachers began rushing over, alerted by the commotion and Seungcheol’s outburst. A crowd formed, but the two boys stayed focused only on you. While the staff tried to piece together what had happened, Jeonghan and Seungcheol quietly helped you clean yourself up. Jeonghan gently patted the egg out of your hair with tissues someone had handed him, his jaw tight, eyes lowered in uncharacteristic silence. Seungcheol stood close, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his foot tapping in agitation as he watched the teachers murmur among themselves.

“Tell us,” Seungcheol said finally, his voice low but heavy with restrained anger. “What did they do to you… all this time?”

You hesitated, still trembling, your hands fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve.

“That’s okay,” Jeonghan added, softer this time. He crouched slightly, bringing himself to eye level with you. “You can tell us. We’re here.”

You looked between the two of them—their faces, so familiar, so fiercely protective—and something cracked inside your chest. The tears spilled faster now, your voice shaking as you whispered:

“They said I didn’t deserve to be friends with you two.”

The words hung in the air like something sharp and cold.

“They said… girls like me don’t belong around guys like you.”

Jeonghan’s hands froze. Seungcheol’s face twisted in disbelief and rage, his knuckles going white as he clenched his fists.

“So they did all this to you… because of us?” Jeonghan muttered, his tone laced with guilt and disbelief.

You nodded, tears still rolling down your cheeks, and Jeonghan swallowed hard, brushing a piece of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry.”

Seungcheol took a step back, pacing now, muttering curses under his breath before spinning to face the teachers. “You heard her, right? Are you going to do something or do we handle this ourselves?”

The teachers quickly moved to disperse the crowd and collect statements, while Jeonghan stayed beside you, gently guiding you toward the nurse’s office again.

From that day on, it wasn’t just protection they offered.

It was loyalty. And a silent promise: no one would ever hurt you again—not while they were around.

And they hadn’t seen you cry ever since.

It was a quiet testament to your strength. Through the sleepless nights of medical school, grueling exams, endless shifts, and the burden of responsibility that came with being a doctor—you carried it all with a calm, composed grace. Even when things got hard, you wore your tired smile like armor.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol, as tough as they liked to act, had both cried in front of you more than once—Jeonghan when he lost his dog, Seungcheol after his first failed business pitch. You were the one who listened, the one who stayed solid while they fell apart. But you never let them see you break.

Not until the day Jeonghan received the call: your mother had passed away.

He’d just stepped out of a late meeting when his phone buzzed with the news. For a moment, the world stood still. He didn’t even think—he just grabbed his keys and drove, breaking every speed limit until the hospital’s tall white building came into view.

Your family hospital.

He rushed in through the emergency entrance, eyes scanning frantically. That was when he saw Seungcheol—already there, crouched in front of a figure slumped on the bench outside the ICU.

You.

Still in your hospital coat, hands limp in your lap, eyes staring into nothing. The lights above cast a pale glow on your face, and even from a distance, Jeonghan could see how hollow your expression was. You looked like someone who had forgotten how to breathe.

Seungcheol gently held your wrist, whispering something, his brows drawn in pain.

Jeonghan approached slowly, like something sacred had cracked in the room and he didn’t want to shatter it further. His throat tightened at the sight. You, the strongest one among them, looked so small.

And for the first time since high school, he saw your tears again. Silent, slow, like they had been waiting years to fall.

*

The funeral had gone by quietly, solemn and dignified—just the way your mother would have wanted. You hadn’t spoken much, but Jeonghan and Seungcheol stayed by your side the entire time, like silent shadows that grounded you when everything else felt like air. Afterward, the three of you got into Jeonghan’s car and drove in silence toward your family home. The atmosphere was heavy, as if the car itself understood the weight of where you were headed. A meeting had been scheduled with your mother’s lawyer—an urgent, important matter concerning her will.

Your mother hadn’t just been the heart of your family; she was also the true pillar behind the hospital’s legacy. While your father held the position of director, it was your mother who built it from the ground up—brick by brick, department by department. Her name was the one that opened doors, earned respect, and kept the hospital’s vision alive.

And now, she is gone.

Two days later, Seungcheol stopped by Jeonghan’s office early in the morning, still in his work clothes after a visit to the construction site. His shoulders looked unusually stiff, his expression unreadable as he sank into the couch with a quiet sigh. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there like a man lost in thought.

Jeonghan, watching from behind his desk, narrowed his eyes. “Say it,” he urged, standing and making his way to the seat across from Seungcheol.

Seungcheol finally looked up, brow furrowed like he was still trying to wrap his head around it. “Y/n called me this morning.”

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly, already sensing this wasn’t just a casual update.

“It was about her mother’s inheritance,” Seungcheol said slowly. “She’s not getting any money. No property. Nothing.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “What? But she’s the only one following in her mother’s footsteps. She works in healthcare. She’s the most qualified out of everyone.”

Seungcheol nodded, eyes still distant. “Exactly. But the lawyer said she’ll inherit the hospital—not the money, not the land—only the hospital.”

Jeonghan leaned back, frowning. “That’s not bad, though.”

Seungcheol lifted a hand. “There’s a catch.”

Jeonghan stared at him, already bracing for it.

“She can only inherit the hospital if she gets married.”

Jeonghan blinked. “Excuse me?”

“And…” Seungcheol hesitated for a second longer. “She asked me to marry her.”

That snapped Jeonghan upright. “What?”

His voice was louder than he expected, heart thudding as the words echoed in the room. Seungcheol just stared back at him, not saying a word. He let out a long breath, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, palms rubbing together as if the friction might help him make sense of it all.

“I want to help her, of course I do,” he said quietly. “She’s my best friend. You know that. She’s like the sister I never had.”

Jeonghan stayed still, eyes narrowing slightly.

Seungcheol went on, voice heavy with sincerity. “If it was just about signing papers or pretending in front of the board, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But this isn’t just some temporary fix. It’s marriage. And I’m not ready for that—not emotionally, not mentally. I’d end up hurting her, and she doesn’t deserve that.”

His fingers curled into fists for a moment before he looked up again, meeting Jeonghan’s gaze.

“That’s why I suggested your name.”

Silence settled in the room like a weight. Jeonghan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable—shock, maybe, or something more complicated.

“You,” Seungcheol said slowly, “understand her better than anyone. You’ve seen her at her lowest, at her best. And I know—no matter how you act—you care about her deeply.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond right away. He stared at Seungcheol like he had just been pushed off a cliff and was still waiting to hit the ground.

Jeonghan blinked slowly, then scoffed—loudly. He leaned back against the couch, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at Seungcheol like he’d just confessed to selling his soul for bubblegum.

“You’re stupid,” he finally said, his tone half in disbelief, half in frustration. “That’s your solution? Throwing your other friend under the bus?”

Seungcheol frowned. “I’m not throwing you—”

“Yes, you are!” Jeonghan snapped, pointing at him. “You get hit with a hard question and suddenly, ‘Oh! Let’s sacrifice Jeonghan! He can take it!’ What am I? The neighborhood rescue dog?”

“You make it sound worse than it is,” Seungcheol muttered.

“It is worse than it is!” Jeonghan stood up and paced a few steps, dragging a hand through his hair. “Do you think this is a joke? Marriage? With Y/n? She’s not just anyone. This is her life. Her grief. Her mother’s legacy.”

Seungcheol looked down at his hands, quiet for a beat. “That’s exactly why I thought of you.”

Jeonghan turned to him, still fuming.

“You're the only one who won't hurt her. Even when you're pissed, you take care of her. You’re the only one who can handle her breakdowns, her sarcasm, her late-night hospital shifts. You’ve already been doing it for years. This wouldn’t even be a stretch.”

Jeonghan paused. The silence that followed wasn’t light—it hung in the air like the stillness before a storm. “You’re not wrong,” he finally said, his voice low. “But don’t ever decide for me again.”

Seungcheol met his eyes, apologetic.

“So,” Jeonghan said, almost like a challenge, “did she say anything else?”

“She asked if it was a dumb idea,” Seungcheol answered, faintly smiling. “I told her it was—but that if anyone could turn a dumb idea into something real, it’d be you.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet, mirthless laugh. “You’re so lucky I don’t punch you for sport.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Jeonghan stood by the window of his office, arms folded, his eyes locked on the city skyline, though his thoughts were far from the view.

“I’m not going to marry her,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of hesitation.

Seungcheol blinked, stunned. “What?”

“I said I’m not going to marry Y/n.” Jeonghan turned around, walking back to his desk with deliberate steps. “I’ve never seen her that way. Not once. She’s my friend. She’s like… like a teammate I’ve been stuck in the same chaotic group project with since we were twelve.”

Seungcheol frowned. “Jeonghan—”

“I don’t see her as a woman,” Jeonghan said, firmer now. “Not in that sense. She’s Y/n. She’s the one who used to eat her lunch with gloves on because she didn’t want to smudge her notes. She’s the one who screamed at me for skipping class but once stole hospital scrubs just to sneak me in when I twisted my ankle.”

He let out a breath, quieter. “She’s family, Cheol. And I don’t marry family.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But family is the reason she’s doing this. You know her—she won’t marry for love, not now. She just wants to protect the hospital.”

“And I get that,” Jeonghan nodded, gaze hard. “But she deserves someone who will at least try to see her differently. Someone who won’t just treat it like a task. If she marries me, she’ll never get that.”

There was a brief silence. A mature one. Heavy.

“…So what are you going to do?” Seungcheol asked.

Jeonghan exhaled. “I’ll talk to her. But I’m not going to lie and pretend I can be that person.”

*

Jeonghan woke with a pounding headache, the weight of last night's whiskey still pressing against his skull. The faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioner and the filtered morning light slipping through the curtains made him squint. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a low groan, slowly sitting up. His head throbbed harder when he took in the room—still the executive suite at his family’s hotel, where he’d had a meeting yesterday. The same place where he’d waited for you after your hospital shift, sipping on whiskey in the private lounge while the hours bled together in blurred conversation and laughter.

Bottles—empty, half-empty, forgotten—lined the table and nightstand like silent witnesses. Jackets were slung across a chair, shoes scattered in odd places. He recognized his own watch on the floor, next to a trail of clothes that didn’t belong solely to him. And then, instinctively, his eyes drifted to the side—his breath caught.

You were there. Curled up under the duvet, sleeping deeply, hair a mess, bare shoulders exposed. His eyes dropped lower and quickly darted away. The pounding in his head was now joined by a growing pit in his stomach. He glanced down at himself—also bare under the sheets.

Jeonghan froze, every nerve in his body suddenly alert despite the hangover. His brain scrambled, trying to piece together the end of last night. The drinks. The conversation. Your tired laugh. Your hands brushing his when you reached for the bottle. A kiss. God—there was a kiss. Then—

“Shit.”

He dragged a hand down his face and leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t remember the details, but he remembered enough.

This was supposed to be a conversation about the hospital. About you, asking him if there was any way to make things work.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

“Y/n,” he muttered quietly, as if saying your name would make you stir, so he could ask what the hell happened—or maybe apologize before either of you remembered it all too clearly.

But you didn’t move. You were still peacefully asleep, unaware of the chaos swirling in his mind. And Jeonghan could already feel the fallout coming like a wave.

You stirred with a faint groan, blinking at the ceiling. Your head felt heavy, your mouth dry, and for a moment, you couldn't quite remember where you were. The bedding was softer than your own, and the faint scent of Jeonghan’s cologne lingered in the room.

Then you turned your head.

Your gaze met his. Eyes wide. His were already on you—equally frozen.

You blinked again. Slowly sat up. Felt the cold air on your bare shoulders. Glanced down. Sheets. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Wait—” you started, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as panic registered in your eyes. “No. No, no, no—”

Jeonghan shifted upright too, the sheets crumpling over his lap as he sat against the headboard, just as stunned.

“I—I don’t—” You struggled to speak, grabbing your phone off the nightstand like it could explain what had happened, but it only showed missed messages and your alarm.

You looked back at him, mortified. “Did we…? We didn’t…?”

Jeonghan didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched slightly, eyes flickering to the bottles on the nightstand, then to your flushed and confused face. “I think we did.”

You stared at him, heart hammering in your chest. “Oh my God.” Your voice cracked as the memory fragments came rushing in—your shift ending late, Jeonghan waiting for you with drinks, your frustration spilling out in emotional rambling, the comfort, the nearness… the way you let your guard down.

And then—nothing. Just heat, blurred kisses, and now this.

“I don’t remember,” you whispered.

“Me neither,” Jeonghan admitted, rubbing his temple with one hand, eyes falling shut in disbelief.

Silence stretched between you, loud and suffocating.

Then you exhaled shakily and muttered, “We’re screwed.”

Jeonghan didn’t disagree.

The tension in the room crackled as you both scrambled to collect your clothes, the sheets tangling and slipping with every sudden movement. Jeonghan cursed under his breath as he checked the time on his phone. “Shit. I’m late.”

You were already half-dressed, pulling your blouse over your head with trembling fingers. “I need to go home before anyone notices I’m not back.”

Jeonghan hopped awkwardly on one foot as he tried to tug his pants on, his shirt still unbuttoned, hair a mess. “This didn’t happen. Okay?”

You glanced at him, eyes wide. “It happened.”

“Yeah, but—” He buttoned his shirt wrong and huffed. “We don’t remember it.”

“Exactly,” you nodded, slipping your shoes on. “We don’t remember. So technically, it’s like it didn’t happen.”

“Just one night,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair and grabbing his keys.

“One mistake,” you replied without thinking, then paused. “I mean—just a slip. We were drunk.”

“Super drunk,” Jeonghan agreed quickly.

You met his eyes for a second too long. And then both of you looked away, awkwardly clearing your throats.

“Let’s never talk about it,” you said as you reached for the door.

“Never,” Jeonghan echoed, already stuffing papers into his bag like a man fleeing a crime scene.

You stepped out first, your heart still racing. Jeonghan followed a few seconds later, closing the hotel room door behind him with a click. Neither of you looked back.

*

“So how did the talk go?” Seungcheol’s voice rang casually through the phone as you stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you.

Your eyes caught your reflection in the mirror by the entryway—tired eyes, tousled hair, and—

Oh God.

Your hand instinctively flew to your collarbone, fingers brushing over the unmistakable marks scattered along your skin, trailing up to your neck. Hickeys. Bold, undeniable evidence of something you had no memory of.

“It went... well,” you replied, voice a little too high, a little too unsure.

“Yeah?” Seungcheol sounded genuinely hopeful. “So… did he agree?”

Your heart thudded. Did Jeonghan agree to marry me? You remembered he had said no—clear, direct. But after that? Your memory was a blur of golden lights, his glass of whiskey in your hand, his laugh, your boldness, the heat—

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to stay calm. “We were just talking, you know…” you said slowly, choosing each word like it was a landmine. “The conversation didn’t really get to a yes or no. We got distracted. Talked about other things.”

Technically not a lie. Just… not the whole truth.

“Still,” Seungcheol continued on the other end of the line, completely unaware of the storm in your chest, “I think Jeonghan would understand you. He’s always treated you well. I mean, out of the two of us, he’s the one who always had more patience with your chaos.”

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “Yeah… he did.”

“Just be honest with him,” Seungcheol added, almost gently. “Jeonghan might act like a brat sometimes, but when it comes to you, he’s different. He cares. You know that.”

Your hand tightened around your blouse

And that’s when it happened.

A flash—so quick you almost thought you imagined it.

His hand on your cheek. His lips on yours. The taste of whiskey between you. The slow burn of a kiss that felt nothing like friendship.

You blinked, your fingers going still.

“Y/n? You still there?”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

But part of you wasn’t. Part of you was still stuck in that hotel room, with the soft memory of Jeonghan's mouth on yours, and the way your heart had almost stopped.

“…he’s always been there for you, Y/n. I just think if there’s anyone who could help you through this, it’s Jeonghan,” Seungcheol said, his voice calm through the receiver.

But his words became a blur as your mind started to slip—like a dam cracking open with every syllable he spoke. You could still feel it. The heat of Jeonghan’s breath against your neck. The way his hands gripped your waist—hesitant at first, then desperate. The sting of your back hitting the cool sheets as he hovered over you, his brows furrowed, pupils blown wide, whispering your name like it meant something new.

Like it was no longer just “Y/n,” his friend.

You bit your lip hard, hoping the physical pain would erase the memory. It didn’t.

“Y/n?” Seungcheol’s voice snapped you back. “You okay?”

“Yeah—yeah, sorry.” You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. “I just… didn’t get much sleep.” Which wasn’t a lie. You hadn’t slept. Not really. Not after the warmth, the weight, and the realization of what you had done with Jeonghan.

And now, you weren’t sure what scared you more—

The fact that it happened or the fact that a part of you… didn’t regret it.

The next time you and Jeonghan crossed paths was on Seungcheol’s birthday.

Unlike the lavish celebrations expected of a conglomerate’s son, Seungcheol never cared for extravagance. Neither did you or Jeonghan. Since high school, birthdays had always been about the same three things: the three of you, some good food, late-night conversations that stretched until dawn, and a morning-after spent groggy on the couch with empty plates scattered around.

You had just finished a long night shift at the hospital, and thankfully, the rest of the day—and tomorrow—was free. You arrived first at Seungcheol’s place, arms full with takeout and a small cake box. The hallway was quiet, the lights dimmed. You punched in the passcode on the door panel—his birthday, reversed, a code that hadn’t changed in years—and stepped into the familiar apartment.

It smelled like wood and faint cologne, the kind Seungcheol always wore when he had meetings. You set the food on the kitchen counter, the soft thump of containers echoing in the stillness. No lights, no music, no sign of the birthday boy yet. You glanced at the time—he and Jeonghan were running late.

You sank into the couch, stretching out your legs and letting the silence settle around you.

It had been two weeks since that night with Jeonghan.

Two weeks since the hotel room, the drinks, the foggy heat of something you still couldn’t fully piece together.

Two weeks of zero contact.

And now, you were here. Waiting.

The digital clock ticked louder than usual, each second dragging a bit more tension with it. You tried not to overthink, tried to focus on anything else—your phone screen, the soft hum of the refrigerator—but your mind kept drifting back to the last time you saw Jeonghan… and the things you didn’t say.

The sound of the door unlocking pulled you from your thoughts. A soft beep, followed by the mechanical click of the passcode panel disengaging. You sat up instinctively, smoothing your hair as footsteps approached.

The door swung open, and there he was—Jeonghan. He paused in the doorway when he saw you, the chill of the hallway air still clinging to his coat. His brows rose slightly, surprise flickering across his face. His hair was pushed back messily, like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times on the way here.

“…You’re early,” he said slowly, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t expect to see you here first.”

You stood, wiping your palms down your pants out of habit. “I had a night shift. Got off earlier than planned. Figured I’d bring food before you two showed up.”

Jeonghan shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door. “Seungcheol texted. Said he’s caught up in some family business and running late.”

You nodded, the air between you tightening slightly. The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was thick—weighted by everything unspoken, everything half-remembered.

Jeonghan walked into the living room, glanced at the table. “You brought japchae?” His voice tried for casual.

“Yeah. And chicken. And that weird yogurt drink Seungcheol likes for no reason.”

Jeonghan smiled faintly and let out a soft, amused breath, the tension momentarily diffused. “You still remember his obsession with that stuff?”

“I wish I didn’t. It haunts me.”

You both let out a low chuckle, but it didn’t last. Jeonghan’s eyes eventually met yours again—this time, slower, more hesitant. Neither of you mentioned the last time you’d seen each other. Not the hotel. Not the drinks. Not the hazy memories.

Not the fact that you hadn’t talked since.

But it lingered anyway.

Just beneath the surface.

Before either of you could say anything else, the familiar beep of the door's passcode rang through the apartment again, followed by the sound of Seungcheol’s voice calling out, “I brought the good stuff!”

You and Jeonghan turned toward the entrance as Seungcheol walked in with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of whiskey proudly held in the other. His coat was half off his shoulders, hair slightly tousled from rushing over.

He spotted you both and grinned. “Oh good, both of you made it. Now it feels like my birthday.”

You offered a small smile, grateful for the interruption. “You didn’t have to bring anything.”

“I had to. It’s tradition,” Seungcheol said, setting the bottle down on the table with an exaggerated flourish. “Besides, this one’s aged fifteen years. Older than most of our decisions lately.”

Jeonghan gave a dry chuckle and raised a brow. “Including yours?”

“Especially mine,” Seungcheol smirked before plopping down onto the couch and glancing between the two of you. “So. Are we gonna pretend everything’s normal or do I need to spike your drinks first?”

You sat down beside him while Jeonghan stayed standing, his hands resting in his pockets. The tension hadn’t disappeared. It just moved aside to make room for Seungcheol’s usual way of diffusing it—with humor and whiskey.

*

Seungcheol had long retreated to his room, knocked out cold from the whiskey he insisted on drinking more of than anyone else. The walls of his apartment were thick, thank god—but not thick enough to silence the storm brewing next door.

The atmosphere had shifted the moment his bedroom door closed. You and Jeonghan were left alone in the living room, both pretending to focus on an old movie playing on the screen, but neither of you actually watching. The silence wasn’t comfortable—it was charged, thick with memories neither of you had fully come to terms with.

Your breath hitched when Jeonghan shifted closer, his knee brushing yours on the couch. You turned your head slightly, only to find him already watching you—eyes unreadable, voice low.

“Do you remember anything from that night?” he asked.

You swallowed hard. “Pieces.”

“Same,” he muttered, before pausing. “But I remember how it felt.”

The two of you breathed heavily, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Once. Twice. Then, with a swift motion, he pulled you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. His large hands tenderly cradled your cheeks, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver down your spine, before his lips descended onto yours with a fervent intensity.

"Shit... I've been thinking about your lips lately," he murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent tingles through your body.

His other hand found its way to your waist, firm yet gentle, guiding you effortlessly to settle on his lap. The kiss remained unbroken, a seamless blend of passion and longing, as time seemed to stand still around you.

"Seungcheol is in his room," you murmured breathlessly, breaking the kiss that had left you both gasping for air.

"Forget him," Jeonghan replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "He's too drunk to notice anything." Without waiting for further protest, he drew you back into a fervent kiss, his lips capturing yours with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine.

In one swift motion, Jeonghan stood up, effortlessly lifting you into his arms. He carried you down the dimly lit hallway to Seungcheol's guest room, nudging the door open with ease. The soft creak of the hinges was barely audible over the sound of your quickened breaths. Gently, he laid you down onto the bed, the sheets cool against your skin. His hands began to explore the contours of your body with a deliberate tenderness, slowly unbuttoning and removing your blouse.

Your own hands found their way to the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his pants with an urgency that mirrored his own. Your fingers fumbled slightly as they worked to unbutton his shirt, tracing the lines of his chest as you maintained the passionate kiss.

"Seungcheol is going to kill us," Jeonghan murmured, a hint of playful defiance in his voice, as his hands deftly moved to your pants, sliding them down to reveal your bare skin.

"Fucking in his guest room," he chuckled softly, "He's going to kill us."

Yet, the thrill of the moment was too intoxicating to resist.

You woke up just past noon, your head pounding like a bass drum. The sunlight bleeding through the edges of the curtain felt far too aggressive for your condition. Groaning, you sat up and realized you were no longer in your own clothes. Instead, you were dressed in one of Seungcheol’s oversized T-shirts—soft, worn-in cotton that practically swallowed your frame. Jeonghan must’ve grabbed it from your friend’s closet sometime during the night.q

You shuffled out of the guest bedroom, rubbing your temple, and found Jeonghan and Seungcheol slouched over the dining table. Both looked equally wrecked, hair messy and eyes puffy, nursing bowls of takeout soup in complete silence.

“Go eat this,” Jeonghan said as he pulled out the chair beside him without looking up. His voice was low and hoarse, like it hadn't fully woken up yet.

Seungcheol finally looked over—and froze. His eyes widened at the sight of his favorite T-shirt hanging loosely on you.

“Yah!” he exclaimed, pointing a dramatic finger. “Why are you wearing that one?! That’s my favorite!”

You squinted at him, then turned slowly to glare at Jeonghan, who was now struggling to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. That motherfucker definitely knew what he was doing when he dressed you in it.

You huffed, muttering, “I’m sorry… I was too drunk to realize.” Then, without missing a beat, you shot Jeonghan a sharp look. “Apparently, someone wasn’t.”

