#because the two have become synonymous to him

[garblegarden]

Underneath the suit, Human Guy is more of an abstract concept. I mean, yes, he is a real guy under there, but he doesn't like to acknowledge that too much. He's got plenty of other stuff going on to make up for that though, like wires replacing his organs and blood on his hands and a certain pinkish infection that claimed his legs and eye that may or may not come back to finish the job.

[corvus-frugilegus]

The real tragedy of the Dellamortes is how inevitable Illario's betrayal was.

Caterina's refusal to really see either of her grandsons for who they are sets all three of them on this path. Lucanis's mother was Caterina's favourite, she was probably the person Caterina had in mind to succeed her. That loss, the loss of so much of Caterina's legacy had to have been devastating. She'd built so much and it was all torn away in a single conflict. All she has left in the wake of it is two young boys and this tenacity that will not allow her to give up on what she's built.

So she puts it all on Lucanis. The son of her favourite (bonus angst if he looks like his mother). She's unable to see this sweet boy who loves wyverns and just had his life ripped apart for who he is. She just see's her legacy. The daughter she lost. She puts it all into him, he's pushed into the role of favourite.

Lucanis responds to this by shoving down the parts of himself she doesn't want to see- his gentle heart, his love of wyverns, the little boy who needs to be loved. If he's good enough, strong enough, the perfect crow, the perfect granson- then and only then will she love him, will he be safe.

And then you have Illario! There isn't as much to go on in the text about his family or what he was like as a boy but there's a few things we can pretty confidently infer. Like Lucanis, Illario violently loses everything he has at a very young age. All he has left are the other two Dellamorte's.

But he isn't the child of Caterina's favourite. She isn't automatically putting all of her legacy on his shoulders the way she does Lucanis. He still gets the training, and what we do see in the wigmaker job and the wake and even in the codex entires in the game is that Illario does become a comptent and capable crow. He has a level of skill that I suspect is broadly expected of house Dellamorte, he was trained by the first talon herself. But the Illario we meet as an adult has this laissez-faire affect and presents himself as a seducer and a bit of a peakcock. He also very overtly refers to himself as Dellamorte-the-lesser and at the end of the wigmaker job when they're discussing the title of first talon you can feel the resentment below the surface.

For Illario it's not about the power and the prestige that comes from the title of first talon. It's not even about having the title itself. It's about FINALLY earning Caterina's love and respect. Things he undoubtly never felt as a boy.

How could he? When he's a child the only two people he has left in the world have this special bond that he never gets to be a part of. His only caretaker has a clear favourite and she shows it. He's lived his whole life in Lucanis's shadow, and a shadow that Lucanis never wanted to cast! Which if anything just adds insult to injury for Illario.

Lucanis has everything Illario wants and he doesn't even want it.

I imagine as a boy Illario tries SO HARD to win her love, her favour, he'll do anything to feel like he's loved and wanted and valued. And when after YEARS it doesn't work even though Lucanis clearly doesn't want the role he's been forced into? Illario gets resentful, he gets angry, he starts acting up. He becomes the suave peacock, the grandson who fucks up sometimes- probably not because he's bad at being a crow but because at least Caterina's ire is attention. It's a scrap of love.

Illario and Lucanis love each other. They're brothers. Illario resents Lucanis for being loved and favoured. Lucanis wants nothing more than to give it all to Illario. Illario doesn't want that he wants Caterina to love him on his own merit. At the same time (pre-inner demons) Lucanis will never actually give the title up because it means he's loved, he's valued, he matters.

The title of first talon has been synonymous with emotional safety and love for these two for their entire lives, and it's twisted them up so badly.

The real irony of it all is that this whole time Illario is so much more like the person Caterina wants Lucanis to be. Her heir, the Dellamorte best suited to be the next first talon has been right there infront of her all along, but she's so caught up in grief and legacy she misses it. She never really see's either of her grandsons for who they are.

I actually suspect that when it all comes to light, even though she's furious with him, Caterina finally starts to see what she's been overlooking in Illario all along. And Lucanis who's started to heal... well I think she's starting to see him too, and the truth of who he is is something she'll struggle to face.

When the day finally comes that Lucanis tells her he doesn't want the job, when him and Illario both accept that their lives have meaning outside of Caterina's opinion of them, is the day that the Dellamorte's can maybe start to really see each other.

[lunamugetsu]

Danny is a house husband.

That's it, that's all it is.

As the years went on. Danny retired from being a superhero. There was no need for Phantom when the GIW were dealt with and all the ghosts were under control.

Now what's left for him to do but to just sit back, relax, and finally be able to live his life.

Sam and Tucker on the other hand....

Well, they had plenty of pent up rage, wits, and chaos inside their mind to become villains.

But they had one rule.

Never bring work home and to never involve Danny in any of their supervillain business.

Okay that's technically two rules, but they're kind of synonymous especially since Danny has been taking care of their house while also entertaining himself with trying new hobbies.

Tucker and Sam both make sure that they never bring any of their villainy home to Danny, because all they want is for Danny to enjoy his happy hero retirement.

And Danny in turn, doesn't bat an eye when watching the news and seeing that there were magical plants that were attacking sites that oil companies were digging or that somehow Lex Luthor had lost five hundred million dollars and had somehow leaked records showing he was building weapons of mass destruction.

He also doesn't bat an eye when he sees that Tucker had brought home a telescope that definitely looks like it came from some fancy lab because hey, Tucker was making him an observatory so he can look at the stars and planets. While also how they were able to make a great gaming pc with computer parts that are definitely not sold in stores, because hey at least the newest update of Doomed wasn't lagging.

Or that Sam comes home with various plants and animals that are definitely not from planet earth, but hey the three headed wolf-lizard-eagle- hybrid thing (that Danny has affectionately named Fluffy) is pretty great at keeping the pests away from his vegetable garden and likes to eat any of Danny's new food creations and is a great playmate for Cujo.

So you can imagine how the Justice League thinks when dealing with the pair of new villains: Upload (Tucker) and Sam (I could not think of a villain name that would suit her, so it's up to you what you think her villain name would be)

And how they were currently wreaking havoc in the city either by cyber warfare with robots or by magic plant monster or a Frankenstein of both approaches. The heroes had all evacuated the civilians from the battle zone and are currently fighting a losing battle. When they've been effectively captured and restrained by the two. Right before the villains could go into a monologue, they hear a person clearing their throat.

Everybody looks to see a 25 year old man wearing a sweater vest (he made it himself, thank you very much) currently holding onto the leash of a giant glowing green dog and some kind of giant animal hybrid. The man's arms were crossed and was currently not sporting a very happy look on his face.

Tucker and Sam (looking at Danny with hesitant smiles): Hi honey.

Danny (frowning): you missed our anniversary dinner.

Tucker and Sam both pale as they quickly realized what the date and time was.

The league all watch as Sam and Tucker immediately start apologizing to the man that just walked into a battle zone.

Danny (still frowning): Hmph! I guess since you two didn't want dinner you can go back to your little fight. Don't expect me to make you any lunches for the next month, and since you two are having so much fun here, you'll be sleeping by yourselves for the next couple weeks.

The league all watch as they were let go as Sam and Tucker yell as they run after Danny yelling apologies as he was walking away from them.

This is not the last they see of Danny.

When Danny is displeased with either of his partners, he'll invite a hero over to have lunch of afternoon tea.

[httpsserene]

hi can i please send a request for the kink list rating? for franco, oscar, charles, lewis and carlos with begging. also congrats on 3k!

🧽🪣 would you like a complimentary car wash? — send me any five (5) drivers and one (1) kink from this list, and i will rank the drivers in order of who i think is most to least likely to participate/avoid, or love/hate that kink !!! each driver will have a small blurb written xxx

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. this one is a lil shorter but i think it's actually better quality? don't ask mehow i wrote this in the middle of my 9 am lecture...i'm not proud of that either. happy 3k🤍 lovely !!! tysm for requesting xxx

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

𝐦𝐭𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 fem!black!reader x cl. 16 | fc. 43 | lh. 44 | cs. 55 | op. 81 cw under the cut.

implied bdsm dynamics. teasing. overstimulation. hinting at the existence of a safeword in carlos'. charles' praise kink. oscar is a lil weird maybe. sir kink for lewis...my fault y'all, i can't help it.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭

Franco’s not going to give you what you want until you beg for it. He loves to watch you grow desperate, your voice whiny and eyes watery as he begins to tease you with the faintest brush of his thumb on your clit after he’s been shallowly thrusting two of his fingers within you nowhere near long enough to satisfy himself but for what feels like forever to you. Franco’s aiming to bring you to the point where his name becomes a synonym for please in your thesaurus. The purpose of his teasing behavior is to make you delirious with pleasure when he chooses to give it to you in full force—your orgasms are substantially more satisfying when he makes you earn it.

Carlos thinks there are very few things more attractive than you begging. He finds you endearing as you push at his chest, your voice slurring as you plead for him to give you a break, that you can’t take what he’s giving you. He knows you don’t mean it though, not yet, at least—because while your hands are half-heartedly trying to bat him away, your legs are locked around his waist, keeping him firmly pressed inside of you to disallow him from slipping away. Carlos gathers both of your wrists in one hand, pinning your arms above your head as he continues his deep grinding rhythm, muffling his rumbling groans into the crook of your neck—you know what word to use if you need him to stop. In the meantime, he’ll keep basking under the sound of your overwhelmed begs.

It depends—Charles doesn’t have sex with the intention of having you beg for him most times. Honestly, he prefers to make you forget how to speak during sex, he wants to hear you gasping for breath as he fucks the air out of your lungs. If you are going to say anything, let it satisfy his endless desire for praise. Tell him that he’s doing a good job, that he looks hot with his head between your legs—his praise kink wins over his begging kink any day. Occasionally, there are days where Charles is going to make you ride his thigh and keep you on the edge, your throat will ache from the amount of times you beg for him to let you cum—but, he’s not in the mood for that often.

Oscar doesn’t consider his particular affliction as a begging kink. With him, it’s more of a kink for good manners. It’s not like he’s making you ask his permission to do anything, no—it’s how you stare up at him with deceivingly innocent eyes right before you say, “Can I suck you off, please?” Or, “Oscar, I wanna ride your face, please?” It’s not like any man would deny any of your requests, but it’s how the word please sounds rolling off of your tongue—it has Oscar ready to do anything you ask of him. You think his arousal stemming from politeness fits his personality perfectly; he can only think it’s kind of embarrassing. 

You’re going to be happy with what Lewis gives you. There’s no reason to beg because you know that he has your best interests at heart. Doesn’t he always deliver? You don’t have to worry about what you want because Lewis is going to give you what you need—your focus is to sit pretty while he handles the hard work. Let him eat you out to his heart’s content, let him mold your walls to the shape of his cock through numerous rounds of sex—All he wants to hear from you while he does it is, “Yes, sir,” and, “Thank you, sir.”

𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. mdni divider by @cafekitsune.

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — PREVIEW.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn.

WORD COUNT. preview: 2.8k | this will be a chaptered fic. TAGLIST. open. send me an ask/dm/reply.

NOTE. this is the side effect of having a clinically insane brain that has to make a fic out of everything, including the law readings that i am subjected to every day. i have also been re-reading weak hero and i’ve projected my favorite feral dog (keum seongje/wolf keum) to the sweetest man alive (na jaemin). i’ve also based their org structure to the Union’s, just for full disclosure. meaning, a whole lot of dream 00 line (criminal) shenanigans are underway. 

this intro note has become a mouthful. anyway, hope you enjoy! 

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR OFF DAY TODAY. You’re on sick leave— that is, sick and tired of drafting legal papers, meeting clients, reading piles and piles of documents every single damn week, so you decided to use your once-a-month get out of jail free card to stay in bed playing Stardew Valley. It’s pre-planned. You’ve already faked sneezes and coughing fits at the office yesterday. You’ve already called your Division Chief this morning. Kim Doyoung can’t do shit when you’re allegedly bedridden and downtrodden with a fever. He can eat his own ass and suck it.

“You have a new case,” he informs you over the phone. “It’s from Nalkkeutta.” 

Or so you thought.

“Hah,” a weak wheeze squirms out of your throat. “Sure. Okay. Got it.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Those two lines spring you out of bed immediately as though your bones have just been tased. God dammit. You’ve just managed to snag Sebastian into wedlock. How dare he throw another job at you right now? How dare he ruin your sweet, sweet honeymoon with the emotionally constipated 2D man of your dreams? 

Still. It doesn’t matter if you just got married or have a collapsing lung right now. You haul your ass, get dressed, get out, and get into your car to drive to your district’s police station in a hissy fit, as per your boss, Kim Doyoung’s, instructions. This damned firm is working you like a dog, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. And neither can Kim Doyoung.

“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. Are the files ready? Can you send them to me?”

This case came from Nalkkeutta. NCT. Nal. Day. Kkeut. End. Ta. To burn. The day ends in flames. It’s a name that haunts the streets of Yeongdeungpo. It’s a name that’s synonymous with loan sharking, weapons dealing, and coughing up protection fees unless you want to get your shit rocked on an unfortunate walk home— under the guise of an honest to goodness security company to service your protective needs. 

In the early 90’s, the government had a massive crackdown on gang activity and organized crime, subsequently snuffing out any emerging organized crime presence by officially criminalizing the mere act of joining a gang under the Revised Penal Code. But Nalkkeutta is relatively new. That scorching sunset symbol suddenly emerged in the district one day, around eight to nine years ago, and it’s marred the district of Yeongdeungpo with burn marks ever since.

And your life. You haven’t been lucky enough to be spared from that damned gang’s mess. In fact, you’re currently entangled with one of their messes right now.

The glass doors of the Yeongdeungpo Police Station shut behind you. You’re smacked hard in the face far too artificial lighting and sickly white walls and the words Patriotism, Justice, Honor mocking you in embossed silver. You grimace, cross your arms, divert your eyes with an impatient tap of the foot— and your arrival doesn’t exactly come unrecognized by the front desk and the others scattered around the lobby. One officer takes immediate initiative upon seeing your familiar sour expression, rustling out of a conversation to attend to you. 

“Hey, attorney. How may we help you?”

You eye the man. You’ve come to know him by name— Jung Jaehyun— even without needing to take a peek at his uniform’s name tag. You spare him and yourself the small talk and jump straight to business. “I’m here to see my client,” you inform, followed by under-the-breath swears as you fumble through your phone for the e-file Doyoung had just sent because Nalkkeutt had the gall to demand you to run and fetch the bone they left behind here without even giving you the chance to look at it. Seriously. If they want you to do a good job, they should be more punctual than this. “His name is—”

Huh. You read the top line of the document. A lump forms in your throat. You read it again. Once more. And the letters neither shift nor fold, confirming with absolute certainty that you read the name of your client correctly.

It’s a name you haven’t heard of in a while. It’s name that stalked the corridors of the place you’d bid good riddance to eight years ago with a spit on the concrete ground. 

“Na Jaemin.” There’s a bitter taste on your tongue when you pronounce his name— like your very digestive system can’t stomach it, rejects it, and wants to vomit it right back out. “His name is Na Jaemin.”

A nod from Jung Jaehyun. He turns his heels and leads you further into the station.

Empty footsteps echo against the slowly dimming hall leading to the private visiting rooms. The silence pricks at your memories— an uncomfortable sound you’ve grown accustomed to in the two years you’ve spent at Ganghak High School. It’s been eight damn years since you’ve graduated, yet one mention of a name reels you back into the past with a vividness that’s still as clear as the present.

In your memories, Na Jaemin was the guy who carried with him a pungent air of animosity and violence in his wake. On paper, he is your client, a member of the power-drunk gang that you’re tied by the noose with, and someone you have to defend. At present, he is sits right before you— tight-browed, tight-lipped underneath the singular light bulb hovering above the center of the table, looking as though he’s one clock tick away from flipping the table over (the only thing maintaining a safe distance between the both of you), and leaving on his own accord.

Your eyes meet. Your head snaps down to avoid his gaze.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi,” you manage to choke out. “I will be your lawyer for the case against Yoon Naksung and company.”

You’re not sure how you feel when there isn’t even a click of recognition on his part when you introduce yourself and mention your name. You realize that what you’re feeling is a mixture of fear, relief, and absolute revulsion when he responds with, “So, when the fuck am I getting out?”

There’s a ring in your ears.

It’s the sound of your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You inhale sharply. Fuck. You’re not sure if you have the willpower to push through this, and you can’t even ease your nerves or melt your frozen bloodstream with a sigh because he’s staring right at you— impatient, as though he’s counting down the seconds in his head after a one-sided declaration that you have a limited time to willingly answer before he forces it out of you by the throat.

That fucking looking in his eyes. That damned stare that instinctively triggers you to look down, look away, look anywhere else but directly at him. It’s a habit that everyone in Ganghak used to have. It’s a habit that’s still deeply instilled in your psyche, in your muscles, in your instincts to the point that despite being the person in authority at the moment, you have your head down, throat dry, and doing your damn best to read his case file despite the letters looking all wobbly from your anxiety.

Disturbing the peace. Three counts of physical injury. Less serious. Thank fuck. That makes things a little bit more hopeful, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from hell. Hell is sitting right in front of you, handcuffed because the cops have deemed his very existence a threat to public order and safety. You muster up a bit more confidence knowing he can’t reach over the table to sock you in the face.

“You’re an alleged offender, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’d have to be detained until the trial.”

Na Jaemin sneers, a kick against the table leg with a grunt. “Fucking useless,” he spits. His chair is tipped back, head turned away. You firmly press your lips together. You wish he’d just completely tip over and crash his skull and die.

For someone currently detained for a possible criminal offense, Na Jaemin sure seems very much unbothered yet annoyed at the same time. He sits relaxed on the foldable chair, shoulders slumped as if he owns the place, and he stifles out a lazy yawn— drawing attention to his busted lips and handful of scratches littered all over his cheekbone, temple, and forehead— a stark contrast to the vibrant purple splotch painting over his right jaw. You make a mental note to schedule a physical examination on his ass to record his injuries. 

“But…I can make sure you don’t get arrested” You proceed with caution. His evident annoyance is flecked with momentary interest. You suck in a deep breath. “Were there any other people involved besides you and the three witnesses? Was anyone else there?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting as a response. Whatever it’d be, you just hope you get some useful information. Any sort of information. However, it seems like you just asked the wrong question.

“The fuck? Hell, if I know.”

All that interest is eradicated by a sharp glare. Na Jaemin lets out a huff and a sneer. You’re stressed. You’re beyond stressed. This is impossible. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Back then, you’d always had a feeling that he was part of something sketchy, whether it be some ragtag juvenile group or whatever the fuck. You didn’t care enough to find out. But, christ jesus, he just had to be in fucking Nalkkeut. 

That sun tattoo sprawled on the back of his impatient hand— the gang’s symbol, sun rays etched into the bumps of his veins and calloused skin— tap, tap, tapping on the table with the clunk of his handcuffs tells you that he isn’t just some disposable grunt either. The urgency in Kim Doyoung’s tone when he called earlier confirms that dreadful conjecture as well. He’s up there. Way up there, and you have no choice but to fight back the urge to swallow your own tongue.

“I—I understand. That’s fine. Then…can I ask what events led to the incident?” you tentatively try to prod, taking a peek at his expression to see if you’re greenlit to ask this. His face brightens up. One corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a sliver of teeth. You flinch. He looks deranged.

“That bucket wearing dumbass looked me in the eye,” he starts, smiling. “So I punched him right in the socket. Then his friends decided that they wanted a beating too.” 

Na Jaemin is leaning back on the flimsy plastic chair as if he’s reminiscing a happy memory. Jesus christ. He’s always been like this, but it never fails to scare you shitless. You’ve always wondered why he was so insane, but the fact that he currently is and has been in Nalkeutta explains a lot of the things you’ve seen in high school. No high schooler had any business pulling up the gate with a BMW, nor was it reasonable for anyone at your age at the time to afford at least five Cartier watches considering the neighborhood you were in. Yet Na Jaemin and his lackey’s always showed up in the days that he thought was convenient in some sort of Chanel tracksuit and dozens of gold and silver accessories.

You were lucky enough to have never gotten punched in the nose with the absurd amount of rings on his fingers— a taste which he seems to carry until today, you notice while keeping your eyes down and trained on the table. They aren’t allowed to keep any personal belongings in the holding cells, jewelry included, fucking obviously. How this guy managed to keep his is beyond your imagination. 

“So, it wasn’t one-sided,” you try to confirm, try to get a good enough testimony to help his and your sorry ass in court. “Can you testify their participation during the trial?”

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

You jump in your seat when he suddenly lurches forward, chained palms slamming against the rocky table with a loud thump and a clink. “Hey, Little Miss Attorney. Listen very carefully,” he rasps. He’s leaned in closer now, making it a hundred times more difficult to keep your head down and not look him in the eye. “I beat all three of them half to death, and that’s all that matters. This question and answer bullshit is pissing me off. Are we done here? Can you fucking leave now?”

You’re scared shitless. You really are. It’s two years worth of trauma suddenly jumping you from behind a wall and throttling the air out of your lungs— of course you’re fucking terrified, and Na Jaemin can smell it like the rabid dog he is.

The problem is, he isn’t the worst of your fears. This mutt is leashed to an owner that would have your head as a dinner treat if you don’t manage to get him out of this stupid cage. So you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Damned to hell if you do, damned to an even deeper hell if you don’t.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you start. Your jaw is tight. It takes everything in your power to force it open and speak. “I need you to cooperate with me so I can get you out of here. Help me help you, alright?”

You’ve really been trying your best to phrase your sentences in a way that doesn’t sound demanding, that you’re leaving it hp to him because you know this bastard doesn’t like being told what to do. But your careful attempts don’t matter against a volatile son of a bitch. “Why’d you even need my help? Ain’t that shit your job?“ he barbs, a slight scoff hanging off at the end. “Seems like Mark hired a useless fucking lawyer.”

Twice. He just called you useless twice. The sheer level of offense you feel momentarily overpowers your nerves— a biting tick near the side of your temple, and you dig your fingers into the clothed skin of your thigh. 

The Mark he’s referencing did not hire you because you’re useless. In fact, that guy regularly asks for you specifically whenever his gang is caught in any civil or criminal trouble because you’re the only damned attorney willing to get her hands dirty to find an out— and competent enough to pull it off in exchange for an extra zero on your commission. 

Meaning, this bastard is at your mercy. And he has the audacity to piss you the fuck off.

“Strike a nerve?”

Apparently, you failed to hide the scowl polluting your expression. When you sneak a glance at Na Jaemin, he appears to be amused at his successful non-attempt to get under your skin, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face. 

You get it together. Mark Lee, that fucking bastard. It had been fine for the past few months when all you’ve had to mediate were petty settlements and bails and lesser criminal offenses, but you’ve never had to deal with one of his executives directly before— who just so happened to be your high school bully, at that. You close your eyes shut, press your lips together, and release a deep breath from out of your nose as you stand up.

“I’ll handle it. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but I will need to arrange a meeting with you again before the trial.”

Na Jaemin simply shrugs and waives you off. Your tight lips force themselves into a smile as you nod and stomp your way out.

Fucking bastard, fucking piece of shit, fucking, god damn it—

You leave the station with a jumbled up head and with all your five senses screaming themselves into oblivion. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Had Kim Doyoing emailed you the file a lot earlier, you wouldn’t have gone here and welcomed yourself directly into hell. You could try to settle with the victims, but in case they won’t agree to a compromise, you’d have to pull a defense out of your ass considering that your client is the most uncooperative asshole you’ve ever been cursed to deal with.

It doesn’t help that spending two years in high school with Na Jaemin is reopening pages and pages of trauma that you thought you’d successfully managed to file away— stored in a safety vault in a little corner of your head that need not be reopened. But just meeting him— talking to him directly when you’ve never even dared to before— brought a rusty crowbar to that vault, mercilessly ripping it apart.

Having cancelled your off day, the car ride to your office building is spent thinking about how to scrape up a case to defend the bastard you thought you’d finally been freed from eight years ago. The bastard who’d made the last two years of high school a literal level hell of dread and desperation.

Even for Nalkkeutta, this has got to be the worst kind of torture anyone could ask for.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[applepiiex]

AFTER THE GLITTER FADES ! ! ! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader

Y/N comes home from a long shoot still wearing the lingerie from set, makeup flawless, hair styled, and tired in a way that runs deep. Nanami barely looks up. It’s not coldness—it’s patience. Because the version the world sees isn’t the one he loves most.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑

“Which one?” Y/N asks, holding up two lingerie sets.

“You look better in warm tones,” is all Nanami says, blunt as ever.

Y/N stands there, two delicate sets dangling from each hand—one burgundy lace, the other a cooler lilac silk.

“Well, yes, but don’t you think it’s starting to wash me out? Now that I’m tanner?”

Nanami squints at the maroon against Y/N’s skin. For a moment, he considers it with his usual analytical calm. Then, without another word, he returns to his book.

This was how it always went. No matter what “sexy” outfit Y/N modeled in front of him, Nanami gave an answer like he was discussing color theory, not lingerie.

Most people didn’t get it. Y/N appreciated it more than anyone realized.

The performance of sex appeal, for him, had long since lost its spark. It was work now—camera angles, lighting, retakes. “Sexy” had become synonymous with exhaustion.

But Nanami never treated it like that. His attraction wasn’t rooted in lace or skin. If anything, the times Nanami wanted him most were the quiet ones—right before bed, when the day had stripped him down to just himself.

Not naked. Not posing.

Just Y/N —hair damp from the shower, face clean of product, an oversized sweatshirt from some old college he never attended, and shorts that were comically too short. Contacts out. Glasses resting crooked on his nose. Sleepy. Unfiltered.

That’s when Nanami looked at him like he was everything.

Sure, he could acknowledge objectively that Y/N looked stunning in lingerie. But he also saw the weight it carried—the stares, the critiques, the relentless industry gaze. And knowing that... made it something sacred, not seductive. Maybe once in a while—a birthday, an anniversary—it could mean something. But it wasn’t where desire lived.

Desire, for Nanami, was found in authenticity.

“What time do you get off today?” Nanami asked as Y/N emerged from the hallway, makeup half-done, work bag slung over his shoulder.

“Six. Not a bad shift. No retakes today,” Y/N replied, zipping the bag shut and heading into the kitchen for a snack.

“Would you mind making dinner for me?”

Nanami nodded without looking up from his book. Y/N was already kissing the side of his head, rushing out the door.

“Love you!” he called as the door clicked shut behind him.

“Love you too,” Nanami murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

Later, Nanami was in the kitchen, chopping carrots as Gojo leaned against the counter, rambling.

As always.

“You know,” Gojo said, voice laced with mischief, “I find it interesting that you have *those* pictures up.”

He nodded toward the hallway, where framed prints of Y/N’s modeling work hung—elegant, yes, but undeniably sensual.

“Someone might think you’re a perv,” Gojo teased.

“Those people wouldn’t be welcome in my home,” Nanami said calmly. “Besides, it’s art.”

“Art? Or eye candy?” Gojo shot back with a grin.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. “I’m not attracted to him like that.”

That gave Gojo pause. “That’s still so weird to me. I mean, if Suguru became a lingerie model? God, I’d be ruined. I don’t think I’d survive seeing him like that every day…” He trailed off into a mumble.

Nanami’s jaw ticked. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“That’s exactly the point. That’s exactly why I’m not attracted to him like that. People like you are what he has to face every time he steps in front of a camera. I'm scared he thinks he only matters when he’s dolled up. When he’s dressed for someone else's desire.”

He dumped the chopped carrots into a boiling pot, the heat hissing back at him.

“I loved him before the fame. Before the magazine covers and the runways. Don’t get me wrong—yeah, I used to be drawn to those images. But after a while? It became noise. Just... another costume. Another mask.”

Gojo leaned back, folding his arms. He was quiet for a second. Then, “So what turns you on, then?”

Nanami froze mid-stir, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not telling you that.”

Gojo leaned against the fridge now, arms crossed, watching Nanami like a cat that had finally found a string worth pulling.

“Come on,” he pressed. “You don’t get to drop that kind of deep, ‘I love him for his soul’ monologue and then clam up like I asked you your blood type.”

Nanami gave him a flat look as he stirred the pot. “It’s none of your business.”

“Which, in Gojo-speak, means it’s absolutely my business.” He smirked. “You said he doesn’t do it for you in lingerie—but you never said what does.”

Nanami sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet you keep letting me in your kitchen.”

Nanami moved to the sink to wash his hands, trying to find a polite way to tell Gojo to drop it. But Gojo wasn't known for polite, and he wasn’t dropping anything.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, you know.” Gojo’s voice shifted—just slightly. Not quite serious, but softer. He wasn’t teasing now.

“I know how hard it is to love someone who lives under a spotlight. It’s not just about attraction. It’s about holding on to the part of them the world doesn’t get to see.”

Nanami stilled.

Gojo pushed off the fridge and walked over, dropping his voice a notch.

“You see him when no one’s looking. And you still want that version of him.” He paused. “That’s not weird. That’s rare.”

Nanami exhaled. Slowly. Like he’d been holding something in too long.

“It’s the little things,” he said finally, voice low and quiet over the bubbling stove. “When he’s tired and honest. When he takes his makeup off and leaves his hair messy. When he’s in the kitchen in the morning, grumbling at the coffee pot like it personally betrayed him.”

Gojo chuckled. Nanami kept going, almost without meaning to.

“He hums off-key when he’s happy. He forgets his own schedule but remembers mine. He wears clothes that don’t match because he dressed in the dark, and he looks... soft. Human. Real.”

He turned the stove down.

“Those are the moments that matter. That’s what I hold on to.”

Gojo nodded slowly, not mocking this time.

“That sounds... nice.”

“It is.”

There was a pause between them, filled only by the quiet simmer of dinner and the hum of the refrigerator.

Then Gojo, of course, ruined it.

“Still wouldn’t mind seeing him in thigh-highs, though.”

Nanami didn't look at him. “Out.”

“Worth a shot.”

A few hours pass, dinner nearly done and Gojo long gone. The front door clicked open with the soft sound of keys and a tired sigh.

Nanami didn’t look up right away—he was plating dinner, the table already set for two. The warm smell of ginger and garlic filled the kitchen, wrapping the quiet space in comfort.

“Hey,” came Y/N’s voice, bright but a little worn. Nanami turned.

There he was—objectively stunning.

Hair perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. Makeup still sharp, lips tinted rose and cheekbones glowing under the fading hallway light. But now, it clashed against the oversized hoodie and loose grey sweatpants he’d thrown on to beat the chill.

Y/N dropped his work bag at the door, toed off his shoes, and smiled faintly. He crossed the room, hoodie sleeves tugged down past his palms, and flopped onto the couch with a huff.

“Photoshoots ran late,” he explained, voice muffled as he leaned back into the cushions. “The lighting guy couldn’t get the angle right, so we redid half the set. I’m pretty sure there’s glitter in my scalp.”

Nanami glanced at him, eyes flicking over the smear of gold shimmer still clinging to his collarbone.

And the subtle outline of lace peeking through the thin hoodie.

He didn’t say anything. Just turned back to the stove and carefully spooned the last of the rice onto a plate.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, tone level. Quiet. Cool.

Y/N blinked at him.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting up slightly. “You’re being... Nanami-ish.”

Nanami didn’t answer. Not really. He just walked past Y/N, setting the plates on the table.

Y/N didn’t push. He knew that voice. That posture. That line Nanami drew between what was public, performative, and real. And right now, even sitting in their home, with his makeup still perfect and lace tight against his skin, he felt like someone else’s.

That version of himself wasn't for Nanami.

So, without a word, Y/N stood, padded to the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the door creaked open again. This time, steam rolled out from behind Y/N as he reentered the dining room, toweling his damp hair.

The hoodie was gone, replaced by an old cotton tee—worn thin and fraying at the hem. His sweatpants sagged slightly at the hips, and his face was bare, flushed from the heat of the water. Glasses perched lazily on his nose.

He looked like himself again.

He moved quietly to the table and sat down across from Nanami. Didn’t say a word. Just started picking at the vegetables with his chopsticks.

And that’s when Nanami looked up.