“I got you another one,” Jeonghan said innocently—like he’d planned this whole thing.

Seungcheol rolled his eyes. “You two are unbelievable.”

You sat down across from the two men, your eyes flickering between Jeonghan and Seungcheol as you tried to piece yourself together. The hot soup in front of you sent a wave of steam into your face, grounding you for a moment. But not enough to forget the way Jeonghan’s lips had moved against yours last night. Not enough to forget his fingers fumbling with your buttons, the urgency in his breath, the way he whispered your name like a secret meant only for the dark.

You stirred the soup absently, heart pounding all over again.

Seungcheol groaned, leaning back in his chair. “Seriously though, how much did we drink? My head’s splitting in half.”

“More than we should’ve,” Jeonghan muttered, voice calm—almost too calm. His fingers tapped against the ceramic bowl rhythmically, but he hadn’t taken a single bite. You knew that look—he was pretending everything was fine. Like last night didn’t happen.

You hadn’t even had the nerve to look him in the eye.

“Why do I feel like I missed something?” Seungcheol mumbled, squinting between the two of you.

You flinched slightly, and Jeonghan cleared his throat.

“You missed your chance to stop me from letting her steal your favorite shirt,” he said, with a casual smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

You forced a laugh, weak and quick, and focused again on your soup.

But the silence between you and Jeonghan stretched thin, thick with the weight of unspoken words and the memory of skin against skin—while Seungcheol had been passed out in the next room, completely unaware that his two closest friends were crossing a line that neither of you had dared touch before.

And now here you were—sitting in your best friend’s kitchen, wearing his favorite shirt, next to the man who'd kissed you breathless hours before—and neither of you knew what to do next.

“So,” Seungcheol said, dragging the word out as he slumped deeper into his chair. He set his empty bowl aside and gave you a long, expectant look. “Have you thought more about the hospital situation?”

Your spoon hovered mid-air, steam curling around your face as you blinked. A quiet clink echoed when the utensil touched the edge of the bowl. Across the table, Jeonghan stiffened—just slightly, but you noticed.

“I’m… still thinking about it,” you murmured, eyes focused on the soup like it held all the answers.

Seungcheol frowned, tapping his fingers against the table. “You said that two weeks ago.”

You didn’t reply. Mostly because you didn’t know what to say without glancing at Jeonghan. And you couldn’t afford to glance at Jeonghan right now.

He barreled on. “Look. I know it’s insane. ‘Get married or lose the hospital’ sounds like something out of a bad K-drama. But your mom built that place. She poured her whole damn life into it. It’s not just a building—it’s your inheritance. Your future.”

You drew in a breath, let it out slowly. Seungcheol had always known how to strike right at the center of things. You hated him for it sometimes.

“And when you asked me…” He leaned in now, elbows on the table, voice gentler. “I really did consider it. I mean, you’re my best friend. You’ve been with me through every breakup, every hangover, every stupid decision I ever made. Of course I thought about saying yes.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his. There was sincerity there. Regret, even.

“But I knew I’d screw it up eventually,” he added, chuckling dryly. “We’d end up resenting each other. I’d probably forget your anniversary and show up late to your divorce hearing.”

Despite yourself, you laughed softly.

Seungcheol smiled. “I’m chaos. You need someone steady. Someone who knows how to make you breathe instead of panic. Someone who… already knows you inside out.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.

“That’s why I told you to ask him.”

There was no need to look. You felt the shift in Jeonghan’s posture before Seungcheol even gestured toward him.

You didn’t turn your head. You couldn’t. The air felt too thick now. Even blinking felt like a risk.

“But this guy,” Seungcheol said, waving his spoon at Jeonghan with mock betrayal, “just flat out refused. No hesitation. No drama. Just a cold-ass no.”

There was a sharp pause. Jeonghan set down his bowl with more force than necessary.

“I didn’t refuse,” he said, his voice quiet, clipped. “I said I didn’t think marriage was the solution.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Same difference.”

Jeonghan’s jaw flexed. “It’s not.”

You finally looked at him then. His face was unreadable, but his fingers were curled too tightly around the edge of the table. Tension lived in every part of him.

Seungcheol leaned back, sighing like a man fed up with the world. “You two already bicker like you’ve been married five years. The chemistry’s right there. Even my mom thinks you’re dating.”

You flushed, dropping your gaze. Jeonghan didn’t say a word.

“She’s not someone I see that way.”

His words landed with the dull thud of a stone in water. No ripple. Just sinking.

Your stomach twisted. You could still feel the weight of his hands from the night before. The way his breath had hitched when your lips met. The way he’d held you like he was afraid you’d vanish. And now—this.

“Oh, okay,” Seungcheol said, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Cool.”

You forced a breath through your nose and tried not to react. You weren’t going to ask. You weren’t going to break.

“I’ll figure something else out,” you said quickly, your voice a little too tight, a little too rehearsed. “I always do.”

Seungcheol looked at you, brows drawing together in concern, but didn’t push further.

You felt Jeonghan’s eyes on you, though. Like a weight you couldn’t shrug off. You didn’t dare meet his gaze.

But under the table, your knees brushed. A fleeting contact—barely noticeable. And he didn’t move.

Neither did you.

And maybe that was the problem.

*

The clatter of silverware and the low murmur of polite conversation filled the dining room, where Jeonghan sat awkwardly between his mother and a cousin he barely recognized. His parents had insisted on a full family dinner—“We haven’t all been together in months, Jeonghan-ah!”—and now he was regretting not faking a fever.

He was halfway through picking at a slice of galbi when his father leaned in a little too casually and said, “Did you hear about Y/n’s father?”

Jeonghan blinked. He hadn’t heard her name all evening—had tried not to think about her, if he was honest.

“What about him?” he asked, trying to sound neutral, but his voice already had a tension to it.

“He’s getting remarried,” his father said, mouth full of japchae. “Some woman from Busan. Younger. Pretty well-off, I heard.”

Jeonghan stilled. His chopsticks hovered mid-air.

Jeonghan couldn’t sit still after dinner.

Three months.

Three damn months after your mother passed, and your father was already signing marriage papers with a woman who had no history with your family, no ties to the hospital, no respect for what your mother built. The news echoed in his mind like a warning bell—and the worst part? You hadn’t even told him. Or Seungcheol.

By the time Jeonghan slammed the car door shut and stalked into Seungcheol’s apartment, his jaw was already locked tight. His parents had dropped the bomb at the tail end of dinner like it was gossip over dessert.

“Did you hear? Her father’s remarrying already. Three months. Can you believe it?”

Three months since her mother’s funeral. Jeonghan remembered how you barely made it through the eulogy without shaking. How you’d curled up in the backseat of his car afterward, still in your funeral hanbok, silent except for the occasional sound of your breathing—too calm, too quiet, like you were holding your whole grief together by the thread of not saying anything out loud.

And now this.

“She doesn’t know,” Seungcheol said lazily from the couch without looking up from his phone, glancing over Jeonghan’s stormy entrance like it was just another Tuesday. “Or at least… she didn’t tell me either.”

Jeonghan stopped mid-pace, scoffing. “She knows.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling back into place messily. “She always knows. She just—doesn’t want to talk about it.”

The room quieted. Even Seungcheol lowered his phone now.

“Ya,” Jeonghan said, his voice low. “She just lost her mom. And now her dad’s acting like she was never part of that life. Like she’s replaceable.”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmured. “I didn’t think it would actually come to this, but….”

Jeonghan turned, alert.

Seungcheol hesitated, brows furrowed, voice heavy with guilt. “Y/n’s dad is planning to take back the hospital. Legally. If she’s not married by the time the board votes on succession, he’ll have the right to reclaim everything.”

Jeonghan froze.

“…What are you talking about?”

“There’s a clause. In her mom’s will. You remember how traditional her family is, right? Her mom added a provision that said Y/n could inherit the hospital—if she was married, as a show of stability.”

“That’s insane,” Jeonghan said, shaking his head. “That’s not—She’s been running that place half her life.”

“I know,” Seungcheol said again, quieter this time. “But with her mom gone, and no spouse to secure her position, her father—who technically still holds a dormant stake—can challenge the board’s vote. And they’ll side with whoever seems more ‘qualified’ to run a multi-billion-won legacy hospital.”

Jeonghan’s breath caught in his throat. “So if she’s not married… she loses everything?”

“Exactly.”

The word dropped like a lead weight.

The hospital. Your mother’s legacy. Your life.

All of it—hinging on one outdated clause and a man who was more concerned with reclaiming power than preserving what mattered to his daughter.

Jeonghan’s hands slowly curled into fists at his sides.

He didn’t say it out loud, but the truth was sour in his mouth: He could’ve helped. He’d been asked—hell, handpicked. And he said no.

But those nights… those kisses… the way you trembled in his arms, the way you didn’t pull away—

Maybe it wasn’t just your future that was unraveling.

Maybe it was his, too.

*

Jeonghan heard it first from Seungcheol, in a conversation that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“You helped her send a marriage proposal to the Hong family?” he asked, trying to sound neutral—but the words hitched somewhere between surprise and something less noble.

Seungcheol nodded, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah. She’s being practical. The Hongs are powerful, respected, and Jisoo’s around our age. It’s a smart match.”

Jeonghan’s mind flicked back to university days. He remembered Hong Jisoo—gentle voice, crisp suits even back then, the kind of guy professors liked and girls swooned over. Polite, well-mannered, probably the kind of man who’d pull your chair out at dinner and remember your dog’s birthday.

He hated how reasonable it sounded.

Still, he needed to know.

“Is Jisoo even single?” Jeonghan asked, almost too quickly.

Jun, his ever-efficient secretary, looked up from his tablet. “Actually… no, sir. He’s dating someone.”

Jeonghan blinked. “How do you know that?”

Jun cleared his throat, a bit sheepishly. “I saw them at two or three events. He wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Not long after, right on cue, news came that your proposal had been rejected. Politely, but firmly.

Jeonghan didn’t know what stung more—that someone else had the chance to say no to you, or that you’d gone through the process without even telling him.

At your next lunch with him and Seungcheol, you stirred your iced tea with a distracted expression before saying, “I’m moving on to the Jeon family next. Remember Wonwoo?”

Jeonghan’s brows lifted. “Jeon Wonwoo?”

Seungcheol let out a soft whistle. “Now that’s a solid bet. The board practically drools over that guy. Youngest regional director in five years. Clean record, sharp thinker. He could probably get you the hospital single-handedly.”

Jeonghan forced himself to nod, even as something in his stomach tightened.

Wonwoo was perfect.

Too perfect.

A week later, the news broke: Wonwoo was already engaged—privately, quietly, to someone outside the industry. A secret fiancée. One no one had expected, and no one dared question.

Jeonghan said nothing when he heard. Just closed the tab on his screen and leaned back in his chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.

How many more names would you have to cross off?

It was Seungcheol who brought it up over dinner one evening.

“There’s another option,” he said, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of steak. “The Kim family. They reached out.”

You blinked. “Kim? As in…?”

“Kim Jongin,” he confirmed, glancing up. “Their eldest son. The family’s powerful, old money, and still holds shares in three major medical networks. If you marry them, the board will bow down without a fight.”

Jeonghan’s fork paused mid-air.

“Kim Jongin?” he repeated slowly, like the name tasted wrong in his mouth. “As in that Kim Jongin? The one who once got kicked out of a charity gala for flirting with a diplomat’s wife?”

Seungcheol smirked. “That was years ago. He’s cleaned up, mostly. Spends more time in boardrooms than clubs now.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He still flirts with everyone. He sent me flowers once and signed the card as ‘Your Future Headache.’”

Seungcheol, chuckling, muttered under his breath, “At least he’s honest.”

Jeonghan didn’t laugh.

Instead, he leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You can’t be serious. Jongin has more scandals than business articles to his name. You’d be a headline before the wedding cake even sets.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but your voice was quieter. “I’m running out of names, Jeonghan. I don’t need a saint—I need a shield. The board only cares about a surname that scares them.”

Seungcheol nodded grimly. “And the Kim name does that.”

Jeonghan looked at you then—really looked. There was exhaustion behind your smile, a quiet kind of defeat.

How many times have you been rejected, redirected, shut out? How many times had you kept it together just to protect the hospital your mother left behind?

He couldn’t stop you from trying again.

But he hated that you even had to.

That night, Jeonghan poured himself a drink in his living room, alone.

“Kim Jongin,” he muttered bitterly. “Over my dead body.”

*

“Jeonghan just called me. Is that true?”

Seungcheol’s voice crackled through the phone speaker, a strange mix of urgency and disbelief. You barely registered his tone, your mind still half-occupied with the scribbled patient notes in front of you.

You shifted in your seat at the nurse station, eyes still on the clipboard. “What’s true? Did he win the lottery or something?” You let out a soft, tired chuckle. “I mean, honestly, would anyone be shocked if Jeonghan secretly played the odds? He’s... Jeonghan.”

On the other end, Seungcheol sighed. The kind of sigh that wasn’t amused or tired—it was preparing you for something.

“No, Y/n.” His voice lowered. “He told me to turn down the Kim family’s proposal.”

Your pen slipped, leaving a smudge on the paper.

You blinked.

“What?”

The pen rolled out of your fingers and onto the desk with a soft clatter. Your body leaned forward, suddenly too alert. “Why would he—?”

“He said…” Seungcheol hesitated, as though trying to choose the least explosive version of the truth. “Because he’s going to marry you.”

The words didn’t land so much as settle, like the moment before a storm hits—silent, still, choking on meaning.

Your gaze fixed on the wall across the room. White. Blank. Too bright under hospital lights. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped steadily, unaware that your pulse had just doubled.

You didn’t answer. Couldn't. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your hands, resting on the desk, had gone cold.

And still, Seungcheol didn’t say another word.

He didn’t need to.

“He didn’t say anything to you, did he?” Seungcheol asked quietly.

You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through your hair. “No,” you mumbled, eyes narrowing as you stood from the nurse station chair. “Not a word.”

You could hear Seungcheol curse under his breath on the other end, but you were already pacing down the hallway toward your office, phone still pressed to your ear.

“Is he crazy or something?” you muttered, your voice low and laced with disbelief.

Seungcheol tried to lighten the mood. “Should I bring him to the hospital? Get his head checked?”

You scoffed, pushing open your office door with a bit more force than necessary. “No, you should’ve kicked him in the head instead.”

Dropping your white coat onto the couch, you finally sank into your chair, hand covering your eyes for a second before dropping it with a frustrated sigh.

“He said no, Seungcheol. No. So what the hell is this now?”

Silence hummed between you for a moment. Then, quietly, Seungcheol said, “Maybe he changed his mind.”

You leaned back in your chair, the ceiling suddenly very interesting. “If he did, he sure has a weird way of showing it.”

*

Jeonghan didn’t expect to find you there—not tonight, not like this.

He had barely stepped out of the elevator, keys jingling in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other, when his footsteps slowed. His gaze caught on your figure leaning against the wall by his apartment door. Arms crossed. Eyes unreadable. A stillness about you that unnerved him more than any outburst could.

He swallowed hard. The hallway light flickered above him as if mimicking the beat of his pulse.

“Y/n?” he said, cautious, testing the sound of your name like it might trigger something.

You didn’t answer immediately. You just looked at him like he was something unfamiliar—like you were trying to remember why you'd ever trusted him in the first place.

He approached slowly, key poised at the lock. “Did… Seungcheol tell you?”

Your voice cut through the quiet. “So it’s true?”

Jeonghan winced at the edge in your tone. He gave a small, reluctant nod.

You followed him inside without waiting for an invitation. The slam of the door behind you echoed through the room like thunder—loud, final, impossible to ignore.

You whirled on him. “After all the dramatic no’s, after everything—you just decided yes?”

He set the bag on the kitchen counter with trembling fingers. “I changed my mind.”

You scoffed. “Oh, now that’s convenient.”

He turned to face you, heart crawling up his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Didn’t mean to? You told me you didn’t see me that way, Jeonghan. Your exact words. And now, what—suddenly you do? Right after I get another proposal?”

Jeonghan flinched. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to face you after…”

“After those nights?” Your voice cracked on the words, and it gutted him.

He stepped forward, cautious like you might bolt if he got too close. “I know I messed up. I should’ve said something the night it happened. I should’ve said something before you started sending out proposals like you were auctioning off your future.”

“Don’t,” you snapped. “Don’t pretend this is about you protecting me.”

“It’s not,” he said quietly. “It’s all about business. You’re trying to protect your mother’s legacy, right? A marriage of convenience should do exactly that—secure power, eliminate risk. Jongin is a risk.”

You stared at him like you could see straight through the wall he was building with every word. “So you offered yourself instead? What kind of convenient marriage involves someone who told me—explicitly—that he didn’t see me that way?”

The question sliced through the air.

He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles whitening.

“I’m stable,” he said flatly. “I know the hospital. The board respects me. I have no scandals, no secret fiancée, no bad press. We wouldn't have to pretend much, and we’d get the media on our side. You’d be safe. The hospital would be safe. It’s a rational solution.”

But even as he said it, his voice faltered at the end.

You stepped closer now, slow, deliberate. “So this is about logic?”

“Yes,” he lied.

You waited.

He didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Because the truth had nearly spilled out earlier—I can’t stand the thought of you marrying someone else.

But he buried it. Deep.

Because feelings were messy. And you deserved clarity, not confusion.

So he said nothing more. Just stood there in his perfectly structured silence, hoping you wouldn’t notice the way his heart was hammering under his shirt.

On the next day, Jeonghan sat quietly in the sleek, dim living room of the Yoon estate, the tick of the vintage clock on the wall growing louder with every second of silence.

The dining table remained untouched—no one had the appetite to eat after his announcement.

“I’m going to marry her,” he repeated, tone clipped, businesslike. “It’s not romantic. It’s a business marriage. The hospital stays under her control, and in turn, the Yoon family’s reputation gains an institutional ally.”

His father leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable. “You do realize what you're signing up for, don't you?”

Jeonghan kept his chin up. “I do.”

His mother placed her glass down a little too loudly. “That family—her father has scandals trailing him like a shadow. You’ve seen the tabloids, Jeonghan.”

“I’m not marrying her family,” Jeonghan said evenly. “I’m marrying her.”

His younger sister scoffed. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

The tension hit like a sharp wind. Jeonghan could feel the weight of their warnings pressing into his spine.

“She’s… someone I trust. She’s capable. She doesn’t deserve to lose the hospital over a power play. This is the cleanest solution.”

His father shook his head slowly. “You don’t protect people like this, son. Not with your last name. Not with a ring.”

But Jeonghan’s voice didn’t waver. “This isn’t about protection. It’s about business.”

No one believed that—not fully. Especially not him.

Still, they didn’t stop him.

They just let him go.

The very next week, he arrived at the law office early. He had barely slept, but he looked sharp. Tailored blazer, no tie, and his fingers twitching slightly as he waited.

You walked in —expression composed, but Jeonghan knew how to read past that. The subtle tightness in your jaw. The way your eyes darted quickly toward the folder in your hand rather than meeting his.

He stood as you sat. You didn't greet him, just nodded.

Professional.

Just like he’d asked for.

His lawyer spread the documents across the table. “The key terms have been adjusted: one and a half years of legal marriage, public announcement optional, privacy clauses intact. Divorce may be filed on mutual grounds with assets protected under current holdings.”

You read through the text quietly, flipping each page like you’d done this before. Jeonghan watched you instead.

This wasn’t what you’d wanted. Not really. You’d looked for alternatives. You’d begged for options. And when those doors kept closing, you chose the least damaging one. Him.

“I added a clause,” you said, sliding the paper forward. “I’ll retain decision-making rights over hospital board matters. I don’t want you getting dragged into internal politics.”

He blinked. “That’s not necessary.”

“It is,” you said quietly. “You’re already doing enough.”

That silenced him.

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair. This was supposed to be a simple deal, numbers and clauses and black ink—but the air felt heavier than contracts should allow.

You cleared your throat. “You don’t have to—if there’s even a 1% chance you’ll regret this—”

“I’ve already regretted worse,” he cut you off gently. “At least this time, I’m choosing.”

That struck harder than expected.

The lawyer pushed forward two pens. One for you. One for him. When your fingers brushed as you reached out, you didn’t pull away. Neither did he. And for the briefest moment, something unspoken passed between you. Not affection. Not relief. Something quieter. Lonelier. Like two people agreeing to build a house with no intention of living in it.

He watched you sign.

Then he signed, too.

Later that evening, Jeonghan stood by his window, overlooking the city as the skyline blinked softly into the night. A message from Seungcheol sat unread on his phone.

“Are you really going to go through with this?”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he whispered to himself, almost bitterly, “It’s just business.” But his reflection in the window—the tightness around his eyes, the tremble in his hand—betrayed him. He hadn’t lied to you. He wouldn’t hurt you. But what he didn’t say, what he couldn’t say, was this: That part of him didn’t want to protect the hospital.

He wanted to protect you. And now, he was bound to you by paper and law—and silence. Because feelings had no place in business.

Right?

*

The courthouse was stark—walls painted a dull beige, fluorescent lights humming overhead, the faint smell of disinfectant and stale coffee lingering in the air. The atmosphere was anything but celebratory. There were no flowers, no music, no friends or family smiling and whispering behind gloved hands.

You sat rigid in the cold metal chair, hands folded neatly in your lap. Your outfit was businesslike—dark gray trousers and a tailored blazer, practical shoes. Not a stitch of white, no trace of sentimentality. You were here to do one thing: make this marriage legal.

Jeonghan arrived minutes early, his usual composure in place but with an edge of fatigue in his eyes. His black suit hung perfectly on his lean frame, but the absence of a tie made him look less like a groom and more like a reluctant businessman caught in an inconvenient meeting. His jaw was clean-shaven but tight, lips pressed into a thin line.

The clerk barely glanced up as she recited the required lines, voice flat and rehearsed: “Do you, Jeonghan Yoon, take Y/n to be your lawful spouse…” She handed him the pen first, and he signed without hesitation. Then it was your turn. Your hand trembled slightly as you picked up the pen, the sterile atmosphere pressing down like a weight on your chest.

“Congratulations,” the clerk said, but it felt hollow, like an echo in a room already emptied of meaning.

You both nodded curtly, standing side by side as if you’d just closed a deal on a corporate merger rather than pledged to share a life.

Outside, the sky was heavy with thick gray clouds. A cold wind tugged at your coat as you stepped into the parking lot, clutching the envelope of signed documents like a lifeline. Jeonghan was beside you, expression unreadable.

Then, from the corner of the lot, a figure emerged.

Your father.

His suit was tailored but brighter than appropriate, the kind of showy fabric meant to command attention. His smile was thin, practiced—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Those eyes scanned both of you like a chess master sizing up pawns.

“Congratulations,” he said smoothly, voice low but laced with something sharper. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally made the practical choice.”

Your shoulders stiffened imperceptibly, your breath catching for just a moment. Jeonghan’s gaze locked onto your father, cold and measuring.

“I see you’ve gone for political utility over sentiment,” your father continued, glancing at Jeonghan as if daring him to respond. “Smart move. The board will be swayed by this union, no doubt.”

“Don’t,” you said quietly, the word clipped but filled with warning.

Your father ignored you, stepping closer, his tone patronizing. “Now that the marriage is secured, the revised foundation charter is ready. You’ll find the documents waiting in your office.”

You paled, your fingers tightening around the envelope as your lips parted slightly—words trapped somewhere between anger and resignation.

Jeonghan stepped forward, voice steady but sharp. “Is this what this has been about all along? Using your daughter’s marriage as leverage for control?”

Your father’s smile remained unshaken. “Legacy isn’t sentimental, Mr. Yoon. It’s power. And power is survival.”

You didn’t move or meet either man’s eyes, instead staring down at the cracked concrete beneath your feet as if it might swallow you whole.

In that moment, Jeonghan’s posture shifted—his usual calm replaced by a simmering realization. This was no business arrangement for you. This was a battlefield, and you’d been fighting it alone.

He said nothing further, merely opening the car door with an automatic gesture of protection.

You slid inside silently, the door clicking shut behind you.

Jeonghan lingered a heartbeat longer, then followed, closing the door. The car’s interior was dim and silent, the weight of unspoken truths thick between you.

You held the envelope tightly, the crinkling paper sounding unnaturally loud.

Marriage, Jeonghan thought bitterly, should be a choice—not a chain.