Really looked.

And smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a polite curl of the lips.

A quiet, genuine, eyes-softening kind of smile.

Y/N caught it and blinked.

“There it is,” he teased gently, nudging Nanami’s foot under the table. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Nanami shook his head slowly. “Not mad. Just... waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Nanami reached forward, brushing a thumb just under Y/N’s eye, right where a faint trace of glitter still clung.

“For you to come home.”

[santoelle]

Consuming writing tips and advice

When you scroll through #writing advice all day and take in as many tips as possible, you're losing potential as an author. If you're easily influenced without knowing how to apply it, then you're at a loss. How so?

1. You're in the wrong genre

Most people wouldn't have this problem, yet a few percentage, including me, will find advices not fitting. Even if it's not genre itself, some advices don't fit certain scenarios

How to show emotions!

Except, your character shouldn't. He's a soldier born and bred to face the dying woman on her knees, begging for her life, and to slay her from this miserable world the two of you live in.

Your theme isn't deep enough

Except, it's not supposed to be. You're writing domestic drama where it deals with the struggles in a marriage life in an apocalyptic world. You're writing a novella about a woman's inability to clean her garden. Some stories are stories meant to entertain to a certain point and it never has to be deep. And if it is shallow, then how you execute it can always bring it to its uniqueness.

2. You throw it to everything

Avoid using said, show don't tell, words to use instead of walk, etc. With this, you limit yourself to the constraints of unable to do anything but else.

"I don't know," he says, because it's the only thing he can do.

He looks at me like we've lost the spark in our love. I know now, I lost him.

He walked to the door, pretending not to see the danger behind.

There's going to be moments where you need synonyms, alternatives, methods, characterization, and others. Though, you take it to heart that you can't bring the basics back to the sea of new things. It's variation. The reason why you shouldn't use this certain word because there's an abundance of it. Once you drown it out in chuckles, whispers, cried, it simply becomes said.

3. The first rule—break the rules

These tips are made from people breaking the standards. That or there's a lack of something. When you take tips to face value without finding ways to make it yours, then you haven't used it to its full potential. Character arcs and development don't all go through the same path; humans don't heal or change the same path.

Once you understand the actual reasoning for a tip, then you can find a way to rework it to make it work with your writing style and your book.

Now that you've seen this advice, telling you how to consume tips and pieces of advice, what are you going to do? You're not going to take it to heart. You find yourself completely satisfied with how you write as of now? Good. Satisfaction is key to keep writing. You use advice to grow and relearn things you already know. This is another step in the infinite learning of writing.

[nephilimeq]

Emotional Growth in 9-1-1

This newest episode is so interesting, because looking at Eddie it becomes obvious that we are looking at a man who is emotionally neglected and stuck at the age that he got Shannon pregnant.

Because he is.

He had a kid so young that he never had the chance to figure out who he was as a person, and then he used his identity from the military straight into the LAFD as trying to tell himself that he's someone who saves other people.

He also felt like he was saving Christopher when he became a single father, so that was an easy transition for him.

But then Christopher goes and makes an emotional decision to leave, and I feel like a part of Eddie is only just realizing that he never had that autonomy at any point in his life and it's sort of this panicked knee-jerk reaction to go straight out to him because he doesn't know what else to do and doesn't have the emotional maturity to stand up to the consequences of his actions and try to fix himself.

We see this in the way he is doing things like growing a mustache or shaving it off and then reenacting Risky Business.

He's not facing the emotions.

He's avoiding them...

...versus Buck who has had the chance to experience a lot of the world because he was emotionally neglected. He went out and traveled the world and figured out what parts of himself that he liked and didn't like, and then became a firefighter because he knew he wanted to help people (even though that is a part of his trauma, the people pleasing, most of it is completely honest).

We see him in therapy several times, and it's obvious that over the seasons he has been trying to come to terms with the darker parts of himself.

And now he's at a point in his life where he's just discovering another part of his identity, he's now finally secure in it...and then when Tommy left it felt like part of him was leaving.

Buck's endgame has to be Tommy because it's the only thing that makes sense in terms of his character arc.

To fall in love and make that home.

Because unlike Eddie, Buck has had the chance to have a lot of different relationships in several different ways, so he knows what it's like to have an infatuation versus actually being in love, and Tommy feels very emotionally different from every single other relationship that we've seen him have on screen.

The only relationship in which we saw Buck being himself.

The only relationship where he felt seen.

The only relationship where he was happy.

The only relationship where he was finally Evan, without the trauma behind his name anymore, and not just "Buck".

...and the fact that we have seen Tommy's character in previous flashbacks as part of all of the "Begins" episodes, it would be the perfect parallel for Tommy to be where Buck ends and Evan begins.

By Eddie running away to Texas and letting Buck stay in his house, it is very synonymous with how Buck is stepping into that chapter of his life of settling down and creating his own family outside of anyone else's expectations.

Eddie was Buck's first real friend in the 118, one of the first ones to start to let him feel seen.

...but now Buck no longer needs that constant validation. He is stepping into a much more healed version of himself, even if he still is a little bit impulsive sometimes—though his impulsiveness can be good, we've seen that on the job. It's saved more than a few lives when no one else might have taken the risk.

Because of how Buck has grown, we have seen him actively learning from his mistakes—versus Eddie, who is still running from them, which is why this plot line makes a lot of sense to me.

Eddie can't grow where is.

Buck can.

That's why Buck living in Eddie's house is so symbolic, because it's a way of showing how different the two of them are now. Buck can grow and move forward in a place that Eddie was never able to.

He recognizes change and embraces it. He jumps into the unknown with two feet—it's the one thing we have seen consistently from him over the seasons, and I think this is where Buck is taking a moment to breathe and really think about what he wants next.

If the writers do it right, we will see Buck settling into himself even more...

...and then reach back out to Tommy.

Feeling more settled, he and Tommy will finally talk and all of their issues will be dragged out into the open and dealt with.

They both acted impulsively but in different directions when they broke up, and I think this season will be about Buck finally slowing down and looking before he leaps.

But he'll still leap ;)

[sorchathered]

Let’s do IT for our country

Pairing- President!Robert “Bob” Floyd x reader

Warnings- smut smut and more smut, breeding kink, language, mentions of pregnancy, us politics, I think that’s it?

Summary- Robert Floyd had never wanted to be the president, but here in the Oval Office on inauguration night with his First Lady? He could get used to nights like this.

A/N- It’s that time again! Another IBFFM, but this time with an older version of our sexy WSO. Mr. President is about 45 here, his First Lady is in her mid 30’s.

Also it’s @bobgasm ‘s birthday present!! Happy birthday to my precious Steph, love you so much baby!!

For as long as he could remember, Robert Floyd had been told he would be great.

His family name was synonymous with the likes of Kennedy and Roosevelt, the Floyd’s were some of the most influential in political history, and with that came high expectations. You must go to a prestigious college, you must serve your country (whether that be as a civil servant or military member), and you must marry the right kind of person. They talked about it as if they were breeding horses, and it never made any sense to him, so long as he found someone kind and supportive all of the bullshit that his family expected mattered very little to him. He would tick off whatever boxes they wanted, but it would be on his own terms.

He went to the US Naval Academy after high school, refusing to hop onto the Ivy League lifestyle his grandfather so desperately cherished. Moving on to aviation as a WSO and then becoming one of the top 1% in the country in his field. It was a distinguished career to be sure, but he’d been adamant that he had no interest in pursuing a political career, and certainly not the presidency.

He still wasn’t sure what had brought him to this point, or how he’d somehow managed to bag his dream girl in the process. A feisty junior senator from Delaware, good family, strong morals and drop dead gorgeous to boot, you’d been his match in every way. Sure you had hated his guts, he was the golden boy and you had dealt with his kind your whole life. But after a particularly long day in the senate he’d asked you to dinner, and while you’d had half a mind to tell him no the prospect of a free meal wasn’t worth passing up. So in a dingy dive bar with greasy burgers and cheap beer, you took a chance on him and fell ridiculously in love.

Four years had passed since you’d both sat in the creeky wooden booths of that shitty bar, and it felt simultaneously like yesterday and a lifetime ago. His family had pushed him into politics and while he had been adamant in the beginning that he would never pursue the presidency, the world had changed dramatically since he first refused the mantle. He may have hated the pageantry of it all, but at his core he truly did want to help people, and they certainly took notice. He’d run a clean and honest campaign with his best girl by his side, and won in a landslide. Everything moved very quickly from Election Day to Inauguration Day, it almost felt like he had blinked and he was here, wandering the halls of the west wing after skipping out on the last two of 10 gaudy inaugural balls he’d been forced to attend. He’d been going since sunrise and still couldn’t seem to get the jitters under control so he could rest; he suspected it would be quite a while before that feeling went away. Shaky hands moved to open the door to the Oval Office, completely renovated and designed by his beautiful wife to fit his style and personality, you’d made sure he would want for nothing, he’d be spending so much time in this room and it seemed only logical to make it a calm and safe space for him and his thoughts. It felt so much like his office at home, even down to the worn leather chair and the soft scent of sandalwood and tobacco from the candles you bought because it reminded you of him. You had told him you’d be heading to change and wouldn’t be gone long, he had plans to unwind with a bottle of bourbon and maybe a game or three of checkers, but as you slipped into the spacious and hallowed room belonging to the commander in chief, he nearly jolted out of his skin. There you were, his First Lady, in a skimpy little silk robe, intricate updo long gone in favor of soft curls, and the adorable little fuzzy cat slippers that he’d bought you for Christmas.

“Good evening Mr. President” you said with a smirk as you locked the door and padded over to his desk. You’d chosen well, the beautiful mahogany writing table had belonged to Theodore Roosevelt, and while it hadn’t been used in many a president’s term, you had made sure it was painstakingly restored and ready for his first day. Now that you were here, all he could seem to think of is how much fun it might be to test the sturdiness of the surface, perhaps he did need to blow off a little steam after such a stressful day…

“Sweet girl, you do realize there’s cameras everywhere right?” He said as you pushed his chair back just enough to fit between his thighs, very gently sitting on the edge of the antique escritoire. This desk had seen many a scandal, so many historical events, and you were quite sure she should handle the weight of what you had planned next.

“Already got that covered, Phoenix is on surveillance right now, you can go ahead and go dark Nat!” You said in the general direction of where they’d mentioned cameras were placed, a notification on your phone let you know she’d confirmed that the two of you had thirty minutes all to yourselves and you broke out in a blinding grin as you leaned forward to press a kiss to Bob’s jawline. The sharp intake of breath and his hands immediately going to your hips let you know he’d need this just as much as you, it had been embarrassingly long since the two of you had been together, and you filed away the notion that you would need to make sure you had the right security in play to make quickies like this a regular occurrence, policy be damned.

You’d drawn his lips to yours as you untied his tie and began unbuttoning the front of his dress shirt, his hands had drifted to palming your ass as he licked the seam of your mouth, a gasp from you was all he needed to slide his tongue against yours, squeezing you a little more roughly and all but pulling you into the plush office chair.

“Fuck I missed you,” he breathed into your mouth, you’d nearly gotten his dress shirt removed when he slotted his knee between your legs, large hands gripping the back of your thighs as he placed you back on the desk, this time swiping whatever loose papers off the top and sending them cascading across the plush carpet that held the presidential seal. You squealed and giggled, watching with rapt attention as he removed his dress shirt and exposed the defined freckled skin of his arms, pulling his undershirt off with less finesse as it joined the pile of papers on the floor. “I’ve never found a president to be sexy until just this moment, I have to admit, you look damn good in this office, sir” you said as you leaned back on your palms and ogled him, heat crept up his cheeks and chest at your praise, but his eyes had darkened at the honorific, you knew exactly what you were doing to him, and he could feel his dress slacks getting uncomfortably tight as you ran your bare feet up and down the back of his legs.

“You wanna be a good girl for me Madame First Lady? Let me lay you out and devour you where anyone could walk in?” His voice grew impossibly deeper and you let out a whimper in response, shifting to try and get some relief. You did want that, you wanted it so badly you could scream, it was the very thought of being dirty and unladylike for the man you loved that had you so hot and bothered, and he trailed one long finger down your sternum to remove your robe, fire in his eyes as he opened the sash and found you completely bare for him.

“Goddamn it, should have known you’d do this, you know exactly how to wind me up don’t ya? Whole world wants to know how to bring me to my knees and all they’d have to do is weaponize you and this perfect pussy.” He was completely fixated on your arousal glistening between your legs, and while normally you’d let him take his time, you knew it wouldn’t be long before some aid or agent came by to make sure he had everything he needed for the evening. If they only knew.

“Bobby, please? Don’t have a lot of time baby” you said as you squirmed on the polished wood and searched for some kind of relief. He seemed to snap out of his haze as lust clouded eyes fixed on yours, letting his index finger trail down your stomach and through your folds, watching your head fall back and chest heave at his teasing.

“Need to hear you say it sweet girl, you know what I want.” You blushed in earnest, he loved how dirty you could get, but that had always been behind closed doors in the comfort of your own home, you’d be mortified if anyone heard some of the things you’d said in the throes of pleasure; but it was his big day after all. If he wanted it, you’d give him the moon.

“Need your mouth on me Daddy, want you to make me cum and then fuck me with your big dick. Please? Please give it to me, ‘s been too long, fuck - I-“ you babbled at him as he continued to rub that one long finger up and down, it was maddening and had you choking on your words, thankfully he didn’t make you wait, spreading you open and pressing two fingers into you as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around your clit. The relief was immediate, you moaned out into the empty room as he went to work on your aching pussy, drawing tight circles with this tongue as he scissored his fingers inside you. It had been weeks and he knew he’d need to get you ready, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was going insane over the little noises you made and the iron grip you had on his hair, tugging at his scalp as you bucked up into his pretty face to search for your release.

It was startling how fast he got you there, you were certain you were dripping down onto the desk now, wet smacks and moans coming from between your thighs as you peeked down to look at his deep cerulean eyes. He was too damn good at this and he knew it, had the audacity to wink at you as he nibbled on your clit and with a gasp you came all over his face, watching as he wiped his mouth with his arm and smirking like the cocky bastard he was. He controlled the entire free world now, but he would still consider it his greatest accomplishment that he could render his pretty wife to a babbling needy mess with his tongue. Disheveled looked good on you, blush spread across your cheeks and chest, hair a mess, and your release all over your thighs from what he intended to be one of at least three mind blowing orgasms.

You looped your heavy arms around his neck and kissed him languidly, you didn’t seem to be as worried about the time anymore and for that he was thankful. He wanted to take his time, and if somebody walked in they would find out very quickly to knock, he couldn’t give a shit about anything other than getting his cock inside you.

You knew the rule all too well; no visible marks. It had been that way from the very beginning, which was unfortunate because you wanted so badly to mark his pretty neck up and make sure everyone knew he was yours, but the compromise was that you could leave them anywhere below the collarbone, so as he fished for the condom he’d stashed in his pocket (hoping to end the night just like this), you licked down his neck and began nibbling on the flesh of his pecks, sucking a nipple into your mouth and looking up at him as his jaw went slack. “Oh Christ, you gotta stop that baby or we’ll be finished before we even get started” he panted out and tried not to buck up into you, the hand gripping your thigh was sure to leave a mark but you couldn’t give a shit, there was something so powerful in being able to bring the most powerful man on earth to his knees, and even better knowing that he was insatiable for you.

“Then fuck me Mr. President, and you don’t need that condom either. I think you should put a baby in me, fill me up so good that I’m dripping with you all day tomorrow.” You grinned at him but he looked completely debauched, he ran a hand through his graying sandy locks and blinked down at you, almost at a loss for words.

“You little minx, you’ve been just waiting all day to drop that on me haven’t you? Need me to cum in that pretty pussy and get you good and knocked up? Fuck you’d think it was my birthday or something, I don’t know how I got it so good.” He said as he spread you out and ran his hands all over you, you were whimpering and grinding into him and he was sure he’d pass out if he was any harder, slipping himself out of his briefs and sliding his length through your slick. You were trying hard to be quiet, sure it was late but there was bound to be someone on watch, Bob gripped your chin as he slid into you and kissed you sloppily, all teeth and tongue and moans, shallow thrusts to get you ready turned rough when you sucked his bottom lip and pushed your hips up to take him to the hilt. You gripped the front of the desk behind your head and let him pound you into it, the need for quiet long forgotten as you alternated between crying out and calling him daddy.