He glanced at you, rigid and pale, and knew he had underestimated just how much this ‘business’ was costing you.

Jeonghan found himself in the sleek, glass-walled conference room of his family’s business headquarters a week later. The boardroom was large, with polished oak tables and leather chairs, the kind of place where decisions that shaped industries were made. Around the table sat key members of the hospital board—men and women whose loyalties were divided, some still unsure whether your father’s legal challenge could unsettle the current balance.

Jeonghan sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed but authoritative. His sharp eyes scanned the faces before him, reading hesitation, doubt, and the flicker of ambition. With a quiet nod to his personal lawyer beside him, he opened the discussion.

“Thank you for coming on short notice,” he began, voice steady and deliberate. “I understand there has been some concern about the hospital’s future leadership and the potential legal complications following Mrs. Y/n’s recent loss.”

A few board members exchanged cautious glances.

“My wife’s inheritance is tied directly to the hospital’s legacy. It’s a responsibility she takes seriously—not just because of family, but because she believes in the institution’s mission.” He let the words hang for a moment, deliberately invoking a sense of duty and stability.

“But,” he continued, “there’s also the question of the will’s conditions—specifically, the marriage clause. Some have suggested it could be challenged, that your loyalties might shift.”

He reached forward and slid a thick legal dossier across the table, its cover embossed with the family seal. “Our legal team has reviewed every clause meticulously. The marriage between Mrs. Y/n and myself satisfies all stipulated conditions. Any attempt to invalidate this union on legal grounds would be both unfounded and harmful to the hospital’s reputation and stability.”

His tone sharpened slightly, no longer just informative but subtly warning. “We cannot afford the disruption that a public dispute would bring. Investor confidence, donor relations, patient trust—all of these depend on a unified leadership.”

The room was silent for a beat. Then, one elder board member spoke, voice low but firm. “Mr. Jeonghan, your family’s influence is undeniable. We want what’s best for the hospital, but we must ensure governance remains transparent and effective.”

Jeonghan nodded respectfully. “Agreed. Transparency and stability are non-negotiable. That is why my family is prepared to provide the necessary financial and strategic support to secure the hospital’s future.”

He could see the subtle nods around the table. The message was clear: resistance would be costly and futile.

*

Seungcheol stepped into Jeonghan’s apartment, letting the door close behind him with a quiet thud. His eyes scanned the space, half-hoping to catch a glimpse of you curled up on the couch or busy in the kitchen. But the place was quiet—too quiet for a newly married couple.

“She’s got a shift,” Jeonghan said simply, already walking toward the open kitchen. His sleeves were rolled up, and he looked like he hadn’t slept much.

Seungcheol nodded, settling into one of the stools by the counter. “Of course she does.” He watched Jeonghan pour himself a glass of water, the silence thick with unspoken questions. Then he asked, more lightly than he felt, “So… how’s married life?”

Jeonghan paused for a moment, leaning his weight against the counter as he stared at the glass in his hand.

“Strategic,” he said finally, his tone dry.

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow.

Jeonghan sighed. “It’s complicated. The hospital isn’t just some legacy—it’s a battlefield. Her father’s been trying to claw his way back into control using every legal loophole he can find. The marriage? It was the only option left to secure her position before the board meeting.”

Seungcheol let out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

Jeonghan nodded. “Worse than I thought. The clause her mom put in the will was meant to protect Y/n, but it became a weapon the moment her father figured out how to twist it. I had to act fast. If we hadn’t gotten married when we did, she would’ve lost everything.”

Seungcheol leaned back, arms crossed. “And now you’re both stuck in a business deal wearing rings.”

Jeonghan didn’t respond immediately. He ran a hand through his hair, the exhaustion showing in the lines under his eyes.

“She’s doing everything she can to keep it together. Between the hospital, her shifts, and pretending all of this is fine…”

Seungcheol shook his head, a small frown forming. “Poor wifey.”

Jeonghan smirked faintly at the nickname, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. She didn’t deserve any of this.”

“How about a honeymoon?”

Jeonghan scoffed at the mere mention of the word.

“Honeymoon?” he repeated, half-laughing, half-exhausted. “Yeah, we celebrated with a three-hour strategy meeting and a rushed signature on a marriage certificate. Very romantic.”

Seungcheol chuckled as he opened a can of soda from Jeonghan’s fridge, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jeonghan slumped into the chair across from him, stretching his legs out beneath the table. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“I mean, come on,” Seungcheol said, leaning on the counter. “You sign a deal that big—hospital, marriage, family reputation—and you don’t even take my best friend somewhere nice? Italy? Maldives? Hell, even Jeju?”

“She’s working,” Jeonghan muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. “There’s no time for beaches. We’re still cleaning up the legal mess her father left behind.”

Seungcheol’s smile faded. He set down the can and looked at his friend seriously. “Speaking of legal mess—I assigned you an expensive shark of a lawyer. Jung Haejin. She’s the best in estate protection and corporate inheritance. If anyone can outmaneuver her father’s moves, it’s her.”

Jeonghan glanced up, surprised. “You really did that?”

“You’re my best friend,” Seungcheol said, shrugging like it was nothing. “Even if this whole thing started out cold, I know you’re not going to let her fall.”

A silence settled between them—soft, but loaded.

Jeonghan gave a faint nod, running a hand through his hair again. “Thanks, Cheol. I mean it.”

“That’s why,” Seungcheol insisted, leaning forward, eyes gleaming, “plan a honeymoon already! You know how Y/n loves beaches, right?”

Jeonghan raised a brow, caught off guard. “How do you even know that?”

“Please,” Seungcheol scoffed, grabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl on the table. “She used to beg me to take time off and go to Busan during uni breaks. Even dragged me to a travel fair once, just to collect brochures of islands she couldn’t afford to visit yet.”

Jeonghan blinked, his lips tugging into something unreadable. “She never told me that.”

“Of course she didn’t. She probably thinks you’d laugh or roll your eyes.” Seungcheol pointed at him. “But I’m telling you—she’s a beach girl through and through. You want her to breathe? To stop thinking about the hospital for a second? Take her somewhere with sand and waves.”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly, mind already racing with a dozen tabs he’d need to open later—locations, flights, resorts.

“Think of it as strategy,” Seungcheol added, slyly. “A well-rested co-CEO is more effective in a boardroom.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk forming. “You’re really pushing this.”

“You’re really resisting it,” Seungcheol shot back. “Let her live, Jeonghan. This isn’t just your name or your family legacy on the line anymore. It’s hers too.”

Jeonghan grew quiet, the weight of those words sinking into him. This wasn’t just business—at least not anymore. Not when her hands shook in secret after meetings with lawyers. Not when her shoulders tensed at every call from her father’s associates. Not when she didn’t complain, but her eyes told another story.

Maybe it was time he gave her something she didn’t have to fight for. Even if just for a weekend.

“Alright,” he finally said, grabbing his phone. “Let’s find her a beach.”

*

Jeonghan hadn’t exactly imagined his first honeymoon would come with a third wheel—especially not in the shape of Choi Seungcheol, who was now sprinting barefoot toward the water like a golden retriever let off the leash.

It was supposed to be two days of peace, just the two of you, tucked away in one of his family’s private villas in Busan. A short escape Jeonghan had been desperately looking forward to—a breath of air after months suffocating beneath hospital politics, endless meetings, and legal negotiations. After tirelessly working with the lawyer Seungcheol had assigned, attending back-to-back board meetings, and overseeing the investigation regarding the hospital owner’s misconduct, the decision had finally been made: the board would postpone any changes in ownership for at least two more years. During that time, they would conduct a thorough audit of your father while he served as vice director—buying Jeonghan and you some time, but also keeping everyone under scrutiny.

Still, as he trailed behind you, watching your face light up at the sight of the ocean, your smile wide and childlike as the waves crashed onto the shore, his irritation softened. Almost.

“This is supposed to be a honeymoon, you know,” he muttered, arms crossed, a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance twisting his lips.

You didn’t even look back. “As if that ever stops you from fucking me when he’s around,” you tossed the line over your shoulder so casually it knocked the wind out of him.

Jeonghan stumbled mid-step, coughing on his own breath. “Yah—!”

Too late. You had already taken off, splashing into the shallows with Seungcheol while laughter filled the air.

He sighed, staring out at the two of you like a man who’d just realized he was going to have to fight his way through his own honeymoon. And despite himself, he grinned.

You were going to drive him insane.

And he couldn’t wait.

The three of you lounged in the cozy villa living room, sunk deep into plush cushions after wandering the village in search of a good local restaurant. The salty air still lingered on your skin, and laughter from dinner hadn’t quite faded. But Seungcheol, sitting cross-legged on the rug with a can of beer in hand, was giving you and Jeonghan a look—as if you'd both sprouted unicorn horns right in front of him.

It wasn’t unfounded. Anyone paying close attention would’ve noticed the shift. The way Jeonghan’s arm had draped a little too comfortably around your shoulders on the walk back. The way you leaned into his touch like it was second nature. The subtle glances. The softness in your voice when you said his name. Seungcheol had known the two of you for years—but something was definitely different.

He narrowed his eyes, took a sip of his beer, and asked bluntly, “Are you two secretly dating or something?”

You rolled your eyes and tossed a cushion at him. “We’re married, you idiot.”

Jeonghan chuckled, his fingers brushing yours as if to prove the point.

Seungcheol blinked. “No, I mean like... actually married. Emotionally. This is giving... romance vibes.”

Jeonghan only raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. You stayed quiet this time, eyes locked with your best friend's—because neither of you were ready to admit out loud that Seungcheol might be onto something.

Seungcheol groaned, dragging both hands down his face in exasperation. “God, I knew it! I freaking knew it.”

You blinked at him, amused. “Knew what?”

“That you two—” he gestured between you and Jeonghan like he was pointing out an obvious crime scene, “—have always had something. Even before all this marriage contract nonsense. The way you argued, the way you defended each other, the way you acted like you weren’t each other’s person when everyone could see you were.”

“I hoped I was wrong,” Seungcheol said dramatically. “Because if I’m right, that means I’ve been stuck in the middle of one long, slow-burn, emotionally constipated love story without getting any closure.”

Seungcheol had always known. Jeonghan never said it out loud, but it didn’t take a genius to see it—the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way his tone softened when your name was mentioned in a conversation, the way he’d show up unasked, unnoticed, always around when you needed him most. He didn’t flaunt it. He didn’t make grand gestures. But he had this quiet, steady way of being there, of making it clear he wasn’t just looking out for a friend—he was holding space in his heart for something more.

But you? You had your head buried in textbooks, deadlines, and responsibilities, chasing excellence like it was the only thing that mattered. Love was a luxury, not a priority. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Until Seungcheol realized you were drifting onto the same ship Jeonghan had been sailing all along.

He called you that night, voice low and serious.

“I know you didn’t want to hurt him… or yourself,” Seungcheol said gently.

On the other end of the line, you hesitated. “I just…”

“I know, Y/n. Trust me. I always knew.”

Silence stretched between you like a string pulled too tight. Seungcheol could almost hear the thoughts racing in your head, the weight of things you’d buried deep finally making their way to the surface.

He sighed softly, his voice filled with something between sympathy and relief. “It finally hits you, right? That you like him. Not just as a friend.”

Still, you didn’t answer.

Then finally, in a voice so quiet it almost broke, you spoke.

“I… I don’t remember when it started, Cheol. But it just… happened.”

And Seungcheol smiled faintly, not because it was funny, but because after all this time, after all the dodged feelings and almost everything, you’d finally said what he always suspected.

“Yeah,” he said. “Love usually does.”

Jeonghan sighed beside you, slouched on the floor across from Seungcheol. He rubbed his face a little too roughly, the frustration clear in the way his fingers dragged down his cheeks.

“What do you want to hear, bro?” he muttered, voice low and exhausted—less from the conversation, more from everything that had been left unsaid for too long.

Seungcheol just shrugged, casual as ever, but his eyes were sharper than his tone. He gestured lazily between you and Jeonghan.

“You figured it out. You guys are adults anyway,” he said, pushing himself off the floor with a grunt. “Took you long enough.”

You glanced at Jeonghan, who stared at the floor with a small shake of his head, as if Seungcheol’s approval or commentary was the least of his concerns—but the pink tint rising to his ears said otherwise.

Seungcheol stretched his back and yawned dramatically. “Anyway, I’m heading to bed early. Got a long drive tomorrow and I really don’t want to get in the way of your honeymoon,” he said, the last word dripping with smug mischief.

He was halfway to his room before he turned back, poking his head around the doorframe with the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen on his face.

“Oh—” he added, “just make sure to use a condom this time. You didn't last time at my place.”

Jeonghan froze. You stared. The silence in the room was deafening.

“Cheol!” you hissed, a pillow flying in his direction as he cackled and slammed the door shut behind him.

Jeonghan groaned, burying his face into the cushion beside him. “I’m going to kill him. Slowly.”

“Why is he so stupid?” you muttered under your breath, eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You both got vasectomies at my hospital. Together.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to wave away the sheer absurdity of the situation—not just the fact that Seungcheol blurted it out like it was nothing, but also that he knew you and Jeonghan had slept together and still had the audacity to tease you about it.

Jeonghan leaned his head back against the couch, sighing like the weight of his entire friendship with Seungcheol was too much to carry.

“That’s why I’m killing him,” he deadpanned, eyes closed as if he were mentally planning the most efficient method to end his best friend.

The laughter eventually faded, replaced by a quiet stillness between you and Jeonghan. The ocean outside whispered against the shore, and somewhere in the villa, Seungcheol had finally shut his door.

Jeonghan sat upright, arms resting on his knees, staring ahead without really seeing anything. You watched his profile, the way his jaw clenched slightly, the weight behind his silence.

Then he spoke, voice quieter than usual. “You know… I never really understood what line I wasn’t supposed to cross.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jeonghan exhaled slowly. “With you. Us. I was your friend, right? That’s how it started. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start feeling something more, years ago. I just… I didn’t know if it was worth risking the friendship.”

Your heart thudded once, uneven and loud.

“I kept telling myself it was better to just be near you—helping you study, listening to you rant about your professors, showing up to your part-time jobs with coffee.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “It was enough. Or I convinced myself it was.”

You remained still, letting him talk.

“But every time someone came close to you, like seriously close, I’d get... weird.” He gave a dry chuckle. “Petty. Distant. Sometimes too obvious. And I hated it. I hated that part of me. Because I thought friends weren’t supposed to act like that.”

You lowered your eyes, your own emotions swirling quietly.

“When Seungcheol told me you’re about to get involved with the Kim family, something in me just snapped. I couldn’t sit back and watch someone else take you—not for business, not for love, not for anything. So I did something stupid. I played the same game.”

“The marriage,” you said softly.

He nodded. “Yeah. I made it sound like business. And in some ways, maybe it still is. But I wasn’t honest—not with you, not with myself.”

There was another beat of silence before Jeonghan turned to look at you.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same way,” he said, voice steady despite the vulnerability in it. “And I’m not saying this to pressure you into anything. But I needed you to know that this isn’t just about protecting you or your family’s name. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Jeonghan offered you a small, tired smile.

“I know it’s a lot. We’re already in something messy and complicated. I just... I’d rather you hear the truth from me now than keep pretending I’m okay with being just your business partner.”

The waves outside kept rolling. The tension sat between you, thick and alive. But there was also something else now—something raw, maybe even freeing. Truth always had a way of stirring still waters.

A few seconds passed in silence after Jeonghan’s quiet confession. You could feel the sincerity lingering in the air, like smoke after a fire—thick, lingering, and oddly comforting. The vulnerability in his voice had peeled back a layer you never knew he kept hidden so carefully.

You took a deep breath, eyes still on him, and then—“That’s hot.”

Jeonghan blinked. “What?”

You grinned. “You being honest. It’s kinda hot.”

A slow, incredulous smile spread on his face as his brows lifted. “Wow. I bare my soul and you turn it into thirst content?”

You shrugged, the tension breaking into playful air. “I mean, what do you expect? You were emotionally constipated for years. Seeing you finally say what you feel? Sexy.”

Jeonghan groaned, leaning back against the couch like your words physically wounded him. “This is why I can never have serious moments with you.”

“And yet you married me,” you teased, scooting closer and nudging his knee with yours.

He glanced at you, something softer behind the usual amusement in his eyes. “Yeah. I did.”

You held his gaze a moment longer, before reaching for a throw pillow and gently thwacking him with it. “For a business deal, that is.”

He caught the pillow mid-air and raised a brow. “Sure. Business.”

You leaned in and whispered with mock-seriousness, “Very professional of you, Mr. Yoon.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t tempt me to write that into the contract.”

You burst out laughing, and for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel complicated. It felt like the two of you again—just tangled in a bigger, messier story now. But at the center of it, still you and Jeonghan.

Jeonghan’s smile lingered as he nudged your arm, softer this time. “Thanks for not running away.”

You looked at him, warmth blooming behind your ribcage. “Thanks for finally saying it.”

And outside, the waves rolled on under the Busan moonlight. Inside, the silence between you no longer felt heavy—but full of something new, something promising.

*

You approached your mother, who had come all the way to attend your graduation ceremony, her eyes soft with pride. Behind you, Jeonghan and Seungcheol followed respectfully, both dressed sharply for the occasion. As they reached her, the two of them bowed politely.

“There’s Jeonghan and Seungcheol too,” your mother noted with a warm smile, acknowledging them with a slight nod. “Thank you both for supporting Y/n all this time.”

She then turned to you and handed you a bouquet of fresh white lilies and pale pink roses, wrapped in delicate paper. You took them with a small laugh, grateful but slightly embarrassed.

After a few minutes filled with cheerful conversation, light teasing, and a dozen photos with your friends—who had helped you prep tirelessly for this big day—you hugged them goodbye, waving as they left in different directions.

Your mother and you eventually got into the car waiting by the curb. She slid in beside you in the backseat while the driver started the engine. As the campus slowly disappeared behind the tinted windows, she looked over at you, pride still glimmering in her eyes.

“They’re wonderful friends, aren’t they?” she mused aloud. “They’ve been with you since junior high, right?”

You smiled at the thought. “Yeah. Unlike our parents, we weren’t friends for business.” There was a playful sarcasm in your voice, but the humor was clear.

Your mother chuckled, then gave you a sideways glance. “Never caught feelings for one of them?”

Her question made you pause. The teasing lilt in her voice was unmistakable, and she raised a knowing brow when you didn’t respond right away.

“Gotcha!” she said, triumphant.

You groaned. “Not that again! You say this every time you see them. They’re just my friends. There’s a reason we’re still friends after all these years.”

“Alright, alright,” she conceded, holding up her hands with a smirk. “So, I guess Seungcheol’s not your type…”

You wrinkled your nose dramatically. “Ugh, no way!”

She nodded slowly, her grin widening. “So it’s Jeonghan, then.”

“Mom!”

“I see you’re not denying it.”

“Moooom!”

She laughed out loud this time, satisfied with her small victory, while you buried your heated face in the bouquet, wishing you could disappear into the flowers.

*

Seungcheol sat quietly on the couch, the floral scent of rosella tea wafting up with the steam. He sipped it slowly, savoring both the warmth and the familiarity—it was always rosella at your house. Your mother insisted it was the healthiest tea, even if its tartness took getting used to.

“Thanks for taking care of Y/n, Seungcheol,” your mother said as she settled into the armchair across from him. Her voice was calm, laced with something deeper—something quieter than gratitude. “She’s such a handful sometimes.”

Seungcheol chuckled, setting his cup down gently on the saucer. “She’s like a sister to me,” he replied, smiling. “Loud, brilliant, too stubborn for her own good.”

Your mother’s laugh was soft, almost distant. “She gets that from me.”

There was a pause. Not heavy, but deliberate. She leaned back, fingers gently tracing the rim of her own teacup. Her eyes drifted to the window, watching the curtain sway in the light breeze before she spoke again.

“Seungcheol… I haven’t told her yet,” she said quietly. “And I don’t plan to until it’s time.”

He looked up slowly, his expression tightening just a little.

“I’ve been sick,” she said, her eyes finally meeting his. “The kind that doesn’t really go away.”

He didn’t know what to say. His throat caught on something—shock, sorrow, helplessness. The words hovered but didn’t land.

She offered him a small smile, like a mother comforting someone else's child. “Don’t look so heartbroken. I’ve had a good life, Cheol. And she’s strong. Smarter than I ever was.”

“But she needs you,” he whispered, unable to mask the weight in his voice.

“She’ll have you. And Jeonghan. And everything I didn’t know how to give her before.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

Her smile deepened—not joyful, but full of trust. “I know you will.”

Your mother took a long sip of her tea, her fingers curling around the delicate porcelain as if bracing herself for the truth she was about to voice.

“I knew about my husband's affair,” she said, quietly but firmly. “For years. It was a doctor from the Busan branch. He thought I’d never find out.”

Seungcheol looked at her, surprised but respectful, his silence giving her the space to speak.

“I let it go. Not for him, but for Y/n. I stayed to protect what was mine—what should be hers. But now that I’m sick… I’m afraid the board might push the hospital into his hands once I’m gone.”

She set her cup down gently and folded her hands over her lap. “I want the hospital for Y/n. But she’s definitely not eligible to claim it on her own. Not now.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, slowly understanding where the conversation was going. “She needs an affiliate,” he said.

Your mother nodded solemnly. “She needs to be married. Someone with influence. With a name that can counterbalance her father’s power. And I don’t have anyone in mind other than you or Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol’s jaw twitched slightly, processing her words. “You might see how much I care for her,” he said carefully, “but I promise you—I’ve never seen her in that way. She’s family to me.”

“I know, son,” she said, giving him a soft, grateful look. “And that’s exactly why I trust you. But she’ll need more than love. She’ll need power.”

He stared into his half-empty cup, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Then… the Yoon family is the answer,” he said at last.

Your mother exhaled, as if she had been waiting for him to say it himself.

“Y/n likes Jeonghan,” she blurted, almost too casually.

Seungcheol’s brows lifted, but not with real surprise. He leaned back slightly and let out a quiet scoff, remembering the moment it all became clear. “She told you?” he asked.

Your mother gave a knowing smile.

He smirked faintly, but there was no humor in his eyes—only memory. It was during junior year. You dragged him to the beach after midnight. Said you were celebrating exam week being over. But you had a bottle of cheap soju in your hand, and all you did was cry about how happy Jeonghan seemed with his new girlfriend. Then you said it felt stupid, but every time you saw Jeonghan smiled at someone else, it burned.

He paused, looking down at the tea again.

“She loved him then. Maybe earlier. But she buried it.”

Your mother’s voice softened. “That’s what she does. She tucks things away so deep even she forgets they’re there.”

And in the quiet that followed, with the scent of rosella still lingering and the sun just beginning to sink behind the window, Seungcheol made another silent vow—one that felt heavier than the first.

Years later, Seungcheol smiled from his seat in the front row of the auditorium, dressed in a navy suit that hadn’t changed much from his usual styles—still a little snug at the shoulders. But his eyes? They were glassier now, a mixture of pride and nostalgia pooling in them as he watched you take the podium.

It was the ceremony announcing your appointment as the hospital’s new director. Your mother’s legacy, polished by your perseverance and finally, officially, placed in your hands. You stood tall in a crisp white blazer, your hair swept neatly to the side, your presence commanding. Yet there was a softness to your smile as you glanced at the crowd—at your people. At your family. Your voice rang with the clarity of someone who had long prepared for this day. There wasn’t a stammer, not even when you thanked those who believed in you “when I hadn’t even believed in myself yet.” You looked at Seungcheol, and he simply nodded once, as if to say I told you so.

Beside him, Jeonghan shifted slightly, cradling your firstborn daughter, Sera, against his chest. Her tiny head of dark curls peeked out beneath a miniature headband, her chubby arms reaching forward to grasp the first thing within reach—Seungcheol’s pinky finger. And once she had it, she refused to let go.

“She’s got your grip,” Seungcheol murmured to Jeonghan with a teasing grin, but didn’t try to pull away.

“She’s stubborn,” Jeonghan replied with a proud chuckle, rocking Sera gently in his arms. “Just like her mom.”

Sera gurgled at that, kicking slightly as if she agreed.

The room erupted into applause as you finished your speech, bowing graciously before stepping down. Your eyes scanned the audience once more—first finding Seungcheol, who gave you the softest, proudest smile, then falling on Jeonghan and the little girl in his arms.

You made your way to them slowly, shaking hands, accepting congratulations, until finally you reached them. Sera squealed when she saw you, arms flailing until Jeonghan helped her lean toward you.

“She didn’t let go of my finger the whole time,” Seungcheol said as he gently passed her into your embrace.

You kissed her round cheek and whispered, “She knows her people.”

Jeonghan smiled at you, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “So does her mom.”

"Do you have a plan after this, Uncle Seungcheol?" you asked, your voice high and teasing as you leaned slightly toward him, still bouncing Sera gently in your arms.

Seungcheol blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

You cleared your throat, scrunched your nose a little, then wiggled Sera’s tiny hand like a puppet and baby-talked, "Wanna babysit me~?"

Jeonghan nearly choked on his laughter beside him, covering his mouth as he leaned forward.

Seungcheol stared at the two of you—the smugness on your face and the completely unaware baby now drooling on your shoulder—and groaned dramatically. “Oh no. Not this again.”

“You said you were free,” you chimed sweetly.

“I said I was free for lunch, not free for life,” Seungcheol shot back, though he was already holding out his arms.

Sera squealed the moment he reached for her, latching onto his shirt like a koala. You smirked, triumphant.

Jeonghan patted Seungcheol’s back with mock sympathy. “Congrats on your promotion to part-time nanny.”

“I’m going to file for emotional compensation,” Seungcheol muttered, but he was already swaying gently with Sera in his arms, smiling despite himself.

And just like that, with the hospital behind you and your family by your side, the next chapter didn’t feel so daunting after all.

*

Later that afternoon, with the ceremony wrapped up and congratulations exchanged, you finally found a moment to breathe. Seungcheol had taken Sera to the garden with his girlfriend, Hana, who had instinctively stepped into a rhythm with Sera as if she'd known your daughter forever. You caught a glimpse of the three of them through the large glass windows—Seungcheol holding Sera up high while Hana clapped from the side. Your baby’s laughter echoed faintly through the hallway, and it melted your heart.

“Should we feel guilty?” you asked, sipping from a paper cup of iced coffee as you leaned against the railing of the hospital rooftop.

Jeonghan looked over at you, hair tousled a little by the wind, one hand in his pocket and the other holding your half-eaten sandwich. “For what? Letting Uncle Cheol discover his true purpose in life?”

You snorted, nudging his elbow. “I meant for sneaking off like this.”

He smiled, soft and knowing. “We don’t get many days like this, Y/n. You deserve a moment.”

You let the silence stretch, comfortable and easy. The city buzzed beneath you, the familiar hum of Busan wrapping around the rooftop like a lullaby. You felt his fingers brush against yours, subtle and warm, before he laced them gently together.

“I still remember when we couldn’t even hold hands without making it weird,” you murmured.

Jeonghan tilted his head, amusement tugging at his lips. “You mean when you pretended that sitting on my lap during beach bonfires was totally platonic?”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “That was for warmth! The wind was freezing!”

He pulled you a little closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sure. Just like how marrying me was only for business.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, your smile lingering. “Well, if this is business, I guess I signed the best contract of my life.”

Down below, Seungcheol was now lying dramatically on the grass while Sera bounced on his chest, and Hana took a photo with an amused grin. You and Jeonghan watched them in fond silence.

“Do you think we’ll get to do this forever?” you asked softly.

Jeonghan looked at you with eyes that held all the answers. “With you? I hope we never stop.”

Jeonghan picked you up from your office the next day right on time, leaning against the side of his car with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, looking like he stepped out of a magazine but still very much your husband. The sun was dipping low, casting gold along the pavement as you walked toward him, your steps finally relaxing after a long day.

“Where’s Sera?” you asked as you slid into the passenger seat, slipping off your heels with a sigh of relief.

“With my mom. She’s already winning them over with her toddler charm,” he replied with a smile as he started the engine. “So tonight, we get a few hours of just us.”

You glanced at him, curious. “What’s the plan?”

Jeonghan shot you a boyish grin as he turned the wheel. “I planned a dinner. Three-star Michelin. Like your favorite.”

You blinked, eyebrows rising. “Wait, seriously? You got us a reservation there?”

He chuckled. “I pulled a few strings. Remind me to thank Seungkwan later for calling in a favor.”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness, and you reached over to gently rest your hand on his arm. “You didn’t have to go all out. A street cart and you beside me would’ve been enough.”

“I know,” he said, glancing over at you with that soft, slow smile that still made your stomach flip. “But you’ve had a hell of a year. You deserve more than enough.”

Your throat tightened a little at that. Sometimes, Jeonghan’s words slipped past your defenses so easily.

“You’re really good at this, you know?” you murmured.

“At what?”

“At making me fall for you all over again.”

Jeonghan let out a quiet laugh as he reached for your hand and brought it to his lips. “Good. Because I plan to keep doing it for the rest of our lives.”

As the car glided through the streets lit by soft city lights, Jeonghan kept your hand in his, occasionally stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. You caught him once, lips tugging into a smug little smile.

“You’re staring,” you teased, turning slightly in your seat to face him.

He didn’t even flinch. “Of course I am. My wife’s glowing after bossing an entire hospital today.”

You laughed, leaning your head on the headrest. “You’re ridiculous.”

He squeezed your hand. “Ridiculously in love.”

You groaned at the cheesiness, but your cheeks warmed. “You sound like Seungcheol’s girlfriend when she drinks too much wine.”

“Then I’m in good company,” he said, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a soft kiss.

The restaurant was everything he promised—romantic, elegant, but still private enough that you felt like it was just the two of you in the world. He helped you with your chair, ordered your favorite dish before you even had to say it, and poured your wine with a flourish like he was auditioning for a drama.

“You’ve really upgraded your husband skills,” you commented, swirling your glass.

Jeonghan winked. “Sera’s been giving me performance reviews. Apparently, I’m doing well.”

You leaned closer over the table, whispering like it was a secret, “You know… if you keep this up, I might just fall harder.”

He mirrored your lean, eyes warm and playful. “That’s the plan. Every day, a little more.”

The rest of the night passed with soft laughs, clinking glasses, shared dessert bites, and the kind of conversation that felt like soul food—filled with dreams, memories, and plans you both had yet to chase.

Later, as you stood by the elevator in your apartment building, he quietly laced his fingers with yours again.

“Want to dance with me?” he asked suddenly.

“Right now?” you blinked.

“Yeah. No music. Just us.”

You laughed, but you let him pull you into his arms anyway. There, under dim hallway lights, Jeonghan swayed with you—no rhythm, no reason, just warmth and love. You let your head fall to his shoulder, giggling as he twirled you softly like you were in a ballroom instead of outside your apartment door.

“I think I’m the luckiest,” you mumbled.

He kissed your temple and whispered back, “No. I am.”

And in that quiet, almost ordinary moment, you knew—this was the kind of love that would last lifetimes.

*

Such nights were a rarity, a treasure tucked away in the chaos of everyday life, when exhaustion didn't weigh you both down, and the demands of parenting didn't siphon the last drops of your energy. Jeonghan was poised above you, the warmth of his skin a comforting contrast against the cool sheets. He drew back from a lingering kiss, his breaths mingling with yours in the dimly lit room. As he entered you with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a moan slipped past your lips, a symphony to his ears that matched the gentle hum of the ceiling fan above. His hips moved with a precision that spoke of intimate knowledge, hitting that perfect cadence that sent shivers spiraling through your body and left your eyes fluttering in bliss. God, how he adored that expression on your face.

“You like it, huh?” he murmured softly, his voice a low, tantalizing whisper as he thrust a little more forcefully, igniting a spark of raw pleasure that danced between you both. His primal instincts stirred, driven wild by the sound of you crying out his name and the intoxicating sensation of your body responding to his. It was a heady mix of addiction and ecstasy, a dangerous concoction that he craved.

“Jeonghan...” you gasped, a desperate plea as he found that elusive sweet spot within you, the one that sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

“Hm... What is it, baby? You want me there?” he teased, his voice laced with playful mischief, as he deliberately shifted his angle, leaving you yearning, aching for that precise touch once more.

“Please... Jeonghan...” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper, drenched in longing and desire.

He grinned, the kind of devilish, all-too-pretty smile that should have been illegal on such a cherubic face, and pushed your knees wider with his hands. “God, I love you,” he whispered, almost reverent, then buried himself in the rhythm, driving you both toward that singular, shattering point of bliss.

You lost all sense of time or consequence, the room collapsing around the epicenter of your bodies, the tangled sheets and half-open blinds dimly visible through haze. Your fingers clung to his shoulders, blunt nails leaving marks you’d find the next morning. He was unhurried but relentless, the slow, deep surges building in intensity until you could barely remember your own name, let alone worry about the prospect of Seungcheol’s inevitable wrath.

At the moment you broke, shuddering and stifling a cry against the pale slope of his neck, Jeonghan wrapped his arms around you so tightly you were sure you would shatter, right there, under the weight of him and the enormity of what you felt. The world righted itself only after, in the lull where your ragged breaths mingled, and you realized you were delicately cradled, as if he could keep you together with gentle hands alone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, content to let limbs remain tangled, hearts thundering in asynchronous duet.

Jeonghan was the first to move. He propped himself on one elbow, brushing the hair from your damp forehead, his eyes still swimming in the afterglow. “Are you alive?” he asked, and the laugh that escaped you was small, shaky, but sincere.

“I think so,” you managed, voice thick. “I might need CPR.”

“Please. You always say that,” he teased, rolling onto his side and pressing kisses to your collarbone, the line of your jaw, the tip of your nose.

It was somewhere between a breathless laugh and a whispered “I love you” when the soft cry of your daughter filtered through the baby monitor on the nightstand.

You both froze.

Jeonghan groaned dramatically, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Why is our daughter’s timing so impeccable?”

You giggled, brushing the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. “She’s your daughter. Born to be dramatic.”

He sighed, rolling off you gently and grabbing a shirt from the edge of the bed. “I’ll go. You rest.”

You watched him pull the shirt over his head, the faint moonlight casting a soft glow over the stretch of his back. He still moved like a sleepy prince—even when interrupted mid-magic.

“Tell her she owes us twenty more minutes when she’s a teenager.”

He chuckled, already halfway out the door. “I’ll invoice her.”

You lay back on the pillows, heart still thudding from both the intimacy and the sudden interruption. Through the monitor, you heard the door to Sera’s room creak open, followed by Jeonghan’s soft, sleepy voice.

“Hey, princess... what’s wrong, huh?”

Her tiny sobs grew quieter, replaced by hiccups and his quiet hums—probably the lullaby he made up that never made sense but always calmed her down.

You smiled to yourself, listening to their voices mingle. It wasn’t the ending you had planned for the night, but somehow, it felt even better. Because this was your life now—love, laughter, messy timing, and a little girl who stole both your hearts.

A few minutes later, the bedroom door creaked again. Jeonghan tiptoed in, climbing back under the covers.

“She just wanted a cuddle,” he whispered, slipping his arms around you. “Guess she’s like her mom.”

You chuckled against his chest. “Did you just call me clingy?”

“I said cuddle-loving.” He kissed the top of your head. “But yes.”

You swatted his chest lightly. “I was about to give you the best night of your life.”

He grinned, already pulling you closer. “We’ve got a lifetime of nights. But for now... I’ll take cuddling both my girls.”

And just like that, tangled together in the quiet, you drifted into sleep—interrupted, imperfect, but full of love.

The end.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Obey Me brothers reacting to their s/o sending them selfies of them in skimpy outfits or completely nude?

Obey me Brothers + spicy pics from MC

Lucifer

Another tedious meeting that should have been an email. But Lucifer remained professional and stalwart as ever, so as to not embarrass Lord Diavolo.

The only exception he made was for his cellphone. Keeping it on silent, but on the table, as Lucifer had learned in the past if he didn’t check it at least regularly during these meetings it might be too late from when his brothers’ hijinks might ensure. Vering into calamity past hijinks.

He noticed he had a text from [Y/N] and was surprised as they usually never texted him when he was in these meetings. Respecting his work. If they were texting him, Lucifer assumed it was important and opened the text in a reserved manner so as not to draw attention.

When he saw what the text was, however, he had to grip his phone tight to the point of cracking to maintain that composure.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me. It seems there is an important matter I must deal with at home. I’ll be back once the matter is taken care of. Thoroughly.”

Mammon

“Mammon-san! Over here!”

“Yes! That’s perfect! Hold that pose!”

“You look amazing Mammon-san!”

The Avatar of Greed grinned roguishly as he was showered with praise. He had to admit, he really was killing this photoshoot.

The photographer took a few more shots before they called for a break and the team moved in to touch him up. Offering him compliments still, along with water. Both of which Mammon drank up. One of the attendants handed him his phone from his dressing room. Giving him a few moments to check it before it was back to work.

He looked at a missed text from [Y/N] and nearly did a spit take of his water. Able to thankfully keep it down, but still coughed in a very un-model like manner at seeing their nearly naked form.

“I uh…I gotta go. We have enough for the magazine right?? Good. Great! Thanks for the opportunity and be sure to call me again!”

Mammon was then out the door fast than anyone could catch him. Including to get his wardrobe outfit off.

“Models….” The photographer muttered as he reset his camera to take shots of the background models in the meantime.

Levi

“On your right! On your right! NO! Your other right!!” Levi shouted into his headset as he tried to lead his team through the maze of undead swarm.

Zombie Zion XX9 had just come out this week and Levi had been grinding non-stop. He barely made time to sleep, much less do anything else, in pursuit of this final battle with the Mother Swarm of zombies (there by defeating the plague and saving the world from the undead at last).

“Guys, we have to get through the door together, otherwise we don’t get the ‘In This Together’ buff! You need to catch up to me! It’s…It’s…ugh! Hold on!” His phone had been buzzing beside him non-stop for the past minute with various texts.

Usually, he would ignore it. But something this persistent typically meant it was important, and what if it was his brothers telling him the house was on fire? He’d have to save his Ruri-chan figures if that was the case.

When he opened the text, Levi’s eyes bugged out and he felt his nose begin to well up with blood as he looked at the picture of [Y/N] in their cosplay panties.

“Levi! Where are you?! We’re getting hammered out here! Levi-!” The connection on his game went dead as the last of his team members died. The screen fading into a black screen of ‘game over’.

“Oh, come on!”

Satan

This anthology that Simeon had recommended to him was thrilling. Truly a masterpiece.

Satan had been absorbed into the new series almost since the first page. Devouring each of the nine books with vigor, much like his little brother did with food. He had forsaken all else, honestly, except reading the past few days. Anxious to find out who the final killer & mastermind behind the protagonist’s plight was, and finally get some answers.

He was nearly at the climax, the big reveal, when his phone started to buzz.

Grumbling that his concentration was broken, Satan picked it up to see who it was. His irksomeness quickly dissolving as he saw [Y/N]’s nearly naked chest in front of him.

He had a choice to make.

Continue reading and get the answers he needed, or put the book down and go to the person clearly in need of him. How was he to choose?

In the end, he put the book down and sprinted off to where [Y/N] was. If the main character could wait 10 years to find out who the killer was, surely Satan could wait a little longer to find out as well.

Asmo

Shopping was one of Asmo’s favorite past times. Going to stores and looking for the perfect item or accessory was like a little treasure hunt to him. Or just perusing the aisles and new merch like one would an art gallery, with the same enthusiasm for beauty. It was a wonderful afternoon. Especially if [Y/N] was with him.

[Y/N] had gone to try on some items that they found while Asmo continued to scan over the racks. His cellphone eventually buzzed, and he fumbled with his iced coffee to get it out of his bag. Seeing a picture of [Y/N] in the dressing room in a super cute bra and panty set with the question :should I get it?:

:OMG yes! 💓🥵🔥🔥: Asmo texted back immediately.

:It looks so good on you! Which dressing room are you in?? I want to see it in person! Should we get matching ones??:

He eventually found [Y/N] and showered them with praise. Insisting that he would buy it for them if they didn’t get it themselves, and offered to buy it in every color as well.

Beel

“98…99…100.”

Beel lifted the weights one final time and put the bar back on the rack. The weights clanking down with a heavy thud with the sheer mass of them. He loved getting a good workout in before he went home.

Heading over to his locker space to get some water and check his phone, Beel saw he had a text from [Y/N]. He opened it and saw the spicy picture they had just sent him. Usually only the 5x Hellfire Spicy noodles were the only spice that could make him drool this much. Clearly he was wrong.

Beel decided to, for once, cut his work out short. He quickly packed his bag and ran home to do some cardio on the way home. Planning to do some more ‘cardio’ when he got there.

He could make up for the missed sets in the morning before school. Since he’d be busy the rest of the night.

Belphie

Belphie yawned and rolled over as he woke up from his nap. His fifth of the day, so it was a pretty short one. Only about an hour this time.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes before reaching for his phone to see what time it was. He was immediately greeted with a text from [Y/N] on the screen. He felt a little bad for missing it while he was a sleep, but by now they had to know that he would get back to them eventually. Belphie opened it and was immediately greeted with something from his dreams.

:Are you still wearing that?: He texted them back.

:Come to my room: He then added. :In the attic. I’m still in bed. So half the work is done😉.:

He waited to hear back from [Y/N] and grinned when he saw them respond with they were on their way.

And his brothers made fun of him for being in bed all the time. With his soft mattress and [Y/N], why would he ever want to leave?

[outlanderskin]

In 2017, I came across this text about fandom and since then it has been an illustration of this crazy and magical universe of fan life, which I call fan experience. Even though I've been going to Outlander Cons since 2015, it was when I met my Spanish friends that I started to not feel alone even when surrounded by people at these events. And at this LandCon, in addition to my dear Spanish friends, I was able to meet other friends from Tumblr. For years we've been following, reblogging, commenting, laughing, protesting and, above all, supporting each other. And suddenly, there's that "Tumblr username" in front of you and you can finally look the person in the eyes and tell them how much you admire them and thank them for walking alongside you in this fandom, which is so toxic in many ways, but where true friendships can create an oasis. Thank you for everything, girls.❤️

"Fandom is focus. Fandom is obsession. Fandom is insatiable consumption. Fandom is sitting for hours in front of a TV screen a movie screen a computer screen with a comic book a novel on your lap. Fandom is eyestrain and carpal tunnel syndrome and not enough exercise and staying up way, way past your bedtime.

Fandom is people you don't tell your mother you're meeting. Fandom is people in the closet, people out and proud, people in costumes, people in T-shirts with slogans only fifty others would understand. Fandom is a loud dinner conversation scaring the waiter and every table nearby.

Fandom is you in Germany and me in the US and him in Australia and her in Japan. Fandom is a sofabed in New York, a roadtrip to Oxnard, a friend behind a face in London. Fandom talks past timezones and accents and backgrounds. Fandom is conversation. Communication. Contact.

Fandom is drama. Fandom is melodrama. Fandom is high school. Fandom is Snacky's law and Godwin's law and Murphy's law. Fandom is smarter than you. Fandom is stupider than you. Fandom is five arguments over and over and over again. Fandom is the first time you've ever had them.

Fandom is female. Fandom is male. Fandom lets female play at being male. Fandom bends gender, straight, gay, prude, promiscuous. Fandom is fantasy. Fandom doesn't care about norms or taboos or boundaries. Fandom cares too much about norms and taboos and boundaries. Fandom is not real life. Fandom is closer than real life. Fandom knows what you're really like in the bedroom. Fandom is how you would never, could never be in the bedroom.

Fandom is shipping, never shipping, het, slash, gen, none of the above, more than the above. Fandom is love for characters you didn't create. Fandom is recreating the characters you didn't create. Fandom is appropriation, subversion, dissention. Fandom is adoration, extrapolation, imitation. Fandom is dissection, criticism, interpretation. Fandom is changing, experimenting, attempting.

Fandom is creating. Fandom is drawing, painting, vidding: nine seasons in four minutes of love. Fandom is words, language, authoring. Fandom is essays, stories, betas, parodies, filks, zines, usenet posts, blog posts, message board posts, emails, chats, petitions, wank, concrit, feedback, recs. Fandom is writing for the first time since you were twelve. Fandom is finally calling yourself a writer.

Fandom is signal and response. Fandom is a stranger moving you to tears, anger, laughter. Fandom is you moving a stranger to speak.

Fandom is distraction. Fandom is endangering your job, your grades, your relationships, your bank account. Fandom gets no work done. Fandom is too much work. Fandom was/is just a phase. Fandom could never be just a phase. Fandom is where you found a friend, a sister, a kindred spirit. Fandom is where you found a talent, a love, a reason.

Fandom is where you found yourself"

[bills5lut]

delivered pt 2

masterlist prompt list

warnings: angst. bilie being a bitch. 

synopsis: the distance only grows, and eventually breaks. 

The days start blurring.

You stop keeping track of time in hours or meals or anything logical. It’s just: since she texted last. Since she called. Since you heard her voice that didn’t sound like her voice. It’s been… what, three days? Four?

You don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. Your body feels like it’s drifting slightly behind itself, like you’re walking underwater. Going through motions. Answering emails. Microwaving leftovers. Folding towels you don’t remember washing.

You check your phone so often it makes your chest feel bruised. You delete the messages app. Reinstall it an hour later.

Nothing.

You leave the apartment once in the morning, just to breathe different air. You buy a coffee and forget to drink it. By the time you get home, the cup is lukewarm in your hand, and your throat aches for no reason you can explain. You haven’t cried. Not really.

Until now.

You don’t even notice it coming. Just a tightness that builds and builds until you’re curled up on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinet, gasping through it. Your hoodie sleeve is damp with the soundless sobs you’ve been swallowing all week. You think of her hands. Her mouth. Her stupid, soft voice when it wasn’t like this. When she used to say I miss you so much, baby, it hurts.

You pull your phone out without thinking. Hands shaking. You press her name.

It rings.

And rings.

You suck in a breath that stutters in your chest. Your ribs feel like they’re pulling in opposite directions.

Then it connects.

A crackle. Muffled noise in the background. She doesn’t say hello.

“Billie,” you whisper, your voice already wrecked. “Please. I, fuck, I, sorry, I didn’t mean to, ”

A sharp exhale cuts through the line. Like a sigh, but colder. Harder.

“What?” she snaps.

You freeze. Your mouth opens. Closes. You can’t make your voice work.

“I just, ” Your breath stutters again. “I don’t know. I needed to hear you. I just, I feel like I can’t breathe lately.”

Silence. A shift of fabric. Then: “You’re always doing this.”

“Doing what?” you ask, small and confused. “I’m just, Billie, I miss you.”

“You always say that like it’s a burden.”

“I love you,” you say, like it’s your last defense. “When you’re back, I just, God, I want to hold you. That’s it. I just want to hold you for like ten minutes. That’s all.”

A pause.

Then she laughs.

Not sweet. Not soft. It’s dry, sharp. Like she’s laughing at you.

Your stomach caves in.

You don’t speak. You just let the silence stretch, because you don’t trust your voice anymore.

Then, her voice again. Not laughing now. Just flat. Unapologetic. “Baby, I don’t think I wanna do any of that when I’m back.”

The room goes very still around you. A high whine starts behind your ears, blood pressure or heartbreak, you’re not sure.

“What…” you start. Your throat is closing up. “What do you mean?”

She sighs again. Drawn-out. Annoyed.

“I mean this is too much,” she says, like she’s explaining something obvious to someone stupid. “You’re too much. It’s always something with you. Always needing more. It’s like, I don’t have room for that right now. Or maybe ever. I don’t know.”

You blink, and hot tears fall without your permission. Your chest is tight, aching like a muscle that’s been held wrong for too long.

“So… you’re saying we’re… done?”

“I’m saying this isn’t working for me anymore.”

You sit with that. The words land slowly, each one a dull hammer to the ribs.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice cracks. “You just let me hang there. You couldn’t even say I love you back the other night.”

“I didn’t know how to say it,” she says. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Your laugh is wet and bitter. “So instead you ignored me until I begged for crumbs.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” she snaps. “You made this into some, thing. You spiral. You cling.”

“I was lonely, Billie. I was in love with you.”

She’s quiet again. Then: “I know.”

It’s not an apology. It’s not anything.

“I hope you take care of yourself,” she adds. Flat. Final.

You close your eyes. It feels like your whole body is trying to pull itself inside out. Like grief has put its hand around your throat and won’t quite squeeze, but it’s there, threatening.