It didn’t take him long before he was close, the aftershocks of your second orgasm seemed to keep him gripped so tight that he could barely think straight, he was furiously rubbing your clit to get you there again as he watched tears drip down your flushed cheeks, he’d never forget tonight for the rest of his life. Not all the fanfare, not even the immense weight of the mantle he was about to take, but this moment right here, wrapped up in his gorgeous wife as he fucked her silly in the Oval Office. You wailed out “I’m cumming” as you gripped him tight with your pulsing heat and he tumbled over the edge right along with you, warming you from the inside out as he filled you up.

You cradled his sweaty form in your arms as you both came down from your high, giggles erupting from him as it really set in what you two had done.

“Ah shit, well everyone’s gonna know that we can’t keep our hands to ourselves after this, I imagine the press will have a field day.” He kissed your nose as you grinned at him, both of you still joined together but neither of you ready to separate.

A loud ring came from his phone and it sent a jolt through both of you, wide eyes trained on his as he leaned forward and grabbed it off the hook. His eyes were full of mirth as he nodded his head once, twice and bid them goodnight, pinching your cheek with his free hand before hanging up.

“What was that all about?” You said, trying to push him up so you could get decent and off his desk.

“That was Nat, she said we need to hurry the hell up before me going MIA causes a national emergency.” He was joking of course, but the secret service agents at the door couldn’t look either of you in the eye as you shuffled down the hallway with Bob’s hand in yours, and it was no surprise to anyone when you turned up pregnant by the state of the union.

Tagging- @bobgasm @attapullman @bobfloydsbabe @floydsglasses @sebsxphia @roosterforme @sunsetsimpsblog @seitmai @auroralightsthesky @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist

[chishiyaisasnack]

It’s under my skirt, Doctor

Hello everyone! It’s been a while. I finally got this little thing together, and I hope you all like it.

Disclaimer! This is smut. Stay away if you aren’t of agw or if you’re uncomfortable with the topic. Remember to use protection in real life!

Written and posted on mobile, I apologize for any wierd formatting.

Chishiyas life was work. Long hours, sometimes so long that he didn’t leave the hospital before his next shift. The couch in his office had become soft from where he slept, countless days and nights spent there alone. Not that it mattered, not to him. He liked his job. Kind of. There was nothing else he wanted to do anyway, so filling his life with something that kept his brain occupied and evolving was good enough. Once he stopped caring about all the injustice he focused solely on performing surgeries. The heart was an interresting thing, so small, so powerful. One wrong move and a life could end. Sometimes he wondered what that would feel like. He would never play with a life like that, he wasn’t completely insane, but the thought had showed up once or twice.

This particular shift got his mood turning all over the place. Everyone was whiny, rude and just hard to deal with. Twelve hours of pretending to be respectful was hard enough on the good days.

When he got back to his office he sank down into the couch, contemplating buying new cushions soon because they were starting to get uncomfortable. He needed to get his mind cleared out, to stop thinking about work and kids and parents who he wanted to toss in the trashcan.

A vibration went off in his pocket, making his head hurt just thinking about what they would need him for now. He just wanted to rest. So, when he picked it up and saw the notification on his screen he got pleasently suprised.

Y/N: Hey, sorry to disturb your work but I have a medical issue that I wondered if you could take a look at? I can come over in 10 minutes if that works for you.

He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. Normal people didn’t use the words ”medical issue” as a synonym for ”I want to fuck” but it worked very well for the two of them. Chishiya had met her at a work gathering and that turned out to be the best stress reliever he could wish for, and he knew that she used him for that exact same reason. Some might say that they were dating, but the only times they really met in person was just for sex and maybe some lunch afterwards. Chishiya did spend occasional nights at her place since she lived closer to the hospital than he did, and getting his dick wet then sleep in a bed instead of his office couch was a nice change.

Ten minutes later the telltale three knocks on his office door woke him up from his thoughts. Trying not to run to the door in excitement, he stood up, took a deep breath and changed into his normal ’I don’t care about anything’-face before opening it. The ’not caring about anything’-face changed as soon as he saw what was on the other end of the doorframe. He was not prepared for her standing there, panties hanging from slender fingers on one of her hands and her head cocked to the side. The skirt she was wearing was short and flowy, almost revealing what was, or rather what wasn’t underneath it.

”Eager are we?” Chishiya welcomed her in a smug voice, trying to hide the mess his head was already in. She winked at him in response.

”You usually don’t have very long so I thought I’d be prepared.” She walked straight to him, put the underwear in the chest pocket of his white doctors coat and kicked the door closed behind her. Chishiya could hear the click from the lock but was more interrested in the cleavage that her ”too tight to be comfortable”-top was showing. He didn’t even try to hide that he liked what he saw. He knew she liked it. A finger under his chin woke him up from his thoughts and when he looked up he was met with sparkling eyes full of excitement when she gazed back into his.

”Hmm.. I like how professional you look in this outfit” she purred as she smoothed her hands up his chest until she reached his neck, hands tangling in the blonde strands in the back until his hair tie fell to the floor, one thumb tracing his ear. ”I’d let you examine me any day.”

Chishiya rolled his eyes at her attempt at flirting, but rather than giving her a comeback he reached in and put his hands on her bare thighs, inching further up while he kissed that lovely space between her neck and shoulder that made her whimper every time.

”So, what did you want me to take a look at?” Chishiya murmered teasingly into her ear. She hummed and moved her hands back down to his shoulders, gripping onto the neck of his coat.

”It’s under my skirt, Doctor.”

In one swift move she grabbed the stethoscope still hanging around his neck and pulled him with her until they both hit the wall behind her, before crashing her lips into his with urgency, and Chishiya returned it with just as much desire as he was given. It was intoxicating, her soft lips, the sweet smell of her perfume, her hands tugging at his hair trying to coax him closer.

His hands went from her thighs to her waist, with just a quick squeeze at her ass first, clenching his fingers in the fabric of her shirt, pulling her even closer so that she could feel that this was affecting him too. His cock was already getting hard, pushing uncomfortably against his pants, but her soft stomach gave great friction whenever she moaned and rubbed herself against him.

Trying to deepen the kiss, she slid her tounge against his lips, making him smile against her whine when he didn’t answer her attempt. He was the one calling the shots and he wanted her to remember that. Instead of giving her what she wanted he pried his lips away from hers and targeted her neck.

The sweet sounds she made whenever his lips caressed her made his head spin. He couldn’t keep his hands still any longer and torturously slow started to inch them up the skin under her top, feeling the way she moved under them, how she was shivering against his touch and how her lungs moved with every heated breath that left her. He knew that undressing her probably wasn’t the best idea in case someone managed to interrupt them, but when he felt her breast under his palms, so soft and squeazable and utterly wonderful to nibble at, his desire to put his face between them took over his rationality. So, after he sucked down on the skin on her shoulder - and grinned at the sour moan she made - he pulled her top off and started his descent down her body. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the thump that her head made when she threw it back against the wall but he was far more interrested in the goosebumps that spread under the line he licked down her collarbone. When he finally moved his mouth over her nipple he felt a hand grip his shoulder with a strenght that was sure to leave a mark.

The noises she made went straight to Chishiyas cock. His mind was so clouded by the need to be inside her that he was having trouble keeping his teasing facade in check. Nestling his face in her chest did ground him a bit though, it was the whines that followed it that made him throb in his pants.

”Fuck, Chishiya… lower please” she begged, shivering when he swept his tounge over her other nipple. The gentle squeeze from his other hand earned him another whimper - and a fist in his hair trying to push him further down. He complied with a quiet laugh, loving how aroused she was from just this. Not that he had anything to say about that, he was aching just as bad as she was.

He didn’t bother to take her skirt off, he just held it up with one hand while running the other up her inner thigh, slow and steady so that he could hear her quiet complaints that he took too long.

”Hold it” he commanded, looking at her and then the skirt, nodding towards it to make his point. A shaky hand took a hold of the hem of the skirt and he shifted his focus back to her soft thighs, leading up to her glistening center that he couldn’t wait to be inside. He couldn’t help himself and squeezed the inside of her thigh, thinking about how great it would feel to have them wrapped around him - then laughed at her impatient grunt before giving in and giving her what she asked for.

With one hand he hiked her leg over his shoulder and then he dove in and let his tounge spread her open, loving the wetness he was met with. A cascade of ’yes’-es fell from her mouth as she rolled her hips in time with his tounges movements. A long lick between the folds, flicking over the clit, sucking, kissing, circling… he knew exactly what she liked and he gave it to her. Every time her moans got a little louder he slowed down, dragging out the sensation (and pissing her off just a little just because he could). It was his favourite leisure activity and he could go for hours if he had the time. Unfortunately he didn’t and with a last lick he stopped, her disappointed groan chiming like music in his ears.

He rose to his feet, one hand still lingering on her thigh, the other moving a strand of hair from her face that was so lovely and flushed from desire. There was a hint of irritation from the way her eyebrows scrunched together, but it disappeared when he used the same hand that he just caressed her cheek with to draw a line along her pussy, wet and warm, and so inviting, making her squirm under his touch.

”I want to take my time with you but we’re in a bit of a hurry,” he reminded her. ”Come here.”

Chishiya started walking towards the couch, sat down and patted his lap as an invitation for her to sit.

”I’m tired and have been working all day,” Chishiya playfully told her, watching her eyes roll as she walked towards him, which made him chuckle. He enjoyed how obvious she was with everything and that she didn’t take any of his shit. She was strong and powerful and he wouldn’t have a chance against her wits if she wanted to ruin him. And he didn’t want it any other way.

”You need a new couch” she complained while straddling his lap, knees sinking down too far and throwing off her balance before she put her hands on his shoulder and shuffled her way forward to hover over his length.

”But I really like my couch” he lied, lazily putting his hands on her waist to pretend to help her.

”Sure you do. Take off your pants, or are you too tired to do that to, Doctor?”

For once he hurried, mostly because his dick was aching and he couldn’t wait for it to be inside her. So he moved his pants and boxers out of the way, enough to release his cock. She didn’t waste a second and sank down onto it right away.

Both of them moaned, her from finally being filled and him from finally being hugged by her warm, wet walls. When she started to move, riding him nice and deep, he couldn’t help himself and let his head fall back so he could watch her face as she fucked herself on him.

”Fuck, I’ve been needing this” he groaned as she took him in, Chishiya pushing as far in as he could to savour that warm and tight feeling that her insides gave him. ”You feel so good.”

”Fuck…” was the only answer he got, but it sounded perfect. Breathless and broken, turning into another moan when his cock hit her sweet spot again.

She rode him deep and fast, her wet walls stroking his cock in rhythm with her movements. Desperate to feel more of it, he bucked up into her to bury himself as deep as he could. Her hands was on his shoulders, nails digging deep into his white coat.

Chishiyas hands were everywhere, grabbing her ass hard as she bounced on his lap, sliding up her waist when he went back to rolling her hips, cupping her breasts when he took over and fucked her from below. The bliss on her face drove him on, making him thrust harder and angling his hips so that he hit that spongy spot inside her with every thrust. He could feel her getting close, her insides tightening and clamping down around his cock, stroking the life out of him with it. He wouldn’t last much longer either - he needed her to come so that he could join her. So he slid a hand down to her center, putting two fingers on her clit and started to circle it in time with his thrusts. The loud groan she let out at the sensation made the fire in his stomach grow even more and, fuck, he needed her to orgasm.

”Y/N, come for me,” he hissed and pressed down harder on her clit. ”Fuck, come on my cock.”

And so she did. With a rough moan into his neck he felt her walls clamping down on his cock, so fucking tight, before convulsing around him. Maybe he should have stopped and let her catch her breath but his hips moved at their own will now. He fucked her with desperation, each thrust bringing him closer, until he emptied himself deep inside her. She moaned as he did, rocking her hips to stimulate him more until his cock had stopped twitching.

Chishiyas hands landed on her waist again, this time drawing soft circles on her skin, making her shiver under his touch. Her breath was warm against his neck when she nuzzled her face there. He let her rest on him, he was too satisfied to move anyway. They sat like that until both their breathing had calmed down, and until he had gone soft enough to slip out of - although he didn’t want to. She felt too good. But even he wasn’t able to control his body that much. He had tried.

When she moved it was with shaky legs, tired from overworking them on that dumb couch. He smirked as he helped her up onto her feet, casting a glance on the clock hanging on the wall above his desk. There were still time to have some more fun, and even if his dick was tired, his tounge wasn’t. Standing up next to her he bent in, moved a strand of her hair away from her face, and softly spoke into her ear.

”So, is there anything else you want me to examine?”

[thatfeelinwhenyou]

SMOKE SCREENS & CIGARETTES — part one

#1 - The Two Worlds

Lee Heeseung is always known as the quiet boy in class. Although his popularity in school would suggest otherwise, he is never viewed as the rebellious or partying type. In fact, he is the kind of student who reminds the teacher about pending assignments just as the lesson is about to conclude. Simply put, Lee Heeseung fits the stereotype of a nerd—at least, that's the version of him you are accustomed to.

So, when you unexpectedly encounter him at a club in another city during your summer break, his hair, now sporting green highlights, is slicked back instead of covering his eyes as it typically does on campus. He has multiple metal studs hanging from his earlobe, but above all, he seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself, dancing, drinking, and smoking without inhibition. Needless to say, you are taken aback.

While it's not uncommon for an overage university student to be partying during their vacation, this is Lee Heeseung we're talking about. The last thing you'd expect is to see him in Club Dark Moon, one hand holding a glass of some intoxicating liquid, and the other wrapped around the waist of a girl who appears to be of similar age to yourself.

This is the same Lee Heeseung who never knows when to take a hint in class, always finding an opportunity to correct the teacher. The Lee Heeseung who never fails to maintain perfect posture throughout 3-hour long lectures. The Lee Heeseung who becomes unresponsive and distant when the conversation veers away from academic topics. The Lee Heeseung who secretly envies you because you embody everything he isn't.

Now, in the flesh, is The Lee Heeseung embodying everything you thought he wasn't.

You are popular yourself, considering your extroverted and altruistic nature; you are popular because you know how to party. Lee Heeseung is popular because he is a quiet and smart kid yet has a mysterious aura that makes him so god damn attractive. The two of you are complete polar opposites, each other's antonyms, and while possessing many contradictory qualities, you are actually similar to one another in many ways that don't meet the eye.

You frequently attend the weekly Friday night parties hosted by the university fraternities. And with each step you take, you effortlessly command the attention of every person present, your magnetic presence impossible to ignore. Everybody yearns to be in your orbit; guys want you, while girls admire your confidence and charisma, secretly wishing to be you. Your friends eagerly drag you to every party down the block, basking in the reflected glow of being associated with The Y/L/N Y/N—a name synonymous with popularity and social prowess.

Despite the overwhelming amount of attention you receive throughout your undergraduate career, a persistent sense of unease gnaws at you as you find yourself grappling with a profound sense of disconnection. While externally you seamlessly blend into the pulsating dynamic of university life, internally, you’re like a solitary figure navigating a sea of expectations and obligations. You fit in, but at the same time, you don’t.

You always think that maybe you're just stressed out with assignment deadlines. Well, clearly, since you’re partying when you should be working on the next paragraph of your final year thesis. If only the answer were as simple as that.

No, you're not stressed. You just simply do not belong to the party life. However, as the nights blur into days and the days into weeks, you begin to feel the weight of societal expectations pressing down on you, particularly the burden of being labelled as the "popular kid." And popular kids always arrive fashionably late to every party. Popular kids are the lives of the party. Popular kids are party animals.

By the time you noticed your desolation, you're already too far gone, you've convinced yourself that this is your life and all you have to do is suck it up. This label of being the “popular kid” becomes both a mantle of honour and a burden to bear, as you struggle within the confines of a stereotype that fails to encapsulate the complexity of your identity.

You're constantly trying to squeeze yourself into the mould of expectations that your peers have so delicately carved out for you, that you often find yourself questioning the authenticity of your existence, wondering if the façade of popularity is worth sacrificing yourself. Your true self.

And that's being the ambitious and studious girl you always were and still are. You would rather stay at home and finish writing your 100-page psychological analysis on 'Social Cognition and Perception', or finish reading the third volume of the 'Persuasion, Propaganda, and Marketing' trilogy. Hell, you would even rather do a mountain of chores than attend another frat party.

Though you long to share your intellectual passions with your friends, you hesitate, aware that their interests lie elsewhere. They’re in it for the social society life, effortlessly navigating sorority events and basking in the glow of admiration that comes with being in your inner social circle. Yet, beneath their carefree façade, they remain oblivious to the dedication and diligence required to maintain your impeccable grades. Only assuming that you’re a natural-born beauty and brains.

It’s your last break before your final semester and you are thrilled as you eagerly plan your to-do list over the summer break. Maybe learn to play the guitar, go on a hike, or finally start reading that fiction book you had put off for months. You envision checking it all off before the final semester begins. However, your plans are unexpectedly put on hold when your friends suggest a pre-graduation chalet trip to a province northeast of Seoul.

This trip marks your first time travelling outside of the city, and it's with your adventurous, somewhat reckless friends. The decision is made hastily, with everything arranged at the eleventh hour. Your friends unanimously agree to simply "go with the flow," as Yunjin puts it.

Unfortunately for you, your meticulous personality type craves structure and detailed planning, and you are only able to feel at ease if you have an itinerary to follow.

Hence, it’s not a surprise that you were apprehensive about embarking on this trip. You even considered skipping the excursion altogether. Except that wouldn't be fitting for a popular kid, would it? Popular kids should be laid-back and adaptable, they should be going with the flow too, they do not need people telling them what to do should listen and act on what people expect of them.

"Y/N! We're leaving in 5 minutes, will you be ready soon?" Chaewon barges into your room in the Airbnb that the four of you share. Despite your reluctance, you plaster on your flawless façade and smile. "Yes, yes, I'm ready. So impatient as always," you half-jokingly roll your eyes, relieved that Chaewon doesn't catch the genuine hesitation in your tone.

It’s not that you dislike your friends or anything; in fact, you're grateful that they're the most genuine people you've met at university. Unlike most students who sacrifice their integrity to gain favour, your friends are refreshingly candid about their opinions of you. While you and Chaewon didn't hit it off at first, now you're practically two peas in a pod. Yet, it doesn't change the fact that you've become a puppet catering to your friends' partying whims.

As you gaze into the mirror, you confront a version of yourself that you yourself could barely recognise. The person you once were—vibrant, authentic, and unapologetically yourself—has become obscured beneath layers of societal expectations and peer pressure. Still, it wouldn’t be the first time choosing to pretend the girl in the mirror is you, because what’s another day of grinding up your confidence and making it a meal that would last you an hour at best?

So, you do what you do best—picking out the skimpiest dress you own, spraying on your most testosterone-provoking perfume, and drawing a cat-eye sharp enough to kill anyone who dares to meet your gaze.

You settle into the passenger seat of the taxi while your three friends squeeze into the back. Your first destination is Club Dark Moon, one of the province's most popular and bustling nightclubs. The bouncer checks your IDs and ushers you inside, the scene unfolding just as you anticipated for a Friday night.

The dance floor is packed, with male and female dancers taking their positions on mini-stages scattered around the room. The air is thick with the scent of alcohol mixed with hours of piled-up perspiration, nearly causing you to visibly gag. Nevertheless, you force a smile despite the prospect of being pressed up against complete strangers, moving to the beat in a tango of privacy invasion.

"Hey! You guys made it!" Jay calls out from the private booth you reserved earlier in the week. Despite the night still being relatively young, the table is already littered with empty bottles of cheap alcohol, the kind that debt-induced university students can afford. Almost immediately, Yunjin prances over to the booth and squeezes herself between Jay and Sunghoon, swiftly downing a glass of whatever leftover alcohol was in it before you even reach them.

"PSA: I will not be the one babysitting her and dragging her vomit-covered body back to the Airbnb later tonight," Sakura declares, promptly supported by Chaewon, leaving you designated as tonight's caretaker.

"Hey," you greet the two boys, though your attention remains fixed on Yunjin, who just finished another drink. Sunghoon appears to notice your distressed complexion, grasping your wrist and gently turning you to face him. "You look like you need to unwind tonight. Don't worry, we'll take care of her," he reassures you, his tone of voice having some sort of soothing effect on you.

Honestly, you'd be perfectly content not drinking much tonight anyway, but dealing with a drunken Yunjin is... a whole other challenge. Grateful, you offer Sunghoon a smile and a pat on the back before heading to the dance floor to do what you do best—put on a show.

It doesn't take long before you find yourself on one of the mini-stages, the effects of a few drinks starting to kick in just as expected. The strap of your black mini-dress slips off your shoulder, and the hem rides up your thigh, possibly revealing whatever’s underneath to the crowd. Once again, you're the centre of attention, and you're used to it. The predatory stares you receive start to feel unsettling, but what can you do? You were made for this exact moment.

Sakura joins you on stage, and together, you put on an electrifying performance, dancing against each other, feeling the heat of her body pressed against yours. At one point, she even buries her face in the crook of your neck, pretending to plant kisses on your shoulder. It’s not long before you notice your vision slowly becoming hazy from the combination of body heat and the alcohol being pushed on you by your friends.

You're aware that you've crossed the boundary between sober to tipsy, and continuing at this pace will likely leave you nursing a migraine on the floor of your Airbnb tomorrow morning. You’re also aware that another glass of alcohol would only blur your senses further, and you're about to call it quits when you catch sight of a familiar face dancing across the club.

"Is that Lee Heeseung?" you mutter to yourself, Sakura noticing your distraction. "Hey, you okay? We can take a breather if you're not feeling well," she whispers just loud enough for you to hear, receiving a reassuring nod from you. She then proceeds to take your hand as you carefully manoeuvre your way downstage, your gaze still fixed on the figure you assume is Heeseung.

"Y/N! You killed it up there!" Jay's voice booms across the club, announcing it to literally every single soul in the goddamn club. Before you know it, they're chanting your name, urging you to return to the stage as if you were some caged animal in a zoo performing tricks and stunts for onlookers.

Heeseung seems to catch wind of the commotion, his ears perking up at the familiar name. He turns around, locking eyes with you, his expression betraying a hint of surprise, as if he's been caught red-handed, doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

"Lee Heeseung?" you mouth his name, and that's his signal to make a swift exit. He hands his cup to the girl he was grinding onto moments ago and practically bolts through the emergency exit. By now, the cheers from the crowd around you have faded into the background. Excusing yourself, you navigate through the crowd until you reach the other side of the emergency exit, where you come face to face with none other than Lee Heeseung himself.

"Who the fuck are you?" you gawk, taking in his unusual attire as you scan him from head to toe. His eyes, now visible without glasses, appear larger than you remembered. His hair is styled back with faded green streaks in them, and gosh is that a tattoo on his chest? Who the hell is this guy?

"You already know, so why ask?" he retorts, raising his eyebrows, wrinkles creasing on his exposed forehead. "Wow, that's a record for the most words you've ever spoken to me," you quip sarcastically, realising perhaps it wasn't the best idea as he responds with a deadpan expression.

"So... you're into the party scene, huh?" you awkwardly probe, feeling thrown off by this unexpected version of Lee Heeseung standing before you.

"That's none of your business," he replies curtly. What you don't know is that the Heeseung standing in front of you is the real Heeseung, a side he's managed to conceal for most of his university career, until now, when you've downright busted him.

"What are you doing around here?" you awkwardly attempt at conversation, receiving minimal response from him. "My grandparents live nearby. I'm visiting for the break," you nod at his response, trying to come up with something to say to keep the conversation going, but to no avail. All you can do is stand there, fidgeting with the hem of your dress, when Heeseung pulls out a cigarette from his jeans pocket and offers it to you, which you decline.

He then proceeds to light it between his lips. You watch in genuine surprise, your eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of him smoking. It's unexpected, especially considering Heeseung's role as a student ambassador, a proclaimed role model for freshmen and prospective students.

The very same influential figure stands before you, with a cigarette between his teeth. You're taken aback, your mind trying to reconcile this new information as it's a stark contrast to the persona you've always known him to portray.

"You... smoke?" you ask, unable to hide your astonishment.

"Casual smoker. It's not that big of a deal," he shrugs, his tone nonchalant as he exhales a puff of smoke into the hot summer air.

"Yeah, not when you literally rebutted how people who resort to nicotine were just, verbatim, 'losers who are unable to get their lives together, so they look for an alternative to escape from reality,'" you quote him from a discussion your class had a couple of months ago during your psychology lecture on the topic of 'coping mechanisms.'

"Never said I wasn't one of them," he shrugs, turning to look at you. His doe eyes seem to be trying to send you a telepathic message, and you find yourself captivated by their intensity. You're struck by a mixture of surprise and intrigue, wondering what led him to this moment of contradiction. You simply nod in response, not because you don't have anything to say, as a matter of fact your mind is racing, but because his intimidating yet attractive demeanour has rendered you completely speechless.

It's no secret that Lee Heeseung is good-looking, but the scene in front of you suggests he's more than just good-looking. He's hot as fuck, and you can't deny the allure of his rebellious aura. His presence exudes an undeniable magnetism, and you can't help but feel a flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

"Look, you're obviously not getting the memo," he says, taking the cigarette between his fingers. "Can we pretend we never saw each other? You go back to doing whatever you do, and I'll go back to doing mine. Deal?"

You stare at him, uncertain of his intentions. Sure, you could keep a secret or two, and you're confident you would have kept quiet about what you saw even without him asking. But the urgency in his tone makes you wonder: What is Lee Heeseung really hiding? The request feels more like a demand, and you can't shake the feeling that there's more to this encounter than meets the eye.

"Yeah, sure, I can keep it on a hush-hush, but I'm just asking out of curiosity..." you start cautiously, not wanting to push his boundaries. You only finish your sentence when you hear him sigh as if he already knows what you're about to ask.

"Why don't you go around school looking like this more often? I'm pretty sure you'd be way more popular if you didn't have your hair covering your eyes. Your eyes are really pretty, by the way, though I'm sure you've heard that like a thousand times before," you start rambling before you realise it. Heeseung just stares at you, his head tilted to one side, looking stunned, amused even. You can't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and frustration at your own inability to keep your curiosity in check.

"I have a reason for it, though I don't really feel like telling you," he says, taking another puff of the cigarette. This time, he blows the smoke out in your face, adding a touch of defiance to his response. The mainstream smoke formed a screen almost intentionally between you and him, a subtle barrier signalling that the two of you are from different worlds, enjoying different luxuries. You nod, taking the hint that he doesn't want you pushing any further than you already have.

"Well, if you're ever out and about again, you know who to call," you say, trying to inject a note of lightness into the atmosphere. Heeseung raises his brow, unsure of what you're implying.

"They don't call me the party queen for no reason," you wink, turning your back towards him, ready to stroll back into the club—back into your world.

As if the universe is toying with you, you start running into Heeseung more frequently than you would prefer at school. You saw him around campus before your little encounter over the summer break, but you never recall being so hyper-aware of his presence until now. Every time you catch sight of him, your heart skips a beat, and a rush of mixed emotions—curiosity, anxiety, even a bit of excitement—floods over you.

It's not that you're avoiding him; you just can't look at him the same way. The fact that you're hiding a life-changing secret (to him at least) makes you extremely cautious walking around campus. You feel a strange sense of responsibility, almost protectiveness, and it weighs heavily on your mind. You can't help but tense up whenever his name comes up in conversations with your friends, afraid that someone might notice your unease and start asking questions you aren't prepared to answer.

"You know if you keep acting so strange whenever we so much as breathe the same air, your friends are gonna start asking questions," Heeseung says, creeping up behind you while you're searching for research materials for your thesis in the library.

"Holy fuck! You scared the shit out of me. Please don't do that again," you whisper-shout, trying to keep your volume down as you notice students around shooting you annoyed gazes, disturbed by your sudden shriek. "What are you doing here?"

"The library is a property of Decelis University, and I'm a student. What do you think?" he responds with a smirk, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. His casual demeanour only adds to your flustered state. You can't help but feel irritated at his nonchalance but also admiration for the way he carries himself so effortlessly.

"Do you always have to answer in such an arrogant manner?" you ask, and he chuckles. It's the first time you've heard him laugh, and you find yourself oddly captivated by his straight, pearly white teeth. Once again, you catch yourself noticing another feature of his that you never really paid attention to in the past.

"Besides, where else would you find a nerd? The llibrary is basically my second home," he adds with a smug look on his face. Oh, how you wish you could rip that expression off his face. You mumble softly, but just loud enough for him to hear, "You're intolerable," before turning your attention back to the rows of books in front of you.

"Seriously though, you have to stop being so awkward," Heeseung teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I am not awkward," you retort, rolling your eyes and continuing to scan the shelves for any knowledgeable book titles so you can get out of there and away from him as soon as possible. The proximity to him is unnerving, making your heart race in a way that frustrates you.

"You so are!" Heeseung ruffles your hair almost as if it’s the most natural reaction for him. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"I don't recall us being that close..." you comment, trying to straighten out the hair he had so rudely messed up. Your fingers tremble slightly as you fix your hair, the unexpected intimacy of the gesture lingering.

"Ouch, I guess it was all one-sided all along," Heeseung says, clutching his chest as if he’s been shot. His dramatic antics are so out of character for the reserved student ambassador you thought you knew, and you can't help but let out a small giggle at how goofy he looks.

You never imagined that Lee Heeseung, known to be overzealous, would be standing in front of you right now, showing this playful and relaxed side of himself that he had bottled up for so long. It's a side of him that only you have the privilege to witness, and it makes you question everything you thought you knew about him.

You wonder what other facets of his character he’s hiding and why he’s chosen to reveal this side to you now. All because you know his little alter ego? Unlikely—you’ve already assured him you wouldn’t tell. Because he wants to uncover a secret of yours so that he'd have something against you too? Probably.

The thought makes your stomach twist. Is he trying to level the playing field, to make sure you both have something to lose? The idea unsettles you, but you can't deny the intrigue it stirs. What would he want to know about you? And more importantly, what are you willing to reveal?

You shake your head slightly, trying to clear your thoughts. The library’s quiet atmosphere suddenly feels charged with unspoken tension. You glance at Heeseung, who’s watching you with a knowing look, a slight smirk still playing on his lips. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a silent dare that both excites and unnerves you.

As much as you want to find your books and leave, a part of you wants to stay and uncover more about the enigmatic Heeseung. His duality is captivating, and you feel a pull towards him, an urge to understand the layers beneath his composed exterior. Your mind races with questions, but for now, you allow yourself to enjoy this rare, unguarded moment with him, feeling a bond forming that you never anticipated.

"Well," you finally say, breaking the silence, "if you’re going to keep surprising me like this, I guess I’ll have to get used to it."

Heeseung chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I guess you will. And who knows, maybe you’ll surprise me too."

"What are you doing here on a Friday afternoon anyway? Don't you have another party to go to or something?" Heeseung asks, scanning the stack of books on the cart you’ve picked out during your short conversation.

"I do actually, thought I could have a little me time before I get back to it," you reply without much thought. But Heeseung, being... well, Heeseung, immediately analyses your seemingly meaningless words.

"I'd assume you'd be a slave to fame at this point. Never knew the Y/L/N Y/N would appreciate some quiet time," he intentionally probes, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you. As always, he hits the mark.

"There's a lot about me that you don't know, so don't assume shit about anything," you snap back, surprised by the aggression in your own voice. Before you can apologise, Heeseung does.

"Sorry, that was senseless of me."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that. It's just... y'know, the popular girl gets tired and weighed down by all the attention too," you smile at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, and Heeseung notices.

"Anyway, I gotta go sort these out," you say, referring to the stack of books. "I'll see you in class." You’re already moving away before Heeseung has the chance to say anything. He only manages to mumble a quiet, "Bye," but he doubts you heard him.

You did.