“I don’t know how to do that without you.”

“Yeah, well,” she says. “You’re gonna have to learn.”

The call ends. Just like that.

You stare at the screen, the words Call ended sitting there like a slap.

You’re still on the kitchen floor. The lights are too bright now, like they’re exposing every crack in you. Your heart keeps trying to outrun itself. Your hands are cold.

You lower the phone slowly to the floor, like it might break. Like you might. And then, for a long, long time, you don’t move.

[agirlandherkinks]

Hypnovisor: Beta Test (TGTF, Hypno)

James had always been a tech super-fan. The newest phone, newest headphones, shiniest laptop, he had to stay abreast of and on top of the current trends. So when he read about some fancy new VR company that wanted beta testers for a headset, provided for free (minus shipping), his vision blurred and he signed up before he even considered finishing reading the ad.

Three weeks of anticipation and waiting passed until his doorbell finally rung, accompanied by the corresponding buzz of an email notification on his phone. Scrambling from his couch he flung the apartment door open, and to his mild surprise saw that the postman was nowhere in site. There was just a nondescript cardboard box labelled "Fragile", which fortunately bore none of the expected dents and scratches one would associate with the postal service and delicate freight. Practically bouncing with undignified delight, James scooped his parcel up and dashed back inside, barely remembering to lock the door behind him.

The headset looked even better than he had imagined. Sleek plastic curves surrounded a central visor that was just translucent enough to see through, meaning you could walk around safely if you turned a program's opacity down. It fit beautifully when he tried it on, more comfortable than anything he'd ever worn. Wearing it felt wonderful and... right, somehow. His only complaint was that the black headset was decorated in hot pink highlights, although it still looked futuristic enough to sooth his fragile masculinity. His roommate and best friend Erik certainly agreed, interspersing James' insightful comments with appropriate "Ooh's" and "Aah's". Waiting for the battery to charge seemed to take a thousand years, although chatting with each other about what it could do replaced their boredom with swiftly growing excitement.

Two hours later, a soft buzz from the headset in the corner signified its charge was complete. Erik cheered, his sandy-blonde hair bouncing behind him, and even James couldn't suppress a soft whoop of excitement. Erik unplugged it and handed it to James with a flourish and a bow, who accepted it with a suitable stuffy speech. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he was so giddy with anticipation he felt he could match Erik's goofiness for once. The advertisement had promised unmatched realism, a luxurious fit, and cutting-edge, groundbreaking technology. Normally James would have discounted claims like that as corporate claptrap, but the headset fit so well he actually believed the rest of it.

Booting up the headset brought a perky, relaxing jingle in his ears and wall of settings text in his vision. He would have read it, but between his own excitement and Erik's infectious enthusiasm he left the settings on default and skipped to the main menu. The feedback for the buttons was amazing, it felt just like he was pressing down on them whenever he touched one! Another little jingle sounded as he confirmed his choices, and a few games and applications bubbled up into his view, imposed over a hot pink background.

"So Erik, what do you think I should try," James asked. "We've got a music player, interior design app, some sorta idle monster game, and a few RPG's." "Surely try out the RPG's man! You've gotta see that high-definition you were yammering about when we called." Erik's voice came back surprisingly muffled, as if he was speaking down a long tunnel. "Bro, I can barely hear you, the noise-cancelling on this headset's insane! It's like I'm in a world of my own!" James took a deep breath, recovering a little of his composure. "Alright, an RPG it is. Fantasy, sci-fi, or modern day?" "Go fantasy! You know we've both got a thing for elf chiiiicks. Hell, with the kind of feedback you were telling me about, you might even get to grab her" Erik's distant voice sounded playful, with a ting of desire and jealousy. And it did make James hard, at the thought of getting to look and squeeze and fondle some busty elf bitch, made entirely to his wishes~

To James' horror a quiet moan escaped his lips, accompanied by faint hysterical laughter from his friend. Brushing it off angrily, he slammed the icon for 'Silverflame: A Magical Journey' (the button felt like thick moss to his touch). Instantly a soft flute begun to play in his ears, accompanied by the gentle lull of a harp and a quiet sparkling. James felt himself relax, all the tension draining out of his body. Erik must have noticed too, because James heard his laughter die down to be replaced with a slightly concerned silence. "Don't worry man," James said, "music's just really pretty..." He trailed off with a slight giggle, but heard Erik give an affirmative just before a silky, sultry voice started to speak.

"Welcome traveler, to the beautiful world of Silverflame. An untamed paradise where strange beasts roam the land, noble adventurers go forth in search of treasure, and the most wonderful magic [James shuddered] is woven. You are the latest brave, beautiful heroine [Heroine? Shouldn't I get to choose my character's gender first?] to step foot into this land. But first, tell us a bit about who you really are."

Pink sparkles rained across the screen, superimposing his view of a vibrant meadow with a series of stats. Physique, IQ, Wisdom, and Charisma, fairly standard stuff. And next to it, a human man with a blank, slightly happy expression on his face [...did he look familiar?]. James gasped, he looked just like a real person! Erik was suitably impressed by this information, and urged him to pick some stats so he can get to the body modification. "You can always change them later man, might as well pick a couple of stats now and get a move on. Sounds like you're not gonna get to pick your gender for a while, which kinda sucks. Buuut if we're being horny about this, you might as well go for a slut scaffold so you make less changes later." James chuckled at this, remembering the build they discussed one night while both sloshed beyond belief. For this game it would be high Physique and Charisma, low IQ and Wisdom. James touched the slider for Physique, and gasped as he felt himself feel... better than he had in a long time.

Not trusting his senses any more, and worrying about Erik being exposed to whatever was happening from the other side of the headset, James brushed off his concerned questions (which he could barely hear now, past the soothing, soothing, music) and suggested he went to the toilet, since he'd been holding it in since he got here. Erik grumbled at missing out, but mercifully left. James was actively sweating from what just went through his body, but couldn't muster the energy or concentration to feel the level of panic he knew he should be. The music was just so, so calming, that fear was harder to feel than usual. The prompt told him he still had to change two more stats, so he decided to turn down Wisdom. He gasped again and his vision went blurry, and when it cleared he felt a bit, fuzzier? In the head. But it wasn't too bad, in fact it was perfectly manageable. He felt even calmer now, so maybe changing another stats would make him feel better. Why not IQ? He tapped the slider.

He groaned as an immense pressure wrapped around his brain. Thoughts, aspirations, memories felt like they were melting from his head faster than they appeared. The pressure seemed like it lasted forever, but eventually it trailed off and he was left panting in his chair. It had felt, really good? Like, tots good, even. James giggled to himself. Something was different about him, but he couldn't think what. Oh well, it'll probably come to him later. He squealed in delight as he realized he could get a step closer to the body modification page, although he looked longingly at the IQ slider. He could come back to it later, for now it was time to make his super-hot elf slut a body!

James clapped to himself with delight as a cute little melody played, a shower of sparkles spiraled [spiraled...] across the screen, and the man on the side moved to the center of the screen. "Firstly", the sultry voice said, "choose what race you want to be." That was an easy choice. He clicked on the 'Elf' button, and shivered as he felt tingles run through his body, intensifying in his ears. Reaching up to touch them, he inhaled as he felt long, pointed tips. In fact, his whole body seemed a bit slimmer. This doesn't quite feel right... he thought. Oh I know! It must be making me an elf too! Maybe we'll be in a party together! Between the strange fuzziness and the pulsating heat in his groin, James quickly flicked to the next page and made his choices. Long, silver hair, gorgeous big purple eyes, and some giant perky lips. "Combination unlocked!" the narrator exclaimed, "+1 Charisma, -1 Wisdom!" James giggled again as the mental fog settled a little tighter around his brain and naughty thoughts about cute girls and boys filled his brain. Boys? Well I guess I've never minded swinging both ways... This felt natural to him, because of course he'd always been bisexual. Next screen!

"Choose your voice young heroine," the woman commanded. James felt a little strange, like her voice was echoing around his head. And why were the sparkles still there, spinning and spinning around the screen. He felt confused, but knew he had to obey that voice. He picked the sexiest combination for his own voice; high pitched, breathy, perky. "Combination unlocked! +1 Charisma, -1 Int." He moaned as that wonderful pressure wrapped his brain and his weekend plans changed to eyeing hunks at the beach. Girls were cool and all, but men had always been more interesting to him [and their pulsing, hard...].

"Now heroine, can you tell me: Are you a girl, or a boy?" The question sent shock waves through his brain. He was a he... right? Why did it feel like there was some longing, some need to acknowledge the woman in him... her? The fog, the music, the spirals, all the feelings he had been having, James could hardly think. Maybe he should think less. Being a girl sounded fun, it's just a character after all. And he needed to be sexy. "Wonderful choice young lady! Now, are you a dominatrix, a super-switch, or a bimbo slut?" Bimbo slut~ James giggled as the words echoed in her brain. She was a bit of a slut, now that she thought about it. It felt odd to pick it, but why not for funsies? "Bimbo slut selected! Wonderful choice, just wonderful. Hold still while your stats are adjusted, and then we'll begin on giving you the perfect, sexy body you've always wanted."

The spirals filled her view and began increasing in speed. James was taken aback at first, but quickly felt oddly calm and receptive to that sultry voice.

"Physique +1, Physique +1, Physique +1." James felt wonderful, like every ache and blemish in his body had faded away.

"Wisdom -1, Wisdom -1." Thinking was fuzzy, but Jamella felt so content she didn't care.

"Charisma +1, Charisma +1, Charisma +1, Charisma +1. Charisma +1." Jamella gasped as visions of sexy men, pecs and abs and juicy, throbbing cocks filled her mind. A desperate heat filled her, and she began touching her groin against her will to try and ease it.

"IQ -1." She moaned, feeling light.

"IQ-1." Empty. She was so, wonderfully empty.

"IQ -1." This was like, so much funsies! She didn't know what was going on, but everything felt so nice~

"IQ -1. Congratulations Ella, you now have the 'Bimbo Slut' build."

Ella giggled absently. Thinking was like, so hard, and she felt like, so hard~. The fun spirals had disappeared... But the nice lady was talking to her again! With great effort, she listened in. "Now that your mental changes are complete, it's time for the physical changes!" Ella rubbed her thighs together and cheered in excitement. She couldn't wait to have more fun! "Unless you choose so now, the process will be au-to-ma-tic [...why was she using such big words?]. You can choose to take over at any time, or wait until the end and adjust as you please [...please. That word felt funny in her brain]".

"No user input detected. Body adjustment commencing."

A nice shiver went through Ella's body as she felt her headset warm against her face. Looking at the boring young man she'd begun to customize (her reflection, of course), she couldn't wait to begin! She sighed happily as waves of pretty silver hair drifted into her view and cascaded down her back. It felt especially nice against her smooth, soft skin, and she couldn't help but gently shake her head to watch it sway. A cool feeling brought her attention to her face, and the alluring amethyst eyes now set in it. Her face itself became much more elegant [but cutesy, too!], and she puckered her lips as a lovely pressure made them swell and bulge out, giving her a sexy and kissable pout [the boys'll love this look! boys~]. She felt herself shrink a few centimeters, gulping as her Adam's apple disappeared into her body. In fact, her whole body had become even more slender, with narrow shoulders, adorably small hands [pretty purple nails!], and a tiny little waist. She gasped, then clasped her hands over her mouth in delight. Her voice was so high and cutesy! She couldn't stop herself from giving out tiny, high-pitched giggles, just to hear how cute she was!

"Basic body structure altered. Adjusting outfit in preparation for primary and secondary sexual characteristics."

Ella ooh'ed appreciatively as a stream of sparkles enveloped her body. And when they disappeared, she squealed in delight! Her drab t-shirt and denim shorts were gone! In their place was a beautiful silver mini-dress that shimmered like starlight when she moved. She frowned in vexation, though. The plunging chest and shoulder-less design was very pretty, but her chest was flat! [shouldn't I have tiddies? The boys won't like me like this...] And the way it clung to her waist and hips would have been sexy, but as it was there was barely any difference between them! Her ass wasn't nearly big enough to justify how the dress cut off barely past it, and with how tight the fabric was Ella could see how achingly hard she was [wait, why do I have a cock? I'm supposed to get cock! In my mouth, in my ass, in my tight little pussy~]. It wasn't right!

"Thank you for your patience sweetie. Optimal figure calculated. Prepare for adjustment of sexual characteristics."

Ella let out a moan as a wave of heat and pleasure washed over her. With how horny she was she could barely keep her eyes open, but she knew she wanted to watch herself become the sexy little [cum] slut she was meant to be [I want it... I want to be~]. The heat settled in her hips, her ass, and her chest, and she moaned again as the changes begun.

Her nipples grew first, more than doubling in size and stiffening through the soft fabric of her dress. Tentatively touching them induced a gasp of pleasure [so nice~] and sent her rocking backwards. The motion made her giggle, because in that time she'd grown a cute pair of B-cup breasts that jiggled when she rocked. Jiggle makes me giggle. I like giggling. I like jiggling. Ella nodded thoughtfully to herself, feeling very wise. Her boobies grew to C-cups. She jiggled some more. She giggled some more.

A tightness around her hips distracted Ella from her tiddies. They were growing! She groaned as fabric and flesh tightened around them, too euphoric to feel pain. Sliding her hands from her waist to her hips made her squeal happily. She had such a sexy hourglass figure, she knew any girl worth her money would be jealous [and the boys would wanna hold me and squeeze me and fuck me raw]. Thighs thickening dramatically in response to her growth, she slapped her ass in impatience. Why won't it get bigger already!

But get bigger it did, swelling out in response to her touch. She fell forward as sheer pleasure blanketed her mind and weakened her knees. Squishing her boobies against the ground made her feel even nicer, until she was panting and moaning for somebody to help, to hit her again and make her bigger~

A slap landed on her booty, and she groaned in delight as it and her thighs swelled again. More. More! I NEED MORE! She moaned in ecstasy as blow after blow landed, making her swell and grow and grow and swell and feel so gooooood! Her tits inflated to D, then E-cups [good for the boys. I can jiggle so well for them~]. Her hips widened and thighs thickened, until she looked ridiculously large compared to her waist [ridicu... ridic... really, really sexy...] And her ass kept growing, and growing, and growing and growing and growing and growing! Tighter! Around my cock! Cock... I... oh~ Too... too... much! Too much! I'm~ I'm!

OooOOoOoOOooOoOoooOOOOOHHH~

Ella screamed in delight as she came, just cumming and cumming and cumming her tiny little brain out.

"Wisdom -1. IQ -1. Charisma +1. Charisma +1."

She was desperate, humping against the ground as the flow of cum abated from her cock. Everything she had been was flowing out of her messy stupid brain, and everything that she should be was coming in. Boys... Cock... Need fuck... Breed~ I'm such a dumb little cum slut~ She giggled to herself.

"Final adjustment required."

Ella stood up shakily, the bottom of her dress a cum-soaked mess. She squealed with delight as the mental fog settled even tighter and she felt an intense heat in her groin. She could see the tops of nipples trying to break free from her dress, and could feel the air drift over her ass, which had mostly escaped the fabric in her growth. So sexy. Hehe~ Boy can take me~ Don't even need dress off~ Thinking hard... Her ass and hips had pulled up so much fabric that her cock was visible now, deflating and still leaking from her orgasm, but she gasped in pleasure as it began rising up again. And, as she felt something long and hard brush her booty [cock? Boys? Fuck?].

A pressure like hands on her shoulders forced her to her knees, and she whimpered in desire as she felt an unseen cock touch her cheek. At the same time, something began intensely stimulating her own. She reflexively opened her mouth in a moan, but was cut off as she felt the cock shove inside [Feels~ Feels!].

All thought stopped.

Her mind was blank, full of pleasure and desire and happiness. Her cock felt good like it never had before, and the dick in her mouth tasted wonderful~ This was what Ella was made for, what she was meant to be. Feeling good, feeling sexy, feeling a pleasant emptiness that could only be filled with cock. Her haze reached a crescendo. Dimly she was aware of her own cries of ecstasy, muffled by the cock fucking her mouth and mind, as she came harder than she even had before. And as she came, her dick shrunk with each spurt until it went inside her [inside me!]. The cock withdrew from her mouth, filling her with a desperate longing. Emma moaned for her unseen hero, then gasped as she felt him once more. And blinked in surprise as the pretty meadow and her sexy reflection disappeared.

She was kneeling on the floor of an unfamiliar room. Shaking off a little of her confusion [don't need know much anyways...], she gasped as the tell-tale smell of pre-cum filled her nose. There was a man standing in front of her!

Sandy-blonde hair. Body like a surfer hunk! Naked. With a massive, sexy cock, dripping with her saliva and it's own juices. Ella moaned in desire, falling on all fours. Visibly trembling with lust, he tenderly cupped her cheek and slowly moved behind her.

Touching her with his [cock!].

Ever so gently, on the edge of her [...pussy!!!!]

He rammed inside her, and she screamed as an absolute feeling of rightness, of sexiness and pleasure and single-minded happiness rushed through her [MORE! HARDER! COCKKKK~]. Riding his dick she felt herself go into a trance, with nothing, absolutely nothing, disturbing her feelings. Ever. This was right. Ella moaned and surrendered to herself, drifting away on her lover's cock and mindless pleasure.

[translatemunson]

file 004 — Warbird takes the sky

chapter four of death defying acts

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

cw: fem!reader, afab!reader, no descriptions of reader (i'm really trying to keep my descriptions of her and her background to a minimum so i can be inclusive to all people, but let me know if i can improve), no use of y/n, reader has a call sign (i had to pick one, it makes sense for the story), innacuracies about the navy, topgun and army (i did my best guys), this takes places after the events of the movie, drinking, lmk if i missed anything.

On Monday morning, you parked your car at the Naval Air Station North Island a few minutes behind your normal schedule. You grabbed your things from the passenger seat, fixed your hair one last time, and rushed to the Operations building. Everyone got an email last night about a special training exercise the following morning, but not much was attached to the briefing.

So when it was crucial for you to be early, you got stuck in traffic. You texted Bob to ask him to save you a spot at the briefing session — you were not required to attend those, but you felt like it was necessary to get more intel about the Daggers —, and you were running there before you missed any more information.

As you were ready to open the door and try to snuck in quietly when Officer Stewart intercepted you. “Good morning, Officer Hyde. You are expected in the control room.”

“Morning, sir. I thought I was supposed to watch the briefing with everyone else,” you motioned your head to the room.

“It’s just some tactical fighting maneuver exercise, you don’t need to stress over that.” Officer Stewart was very forward, polite and one of the best team leaders in the Intelligence office. He knew everyone’s strong and weak spots, and wasn’t afraid of overruling some orders to have his team working as soon as possible. “The file is on your desk, and I’m counting on you to hand me those reports in real time.”

“Yes, sir.”

You took the stairs to the third floor, passing through the heavy doors to the operation command room. You waved hello to your coworkers, settled your things on your desk and opened the paper folder.

Tactical maneuvers, two flight instructors this time around. In a jet each, they were gonna try to follow and intercept the four US Navy jets in the training path. The small resemblance to the escaping scenario Maverick and Rooster faced at the end of the Uranium mission shouldn’t be overlooked as a coincidence. They were preparing for a still unknown mission, but every single part of the training was necessary.

You looked over the pairings, pretty much the same pilots, except for one small difference. Bradshaw and Seresin were acting as mission captains in each round. So this was also a testing of their leadership skills.

Maverick was one of the assault pilots, but the other one was a blank information in your sheets. Were they getting some admiral or captain in the sky? How this was gonna work after all?

“Permission to take off, pilots.” The flight director announced over the speakers. 

You adjusted your headset over your ears, tuning into the general radio wave. The pilots were deployed one by one, conducting the G-force test and some engine checkings. You wrote down their data, coordinates and estimates on a side sheet. Then you heard Maverick’s voice, followed by a very familiar tone.

“Warbird, ready to take position.” What the hell your father was doing in North Island? Since when he was here?

You held yourself back from using the radio to say hello, but you saw when Office Stewart gave you a warm smile, in a silent “surprise” hanging on his lips. You smiled back.

You knew your father’s potential, being responsible for training over a dozen classes of Top Gun after he retired from the missions. Nowadays, he was laying low and working with the new recruits during the first stages of training, but he was still an exceptional pilot. Who did this? Who convinced your father to fly in training, side by side with one of the pilots he didn’t like?

The who and how shouldn’t be your focus now, since you need to watch how everyone’s gonna perform on training. But you were dying to reach for your phone and text the group chat “That’s how I found out we’re working together for a day?”

Hangman was leading the first session. For one morning only, he was being a good team player and leader. He had Phoenix and Bob as wingmen, and Coyote was leading Payback and Fanboy. They were hitting their marks, which was good, but Maverick and your dad were getting closer. In the mapped valley route, that meant lots of weak spots and not many tricks to save their asses.

You passed your first round of notes to Stewart before they reached the Daggers. You watched closely the monitors, seeing if your father was using any of the tricks he was famous for. But so far, he was following Maverick’s lead, and they were giving the aviators a run for their money.

As the terrain got narrower, Hangman was forced to make some risky decisions. At one point, Payback and Fanboy were shot down. As they reached the target, Coyote had to send the second missile without his laser. You noted down how it was a miss, and then they started the open terrain pursuit. Bob was screaming on the radio about Maverick and your dad’s positions, and Hangman, Phoenix and Coyote were swaying from one side to another, gaining and losing altitude like crazy, trying to survive this part.

“Dagger Two down,” your dad called on the comms. “Engaging with Dagger Three.”

“Copy that, Warbird,” Maverick confirmed.

You watched, mesmerized, when both experienced pilots entered a double formation, going after Coyote. Hangman was trying to move back and form a plan with his last wingman, but they outsmarted them: as your father went after Coyote, Maverick pulled one of his maneuvers and got Hangman right in the middle of his aim.

Everyone in the control room clapped because it was an excellent demonstration of teamwork and experience in the field. While your father didn’t have any confirmed air kills on his resume, he was quite the deceiver and strategist. And Maverick, well, he had his reputation and a name for himself.

They were given a small break for refueling before taking the skies again. You waited on the edge of your chair, already impatient because you wanted to have a few minutes with your dad. But again, you were expected to do a stellar job if you wanted that promotion.

On the second run, now with Rooster as mission captain, they were almost mirroring Hangman’s run. Bradshaw was more vocal on the comms, giving out instructions to his team. Your dad and Maverick were having a harder time catching up, but you were quick to notice how Rooster was losing his momentum as they approached the target.

Fanboy and Payback were the first to go down, but they managed to give Coyote the aim for his shot. They succeeded in destroying the target, now they were up for a run. Their maps showed the expected terrain, and they were on their own to plan for their escape.

“Any eyes on them?” As Bradshaw asked, you took a look at the radars.

Warbird and Maverick somehow found a blind spot on Rooster’s formation and intercepted them not a few seconds later. The arrows in the screen started to dance around each other, the formation long forgotten.

Coyote and Phoenix were shot down basically at the same time. Rooster was a few miles ahead, and when your dad said “I’ll get him” on the comms, you knew things were gonna get good.

Bradshaw was going low, rapidly reaching the hard deck. Your dad had him cornered in no time, locking his aim as the other pilot tried to go up and save himself from imminent failure. You whispered an excited “yes!” when they confirmed the kill. All pilots were commanded to land and take a break before the debrief.

Officer Stewart only had a second before you were out of the room and making your way to the hangar. You were out on the tarmac in a matter of minutes, just waiting for your father to jump off the jet and explain himself. And the looks you got from your colleagues were filled with questions that were promptly answered when you said “Dad! Why didn’t you give me a call?”

“Your mom said it would be better if it was a surprise,” he explained, opening his arms and giving you a nice hug. “I was hoping to hear your voice over the comms today.”

“Not today, but maybe next time. Oh, I missed you so much.” You stayed there for as long as possible, already used to the port flight aura you dad carried around.

Most people said your looks and personality were a fair mix of your parents. Your temper was something you inherited from your dad, but the sweet smile and warm eyes were your mom’s biggest traits. Looking at pictures from when they were younger, if it wasn’t from the passage of time, you would look like a perfect conjunction of their younger versions. Dressed in a Navy uniform, you used to be called Mini Warbird.

“Missed you too, birdie.” For your father, you would always be an aviator. “So, are you joining us for the debrief later?”