In class, all you can think about is how, despite the lecture hall being ridiculously spacious, Heeseung still chooses to sit in the seat right in front of you, forcing you to stare at the back of his head throughout the entire lesson. You notice he no longer has the green highlights in his hair and wonder when he dyed it back. You also thought that after the encounter the both of you had in the school library yesterday, he'd be avoiding you too.

So, why did he choose to sit here, right in front of you? Is it a coincidence, or is he trying to send a message? The questions swirl in your mind, each one more unsettling than the last. You try to shake them off, but they cling to you like the smoke from his cigarette.

This class isn’t even compulsory. You signed up for an additional course on music production after developing a minor interest in DJ-ing, thanks to your extensive partying experience. Mostly, though, you took it for the extra credit and the convenient timing—Saturday evenings—giving you a perfect excuse to skip clubbing with your friends.

You were shocked to see Heeseung on the first day of class, especially since you had no idea about his interest in music production. That was before you discovered he was a beast on the dance floor. Now that you know about his little side hustle, it all starts to make more sense.

The professor’s voice drones on, but your mind is elsewhere. You steal glances at Heeseung, who seems completely absorbed in taking notes. You find yourself analysing every detail of his appearance and behaviour. The way his shoulders move as he writes, the occasional tilt of his head, even the subtle way he shifts in his seat.

You remember the way he looked at you in the library, the way he made you feel both exposed and connected. His presence is distracting, making it hard to focus on anything but the mystery he represents. You force yourself to pay attention to the lecture, scribbling down notes and trying to absorb the material. But your thoughts keep drifting back to Heeseung and the strange dynamic that’s developing between you two.

"Alright class, as we approach your final semester at Decelis, the faculty has been observing your work thus far and has paired you up for a final-year project," the professor announces, prompting a chorus of groans, sighs, and a few enthusiastic cheers from the lecture hall. You mentally curse yourself for not reading up on the coursework before applying; you're already overwhelmed with your thesis, and now you have another project to juggle.

"Settle down. Although the result of your work will not directly affect your GPA, you must actually submit this project to pass the course. Any poor quality or late submissions can and will be reflected on your student record," the professor continues, causing another wave of mixed emotions to ripple through the room.

"Now, don't be so discouraged; at least you'll be working in pairs!" The professor tries to lighten the mood, but it doesn't help much since the students aren't even allowed to choose their own partners. "We have paired you up with partners who either have similar working styles or share the same music taste. Hence, we will not be entertaining any requests to switch partners."

"Gosh, it keeps getting worse," the girl beside you mutters, and you silently snicker at her remark. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, you're blindsided by the professor's announcement of your partner: Lee Heeseung.

Heeseung turns around in his seat, his usual smirk firmly in place. "Looks like we're stuck with each other," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You force a smile. "Yeah, lucky me."

You’re not particularly thrilled about this pairing because working with Heeseung means constantly being schooled and corrected. The worst part is, you probably can’t even refute him because, although he says it in the worst way possible, he’s never wrong.

On the other hand, you are interested to see how he'd tackle a music production project. You know he is more of a textbook learner, so when yours and Heeseung's names slip out of the professor's mouth in the same sentence, you are curious—excited even—to witness another side of Lee Heeseung that he's never shown to anyone.

Part of you even hopes you'd be paired up with him because you want to talk to him privately without students walking past and giving the two of you weird or judgmental looks. Of course, they would stare; you belong in completely different pigeonholes.

After the lesson is dismissed, you take the chance to talk to him. "Heeseung, hey!" you greet him as he stands up from his seat, packing his bag. To your relief, he doesn't seem to be upset with you about what happened yesterday in the library.

"Y/N!" He is about to give you a playful dab but then realises it probably isn't a good idea with the lecture hall still filled with students. However, you think it is because of what you said about not being "that close," and for a second, you feel a sense of guilt wash over you.

"I was thinking we should get this project started so we can get it over and done with. You cool with that?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he smiles, and you can't help but scream internally. It's such a shame that no one else can see this smile of his.

"What about my place?" Heeseung suggests innocently, but your mind takes it out of proportion with your unnecessary imagination that you know would be better for both you and him to keep to yourself. A slight blush creeps up your cheeks, and you pray to God that Heeseung doesn't notice it.

He does but chooses not to pick on you about it, mainly because he feels his own cheeks heating up too. "Yeah sure, tomorrow okay for you?" he nods, and you reach your hand out to him. He tilts his head to the side, weighing his options before deciding to take it.

You laugh out loud at how cute he looks in the moment. "I was asking for your phone so I could give you my number, but this works too," you tease him, and he quickly pulls his hand back, jokingly pouting, which you find to be adorable.

Heeseung hands you his phone, and you enter your number. "There you go," you say, handing it back to him.

"See you tomorrow then," you say, giving him a small wave as you turn to leave.

When Heeseung texts you his home address, you can't help but feel a twinge of intimidation. You recognise the street name as one where high-status families reside in their luxurious landed properties.

You are further proven right when you alight from the taxi that manoeuvred through the neighbourhood with great difficulty to a meticulously maintained garden surrounding a grand, modern mansion. The sheer size of the property is daunting, and don’t even get you started on the rows of luxury cars parked outside. Your nerves tighten as you approach the front door, feeling like you’re about to step into a different universe.

Despite knowing you shouldn't be prejudiced—after all, you're a victim of it yourself—the thought of potentially running into his parents, siblings, or even distinguished guests scares you shitless. The last thing you want is to embarrass yourself in front of rich, snobby, and arrogant boomers.

However, you know better than to let that fear deter you from your original goal: completing this godforsaken project. Before you know it, you're ringing the doorbell to his private estate, which is oddly isolated from the rest of the neighbourhood. The gates open, and you step through—into his world.

#2 - The Parallel

Lee Heeseung is the eldest son of the Lee Group, South Korea's largest and most successful healthcare conglomerate. His father, Lee Daeseong, owns Seoul National Hospital and oversees a vast network of clinics, pharmacies, and even veterinary practices. The Lee family boasts a lineage of healthcare professionals, including renowned doctors, surgeons, psychologists, veterinarians, dentists, and pioneering lab researchers.

They aren’t just limited to healthcare either; the family also controls one of the country’s biggest and most luxurious department stores. This revelation surprises you, given that Heeseung never gave off any impression of being well-off, let alone being the eldest son of one of Korea’s richest and most influential families.

You stare in awe as you stroll along the ridiculously long hallway leading to the main living room. The walls are adorned with certificates, trophies, and commemorative pictures showcasing his family's impressive lineage. With each step, you feel smaller and more intimidated, overwhelmed by the weight of their achievements. If your impression of Heeseung hasn’t shifted by now, this discovery definitely did, but you try your best not to let your nervousness show.

You consider the possible reasons why Heeseung has chosen to hide such a significant part of his life behind closed doors. Maybe he was forced to keep it a secret? That seems plausible as you imagine yourself in his shoes—dealing with strangers sucking up to you, not because they wanted to be friends, but because they wanted a taste of old money and power.

As you painstakingly reach the end of the highly esteemed yet spacious foyer, you emerge into a lavishly furnished living area with high ceilings and large windows that let in an abundance of natural light. It exudes typical rich family vibes: unnecessarily large chandeliers, sofas upholstered in the finest fabrics that stretch for what seems like miles, a TV almost the size of your bed back home mounted on the wall, and a grand piano that likely hasn't been touched in ages, standing elegantly in the corner.

The air is perfumed with a subtle, expensive fragrance, and everything gleams with a polished sheen, making you acutely aware of the disparity between this world and your own. You can't help but feel a little out of place.

A friendly old lady approaches you, her steps soft and practised, offering to take your coat and presenting you with comfortable house slippers to switch out your dirty Air Forces for. "Thank you," you say, bowing slightly, feeling a pang of awkwardness in this palace-like setting. You guess she is well into her 70s, her demeanour warm and welcoming yet impeccably professional.

"The young master is upstairs in his room, the last door in the corridor to the right. Be careful not to make too much noise when you pass by the other rooms; Mr. Lee is resting," she advises, prompting you up the huge flight of stairs leading to the second floor. You gulp at her warning, knowing well that the "Mr. Lee" she refers to is Heeseung's father.

As you ascend the stairs, the opulence of the house continues to impress and intimidate you. Each step you take echoes lightly, the staircase grand and sweeping, lined with a plush carpet that feels luxurious under your feet. The walls are adorned with intricate woodwork and expensive art pieces that seem to whisper stories of the family's history and prestige. Finally, you reach the corridor and make your way to the last door on the right, careful to tread lightly as you pass by the other rooms. Your heart races, not just from the physical exertion but from the anticipation of seeing Heeseung in this new light.

You knock softly on the door, your knuckles barely making a sound on the polished wood. The door opens almost immediately, and Heeseung stands there, a welcoming yet slightly embarrassed smile on his face.

"Hey, you made it." Heeseung greets you, stepping aside to allow you into his room before closing the door behind him. "You sleep here?" you ask, scrutinising your surroundings and taking in the spaciousness of his room. "It's the size of my apartment," you add, fawning in awe.

Heeseung shrugs, seemingly indifferent. "It's alright, I guess? I'm not really home most of the time anyway."

"Oh? Then what made you suggest doing it here?" you inquire, genuinely curious.

"I have a producing studio," he replies nonchalantly as if it's the most normal thing ever to have a fully equipped studio in your house. Given the size of his mansion, you're not entirely surprised. Who knows what other unconventional amenities this dreamhouse has to offer? You nod slowly, still adjusting to the opulent environment.

For a guy, his room is remarkably well-kept and smells surprisingly pleasant. The colour scheme is rather mundane—neutral tones of grey and white, with minimal decorations. It doesn't seem to match the character of Heeseung you've come to know. It feels almost impersonal, more like a pre-decorated hotel room than a college student’s sanctuary.

He gestures for you to take a seat on his bed, and you do so awkwardly. You catch him stealing a glance at your exposed legs, making you wonder if wearing shorts and a t-shirt was the right choice, especially since his room is absolutely freezing. "I can lend you some clothes if it makes you more comfortable," he offers, and your ears perk up at the suggestion. You immediately accept.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of joggers and a hoodie. You throw them over your clothes, and it’s needless to say they are way too big for you. You secure the waistband as tight as you can to keep the joggers from slipping down your hips. The sleeves of his hoodie run all the way past your fingers, enveloping you in the familiar scent that comes along with it—a mixture of fresh morning dew and a hint of teakwood. You revel in the natural yet exotic scent he emanates, a fragrance that even the richest-smelling flowers would stand second to. It feels almost... homely, unlike everything else in this mansion.

"Thanks," you say, adjusting the oversized hoodie. Heeseung gives you a small smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than usual.

"No problem," he replies, his voice softer now. He moves to his desk, cluttered with music equipment and notes.

"Oh right, I really wanted to ask you something," you say, catching Heeseung's attention as he looks up. "I never really pegged you as the musical type, at least not until, you know," you trail off, and he raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue, "When did it... start?"

"You mean the part where I'm actually a self-absorbed womaniser and also an alcoholic raging reveller?" he quips, a teasing glint in his eye.

"You said it, not me," you respond, trying to keep the mood light.

"Why do you want to know?" he asks, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"I mean, if anyone else was in my shoes, knowing what I know, they'd be curious too," you explain. He purses his lips, nodding in agreement with your point.

"Well, I can't tell you when it started because, as far as I know, I've always been like this: partying, drinking, sex. It's fun," he shrugs nonchalantly.

"Right... and I can't get over the fact that those words just came out of your mouth. Pardon me, it's going to take a while for me to adjust to this," you say, flailing your arms to emphasise your point.

"All good, it's a first for me too. I don't think anyone knows about it, except you," he admits.

"So like... you're living your Hannah Montana dreams or what?" you joke. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, and you laugh, feeling proud of your joke.

"Why don't you want people to know?" you ask, your curiosity piqued.

"Because I can't have my father knowing," he shrugs almost emotionlessly. "Typical crazy rich Asian parents whose entire reason to have kids is so they can impose whatever corrupt business they run onto you when they so unwillingly die someday."

"Sounds like shit," you sympathise.

"You have no idea how shit it really feels: having to hide, lie, and endure the harsh reality that I'll never be able to break free from the grasp of my birth giver. Not everybody gets the freedom to enjoy doing what they want like you do," he says, his voice tinged with bitterness.

You inhale sharply, realising you've touched a sensitive topic. However, you can't help but see yourself in him. "You'd be surprised to know that I actually do."

"How so? You literally have everything: you're pretty, you have good grades, you're popular, you can do whatever the fuck you want, and nobody is going to question you," he retorts. It hits you that even Lee Heeseung can't tell apart your egos. You must have put up a hell of a show to convince someone as sceptical as him.

"You think I'm pretty? I'm honoured, sir," you joke, not wanting to escalate the tension that was so evidently present in the room. Luckily for you, swerving topics is a long-honed skill of yours, having been in similar situations with your friends. Heeseung takes the hint and lets it slide.

Heeseung can't help but notice that he somehow always manages to put his guard down whenever you're around. It's unusual, more like a once-in-a-lifetime situation for him to accidentally lash out and even trauma dump on somebody. He wonders how you could have that type of effect on him when he barely even knows you.

"Enough moping around, let's get started!" you clap, breaking the awkward silence that has enveloped the room. Heeseung hurriedly agrees, and the two of you set off on your own research for ideas and inspiration.

As you scroll through a myriad of pop songs on the web, all of which somehow sound the same, you hear a faint humming despite your headphones pressing firmly around your ears. The sound is angelic, a stark contrast to the not-so-angelic person emitting it, that you think you must be hearing things. "You sing?" you ask, intrigued.

"Sorry, I didn't notice I was humming out loud," Heeseung responds, looking slightly embarrassed.

"Nah, you're good. What song were you humming? It's got a catchy melody," you say, slowly taking off your headphones. He awkwardly chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at you, almost embarrassed.

"It's actually a song I've been working on. It's nothing much, though. I was just humming it subconsciously," he admits.

"It's really good," you’re generous with your praise, not able to get the melody out of your head. He turns to look at you, clearly unconvinced. "I mean it." For a few seconds, you and Heeseung just stare at each other, neither willing to look away first.

Your heartbeat speeds up, and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks, tinting them with a shade of pink. The room feels charged with an energy you can’t quite place. You look so divine sitting on his bed and praising his voice that Heeseung feels like he could tell you anything in the world, and you would still be sitting there, listening attentively to him.

"Thanks," he says, looking away shyly, now hyper-aware of your soft gaze on him. An epiphany strikes you as you realise that this is the inspiration you've been looking for, so you waste no time suggesting it to him.

"Actually, why don't we just produce it into an actual song? I think it'll turn out well."

"You think so? Won't it be too... I don't know, ballad-ish?" His interest is piqued when he sits upright after all this time.

"Who said we have to stick to making boring pop music?" you say, placing your hands on your hips in a jokingly menacing way. He laughs, the sound warming you.

"I'm fine with it, if you are," he says, looking expectantly at you. You nod and a huge smile creeps onto his face. You wonder if this is really the same Heeseung you met in that shady alley the day you discovered his alter ego. Because all you see in front of you is an overly excited boy, whose passion for music outweighs any nerdy stereotype or frat boy persona you once held against him.

At that moment, a saying from your psychology professor comes to mind:

"If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change."

Was it just you, or does Heeseung remind you a lot of, well... you?

As you and Heeseung toil away on the song for hours, the room gradually darkens with the fading light outside. With a sigh of frustration, you crumple yet another failed attempt at lyrics, tossing it aside. Draft after draft, the words blur together, leaving you more lost with each attempt compared to the last.

"If I write the word 'love' one more time, I might actually lose it," you grumble, running your hands through your hair and leaning back against the headboard, eyes closed. Heeseung, noticing your weariness, suggests calling it a day. Both of you have been so immersed in your work that time has slipped away unnoticed.

"I'll finish writing this verse, and then I'll leave," you declare, sitting up straight and stretching your arms and fingers as if you’re preparing for war. Rightfully so as it’s a mental battle at this point.

Unbeknownst to you, Heeseung has been watching you intently for a while now, his gaze filled with a mix of admiration and intrigue. Seeing you draped in his oversized hoodie, diligently working on a song that on paper, wouldn’t even benefit you the slightest, captivates him.