“I think so,” you smiled. “You did an amazing job today.”

“You sure? I feel a little rusty.” He shook his shoulders, like taking the dust off of them. “Alright, but did I look cool on your screens?”

“You looked like you never stopped flying dangerous missions. I know an experienced pilot when I see one,” you admitted.

As you said those words, Bradshaw walked by. And his expression was far from friendly: his sharp eyes were focused on your father; his face red and sweaty because of the exercise; his hands gripping the helmet like he was holding himself back. 

Your father followed your attention, and said “Nice work, Lieutenant Bradshaw.” But the pilot just walked by.

“Well, dinner’s on me,” your dad said. “Meet you at the debrief?”

“Will do.”

+++

“Now that we are not on the clock, and your mom is not around to use her psychologist tactics, tell me: how have you been?” Your dad asked as he settled two beer bottles at your table.

You drove him to the Hard Deck as soon as you were both done for the day. His stay was only for the training, his ticket back to his base booked for the following morning. Which was such a shame, you were really hoping you could spend more than just a few hours together.

“I’m ok, I guess. A lot of work, new people, new information, new squad. And a ton of pressure to perform well without causing unnecessary friction.”

“Any trouble with the captain?” Your mother wasn’t there, but your dad was more than prepared to poke the sensitive topics.

“Believe me or not, no. I was part of last week’s debrief, and I was surprised when he asked me for my insights and complimented my notes.” You looked around, making sure there wasn’t any coworker hanging around your booth. “People are very chill around here. Well, not everyone.”

“Is that Hangman guy being an ass to you as he is to his colleagues?”

“No, actually Bagman is all bark, no bites when he learns your job pretty much could help him get the mission captain position.” In a world full of politics and power games, you knew how to move around the board. And that didn’t mean not having some fun while there.

“So who are you talking about?”

“You know, the bird” you took a sip of your beer. “I know I’m the outsider writing down all of their mistakes and giving those out to the captains and admirals, but I’m not here to be judge and jury. So ever since day one, he’s acting like I am the enemy.”

“He’s been very temperamental since his father died.” Sometimes you would forget that your father was training and flying side by side with Maverick, Goose and those Top Gun pilots. You were born months later after Goose’s death, too young to remember the faces, and your family was transferred when you were two. “The kid is an excellent pilot, just a bit—”

“Arrogant? Doesn’t like to take feedback even when the person on the other side of the radio is trying to help? Yes, I can agree.” You rolled your eyes.

“Someone’s bitter.”

“I really wished Maverick was the pain in the ass you and mom told me, because I’ve dealt with aviators like him before, instructors even. Bradshaw is even worse than that one admiral in Virginia.”

For a second, you thought your dad’s silence was him trying to find arguments to defend Bradshaw — even if that, before all of this, he wasn’t nice to Maverick or anyone that was close to the reckless pilot. You noticed how, on the drive there, he was laying all the compliments to Rooster’s sense of leadership, and praising Hangman’s flight skills.

“Don’t even start,” you interjected. “I don’t wanna hear you saying he is a troubled kid, and he is the way he is because Maverick is his godfather or whatever.”

“I won’t. But we had this argument before: just because numbers and readings are clear to you, flying is more of an instinct than something you can learn.” His serious tone, reserved to students or when you were losing your temper. “Once adrenaline kicks in, you know we are not the most reasonable people out there.”

“I never pointed those things out loud. I check the readings, I give them to the chief, and my work is done.”

“I know what you do in those rooms, kid. What I’m saying is sometimes we know what we are doing, even though the odds are against us. So point out if someone is slow, or if their success rate is not as sharp as it should be, but don’t act like this is the only variable in risk during training.”

“Can we move on? Thank you very much.” At your core, you know your father is right. But, in your mind, if a pilot can’t complete a mission training successfully, it’s your job to point that out. Otherwise, they will fail on the field.

Much to his dismay, your father started talking about his new flight students. It was that part of the class everyone wanted a call sign to put over their last names. You knew what yours meant, but just didn’t remember who gave it to you. Maybe it was one of your colleagues, maybe one of the captains, perhaps Bob would remember.

For the longest time, you thought everyone would just call you Birdie or anything related to your dad’s call sign. And they did, then your call sign was Crow for exactly ten days before a training session. From them on, you were referred to as Hyde.

Had a nice side, but once they did you wrong, you showed a side that everyone would be afraid to fly closely to.

You were going to the bar to close out your tab when you heard familiar voices. The Dagger squad walked to the Hard Deck like they owned the place. You thanked Penny, pointed to the exit with your head to your dad — to avoid walking back to your table and crossing paths with Bradshaw and his friends —, and walked to the parking lot like you were on a mission.

Bob called your name, you just waved a “hello”. Hangman offered to buy you a beer, you pointed to the door and mouthed a “sorry”. Nat recognized your father moving the same direction and just smiled. You reached the door, and you slammed into someone’s chest and then stumbled backwards, almost falling. But they held your arm, and you were safe.

“Officer.” Bradshaw’s voice made your instinct kick back, and you took your arm away.

“Lieutenant,” you said, harshly. You don’t give him another look as you walk out of the Hard Deck and take your father to his hotel. Damn, how you wished he could stay with you.

a/n: the build up is building up, and i wanna say chapter 5 is one of my favorites! fingers crossed i can finish it faster this time around

[mariacallous]

These days, when Nicole Yelland receives a meeting request from someone she doesn’t already know, she conducts a multi-step background check before deciding whether to accept. Yelland, who works in public relations for a Detroit-based non-profit, says she’ll run the person’s information through Spokeo, a personal data aggregator that she pays a monthly subscription fee to use. If the contact claims to speak Spanish, Yelland says, she will casually test their ability to understand and translate trickier phrases. If something doesn’t quite seem right, she’ll ask the person to join a Microsoft Teams call—with their camera on.

If Yelland sounds paranoid, that’s because she is. In January, before she started her current non-profit role, Yelland says she got roped into an elaborate scam targeting job seekers. “Now, I do the whole verification rigamarole any time someone reaches out to me,” she tells WIRED.

Digital imposter scams aren’t new; messaging platforms, social media sites, and dating apps have long been rife with fakery. In a time when remote work and distributed teams have become commonplace, professional communications channels are no longer safe, either. The same artificial intelligence tools that tech companies promise will boost worker productivity are also making it easier for criminals and fraudsters to construct fake personas in seconds.

On LinkedIn, it can be hard to distinguish a slightly touched-up headshot of a real person from a too-polished, AI-generated facsimile. Deepfake videos are getting so good that longtime email scammers are pivoting to impersonating people on live video calls. According to the US Federal Trade Commission, reports of job and employment related scams nearly tripled from 2020 to 2024, and actual losses from those scams have increased from $90 million to $500 million.

Yelland says the scammers that approached her back in January were impersonating a real company, one with a legitimate product. The “hiring manager” she corresponded with over email also seemed legit, even sharing a slide deck outlining the responsibilities of the role they were advertising. But during the first video interview, Yelland says, the scammers refused to turn their cameras on during a Microsoft Teams meeting and made unusual requests for detailed personal information, including her driver’s license number. Realizing she’d been duped, Yelland slammed her laptop shut.

These kinds of schemes have become so widespread that AI startups have emerged promising to detect other AI-enabled deepfakes, including GetReal Labs, and Reality Defender. OpenAI CEO Sam Altman also runs an identity-verification startup called Tools for Humanity, which makes eye-scanning devices that capture a person’s biometric data, create a unique identifier for their identity, and store that information on the blockchain. The whole idea behind it is proving “personhood,” or that someone is a real human. (Lots of people working on blockchain technology say that blockchain is the solution for identity verification.)

But some corporate professionals are turning instead to old-fashioned social engineering techniques to verify every fishy-seeming interaction they have. Welcome to the Age of Paranoia, when someone might ask you to send them an email while you’re mid-conversation on the phone, slide into your Instagram DMs to ensure the LinkedIn message you sent was really from you, or request you text a selfie with a timestamp, proving you are who you claim to be. Some colleagues say they even share code words with each other, so they have a way to ensure they’re not being misled if an encounter feels off.

“What’s funny is, the low-fi approach works,” says Daniel Goldman, a blockchain software engineer and former startup founder. Goldman says he began changing his own behavior after he heard a prominent figure in the crypto world had been convincingly deepfaked on a video call. “It put the fear of god in me,” he says. Afterwards, he warned his family and friends that even if they hear what they believe is his voice or see him on a video call asking for something concrete—like money or an internet password—they should hang up and email him first before doing anything.

Ken Schumacher, founder of the recruitment verification service Ropes, says he’s worked with hiring managers who ask job candidates rapid-fire questions about the city where they claim to live on their resume, such as their favorite coffee shops and places to hang out. If the applicant is actually based in that geographic region, Schumacher says, they should be able to respond quickly with accurate details.

Another verification tactic some people use, Schumacher says, is what he calls the “phone camera trick.” If someone suspects the person they’re talking to over video chat is being deceitful, they can ask them to hold up their phone camera to their laptop. The idea is to verify whether the individual may be running deepfake technology on their computer, obscuring their true identity or surroundings. But it’s safe to say this approach can also be off-putting: Honest job candidates may be hesitant to show off the inside of their homes or offices, or worry a hiring manager is trying to learn details about their personal lives.

“Everyone is on edge and wary of each other now,” Schumacher says.

While turning yourself into a human captcha may be a fairly effective approach to operational security, even the most paranoid admit these checks create an atmosphere of distrust before two parties have even had the chance to really connect. They can also be a huge time suck. “I feel like something’s gotta give,” Yelland says. “I’m wasting so much time at work just trying to figure out if people are real.”

Jessica Eise, an assistant professor studying climate change and social behavior at Indiana University-Bloomington, says that her research team has been forced to essentially become digital forensics experts, due to the amount of fraudsters who respond to ads for paid virtual surveys. (Scammers aren’t as interested in the unpaid surveys, unsurprisingly.) If the research project is federally funded, all of the online participants have to be over the age of 18 and living in the US.

“My team would check time stamps for when participants answered emails, and if the timing was suspicious, we could guess they might be in a different time zone,” Eise says. “Then we’d look for other clues we came to recognize, like certain formats of email address or incoherent demographic data.”

Eise says the amount of time her team spent screening people was “exorbitant,” and that they’ve now shrunk the size of the cohort for each study and have turned to “snowball sampling” or having recruiting people they know personally to join their studies. The researchers are also handing out more physical flyers to solicit participants in person. “We care a lot about making sure that our data has integrity, that we’re studying who we say we’re trying to study,” she says. “I don’t think there’s an easy solution to this.”

Barring any widespread technical solution, a little common sense can go a long way in spotting bad actors. Yelland shared with me the slide deck that she received as part of the fake job pitch. At first glance, it seemed like legit pitch, but when she looked at it again, a few details stood out. The job promised to pay substantially more than the average salary for a similar role in her location, and offered unlimited vacation time, generous paid parental leave, and fully-covered health care benefits. In today’s job environment, that might have been the biggest tipoff of all that it was a scam.

[wooahaeruby]

Chapter 7: New Beginnings Bring New Fascinations

Chapter Word Count: 3,355

Anything in Bold Italics are Korean/Another language.

Master List | Prev | Next

The excited uproar when you called Mimi and Papa was the tip of the iceberg. For the sake of privacy until any documentation was signed, you kept Jihoon’s name out of it, but that didn’t fully stop you from answering any questions. You were lucky to have taken some painkillers and a half hour nap before starting the adventures of the morning. 

“Oh tell me about it! How did it happen? Where were you??” Mimi sighed dramatically, hearing a chuckle from Papa in the background. 

You settled back on the bed, a smile on your features as you rolled your eyes. “It was so dumb. I told you two of my coworkers and I went to a concert in Jersey – it was amazing by the way, the best concert of my life. We went out to a diner in the city once we got back and we pretty much..ran into each other, literally.” Thinking back, the entire situation only got funnier. “Ji- He was there with his friends and we basically sat and hung out for hours. Some other things happened that I can’t discuss, but someone is going to email you guys an NDA for you to sign. It’s a kinda complicated time so I can’t talk too much about it.” 

With confirmation they would read it over and sign whatever was needed by the end of the day, you bid both a farewell after promising to somehow have them meet either over video chat or in person. 

Calling your supervisor was relatively easy. Once the formalities were out of the way, you explained that your soulmate was someone that travels the world frequently based on Seoul and with your job mainly being online, you figured it would be a better request for a transfer and move to remote. After a while on hold, a conference call with a few supervisors and the head of the Korean relations department, it was approved. You expected the conversation about a pay cut, it wasn’t as bad. It accommodated the change in costs of living. 

Contacting Jamie and Kazuki was…chaotic to say the least. A text turned into a phone called…which turned into a video call and a tour of the room you were staying in. They gave no hesitation in agreeing to sign the NDA as long as you give them ‘all the tea’ and send them any extra merch you possibly could. Talking to them made you feel light, while the bond between Jihoon and yourself brought you warmth and destiny, the platonic bond you held between the three of you brought comfortability and familiarity.

“Wait, shit, what's gonna happen to your stuff? How was all that gonna be handled?” Jamie frowned. “You’re gonna be leaving this week, right?” 

“Ah…yeah about that. I’ll pay for whatever you guys need, but I was kinda hoping you could go through everything since I don’t have a lot, pack it, and send it out with whatever company Pledis is going to use.” 

“Can I call dibs on anything you don’t take with you?” The question from Kazu had you groaning, shaking your head and giggling.

“As long as you don’t keep some weird shit, yeah. Between now and whenever we leave, I’m going to need to head back home to gather everything I can in a few suitcases. I think when the manager was taking us back he was saying something about switching flights and needing my passport, which I don’t have with me.” 

You shifted from your spot at the desk, turning your head towards the door. There was that pull again deep down, goosebumps once again raised on your arms. 

“Babes? Are you good?” 

The knock at the door interrupted Jamie, you already knew who it was. You gave a call of one sec!. 

“ Quick question, do you know when Kazuki is going to come home if he goes out or feel him once he is close?” 

“ Feel him? Like a sixth sense? Not really. I’ve read that some bonds can manifest that, but typically it’s the feeling of serenity when together and the shared emotions.” 

“Hm, interesting. Okay, well Jihoon is waiting outside the door. Bye.” 

“Don’t just hang-” 

And you hung up on him, standing and stretching your limbs before answering the door. Jihoon didn’t change, but at least his hair was brushed and he might have slept a bit more. 

You could feel the slightest hint of nerves build in your chest. Before you were able to open your mouth, Jihoon was already talking. 

“ I know it might be a lot, but everyone in the group knows now and are insisting on meeting you. I’m the first one in the group to meet their soulmate outside of Seungkwan and Vernon-” That was…yeah that one was obvious. “ They said if I didn’t come and convince you to agree, Seungkwan and Seokmin would be coming to drag you out.” 

Ah…Yeah…That. 

Why you thought you could escape the inevitable for longer was unknown. 

“ They all want to go out for lunch.” 

“Jihoon, you are making it worse.” You cringed, giving him a pleading look which only morphed into a timid smile. 

“... Sorry.” 

“I can’t really escape this, can I?”

The quick, little shake of his head gave you all the answers needed. 

That was how you found yourself in a fancy Korean BBQ place, walking into the back for a large private room. Jihoon and yourself were the last to show up since you needed to speak with his managers to give the needed information to send the additional NDAs out and hand over your own. You expressed your plans to travel home to pack as much as possible within the next few days before needing to fly out. 

You thanked the waitress who had led you to the room, face contouring in uneasiness. Beyond the door, you could hear boisterous conversation and laughter filling the room. As Jihoon went to open the door, you slowly took his free hand, rolling your shoulders back to straighten up. 

“ Finally! I thought we’d have to go back to the hotel and drag you here!” All conversation ceased as Seokmin called out, noticing you both at the door. “ Come sit! We just ordered the meat!” 

Two seats were empty between Seokmin and Soonyoung. All eyes were focused on the two of you, quietly taking in you. Jihoon pursed his lips and stepped in front of you partially to block their view, walking you towards your spots and sitting down. He automatically sat next to Soonyoung, leaving you to fend for yourself against Seokmin. Across from you was none other than Mingyu.

Personally, you didn’t know how to break the ice. Too many pairs of eyes were perceiving you. No introduction was needed from them really. 

“ Ya hyung, did you tell them we bite or something?” The first one to speak was Mingyu, the exasperation on his face and the scoff he let out made Jihoon return the scoff with his own. 

“ They are a Carat, maybe they’ve watched enough videos to know how annoying you are.” 

The comment had your lips pressed tightly together and your head falling back to hold in the laugh. You took a deep breath and shuttered it out. 

“Lord save me.” You muttered out, shaking your head and looking back at everyone the best you could. Every single one of them were so close, clean faces without a hint of makeup, comfy casual clothes, and wide eyed in curiosity.

“ I’m not annoying! Tell them I’m not annoying!” Hearing the giant of a man whine in front of you was not on your bingo board of the year.  No one came to his defense. 

“ Can you shut up and stop making a fool of yourself?” The deep rumble of Seongcheol’s voice, he sat on the other side of Seokmin between Jeonghan and Chan. 

A chorus of laughter fluttered out of each of them. Jihoon rumbled a laugh to himself, feeling a childlike joy shared with you. 

“ Can I introduce myself or are you going to continue bullying Mingyu?” The sarcasm in your tone even had Jihoon reeling to stare at you. 

With no objections, you stated your name, bowing your head to them. “ I was born in 1997 here in New York, and I speak four languages relatively fluently, and have been a Carat since 2019.” 

The waitress from earlier had pushed the door open along with another waiter, rolling in a car full of different meat platters and extras. Food was quickly arranged haphazardly around the grills and table, gratitude shared for everything provided before you once again were sitting just the fourteen of you. 

“ I have to say, you are handling this a lot better than I thought.” Jeonghan spoke up, leaning on his uninjured elbow to see you the best he could past Seokmin who was leaning over the table. 

You chuckled at that, waving a hand to brush it off. “ If I’m being honest here, I’m about two seconds away from running out the door so I don’t embarrass myself. You should have seen me last night when my friend pointed out some of the members walking into the diner.” 

Jihoon was pulling a plate of meat towards him, already starting the cooking to get everything going. “ I told Shua-hyung and Seokmin-ah that they were feeling close to imploding with embarrassment and shock.” 

Your jaw dropped and you gave a hardish hit to his shoulder. “ Hey! Try to step into my shoes!” 

“I thought you were going to pass out from just feeling that alone.” 

“Jihoon!” 

Another chorus of laughter filled the room, making you shrink down in your chair. Now you wished to crawl into a hole. 

“ What was it you said? Oh my fucking god, you have to be fucking kidding me.” He continued, stating word for word your reaction in English. 

“ Luckily you didn’t have the first words written on you, that would have been hard to hide, hyung.” Chan’s loud and innocent laugh had you laughing too. 

“ It gets better, their friend placed a bet that one of us would be their soulmate and won.” Joshua interjected smoothly, flipping the meat on the grill in front of him.

“ Can someone be on my side?” Your plea went unanswered. 

“ So, do we need to ask the question that is on everyone’s mind?” The innocent tone Seungkwan was trying to portray was laced with mischief. 

“Wait, what is supposed to be on everyone’s mind? I’m lost.” Soonyoung – bless his heart – leaned forward, looking innocently between you and Seungkwan. 

You stared daggers into Seungkwan. He was lucky he wasn’t across from you because you definitely would have kicked him under the table. “ Nothing, don’t listen to him. He is talking nonsense.” You rushed the words out, only making it even more suspicious. 

“Ya noona…it would be mean if you don’t tell everyone your bias, right?” His tone was challenging towards you, raising an eyebrow. 

You could hear the smirk on Jeonghan’s face when he spoke. “ Oh? I’m especially curious.” 

“ Seungkwanie.” You said between clenched teeth, staring him down. “ I’m asking you nicely-” 

“What? I think hyung would like to know. Right, Cheolie-hyung? You’d want to know if someone was biasing you, right?” 

If your soul could split from Jihoon and leave your body, that was how you felt. Too many voices were talking at once, playful screaming and laughter flooding your ears. Jokes were cracked at Jihoon and Seungcheol, thankfully leaving you out of the mix for now. You rued the day that the jokes would be fired at you if they grew comfortable enough for that. 

Your cheeks were bright red from what you could tell based on how hot you felt. In the back of your mind you were conjuring a plan of how to get back at him one day. 

“ Wah…and here I thought the universe would make them have a natural draw to Jihoonie.” Jeonghan heaved a breath, “ Please tell me your wrecker is him.” 

“ I will neither confirm nor deny that.” Was all you were able to say, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

Although the beginning of your meeting was…interesting to say the least, the more the conversation flowed, the more comfortable it became. Minghao and Jun were mostly quiet aside from you boasting about the Performance Unit. Wonwoo was a quiet watcher who grew curious when Mingyu asked if you played any game, which you did but you were particularly good at. You preferred the single player games that let you pass time after work, but you would rather be reading a book in bed which he could happily agree with. 

Seeing Seventeen in videos wasn’t all that different than who they were in person. They playfully bullied one another, told old stories that had you laughing so hard your sides hurt, and were unapologetically themselves. Jihoon and Joshua had brought up a new episode of an anime they were following. Soonyoung was leaning back behind your soulmate to ask you a question. Seokmin was ever so kindly giving you food when your plate was empty. Anything you didn’t finish was not so conspicuously shoveled onto Jihoon’s plate. 

Truth be told, it was similar to how you thought of them: comforting, familial, and tranquil. They had already made you feel like family even if they had just met you. You were an important person to Jihoon now, who each one of them cared about deeply, and you were going to spend the rest of your life with him. 

“ Oh god, my grandma used to call me dumpling!” Seungkwan howled, scrunching his face up into a cringe, shaking his head. 

“ Dumpling!? That is cute though!” You yelled across the table, grinning wide. “ Mimi used to call me Ruby. My birth month stone is a ruby and I loved red roses growing up. She doesn’t do it much anymore since I’m older, but it was cute. She even got me a necklace with a ruby on it.” 

A gasp came from Mingyu who gave the most puppy-like smile, wide sparkly eyes and all, quickly looking between you and Jihoon who you thought wasn’t zoned into the conversation. “ Can we call you Ruby? It’s like hyung’s song too! You are his ruby!” 

A wave of adoration that washed through you had you glancing at Jihoon. Soonyoung was talking animatedly about a topic you couldn’t really catch and the latter was listening, however he definitely was listening in on your conversation as well. 

“ I don’t see why you can’t, it’d be nice to hear it again.” You affirmed, nodding to solidify it. 

“ Ruby-ah!” Mingyu grinning, “ That is your name now. I don’t make the rules.”

By the time everyone had eaten their fill, small groups were ready to explore on their own. Members started to funnel out after Seungcheol generously paid for the meal, some making plans to meet up once more for dinner. Truth be told you had no plans besides going back to the hotel, finishing whatever paperwork was needed and simply existing. Finishing the papers meant the posting of the announcement which also led to the making or breaking of your mental health depending on how the world reacts. You knew there would be the delusional fans that would start something. You had already placed your instagram on private after the meeting. You hoped you didn’t have to private your twitter since it was mostly anonymous. 

“Noona, do you want to go out with us?” Chan broke you from your little trance, tilting his head slightly in question. Vernon and Seungkwan were already ready to head out. “We want to walk around Time Square.” 

“ Ah, it might not be a good idea yet.” You stood, rubbing the back of your neck. 

He raised an eyebrow, head still tilted. “ Why? Because a statement hasn’t been put out?” 

You simply nodded. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to explore and get to know your new companions, but there were a lot of what ifs that plagued your mind. 

“ Why can’t we just…live on the edge?” Seungkwan questioned, a purse to his lips. His eyes were focused more on Jihoon, hopeful he would think it was a good idea. 

Looking at him, you see the internal debate he was having. 

“ I- Well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Maybe it would be better to wait, some fans can be a little…intrusive.”

“But what’s the fun in that?” Seungkwan’s pursed lips turn into a full pout now. 

Jihoon was looking at you now, gauging your reaction. It was no question he could feel the hope, but also the fear you were attempting to bundle down. His expression shifted before he sighed, shoulders deflating some. 

“ Fine, but if we get in trouble, you better take the blame.”