Today, Heeseung is the one who gets a glimpse of a different side of you—one that isn’t defined by alcohol-fueled escapades on the dance floor. He finds it admirable how you remain dedicated to your studies despite your popularity. He knows you’re genuinely passionate about pursuing psychology; he sees it in your active participation in class, although it's often misconstrued by others as seeking attention or being humorous, the intention isn’t lost on him.

Today's experience solidifies for him that you're more than just a pretty face, and witnessing your dedication cements his respect for you. Watching you research and write for hours shows him that you truly enjoy learning. How does he know? Because he's much like you, albeit in a different field. While you delve into the study of the human mind and behaviour, Heeseung pours his heart and soul into music—the one thing that keeps him grounded at home, if it can even be called that.

"I've heard so many sappy and depressing ballads, I’m convinced I might end up depressed myself," you confess, crumpling yet another sheet of paper in frustration as you catch Heeseung’s gaze. Heeseung, recalling a past conversation, approaches you with a proposition.

"You know… about that offer you made me that day, is it still on the table?” He stands up, making his way over to you on the bed. You tilt your head, not quite sure what he’s referring to.

“Offer?”

“The one about being called the party queen for a reason?" He prompts, extending his hand out to you. You’re surprised, not expecting him to remember your words that were carelessly spilt from your mouth that day. You didn’t even think he’d take it seriously.

"But it's a Sunday night, and we have class tomorrow."

"So what?"

"Well, shouldn't we be getting some rest?"

"Come on, Y/N, it'll be a nice break from all this. Maybe we'll even find some inspiration," Heeseung persuades, knowing you've entertained the idea yourself. After all, you’ve been drowning yourself in sappy romantic ballads the past three hours or so, that you actually yearn for the club music you despised so much. “Don’t tell me you’re going back on your words now?” Heeseung provokes you, and just like the people pleaser you are, you sigh and agree.

Heeseung suggests a discreet club not far from his home, and as you step inside, the air buzzes with an electric energy. It’s immediately clear to you that this is no ordinary club, and the probability of running into a familiar face is slim, almost close to zero. The most obvious telltale being the aura of sophistication exuded by the clientele, dressed in boujee and classy bejewelled statements that speak of wealth and privilege rather than cheap mini dresses or skirts. If you felt out of place in your casual t-shirt and denim shorts, it's because you are.

"Mr. Lee, I didn't know you'd be coming tonight," the bartender addresses Heeseung, clearly recognising him. You assume he must be a regular for the bartender to call him "Mr. Lee."

"It was on short notice. Don't tell my father though," Heeseung’s playful wink is met with a knowing smile from the bartender, their interaction hinting at a shared history or inside joke.

"So, what? Your family owns clubs now?"

"Not exactly, but I'd like to think we almost run this place. The hospital employees frequent this joint so much that it's become a bit of a Lee thing," Heeseung explains kindly, his tone tinged with a hint of pride. "It's also the only entertainment establishment I’m allowed in without being questioned by my father. If I'm going to be seen partying, it might as well be with the elites, am I right?" He shrugs.

As Heeseung's words sink in, you nod slowly, still processing the layers of his rich boy persona. The revelation adds another dimension to your understanding of his world and the complexities of his affluent background, where even leisure activities come with the weight of familial expectations and scrutiny.

Without warning, he pulls you onto the dance floor, and you can't help but remember the day you first spotted him in the crowd. You recall the look on his face when he locked eyes with you and how attractive he seemed that night. Although he still strikes you today, it's not as remarkable as he appeared the last time you saw him in this setting.

Considering that both of you practically rushed out of his mansion, he's only thrown on a plain top and a black leather jacket. His tousled hair is subtly parted down the middle, exposing his doe eyes that you've grown to appreciate. As you watch him move to the music, a pang of self-consciousness washes over you, thinking if you had something nicer to wear, you’d be turning heads by now.

"Okay, party queen, show me what you got!" Heeseung hollers, his hand firmly clasping yours as he twirls you around the dance floor with practised ease. You can't help but let out a delighted laugh, your heart quickening with the thrill of the moment. "Are you sure? I'm not easy to handle," you tease, raising an eyebrow in a playful challenge.

Undeterred by your jest, Heeseung pulls you closer by the waist. The warmth of his touch on your sides sends a shiver down your spine as you find yourself drawn into him.

Refusing to let him take control of the situation, you play tricks of your own as you throw your arms over his shoulders, drawing yourselves closer as the music pulses around you.

To your surprise, Heeseung doesn't even flinch. Instead, he envelops you in his arms, his hands now resting comfortably on the small of your back. As you gaze up at him, you catch a smirk playing on his lips. Clearly, he's no stranger to your dance floor prowess, and anyone who knows you knows that you can make any guy fold in an instant just by looking into their eyes for a little over three seconds. Well, three seconds pass and Heeseung’s gaze is still locked on yours with an undeniable spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You're enjoying this more than I expected," you tease, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"I literally have the esteemed party queen right in front of me, who wouldn't?" Heeseung's response is met with a roll of your eyes, though you can’t deny the flutter of excitement in your chest at his words.

"You're annoyingly flattering, you know that?" Your voice raised slightly above the music as you playfully jab his chest. He reacts with exaggerated surprise, bumping into a nearby patron who shoots you both a disdainful look, their gaze staying on you a second longer, undoubtedly judging your attire.

Ignoring the snide glance, you and Heeseung share a knowing look before bursting into laughter. "Seems she's allergic to your impressive choice of clothing," Heeseung quips, earning an unimpressed scoff from you.

"Please, if you had given me a heads up, I'd probably be the best dressed in this shithole," you retort with a mock huff, crossing your arms in front of you. Heeseung can't help but find your playful indignation utterly endearing, though he's careful not to let it show.

As you stand there, feigning annoyance but unable to conceal the playful glint in your eye, Heeseung feels a surge of affection wash over him. Despite the glamorous setting of the club and the pretentious glances from some of the other patrons, he finds himself drawn to you—an average college girl in a place clearly out of her league, sticking out like a sore thumb among the elites.

Suppressing a smile, he reaches out to gently nudge your arm, his touch light and reassuring. "Come on now, you’ll be turning heads dressed up or not," he says softly, his words sincere. In that moment, amidst the pulsating music and the dimly lit dance floor, he realises just how much he enjoys your company, your playful banter, and your unapologetic presence by his side.

The night was still relatively young, at least in your vocabulary, and just when you thought you had seen every side of this man, he managed to surprise you yet again. He dominates the dance floor with such confidence that you can't help but feel a twinge of competitiveness, sensing your throne as the party queen being challenged. Yet, there's something undeniably endearing about the sight of him, his smile radiant as he sings and dances with indifference to the music.

However, your admiration falters and you assume your eyes are deceiving you when you catch him dancing up against multiple girls, his eyes clouded with lust as he checks them out. From the intense intimacy you shared in his room earlier, dancing the night away was the last thing you expected. Yet, here you are, caught in the whirlwind of the moment.

As you sway to the music, you feel a presence coming up behind you, a young man presumably in his late twenties. You didn’t reject his advances so he takes it as a positive sign to move closer with each step. Turning around, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, swaying your hips in sync with his. His response is palpable, and you revel in the power you hold over him, whispering sweet nothings into his neck as he shivers under your breath.

You chuckle subtly to yourself as you look up from the man, locking gazes with a pair of eyes you know all too well. Meanwhile, Heeseung, wrapped in the arms of another girl, stares intensely over her shoulder at your interaction with the stranger. For a fleeting moment, he imagines himself holding you, corrupting you in ways only he knows how. Sensing your gaze, he quickly diverts his attention, forcefully grabbing the jaw of the girl in front of him, kissing down her neck with a calculated intensity that surprises even you.

Shocked by his sudden display, you feel a surge of heat coursing through your body. Refusing to attribute it to him, you take matters into your own hands. You start sucking on the skin of the guy in front of you, tasting the salty remains of his perspiration that makes you cringe a little as you feel him melt into your arms. Oh, the power you have over men.

All the while, your eyes remain locked with Heeseung's, a silent challenge passing between you. In that moment, he realises the depth of the connection between you, a connection that transcends mere attraction and borders on something far more dangerous. And as he watches the scene unfold, a sense of déjà vu washes over him.

You remind him of someone, someone he knows all too well—an uncanny resemblance to… himself.

Heeseung and you stumble out of the club sometime after midnight, giggling and visibly intoxicated as you lean on each other for support. He stands there, slightly swaying, with his leather jacket slung over his shoulder, a goofy smile plastered on his face. In this moment, he seems carefree and boyish, a stark contrast to the different facets of his personality you've come to know. Heeseung is a man of many faces, and you have had the honour of witnessing them all... well, almost all.

You gaze at him endearingly, reflecting on how your relationship with Heeseung has changed so drastically in just a matter of weeks. The two of you barely knew each other before; you were practically strangers with only a superficial understanding of one another. Come to think of it, you don't even know his favorite colour. However, the connection between you feels like you've known him for a lifetime, and you're sure Heeseung feels the same way.

As you stand there, the world spinning slightly from the alcohol, you reflect on how Heeseung has become a cornerstone of your life. There's a comfort in his presence that allows you to be vulnerable, showing him sides of yourself you wouldn't normally reveal to anyone else. He, in turn, seems to trust you implicitly with his deepest, darkest secrets (literally).

Not wanting this magical moment to end, you discreetly pull out your phone. You aim the camera at Heeseung, capturing him in all his glory—his tousled hair, his bright eyes, the unguarded joy on his face. The click of the camera shutter is soft, almost imperceptible, but the image it captures is one you know you'll treasure forever.

You are so caught up in angling your phone so the street lamp highlights his features perfectly that you don't even notice when Heeseung turns his attention to you. His smile softens as he watches you, a tender look in his eyes that catches you off guard when you finally glance up.

Snap.

"You know I'm right here in the flesh, right? Why look through a picture when you can experience the real thing?" Heeseung smirks, his eyes twinkling with mischief as you fumble with your phone, quickly hiding it behind your back. His chuckle makes your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Come on, I'll take you home," he says, already starting to walk away before you have a chance to protest.

"You don't really have to," you say nervously, catching up to him. He looks down at you, his warm smile making your heart skip a beat.

"It's the least I can do after dragging you out here with me. Besides, it's getting late," he replies, his voice gentle and reassuring. You fiddle with your fingernails and nod in defeat, grateful but slightly flustered.

The walk home is quiet, but it's a comforting silence, filled with unspoken words of affirmation and the soft hum of the city at night. Your outfit isn't exactly ideal for the chilly fall weather, and you mentally face-palm when you realise you left your coat at Heeseung's place. The cold seeps in, making you shiver beneath the featureless grey clouds that blanket the streets of Seoul.

Suddenly, you feel a rough, heavy material fall over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth. Heeseung has placed his leather jacket on you after noticing your visible shivering. "Idiot, you should've worn something warmer," he scolds lightly, his concern evident in his eyes.

You chuckle, feeling a surge of gratitude and a warm blush spreading across your cheeks. "I didn't think it'd be this cold already. Also, I didn't exactly plan to stay out this long," you retort playfully, shooting him a mock glare. He smiles sheepishly, his own cheeks tinged with a faint pink.

As you continue walking, you find yourself sneaking glances at Heeseung, marveling at how quickly he has become such an important part of your life. The leather jacket smells like him, a comforting mix of cologne, cigarettes and something uniquely Heeseung. It feels like a protective embrace, and you can't help but feel a little giddy.

In what seems like no time, you find yourself standing in front of your apartment building. Heeseung glances around, surprised at how quickly the walk seemed to pass. It felt like thirty minutes, yet somehow it seems like barely half that. You reluctantly hand his jacket back, feeling the warmth linger on your skin. "Thank you," you say, genuinely grateful and a bit sad to see the night end.

"Anytime," he replies with a soft smile, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary. You bid him goodbye and head into the building, feeling his eyes on you until you enter the lift.

Heeseung puts on his leather jacket, now imbued with hints of your perfume. The scent lingers, a comforting reminder of the night. As he walks back home through the bustling streets, his mind is filled with the events of the evening, a smile playing on his lips. The city lights blur around him, and he can't help but feel that tonight was the start of something truly special.

Just as you had thought, clubbing the night before a school day probably wasn't the smartest idea, but if you were being honest with yourself, you had no regrets. After that night, you felt a noticeable shift in your relationship with Heeseung, and it was definitely a positive one. So many things were left unsaid, but there was no need for words; you both just knew.

It didn't come as much of a surprise when you and Heeseung stopped avoiding each other on campus. In fact, the two of you were practically inseparable, spending every possible moment together. Some might even think you were dating. That wouldn't sound so bad, except for the fact that your reputations were complete opposites—the party girl and the goody-two-shoes show-off? Unfortunately, you weren't the only one who thought it was an odd pairing.

"Y/N, what's up with you and the smart aleck?" Yunjin asks as she sits down across from you, joining Sakura and Chaewon in their persistent quest to dig up whatever you might be hiding about Heeseung.

"First off, his name is Heeseung," you sigh, shifting over to make room for Sunghoon, who sits next to you. "And there's absolutely nothing going on."

"Mhm..." Yunjin props her chin on her fingers, clearly not convinced by your half-hearted answer.

"Look, we're just working together on a project and got to know each other. He's actually a decent person, so there's no need for me to push him away. There's nothing more to it," you explain, trying to sound casual.

Sakura squints her eyes, staring intently into your soul like the lie detector she is. You realise you're holding your breath, feeling an unexpected wave of nervousness. Why are you so anxious? It's not like you're lying. When Sakura finally smiles, you silently release a breath of relief, thankful that her smile seems to have debunked the suspicions of the other girls.

"Okay, okay, we'll drop it... for now," Chaewon says, grinning mischievously.

"Speak of the devil," Yunjin says, pointing. You follow her gaze and, lo and behold, there’s Lee Heeseung with his attention on you and your group of friends. You smile and wave, which he gladly acknowledges, waving back and reminding you of your appointment later to continue working on the song you had to abruptly pause the other day.

As you watch him walk over to his own group of friends not too far away, you can hear his sweet laughter over the noise of the bustling cafeteria. Your body is at the table, reacting to your friends' conversations, but your soul is patently somewhere else, drawn to Heeseung.

"To be honest, he's actually not bad looking," Yunjin says, shrugging her shoulders and bringing up Heeseung again, which catches your attention. "If only he wasn't so annoyingly unlikeable. There's only so far a pretty face can get you." Your friends nod along with Yunjin's statement, and you suck in a quick breath, trying to hide your frustration. It affects you how your friends think of Heeseung, but you feel helpless to change their minds. After all, you've told them he's nothing more than a mere friend.

"Now that guy beside him," Yunjin nods towards the younger-looking boy beside Heeseung, "he could hit me up anytime." You roll your eyes at her usual flirty antics; she never fails to check out any decent-looking guy within her preying vision.

"I believe his name is Jake," Sunghoon pipes up, surprising you since he usually never joins in on your girly talks.

"Jake Sim? As in the famously smart junior from the faculty of health sciences?" Chaewon asks, and Yunjin seems intrigued.

"Yeah, you heard about him, Chaewon?"

"Of course, everyone from HS has heard his name before. He's famous for being the guy who tried to resurrect a rat during his dissection practicum, though it didn't exactly work out," Chaewon explains. You, being from the same faculty, struggle to recall ever hearing about this 'Jake.'

"He WHAT?" Yunjin bursts out laughing as Chaewon shrugs her shoulders. "Honestly, I don't even know. What I do know is, he's a total softie and extremely humble, unlike his best friend."

"I'm glad you and Lee Heeseung aren't what I thought you guys were. It'd be detrimental to your reputation if you were ever involved with him in that way,"

"Thanks for the concern, Yunjin, but I can take care of myself," you reply, standing up with your tray of almost untouched food. You excuse yourself, saying you don't have much of an appetite. Thankfully, your friends don't think much of it. Sunghoon, however, catches the tension lifting your shoulders and can't help but feel like you're hiding more than you let on—maybe even facts that you yourself aren't fully aware of.

As you walk away, you steal one last glance at Heeseung. He's engrossed in conversation with his friends, but for a brief moment, he looks up and your eyes meet. There's a spark of something unspoken, something that makes your heart race and your mind whirl with possibilities.