“Deal! Let’s go!” Seungkwan was taking your arm after having rounded the table, leaving the others to catch up. “ And we’ll have security with us, nothing to worry about. You and Nonnie can translate for us if needed.” 

“ Am I being used as a free translator?” You ask while being dragged along. 

Somewhere behind you, Vernon gives confirmation which causes you to laugh. 

The handful of you had a blast walking around the main attraction of the city. You had called Jamie and Kazuki to meet up with you since they took the time earlier to read and sign their lives away. Spending the day with new friends and old ones only added to the fun. Seungkwan and Jamie had clicked last night and now it showed every more as they teased you based on things the latter told him about you. Throughout the afternoon, you and Jihoon found yourselves gravitating towards one another again. Just as Kazuki and Jamie did or Seungkwan and Vernon. So he didn’t feel left out, you walked close to Chan, asking about his interests and keeping conversations flowing between you. 

Pictures were taken, plenty were littering your camera roll now; candid shots of them, selfies with a few, and a singular picture of Jihoon.

You don’t know what possessed you to take it. He was just standing in the afternoon light, reading something on his phone as he waited outside of the ice cream shop you had found with the security guard. His posture and expression was relaxed. He looked content if you had to place a word to it. After snapping the pictures, he had perked up, glancing through the window at you. You had turned away to face the front of the line, feeling the heat spread across your cheeks. Unbeknownst to you, Jihoon was laughing silently to himself, warmth filling his chest. 

Upon arrival back at the hotel, you all came to an agreement that you would go out again for pizza with your little cluster later in the evening. Mimi had texted you that the papers were signed albeit with some minor questions that an email from the management team wasn’t unable to handle. An email thread from PR, management, and the legal representative were hammering out final decisions before you got one email attachment from Hyeji. 

Jihoon was walking you back to your room, hands shoved in his pockets when you stopped. Opening the attachment led to the formal announcement draft written consecutively from Korean, English, Japanese, and Mandarin. 

“ What? Is something wrong?” 

You shook your head, eyes intently scanning over each and every word. “ They want me to approve the draft for the announcement.” 

You felt him pressed up beside you a moment later, reading the text over your shoulder. 

It was simple and to the point, nothing too frilly. You both shared a look. You were curious if he had any issues with it. With both approvals, you replied back, giving the okay and it began the wait…

[simp-ly-writes]

Medals, Meetings, & Contracts

Can be read as a standalone: In my Shadow (pt.2)

Pairing: Commander Philip Graves x Shadow!Reader

Summary: You have became a deeply valued asset as Shadow Company, your time spent with the commander only grows alongside your unknown feelings towards him- yet when a mission arises, what does that mean for your future?

Warnings: mentions of jealousy and light teasing.

A/N: In all honesty, I forgot I started to write this a while back but I hope you enjoy this new part nonetheless! :)

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

In my Shadow Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

↳ Building a new routine in a different organization, timezone, and country entirely was easier and more enjoyable than you expected with your team by your side

↳ Yet your squad had grown as well, you were freshly in charge of five new members, now a nine person strong task force it definitely made the days go by quicker and easier, not everyone had to go on the mission at the same time, you could be working on a mission from various angles within various countries all at the same time

↳ Your management skills from back in Europe were coming into full effect as the officials at Shadow Company could not be happier with your performance in the months to follow since your arrival

↳ You felt nothing but pride swell in your chest as you placed the logo on your gear and headed out of your apartment each morning to converse with the other shadows, hearing their backgrounds, stories, accomplishments and failures alike- it was a productive atmosphere that had you pushing your team towards greatness

↳ And greatness you achieved, the team was a crowning achievement of the recruiting board as your mission success rate pummelled any past records- hostage rescues, check! world-saving documents- stolen, social attacks settled in the dirt with officials safe and sound , back at home

↳ Various commissioners always wrote letters in praise of your teams work- the additional badges on your formal uniforms only became fuller, each beaming proudly in the sunlight

↳ Soon enough you were reporting directly towards the commander himself, you were given weekly meetings with him (as his assistant told you through various passive-aggressive emails and voicemails that you debated bringing up in converastion)

↳ Your meetings were always enjoyable, he usually ordered coffee (or tea) with lunch as you both discussed recent and future missions with a fair deal of light arguing, sarcasm, and a few eye-rolling puns from your end, time would fly-by as you got to know each other more

↳ Soon enough, handshakes were small hugs before and after meetings alongside a hand on your shoulder as he led you out of his office became more apparent in actions as well as to your squad members with raised eyebrows and somewhat sealed-lips as they texted the home-team back in England of your adventures

↳ During one of these meetings, Graves would casually drop that you all would be going on a combined attack with the British SAS as he pulls your chair closer to his, showing you a map on his computer, barley paying attention to the information being displayed in your shock- you failed to hear the commander add he was joining to ensure the success of this mission

↳ A few days later you were picking at your squads uniforms once more as the elevator ascended towards the chairmans office, Graves stood in a suit (much to your distraction), his assistant chatting annoyingly in the corner as she flipped through various documents on her tablet- she kept the type clicking sound on as you bashed your forehead against your team member with a groan as he chuckled and rubbed your shoulder lightly before whispering for you to shut the hell up too

↳ The numbers above climbed as Graves drowned out the various meetings being called, all scheduled with the shareholders before he left with your team, his eyes narrowing slightly at your... unprofessionalism with your squad mate...

↳ ...The elevator dings and Graves is back to facing forwards as he fixes his tie and exits the elevator before trailing down the carpeted floors and up to the commissioners office where a surprise awaited you both

↳ In the room stood Laswell and Price off to the side, observing the world go by through the floor-to-ceiling windows. You stood in the doorframe, shock coursing through your veins- you were supposed to meet them in England not here. Your team mates shove you out of the way going up to introduce themselves as you see Graves walk in front you, pressing a hand in between your shoulders as he introduces you to the commissioner.

↳ Laswell and Price look at each other before looking back at you and your commander opening various folders against the commissioners desk. Your hands slightly float over one another as you both point out to various strategies and points of interest

↳ The meeting goes smoothly as Graves invites the British members back to headquarters for a much needed catch-up as your team cheers out from behind you and demands drinks as well, as you shake hands goodbye to the commissioner, apologizing for your teams rowdiness with a blush-covering your face as you hear the assistant hiss at Graves from behind, he was late to something now apparently as your notes form the desk

↳ Back at headquarters, you are interrogated by Laswell and Price to say the least as they demand to know how the Shadows are treating you- how Graves is treating you and if there is any possible way that you would come back to the SAS

↳ When Graves gets wind of this counter-offer, hells he is stalking up to the meeting room you all are settled into, pulling your chair closer to one he places himself in as he disregards the others in the room and tilting your chair so that your knees are in between his own as he ensures your loyalty to the company. The next moment a promotion contract is being waved in your face before he saunters back out of the room with a mock salute towards Laswell and the Captain with a wink directed towards yourself as the door slams closed and a whistles sounds down the hall

↳ Hiding behind yet another new contract, you blush heavily- very much embarrassed by your commanders apparent outburst, "I guess I'll take that as a no?" Price comments with a light chuckle in his voice as Laswell rolls her eyes and opens her palm, shaking it slightly in a silent demand to read the new contract given

↳ You hand her the document at the request she puts it into your mailbox in the commons building before making your way for nightly PT once more with your team. They all look towards you with knowing looks as you groan out into the night sky- when would you catch a break?

↳ The next morning you were rushing out of bed at the sound of your alarm, falling into the wall as you kicked your boots on and tightened your belt. The rest of your gear would have to wait as you chucked it all into a rucksack and dashed towards the honking truck in the parking lot- it was time for your biggest mission yet.

╰┈➤ A/N: hope you all enjoyed this, I know its a bit different to what I usually write... anyways, want a part 3 or even something else, let me know- I love hearing, or-well reading your ideas :)

In my Shadow Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

[taybatwo2]

Monster High IDW Comics Review: Part 8 of ?: Monster High IDW Issue 1: Part 3

You can start at the VERY beginning here:

https://www.tumblr.com/taybatwo2/754406016295321600/monster-high-idw-comics-review-part-13-the-fcbd?source=share

Or the first part to Issue 1 here:

https://www.tumblr.com/taybatwo2/772726504008384512/monster-high-idw-comics-review-part-6-of?source=share

Okay, we got half way through this issue! Let’s finish this thing! Breakdowns, call-backs, pros/cons under the cut (and the comic will have whited out bubbles to try and get around copyright):

Page: 11:

Clawdeen and Frankie both seem surprised and excited to see Draculaura…(I guess they really haven’t seen much of her since last semester). Draculaura doesn’t acknowledge them, and tells the whole class the School Board unanimously voted to uphold the Monster Claws. She continues on that they were written thousands of years ago by the 13 Original Founders of Monster High to protect normies and monsters from each other and themselves. Due to what happened last Scaremester (in the Once Bitten book), the claws will be enforced by the School Board.

Pros:

The text boxes for this issue have been very easy to tell whose talking off panel (it coincides with their color: purple for Clawdeen, dark purple for Headless Headmistress Bloodgood, pink for Draculaura, black for the CryptCrier, etc.) and it is MUCH appreciated.

The backgrounds and the ghouls look great in this issue as well (that first panel captures both Frankie and Clawdeen so well), the paneling is easy to follow and flows well.

The glass breaking past the panel boarder in the fourth panel also looks VERY nicely done.

Other:

From what I can tell the thirteen Monster High founders are: either an angel/pegasus/harpy or were-bird, a werewolf, a werecat, a cyclops, a yeti/bigfoot, a vampire, a minotaur, a dragon/gargoyle(?), a ghost?, a mummy, a sea monster, a skeleton, and a little guy (maybe a gremlin?)

These shards of glass having an identical flipped match on the other side.

Page 12:

The six Monster Claws were sent by scream-mail to everyone by Bloodgood.

Draculaura emphasizes everyone following the rules so they can be accepted into monster society and to stay far away from normies, while she thinks of -who I am assuming is- Poe the normie.

Pros:

The twisting vines on Poe’s panel look nice and the lightly splotched coloring on Draculaura’s sleeves look nice as well.

Call-backs:

Bloodgood’s skullette can be seen in the upper left hand corner of her email, and the front camera is in the shape of a coffin. :)

Poe is the normie Draculaura has the hots for (and whatever more they did in the Once Bitten book…that I WILL review before the end of this year DARN IT).

Nitpicks: 

I don’t know much about Poe, but I don’t like him and I don’t like that he’s suddenly her love interest instead of Clawd. I am not a high schooler anymore, but like G1 Clawd has it all over this Poe kid.

Page 13:

She CONTINUES to tell her fellow students to follow the claws or be excommunicated (“a fate worse than living”). Manny disagrees with these rules and says the school board shouldn’t have so much power (I 100% agree with the minotaur).

For some reason Lagoona thinks the rules are a great idea and they are “a good way to clean up after the storm.”

Manny says they should try to get to know each other instead (*cough, cough* the party they had at the end of Ghoul’s Rule *cough cough*).

Suddenly someone on the PA system calls for their attention.

Pros:

Hey look! It’s Scarah and Iris (and she is sitting with Manny, so cute). While I disagree with Lagoona (and I’m not sure if she would all be for laying low), she is once again drawn very lovely here.

Nitpicks: 

This plot was done better in Ghoul’s Rule in my opinion. It was also done so-so in the Lisi Harrison novels and a bit in the G2 movies. They’re more than welcome to continue building on the idea (I’m sure not all the hostility was gone after one dance) but this just isn’t hitting for me.

Page 14:

The voice belongs to Miss Moanah. She announces that Bloodgood has taken a much needed sabbatical.

Pros:

The bat details on the front of Bloodgood’s desk is fun.

Manny has also been drawn well here, and I like the little snort he gives.

Call-backs/info:

The handwriting on the note matches Bloodgood’s diary font. :)

As far as I know Miss Moanah is a new character.

Page 15:

She continues to tell the students that the School Board appointed Professor Frankenstein to be the new headmaster in her stay.

Heath bemoans Prof. Frankenstein’s boring bootube video lessons and being a stickler for the rules. Spectra also complains about the claws.

And a much younger looking Romulus claims that it’s going to “be a long year on a short leash.”

Pros:

Seeing more of the other students is always nice. Heath burning a slow hole into the desk because he’s bored is on brand.

The detail of Spectra’s iCoffin being seen through her hand is nice, and it’s always nice to see.

Romulus….even if he is looking a bit too similar to his G3 form than his grown-man-pretending-to-be-a-student G1 form (which I have a soft spot for).

The change of Frankie’s expressions was well done here along with the addition of her bolts sparking.

Page 16:

Clawdeen hypes up the headmaster news to Frankie, telling her the others are just jealous and she will be running the school.

Frankie isn’t so sure. she knows her dad is rigid, hyper focused and isolating, but thinks he might like being around other monsters again. She finally smiles and says it will be happy to have him around. Then a snide voice interrupts the ghouls.

Pros:

Clawdeen is an awesome friend to have and she looks great in both of her panels here. It’s nice to see Hexiciah, Bloodgood and Prof. Frankenstein altogether (maybe in school in the photo?).

And Eyera is here! Heck yeah!

Call-backs:

The Steins were close to Hexiciah in the diaries, and I guess this version of G1 Frankie’s dad was also close to Hexiciah too (I wonder if Sparky exists in this canon since he’s technically a normie…?)

Prof. Frankenstein is once again focusing on the brain with Frankie….hmmm…I’m going to guess foreshadowing.

The third panel is a redraw of the same panel in the Free Comic Book.

Nitpicks: 

Prof. Frankenstein is basically a completely different character to the other one in G1, and I still don’t like that.

I also don’t like how they insist on having his head permanently in the shadows.

Page 17:

Turns out the snide “headmaster’s pet” comment belongs to Meowlody. The CryptCrier tells us after Cleo and Clawdeen’s fight, she got in with the wrong crowd (and I guess Clawdeen decided to date the other part of that wrong crowd…?)

Pros:

Meowlody and Purrsephone look great here.

Call-backs:

Apparently a huge friend dynamic turn around happened in the book.

Nitpicks: 

Hehehehehe:

Page 18:

Cleo catches Frankie’s eyes and tells Meowlody to knock it off. Twice.

Meowlody hisses that she is just stating the obvious.

Pros:

It’s nice to see more of the werecat twins and their expressions in the last panel are great.

I’m not a huge G1 Clankie shipper, but those first two panels where they catch each other’s gaze? And then how she tells them to stop their teasing?? 👀👀

Call-backs:

The lockers in the background of the third panel seem to be Hoodude’s, Venus’, and Robecca’s (maaaaybe Twyla’s or Jinafire’s for all the stylized smoke?).

Page 19:

Cleo and the werecat twins start walking away, but not before Cleo calls Frankie and Clawdeen commoners.

This starts an argument between Clawdeen and Cleo. Cleo wanting to be treated as a royal and Clawdeen putting her back in her place.

Frankie tunes out the fighting and notices the board (BUT NOT THE MISSING SIGNS).

Pros:

The artwork on Cleo and Frankie on this page look great and the werecat twin’s faces here is hilarious.

The fiery background in the third panel is a nice touch.

Call-backs:

On one of the missing posters, it says Don Ofdadead (a reference to this G1 zombie backgrounder/friend of Slo mo).

Nitpick:

For some reason that same missing poster has an extra “missing font” “I” separating the “Don” and “Ofdadead.”

Page 20:

She notices that there are fearleading tryouts and thinking that it will be the best way to get the ghouls back together, signs herself and Clawdeen up for it (and copies their signatures perfectly). The CryptCrier notes that Frankie also didn’t seem to notice the danger creeping in too.

Pros:

The framing on that last panel is perfectly ominous.

Has Frankie always been left handed and I just never noticed before (both the third and fourth panel have her holding the pen in her left hand and the other cover art by Arielle Jovellanos has her holding the eye-dropper in her left hand too)?

Call-backs:

All the ghouls’ signatures match their diary signatures. :3

Heath Burns burned or scratched “HB + AB” in the corner of the bulletin board. My Habbey shipper heart loves this so much.

Nitpick:

The same missing poster changed its name to: “Fred Onarival.” This was a zombie “scariff” of Salem in the Ghoulfriends series, not a student, but I guess he’s missing too (soooo, Frankie’s dad is really leaning into the brains and so far two zombies have been missing, hmmm).

So that was the first official/non-one shot IDW G1 Monster Comic….it was…well….not for me. Yeah, these are not written for me (or my age range - I mean I wish they were because they are G1 media, but what are you going to do). I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this is Riverdale/Lisi Harrison Monster High. A version of G1 but in its own parallel dimension. ….i still have been buying every issue that has been released….so apparently I don’t think they’re bad enough to not buy and read and spend a ton of time making reviews on them (these seriously take me HOURS).

But what are your thoughts? Do you love them? Do you hate them? Feel indifferent?

I’m sure more will come tonight when I read Once Bitten…probably. Did I miss a detail or misremember everything?? Let me know! Let’s get a discussion going!

[leejenowrld]

Hi Soph! This is the anon silent reader. I’d love to be 🧚🏼‍♀️ if it hasn’t been claimed!

Not sure if this was asked before, but can we get an inside look at roommate moments with Karina and y/n? Things they do together at home or just bonding/hanging out? Absolutely LOVE their friendship! So hopefully we get more of them in continuing parts. 💓

hi sweet 🧚🏼‍♀️—that’s yours forever now, and i’m so happy you reached out. thank you for reading so closely, for feeling so much, and for giving me the chance to dive deeper into one of the most lowkey-but-loudly-loved dynamics: karina and y/n as roommates. here’s your inside look—set during y/n’s post-college era in new york. please request more things like this !!!

they’re chaotic in the quietest ways. they don’t need music to fill the silence in their apartment. the windows are always cracked open, even in winter, because the city makes better background noise than any playlist. sirens, horns, someone yelling two blocks down. their mornings are usually staggered—y/n’s an early riser with coffee/matcha and a hoodie slipping off one shoulder, while karina moves slow, hair a mess, refusing to speak until the espresso hits. sometimes they sit on the floor to eat instead of using the kitchen table. sometimes y/n reads emails out loud in voices. sometimes karina’s halfway through curling her lashes in the reflection of a kettle before she realizes she’s late. they make it work.

they share everything but socks and sex toys. seriously—everything else is free game. skincare, jackets, tote bags, charger cords, oat milk, vibrators (never). when one is dressing for a date or an event, the other sits on the bed with a glass of wine and critiques outfits like it’s NYFW. “not that skirt, it screams ex-girlfriend trying too hard.” they’ve done face masks and phone calls in the same bed more times than they can count. karina uses y/n’s perfume when she wants to feel a little unhinged. y/n uses karina’s serums when she wants to be taken seriously.

the late night debriefs are sacred. it doesn’t matter how busy they are—if one of them gets laid, kissed, rejected, dumped, or humiliated, the other must be waiting on the couch or in bed with a snack. no phones. no judgment. just a blanket and the occasional “start from the beginning.” karina is the queen of analyzing red flags in a guy y/n still wants to fuck. y/n is devastatingly honest in her feedback but will also climb into karina’s bed and kiss her forehead when the silence stretches too long.

jaemin has a toothbrush in the bathroom. it’s pink. it’s his. he’s there more often than he pretends to be. he brings pastries from brooklyn bakeries at 10pm and kisses karina’s shoulder in the kitchen like no one else is watching. y/n teases them but secretly loves the stability he brings. sometimes he’ll stretch out on the living room floor while the girls do their skincare and listen to them debate who gives better head. he never answers. he just smirks and bites into a croissant.

donghyuck is the unofficial third roommate. he shows up when they’re tipsy, loud, and undressed. he brings wine. he’s the one who walks in and goes, “you bitches need mood lighting,” before dimming the lamps and putting on sade. he once walked in on karina in a towel and y/n in a harness and just blinked and said, “okay, i’ll pour the drinks.” he never flirts, but he knows everything. he’s chaos with a curated playlist and a hot take about every man either of them have fucked.

they’re each other’s safest witness. the things y/n can’t tell jeno, she tells karina. the things karina can’t even admit to herself, y/n already sees. they’ve held each other through hangovers and heartbreaks, through mean texts and no texts, through missed periods and apartment-wide wax spill disasters. they’ve danced in towels. cried over soup. laughed so hard one of them peed a little. and when it’s late, and the city is humming like it’s alive, they sit on the fire escape and talk about the things they don’t tell anyone.

brunch doesn’t fix anything, but it helps. they sit on the rooftop in sweatpants and sunglasses, eating overpriced bagels and drinking green juice they both hate. “he’s gonna text you,” karina says, voice thick, toe nudging y/n’s bare ankle. “they always do.” y/n shrugs. “and you’re gonna let jaemin move in next month.” it’s not mean. it’s soft, familiar, the kind of teasing that only exists between people who’ve seen each other cry over nothing. they both smile a little. they both mean it.

karina still steals her clothes. even now. even when they’re not sharing closets out of necessity anymore. she’ll walk into y/n’s room before a dinner and just hold up a top, already half-buttoned. “this?” y/n nods, distracted. she’s reading over an email draft from apex, fingers hovering over the send button, but something about karina in her shirt—bare-legged, lip balm shiny, earring missing—pulls her attention. she doesn’t say anything. just watches her walk out. then bites the inside of her cheek and opens the text from jeno again.

they talk about sex differently now. less bragging. more confessions. y/n admits she misses being wanted in ways that weren’t always conditional. karina admits she fakes orgasms when she’s tired and doesn’t want to talk. they don’t look at each other when they say these things. they just share an ashtray between them, sunlight crawling up the hardwood, and exhale like it’ll make it easier. “do you ever think,” karina starts, “that we were the most honest when we were the messiest?” y/n doesn’t answer. she doesn’t need to.

they’re more honest with each other than anyone else. because there’s nothing to prove anymore. no competition. no jealousy. just two women surviving the city, sharing baths and breakdowns and bodega runs. sometimes y/n cries at her desk and doesn’t say why. sometimes karina comes home with her eyeliner smudged and doesn’t say where she was. they just sit beside each other and breathe.

they clean like they’re in a music video. sunday mornings are for bleach and bad decisions. karina blasts britney, y/n’s in a tank and sweats, and they clean with half-empty iced lattes sweating onto the counter. the windows are open, incense is burning, and they take turns dancing with the mop like idiots. y/n wipes down the mirror in the bathroom with one sock on. karina folds the laundry in her bralette. it always ends with them collapsing onto the rug, stomachs sore from laughing, hair a mess, “should we go out tonight?” already on the tip of one of their tongues.

donghyuck is their urban wife. he’s not a roommate, but he knows the code to their door. he’s constantly stealing bites of y/n’s food, stealing karina’s hoodies, stealing back the vibrator he accidentally left there once. he walks into the apartment like he pays rent, scolding them for leaving their crystals under the moonlight too long. he’s the one who insists they go on “platonic intimacy dates” where he paints their nails and gossips while they take turns massaging his shoulders. once, he broke their shower head trying to demonstrate a position. they didn’t ask for the demonstration.

and then there was the night with the neurosurgeon. no one planned it. no one even remembers exactly how it started. late 30s, smug, good hands. they were supposed to have wine, talk about his research. he was supposed to leave. but then y/n said something smart and wicked and he laughed like he’d just been slapped. and karina said, “do you always look at girls like that?” and then someone kissed someone. and then it was clothes on the floor, knees against the couch, the air conditioner humming while someone moaned against the glass window. he touched like he was used to giving orders and being obeyed. y/n let him take her apart while karina watched, biting her thumb, knees curled under her. then they switched—karina on his lap, y/n behind her, whispering what to do, how to move. his hands never left her thighs. hers never left y/n’s wrist. at some point, he groaned, “you two do this often?” and y/n laughed—low, breathless, wrecked—and said, “just when we’re bored.”

they never talked about it again. not really. just a glance here or there. just a shared look when someone says “neuroscience.” it wasn’t weird. it wasn’t shameful. it was just… indulgent. a moment of being young and unhinged in a city that would forget. when jaemin kisses karina now, it’s with both hands on her waist, steady, sure. when y/n walks past him, he still sometimes clears his throat, like he’s trying not to remember.

and then it’s back to the ordinary things. making tea before bed. borrowing a necklace without asking. lying on the floor to talk about who they’d marry if they had to marry someone in the friend group. painting tiny hearts on each other’s nails. arguing over which brand of tampons feels less like sandpaper. taking mirror selfies in the golden light before a night out. ordering too much sushi and sharing one fork.

because no matter what happens, no matter who comes or doesn’t, karina and y/n always come back to each other.

[literaticat]

How much does an agent's reputation and/or relationship with an editor affect whether or not the editor will buy a book? Like, if an editor gets a submission from an agent they've never heard of before, are they less likely to engage with the pitch than if the agent is someone they've worked with several times in the past? Is this something to take into consideration when querying agents?

I think if an editor has a great relationship with an agent, that might make them prioritize the submission to some extent. (But MIGHT and TO SOME EXTENT are doing *a lot of heavy lifting* in that sentence).

For example: There are editors to whom I have sold DOZENS of books. I have dined with them countless times. We text gossip to each other and chat on the phone. I have been on vacation with them and met their families. Like -- we're legit, longstanding friends, and we clearly have very similar taste, and we have worked together for many many years.

IF my submission caught them in the right moment, and they saw it and had time to open it, if it looked intriguing, it might get pushed toward the front of the queue. If they offered, it would probably make the negotiating part a little faster, because we already know each other well enough to cut the bullshit.

And yet... they are definitely not gonna buy a book from me unless they love the book, and if they aren't in response mode with anyone, they are not gonna respond to me, either, until they are good and ready. So, really, my being BFFs with somebody might help a little -- but it wouldn't change a no to a yes, you know?

There are also plenty of editors I have never met once in my life and who I'm sure have barely heard of me, and I've gotten offers from them quickly. And when I was brand new and hardly knew ANY editors, I got plenty of offers, too. Editors work with new-to-them agents all the time, and vice-versa.

THAT BEING SAID: I know for a fact that being at ABLA opens doors for me when I don't have the keys myself. People DO tend to open my emails and take my calls even if they don't know me personally, and they did even when I was a brand-newbie, because they know my agency.

So if you are querying a newer agent who doesn't have a ton of sales or a background in publishing, I think it is important that they are at a reputable / well-established agency. Because it'll be the agency's name that opens the doors (or in this case, emails) for them.

[atwooozi]

gojo x original character

Chapter 8: Danger

summary: Ai's supposed break from work turns into a frustrating battle with writer's block until a surprising phone call from Geto interrupts her misery. Ai's reluctance gives way to curiosity as she discovers a rare moment of relaxation and connection.

genre: modern AU, slice of life, comedy, eventual romance, eventual smut, some angst

A/N: I really like this chapter, it's because we get to see a little more of Ai as herself rather than just her in work mode. I feel that you don't really know a classmate or a coworker until you see them outside those spaces. Of course, some people are always the same no matter where they are, but there's something kind of special about seeing another side of a person that you might see every day in a new light.

The song for this chapter is Miracle Love by Takeuchi Mariya (remastered by Night Tempo)

READ ON AO3

Officially, Ai’s one-week break had begun. Unofficially, however, it was time to start writing–or at least laying down a foundation. As Ai went over her notes, she quickly realized that she didn't have much to work with. This wasn't surprising, given how difficult it was to get anything out of Gojo, but she didn't expect it to be so bad . She had been sitting at her desk for hours and she just couldn’t get anything that she liked down without wanting to throw her laptop out the window. How could her past self betray her like this? 

Just before Ai could decide on whether or not she wanted to wallow in ‌self-pity, her phone rang. It was Geto. If Geto needed something he typically texted, so his calling her made her heart stop. If he was calling to give her bad news, she was going to start drafting her resignation. She would take it as a sign that this assignment was officially cursed.

Ai hesitantly picked up the phone and tried to prepare herself mentally for whatever Geto was going to tell her. 

“...Hello?” 

“Ai-san, are you busy?” 

Much to Ai’s relief, Geto sounded like his usual self. She wondered how he was able to convey such a calm, yet smug tone over the phone.

“No,” Ai felt her phone buzz against her ear. Who was texting her? And why did they send message after message? “Why, did you kill someone?”

Geto scoffed. “No, but I might have to kill a certain six-foot-tall furby if they don’t stop touching my very expensive camera.” 

There were some frantic shuffling sounds that Ai could hear in the background, but whatever it was ended just as quickly as it started. 

“Satoru and I are grabbing dinner and he insisted I invite you,” Geto explained calmly as if the whole commotion never even happened.  

Ai had a confused look on her face as she listened to Geto. “Dinner? Today?” 

Were these two not tired of seeing each other day after day? They had just spent a whole week together, but they were acting as if it had been ten years or something. Ai couldn’t imagine spending that much time with anyone. She got exhausted answering work emails some days.  

“Yeah? What do you think I meant?” Ai heard snippets of Geto talking to someone quietly in the background but was unable to make out the words. 

“I…”

Ai was a planner; if she was going out, she liked to plan it ahead of time. Whenever she met with her friend, Utahime, another writer from Hollow; they would always plan a week or two ahead of time. They would meticulously scour over new restaurants and stores that they could check out that day. It was always hard for the two to coordinate schedules, so scheduling so far out was needed. This suddenness was something that typically came with working with talent, but not during off hours. 

Ai pursed her lips in thought. “I need time to mentally prepare…” she muttered. 

In her defense, she felt that anyone would need time to mentally prepare before dealing with Geto and Gojo. They weren’t bad people, but Ai doubted she could handle their antics outside of work. With Geto's smart mouth and Gojo being, well, Gojo, she was sure she'd end up fined for being a public nuisance for just being seen with them.

Geto chuckled on the other end of the line. “It’s nothing fancy, just ramen. I'll text you the address.” 

Before Ai could answer, Geto hung up. She sighed as she looked at her phone. She had several texts from an unknown number. 

03-032XX-XXXX: Ai-chaaaaaan  03-032XX-XXXX : I stole your number from Suguru’s phone 03-032XX-XXXX: I told him to invite you to ramen 03-032XX-XXXX: It's Gojo BTW  03-032XX-XXXX: Ai-chaaaaaan are you ignoring me?????  

Ai couldn't help but chuckle as she looked over the messages. What a weirdo. Just as she was about to reply, Gojo sent a picture. It was of him, a perturbed-looking Fushiguro, and Geto looking as relaxed as ever giving a victory sign to the camera. 

03-032XX-XXXX: Proof that it's me Ai rolled her eyes and typed out a quick reply. Ai : I'm not getting ramen with you guys. Gojo : Ai-chaaaaaan please :c Ai : No. Gojo : you're making me cry :’(((((( 

With that Gojo attached another picture of him seemingly crying. She supposed that he couldn’t cry on command because she had to squint to see the one tear that was rolling down his cheek. It was almost refreshing to know that he wasn’t good at everything. 

Gojo : If you don't come I'm QUITTING the story

Ai sighed and set her phone down. As much as she was enjoying texting back and forth with Gojo, she was already playing a dangerous game. She really didn't want to blur the lines anymore… but getting dinner with Gojo and Geto could mean more material to work with for the story.

Her phone buzzed a few times and despite the alarm bells going off in her head, she picked up the phone. Gojo had sent several messages and screenshots saying that he told Ijichi that he was quitting the story because Ai-chan was mean. This was followed by even more screenshots of rushed and panicked messages from Ijichi asking what had happened. 

Ai groaned and texted Gojo back. While she was at it, she decided to change his contact name as well… mostly to serve as a warning. Hopefully, when her future self saw it, her brain would remember to stop. 

Ai : What time?  Red Flag Gojo: 9 DON'T BE LATE  Red Flag Gojo : I'll tell Ijichi nvm :> 

Ai glanced at the clock, realizing it was a little past eight. She quickly looked up the address to the restaurant and she bit her lower lip. She needed to get dressed now so she could run to the train in time to meet those two weirdos. She dashed to the bathroom, splashing her face with some cold water to help her get out of her writer’s fog. After a quick touch-up of makeup, she changed into a casual yet presentable outfit, opting for jeans and a baby blue cropped sweater. 

As she hurried out the door, she sent a quick text to Geto, letting him know that she was on her way. She quickly made her way to the train station, her mind still reeling from the unexpected invitation. Despite her initial reluctance, there was a bit of excitement fluttering in her chest that she tried to ignore. 

The train ride passed by in a blur, luckily, not too many people were in her train car. Before she knew it, Ai found herself standing in front of the ramen shop, a small smile playing on her lips since she hadn't gotten lost. She checked her phone, and she had a few minutes to spare thankfully.  

Sure enough, Ai spotted Gojo, Geto, and a rather smart-looking woman, sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant when she stepped inside. From what Ai could see the mystery woman was wearing long dark brown hair in a low ponytail and sporting a navy turtle neck and dark pants.

 Ai was surprised that Geto and Gojo even knew a woman. She began to wonder how much suffering this poor lady must’ve endured thanks to those two menaces.   

Gojo’s eyes lit up as he caught sight of Ai and he waved his lanky arm enthusiastically at her. “Ai-chan, you made it,” Gojo called out, his voice carrying across the rather empty restaurant. “You’re on time too, I'm impressed.” 

Ai quickly made her way over to the table so Gojo would stop shouting, drawing attention to their little group. “I didn’t want you to quit and give Ijichi-san a heart attack,” she said as she settled into her seat next to the mysterious, but elegant woman. 

“Ai-san, this is Ieiri Shoko,” Geto said as he nodded over to the woman that Ai sat down next to. “She went to high school with the both of us.”

Ieiri nodded her head in greeting with a lazy smile on her face. “I’m sorry you have to work with these two.” She gave Ai a sympathetic look.  

Ai chuckled and bowed her head slightly in greeting to Ieiri. “It could be worse, I could’ve gone to school with them.” 

Ieiri laughed and glanced over at Gojo and Geto. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.” 

Gojo leaned back in his seat, a wide grin on his face. “I don’t know what you two are talking about. I’m truly a gift in every way. You should be thanking me for hanging out with you.” 

Ai gave Gojo a skeptical look, while Ieiri just let whatever he said go in one ear and out the other. 

“Anyway…Ai, I read your piece on Nobara. It was pretty good.” Ieiri mused as she looked over the menu. “I haven’t watched one episode of Satoru’s show, but it makes me want to.”

Gojo gasped and dramatically clutched his chest. “You haven’t watched my show, Shoko? I thought we were friends.” He feigned offense, but there was a playful look in his eyes. 

Ieiri rolled her eyes. “Sorry, I’ve been busy with work. I’ll watch your movie though,” She paused for a moment. “...If you give me a ticket.” 

“A traitor and a freeloader.” Gojo tsked as he turned his nose up at her. 

“You read my work, Ieiri-san?” Ai asked curiously. 

“You don’t have to be so polite. Shoko is fine.” She said as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear. “Satoru has a habit of never shutting up when he’s excited about something.” 

Before Ai could ask a follow-up question Gojo butted into the conversation. “ Anyway !” He smiled. “Why don’t you tell Ai-chan what you do, Shoko?” 

 “I’m a doctor.” 

“A doctor?” Ai was in awe of Shoko. “That’s so cool!” 

How could such a cool woman be hanging out with clowns like Geto and Gojo?

Unlike the two men sitting across from them, Shoko carried a cool air around her. Her movements were so measured and relaxed in comparison to someone so animated and cartoonish like Gojo and Geto. On top of her elegant aura, Shoko was just beautiful to put it simply. Her pale skin, long dark brown hair, and her large downturned eyes just suited her so nicely. If Ai didn’t know any better she could almost find herself falling in love with someone like Shoko. 

Geto leaned over to Gojo with a frown as Ai and Shoko continued to talk. “Has she ever called you cool?” 

Gojo pouted as he watched Ai and Shoko continue to ignore his existence. “No…” he sniffled. “She hasn't even told me I’m handsome yet.”

Shoko giggled. “You’re so cute, Ai.” 

Ai blushed. “Oh, um, thank you.” 

“What about me?” Gojo whined as he leaned over the table forcing himself into Ai’s and Shoko’s view. “I’m cool. I’m cute.” 

“Adults are talking, Satoru. Sit down,” Shoko sighed, pushing his face out of the way. 

Gojo huffed and sat down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest like a toddler. 

Geto couldn’t help but chuckle. “I hate to interrupt all the fun, but let’s order.” 

“Yeah, I’m starving,” Ai agreed, picking up her menu. 

After a few minutes of deliberation and recommendations from Shoko, they placed their order with the waiter. This ramen shop was a place that Shoko went to regularly since it was so close to the hospital.  

“So, Ai-chan, tell us more about yourself,” Gojo said, leaning forward with a genuine interest in his eyes. “Besides writing about the most amazing man in the universe, what else do you do?” 

Ai shrugged and looked down at her lap as she tried to think about what she liked. How was it that whenever someone asked her about herself she was somehow always at a loss for words?

“Well, besides writing, I enjoy reading– mostly fiction…I also like to try out dessert places and go shopping with my friend Utahime.”

“You only have one friend?” Geto cocked his head to the side. 

Ai pursed her lips as she thought about it. If she wasn’t working or prepping things for work she didn’t really have much time for herself. Come to think of it, Ai couldn’t even recall the last movie or show she watched that didn’t have to do with some piece she was working on.

“I guess so.” Ai shrugged.    

“Sounds like Satoru,” Geto mused.

Ai furrowed her brows as she looked between Geto, Gojo, and Shoko. “I-is Shoko not Gojo’s friend?” 

Shoko’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “It’s hard to call us friends when we barely get to see each other anymore.” She glanced Ai’s way and gave her a little wink. “We can be friends though.” 

Ai blushed and gave Shoko a small smile. “When was the last time you saw each other?” 

“The three of us?” Gojo interjected. He leaned back in his seat as he tried to think about it. “I’d say maybe…” He started to count on his fingers. “Almost three years?” 

“Something like that.” Geto nodded in agreement.

Ai frowned at the answer. “Why so long?” 

“Well, Suguru abandoned me for Hong Kong to go be artsy or something.” Gojo frowned. 

Geto rolled his eyes. “I did not abandon you, I was working, and you FaceTimed me every day. ” 

Gojo turned away from Geto with a pout. “I don’t recall that happening...”   

“I was on call until only recently,” Shoko explained as she leaned her elbows onto the table, using her hands to prop her head up. “I don’t have the energy to keep up with Gojo, but he makes a point to reach out to me now and then so I’m not completely left out.” 

“What about you, Gojo-san?” Ai asked, glancing his way. 

Gojo shrugged. “Working. What about you, Ai-chan?”

“Working, too.” Ai frowned at her own response. 

Was that all her life was now? Working? It was depressing to even think about‌ it. Had she wasted her youth on work when she could’ve been doing more fun things? Watching Gojo interact with his friends–keeping in constant contact with them despite their busy schedules—made Ai’s heart ache. She couldn’t even remember the last time she saw someone that she went to high school with. 

“I think it’s time to play everyone’s favorite game, name all the things you like about Gojo Satoru,” Gojo exclaimed, causing other guests to look over at their table.  

There was a brief pause and before anyone could say anything, Shoko let out a small laugh, which caused Geto to smile to himself. Gojo grinned and glanced over to Ai. For a brief moment, there seemed to be a hint of concern on his face that vanished when Ai smiled back at him. Had Gojo created a whole outburst to ease the tension?

“I think I’m gonna pass,” Shoko said. “Your turn, Ai.” 

 “No comment.” Ai shook her head. 

Geto pursed his lips in thought as he looked at Gojo who beamed at him in return. “I like your glasses.” 

“That’s not even about me! ” Gojo whined.     

As they waited for their food to arrive, the conversation flowed rather effortlessly. Ai found herself relaxing in their company. She hadn’t realized how on edge she was while working with Geto and Gojo while on set. She was so keyed up that it almost felt normal, but now she could feel a shift physically. Her muscles seemed to relax somewhat. 

As they chatted and laughed over bowls of steaming ramen, Ai found herself having more fun than she had in a long time. By the time they finished their meal, Ai was almost reluctant to leave. The evening had been unexpectedly enjoyable. They said their goodbyes outside the ramen shop, Shoko and Geto went their separate ways, leaving Gojo and Ai outside. 

“She said she was gonna quit...” Gojo sighed as he watched Shoko and Geto walk off, both of them with cigarettes in hand. He shrugged and turned towards Ai, a gentle smile on his pretty face. “Thanks for coming, Ai-chan.” 

 Ai returned Gojo’s smile, feeling that similar sensation she felt when he tried to teach her how to make shadow puppets. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying her best to distract her from her racing heart. “It was nice.” She looked at the ground. “I didn’t expect to have such a good time.” 

Gojo’s smile turned into a boyish grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh really?”

Rolling her eyes, Ai did her best to stop ‌smiling. “Yes…” 

There was a quiet moment between them as they watched the passersby make their way through the city. A small smile spread across Gojo’s face as he watched a young couple walk home. They were holding hands and their soft laughter gave off a sense of carefree joy that was in stark contrast to the otherwise indifferent crowds around them. 

“You seem a bit more relaxed,” Gojo said as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s like you’re a completely different person than the Ai-chan I know.” 

Ai shrugged. “Work brings out a serious side of me, I guess.” 

Gojo nodded, his smile becoming more relaxed. “Yeah, but I think it wouldn’t hurt to show more of this side. It’s nice.” 

“You think so?” Ai tilted her head, studying him curiously. He almost seemed unreal with the way his eyes glittered under the streetlights. 

Gojo nodded and looked up at the moon. “Mhm, I feel like I understand you a bit better.” 

Ai stared up at Gojo, a bit taken aback by what he said. Maybe she was too rigid when they first met. It made sense, but she felt so stupid that he was bridging the gap for her. She wanted to be annoyed with him for doing her job for her, but she couldn’t. Instead, she felt a warmth spread throughout her chest. It was a strange sensation, one she couldn’t quite place, but felt comforting nonetheless. She glanced up at Gojo, his profile outlined against the night sky, and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Thank you, Satoru,” she said softly. 

Gojo’s grin widened, and he reached out gently to ruffle her hair, his touch was light and playful. “No problem, Ai-chan,” 

Ai swatted his hand away. She was playing a losing game with Gojo. She knew what she was letting happen was bad, but she liked it so much. She wanted to indulge in the moment just a bit longer. 

“You’re so annoying.” Ai pouted at him as she tried to fix her hair. Despite her words, there was a softness in her eyes as she looked at him. 

“So I’ve heard.” Gojo grinned unapologetically, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. 

They stood there for a moment, the night air enveloping them in a comfortable silence. 

“Well, um, I’m gonna head home,” Ai said, as she awkwardly pointed in the direction of the train station. “I have to, uh, water my plants?” 

“Oh yeah?” Gojo replied, doing his best to hide a chuckle. “Have fun, Ai-chan!” 

Ai nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “You too!” 

You too? Ai couldn't help but cringe at herself. 

With a final wave, Ai turned and started walking back towards the train station, feeling Gojo’s eyes on her until she disappeared around the corner. As she made her way home, her mind buzzed with thoughts of the evening and the man she had just left behind. She couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement in her chest, but she felt something nagging at her in the back of her mind. 

But for now, she pushed those thoughts aside. She wanted to revel in her moment with Gojo just a little while longer. There wasn't any harm in that, right? 

[thatonedelusiongirl]

About me + My Blog

Hi my name is A ( she/her). I am 18, turning 19 in March.

I have BPD. And this blog will be a place I share my thoughts.

A little bit about me :)

- I love art, reading, music ( I always have my beats on, my friends swear i sleep with them on.. sometimes i do ) and animals.

- I write poetry ( may share some ) and I play a lot of games.

- I have a special interest in history.

- I want to be a lawyer.

- I’d love to be the president one day.

- If I love you, then I make sure you know that I love you.

- I watch a lot of tv, Ozark, and Designated Survivor are the two I am currently watching.

What This Blog Is About…

This is mainly a TC blog I will write about my thoughts, experiences and personal connections.

I want to make it very CLEAR that I DO NOT support PEDOPHILIA or illegal teacher-student relationships. I don’t disagree with fantasy’s or anything but acting on those can lead to being manipulated.. and I don’t take that lightly. Please be safe.

I am NOT in a relationship with ANY of the people I will be talking about on here, nor do I have plans to be with any of them. Being their so much older than I am.

This is a judgement-free zone If you don’t like my content, that’s fine just leave ? But don’t send hate. I am just a person trying my best to navigate powerful emotions :).

Background on my TC

He’s my american government teacher this year.

Since I am Homeschooled, I can message my teachers outside of class, which is how we’ve build such a strong connection. ( Everything, I say to him in the chat is monitored by the district. But it’s actually closer to iMessage than anything )

On here I will refer to him as ( Hamilton) partly because he loves the musical, and because his subject fits the name.

Who is he ?

- 45 years old ( meaning a 27 year age gap between him and I )

- Been married for 19 years with two kids ( who he loves very much, and talks about constantly he’s an amazing father )

- Super nerdy, Gym rat, and ridiculously funny

- Huge football fan, and baseball.

- Loves music ( always starts class with a song of the day, usually resonates with what we are learning about that day ) and we also recommend songs to each-other A LOT.

- Sarcastic, witty, playful, and intelligent.

- Has the prettiest blue eyes ever. ( zoom does them justice )

-TOTAL DILF NOM NOM

He’s not like other teachers. He’s the kind of person you can joke around and be sarcastic and he’ll match your energy or completely out do you. And tease you. But still turn around and be INSANELY supportive when it’s needed most.

He’s not just a teacher, he’s a person. and when he’s out of “ teacher mode “, he’s even funnier, more relaxed, and honestly kind of unhinged?

Our dynamic

In class he’s professional ( mostly ). Out of class he’s Hamilton ( meaning he’s a more real, less robotic like and has an amazing personality)

At first when I met him ( over zoom being I am homeschooled ) I was like hmm this dude is kinda strange, but I fw the energy okay. The I noticed that some students were closer to him ( all of them being the boys ) And I wanted that too. So, I started getting into baseball, and football again. To have something to talk about outside of academics, and also we talked a lot about the presidential stuff because at this time Harris and Trump where running for presidency. So I asked Hamilton a lot of questions, especially as a first time voter. I also learned about what kind of man he is, and his beliefs.

One day while in a private zoom meeting with him we were discussing the study guide, my parents freaked out on me calling me names, not knowing he could hear them. And saw how they treated me, after that we got closer.

Now, I text him every single day ( except the weekends I email him because he’s not in the office to see my messages, but he sees my emails. )

I tell him random things, or how the rest of my day was, or something I geek out on him about certain topics. He never makes me feel like I’m annoying him, EVER! He actually enjoys talking to me, he’s told me multiple times it’s always a pleasure talking with me. He also tells me how intelligent I am, and I should be the teacher not him lolol.

Our relationship is different. It’s more playful, unserious, almost like a friendship rather than teacher-student. He teases me a lot, and I occasionally tease him back.

Why him ?

- He’s not creepy.

- He respects me, more than most do.

- If anything it feels like he’s serving me, not the other way around.

- He always hypes me up. Especially if I go above and beyond on my assignments, he’ll actually notice. And each time I pass a test he says something beyond encouraging. We had an essay project last week comparing and contrasting presidents, and I picked 3 instead of 2 like he asked. and he told me my paper was the best one he read and it was very well done, and amazing.

- He makes me feel like I matter. Like my work, effort, and my thoughts all mean something.

- He turns a boring class into something fun. The only reason I am enjoying American Government is because of him.

- He never judges me. He knows I have BPD, and doesn’t mind when I message him a lot (89 messages in a row ) or get excited about something or even the random things I tell him. He allows me to be me.

-I’ve never had a teacher like him before.

How he is with me

- He’s so very sarcastic, like sometimes I feel like he enjoys teasing me.

- He jokes around with the other kids. But with me it’s different we have our own little language when it comes to joking around.

- He’ll say something ridiculous, i’ll call him out for it and he’ll say something even more funny and that what makes him so fun.

-But there are moments when he’s serious, not joking around, when he’s actually looking out for me. He just listens to me and sometimes that’s all I need. And I know he cares, way more than he should and has too.

- I’ve shared a lot of my life, and trauma with him. A lot more than I thought i’d ever tell a teacher. And he’s never made me feel like I am too much. And never shuts me down.

I love him.

I am just a person trying their best. This blog is a space I intend to use for venting, sharing my experiences, and talk about the people who matter to me.

If you don’t like my content, that’s okay just leave. But if you’re here to hate, or assume things about me, don’t bother.

The is a JUDGEMENT FREE ZONE

thanks for reading all of this :) and being here always feel free to ask me anything.