A week has passed since that weirdly infuriating conversation with your friends, and during this time, you've done a lot of thinking... like a lot. It bothers you how much their words about Heeseung affected you more than you'd like to admit. It's true that your relationship with him has changed in ways you never expected, but he was nothing more than a friend—friends who share life-changing secrets, but still, just friends.

I mean, you were just looking out for a good friend, right? It was out of your guilty conscience that you couldn't sit there and listen to your friends talk smack about someone they clearly didn't know two shits about. Your friendship with Heeseung has advanced to something more than just surface-level "heys" and "how's your day?" So, clearly, your friends were wrong for judging him based on stereotypes and rumours... right?

You find yourself running away from the answer you so desperately seek, but all you can think about is—do Heeseung's friends talk about you that way too? Do they see you as an attention-seeking whore, a chronic people-pleaser, a clubbing maniac with an alcohol addiction? If they do, does he defend you like you did for him?

The answer would be ‘yes’, because Heeseung had just as much of a week as you did, with his friends constantly asking about you. Each time, he gave them the same exact answer: "We're just working on a project together." It disturbed him how even people he barely knew felt compelled to ask about you, some going as far as inquiring if you were any good in bed. It saddens him that this is the impression people have of you when he knows you are so much more than just the girl who parties a lot. He wonders if you are aware of the things people say about you, and all he can hope for is that you stay blissfully ignorant of it.

You've been avoiding your friends since that day in the cafeteria, not because of what they said, but because of how you reacted. The intensity of your feelings scared you, and you dread being put in that same predicament again if they inevitably bring up Heeseung.

Your friends didn't sense anything off about your behaviour that day, and you don't blame them. After all, you've been hiding your true feelings from day one; you're far from an open book, and your friends know about as much about you as the strangers you walk past every single day.

However, a week of avoiding your friends did made them question if something went wrong, especially since you were so active around Heeseung but shied away whenever one of them approached you. Their concern grew, but it didn't last long when you showed up at the weekly frat party, best dressed as always.

You couldn't let this setback ruin the reputation you had worked so hard to build and keep, so you decided to suck it up, put on the sluttiest mini dress you owned, and went to work.

The party is in full swing when you arrive, the bass from the speakers vibrating through your body. You make an entrance, turning heads as you stride confidently through the throngs of partygoers. Your friends spot you almost immediately, their expressions a mix of relief and curiosity.

"Y/N! There you are! We were starting to worry," Yunjin calls out, waving you over.

You flash a dazzling smile, pushing away the nervous flutter in your stomach. "Hey, guys! Sorry, I've been a bit busy," you say, trying to keep your tone light and breezy.

Sakura raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Busy with Heeseung, huh?"

You laugh it off, though the comment hits closer to home than you care to admit. "We've just been working on our project. Nothing more."

The conversation shifts as your friends drag you to the dance floor, the thumping music drowning out any further interrogation. You lose yourself in the rhythm, your body moving to the beat, the worries of the past week melting away under the flashing lights and the haze of alcohol. Yet, even as you dance, you can't help but scan the room for Heeseung even though you know he can never be caught dead at a frat party. It's just become a habit, this unconscious need to know where he is, what he's doing.

Heeseung isn’t any better, constantly refreshing his Instagram feed to catch the latest updates on what you were up to. It’s not difficult, considering you were everywhere on everyone’s stories. Heeseung scrolls through the endless array of posts, his smile tinged with an emotion he can't quite place. He watches you chugging a glass of beer in Sakura's story, admiring the way you dance on the floor in Jay's, and even feeling a tinge of jealousy at the closeness you had with guys other than himself. Despite the show of carefree revelry, he knows you'd rather be working late into the night on the song you two were supposed to be writing together.

“What a life you have, Y/N,” Heeseung mutters to himself, laying back on the fluffy comforter that still carries the faint scent of you from your last visit. He hasn’t changed it out, clinging to the lingering trace of your presence, finding an unexpected comfort in it. He wishes you were right there beside him.

He closes his eyes, picturing your laughter filling the room, the way your eyes light up when you're excited about something. He imagines you working together on the song, bouncing ideas off each other, and the comfortable silence that often falls between you when words aren’t necessary.

A sigh escapes his lips as he grapples with these feelings, pondering if you feel the same way, if you think about him when you're out with your friends or if he even crosses your mind at all. The thought of you being surrounded by other people, especially guys who don't understand you the way he does, makes him uneasy.

Unlike you, he was fully aware of the tension between you two, a tension that screamed "more than friends." Despite this awareness, he had no immediate plans to act on it. Then again, things don't always go according to plan, do they?

You cannot begin to explain how thankful you are for Heeseung's perfect excuse to bail you out of this messy alcoholic galore. "Chaewon! I have to go!" you shout over the music, pushing your way through the crowd to get to her. "What? Why? It's not even midnight yet!"

"Something went wrong with the project file I'm working on!" Chaewon pouts, clearly disappointed that you can't stay longer. "Can't you stay a little while longer? I think they're popping the expensive bottles soon!"

"I can't, I’ve spent way too much time on it to lose it now!" You feel a pang of guilt for having to come up with yet another lie. Every time you swear to yourself that you won't do it again, but it happens so often that it has just become second nature.

"Sorry!" you say, downing the last of your beer and setting the glass down on the counter beside Chaewon. "You're good, I guess it can't be helped! I'll let the rest know you had to leave earlier, don't worry about it!" You mentally thank the angel that is Kim Chaewon for not questioning you any further. You hurriedly gather your belongings and make your way out of the house.

You’ve walked the halls of Heeseung’s mansion and knocked on the door of his room more times than you could count on one hand. However, this time you’re standing at the head of his door not because you can't wait to bombard him with ideas and song lyrics for your project, but because he simply wanted to hang out—just the two of you, in his room.

"Hey, you made it," he greets, opening the door. That familiar musky scent washes over you, and you notice how he stands there silently, staring at you—or rather, what you’re wearing.

"I couldn't change on my way here," you blurt out. You didn't really have to, but you find the need to explain yourself to him. You feel so vulnerable under his gaze, and you’re not sure if it's the alcohol kicking in that makes your body heat up or the fact that Heeseung is blatantly checking you out. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to turn up in front of him, visibly tipsy and wearing the most inappropriate thing you own.

"Come in, I’ll grab something for you to change into," Heeseung says, stepping aside and gesturing for you to close the door after you. You stand awkwardly in the middle of his room, waiting for him to return. In this short time frame, you can feel yourself sobering up in the quietness of his space. You wish you had drunk a bit more so you wouldn't be so hyper-aware of the tension that has conveniently presented itself within these walls.

After what feels like hours, Heeseung returns with a newly-washed hoodie. You recognise it as the one he always lends you when you come over. The hoodie is as much yours as it is his at this point.

"Why are you just standing there like that? It’s not like it’s your first time here anyway," Heeseung says, throwing himself onto the bed and gesturing for you to sit beside him. 

You pull the hoodie over your head, feeling the soft fabric envelop you in its familiar warmth. The scent of Heeseung clings to it, making you feel a strange mix of comfort and nervousness. You awkwardly shift next to him, the bed dipping under your combined weight as he chuckles softly, amused at how differently you’re acting in front of him.

You mentally thank Heeseung for his insanely perfect proportions that his hoodie covered all the way down to your thighs, especially as you feel your dress riding up your hips when you sit down. 

"Seemed like you were having a lot of fun. Didn't really expect you to actually show up," Heeseung says, grabbing the mid-sized soft toy sitting at the edge of his bed and placing it on your lap.

Chuckling, you play with the ears of the teddy bear. "You know damn well I’d rather be working on that song with you. Though we’re not actually doing anything right now..." Heeseung laughs, clearly satisfied that he knows you so well. It makes him feel special.

"Don’t get so cocky now," you smirk, looking at him.

"You think I don’t know you missed me so much you took the opportunity to invite me over even though you knew I was out?" You raise an eyebrow, intentionally teasing him. It has become a running joke between the two of you that Heeseung has some sort of infatuation towards you. He texts you over every little thing, and you, being embarrassingly awkward and heavily influenced by your flirtatious lifestyle, make a joke out of it.

Heeseung doesn’t deny it, though. Maybe he really does feel some sort of attraction toward you, one that’s more than merely sexual.

"What were you doing before I came over?" you ask, your curiosity piqued as you play with the teddy bear, moving its limbs in circular motions like a mini b-boy dance routine.

"Thinking," Heeseung replies, staring at you absentmindedly.

"About?"

"You," he says simply.

You turn to face him, a little too quickly for your liking. You don't want to seem shocked or flustered, so you keep your composure. Snickering, you try to play it off as a harmless tease. "Your awful attempts at seduction won't work on me, Heeseung."

"I didn't say it would be easy," he shrugs, casually picking a piece of lint off the sleeve of your—well, technically his—hoodie.

"You're such a flirt. How do the people around you not notice that trait of yours?"

"I'm a pretty convincing actor if I do say so myself," he says, dramatically brushing his fingers through his hair. "Better than you even."

"Puh-lease, even Angelina Jolie has nothing on me," you retort, joining in the act by dramatically flipping your hair in his direction, inadvertently smacking him in the face.

"Why are you here again?"

"Shut up, don’t act like you weren’t the one begging me to come over."

"Ha! You wish you had that power over me," you say, not realising how close you've gotten to Heeseung during your playful banter. He stares directly into your eyes, and you're not sure if he's being dense or just incredibly bold, but he shows no intention of breaking the eye contact. You lose the unintended battle when the intensity becomes too much as you fold and look away first.

"You're unbearable," you mutter, returning to fiddling with the teddy bear now sprawled gracelessly on your lap.

"I know," Heeseung replies, a smirk playing on his lips. “But you're right. I did want you here. It’s just… nice having you around, and not having the silence in this house deafen me once in a while.”

His honesty takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. "Well, I’m here now," you say softly, meeting his gaze.

“Okay, but you were the one who willingly showed up at my doorstep, so who's the one begging?”

“And you're back to being annoying,” you roll your eyes in mockery.

Heeseung laughs, the sound light and genuine. "Can't help it. It’s part of my charm."

"How does Jake even tolerate you?" you ask, carelessly name-dropping the Jake that you and your friends talked about the other day—the Jake he has never once mentioned to you. You mentally curse yourself the moment you realise your slip-up.

"Oh? How do you know Jake?" 

"Everyone from HS knows him. He's pretty popular, didn’t you know?" You try to play it cool, channelling your inner Angelina Jolie, but your calm demeanour always seems to crumble around Heeseung. Unlike everyone else, Heeseung can read you like a book.

"Mhm..." He raises his eyebrows, smirking, and you know you've been caught. "To be fair, it wasn't me, more like Yunjin and Chaewon," you say, mentally apologising to your friends for throwing them under the bus. The last thing you want is for Lee Heeseung to think that you’re interested in him.

"Sure it was," he says with a benevolent smile, letting you off the hook. 

"So, what kind of person is Jake?" you ask, trying to shift the conversation and cover your slip-up, after all you're a professional topic changer (or so you think). Heeseung doesn't tease you, sensing your semi-embarrassment at having exposed yourself for talking about him when he isn’t around.

"He's basically like the little brother I never had," Heeseung says, and you notice the corners of his lips lift as he talks about Jake. There's a softness in his expression that you hadn't seen before, a genuine affection that seems to light up his face. "He's had my back ever since middle school."

"The two of you must be very close then?" you prompt, curious about the depth of their relationship.

"Yeah... I mean, we do fight here and there, but it was never that serious. That was our friendship: equal parts irritation and cooperation," he trails off, a fondness in his eyes as he speaks. The way he talks about Jake, with such nostalgia and warmth, makes you realise how precious their friendship is to him. You can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, wishing you had someone who spoke about you with the same reverence.

"Which is why it would absolutely break my heart if he finds out I've been lying to him this entire time," he adds, his smile turning tender yet strained.

"You've never told him?" you ask, not wanting to be that person but realising you both are doing the exact same thing to the people you care about. Were you really such horrible people? Is it so wrong to be someone that you're clearly not?

"I couldn't bear to," Heeseung's usual imperious tone vanishes, replaced with a melancholic hint as if he’s on the brink of breaking down. "He looks up to me not just as someone older than him; he told me I was his role model." The tension in his voice is palpable, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Heeseung's usually confident demeanour falter, revealing a vulnerability that catches you off guard. He’s always been the one with the answers, the one in control, and seeing him like this stirs something deep within you.

His voice wavers, and you feel the weight of his words. "Now what kind of person would I be if I told him that his role model is actually a delinquent who smokes and drinks his life away, on top of that doing everything behind his parents' backs?" Heeseung shifts his gaze from his fingernails toward you, but this time you don’t look away—you can’t. The Lee Heeseung you knew was confident, arrogant, and sometimes a total douchebag, so to see him so helpless, with pain so evidently present in his speech, completely breaks your heart.

You feel an overwhelming sense of empathy, realising that Heeseung, like you, is struggling with his own contradictions and fears. The façade he maintains is just as fragile as yours, and for the first time, you see him not as the perfect student or the flawless person but as someone who is deeply flawed and painfully human.

"Heeseung," you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "You’re not a bad person. We all have things we regret, things we’re not proud of. But those don’t define who we are entirely. Jake looks up to you because he sees something good in you, something worth admiring. Maybe it’s time you start seeing that in yourself too."

Heeseung's eyes soften, and you can see the conflict in them. He wants to believe you, to find solace in your words, but the weight of his guilt and shame holds him back. "It's hard," he admits. "Living up to everyone's expectations. Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning."

You want him to know he isn't alone, that you relate to him, and that it's okay not to be okay. You try to convey this through your eyes, but this time, he’s the one who looks away first.

"Why do you think I attend all these parties?" you ask, your words heavy with emotion, urging Heeseung to look up at you. "Because you're stressed out about school and it's your stress reliever, isn't it?"

"That's where you're wrong, Heeseung," you reply, noticing the little arch forming on his eyebrows. You let out a giggle. "I club because that's what people expect me to do." You look solemnly at the teddy bear in your arms, as if speaking to it could somehow bring you comfort.

"Expect you to do...?"

"Because the popular girl is supposed to be fun and carefree, the life of every party. She's not supposed to be talking to self-absorbed smart alecs," you turn toward him as you finish your sentence, "because I'm that popular girl."

"Y'know, if my mom and dad saw me in this dress in some shady club downtown, they'd pack me up in a box and ship me off to North Korea," you joke lightly, not wanting the mood to spoil any more than it already has. "And honestly, I think my source of stress actually comes from me clubbing." You shrug it off, making it seem like no big deal. After all, you’re used to pretending to be somebody you’re not.

Heeseung, however, stares at you wistfully, his lips parted in surprise. This entire time he thought clubbing was something you enjoyed, a way to reduce your stress. He believed that the times you'd refuse to party were because you were caught up with submissions or exams. Your words strike him deeply, and it hurts him to think that you have to hear and endure the shit that comes out of people’s mouths about you that isn’t really… well, you.

"Your friends know about it?" Heeseung asks cautiously, aware of how close you and your friends are. He’s taken aback when you shamefully shake your head, your gaze fixed on the bear in your lap.

"Just like you, I couldn't bear to tell them. They'd be disappointed. Chaewon especially would beat herself up for not noticing," your voice is barely above a whisper, but in the silence of his room, it’s all he can hear. He feels the weight of your confession, the awkwardness overflowing the edges of the room. Not wanting to push it any further, you put on the smile you’ve perfected over the years.

Heeseung's expression softens, understanding dawning in his eyes. He reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "But you’re so much more than that," he says quietly. "You don’t have to be what everyone expects. You can just be you."

"I'm not trying to get your attention or sound pitiful. I just want you to know that you're not alone in this, Heeseung. I know how it feels to be helpless, thinking that the only way around it is to make up more lies to cover up the ones you've already told," you say, your gaze locking firmly onto his. Neither of you is willing to look away.

“We all feel like that at times. But you have people who care about you, who see the real you, even when you can’t see it yourself. And Jake—if he truly admires you, he’ll understand. He’ll still look up to you, maybe even more so for your honesty.” Heeseung nods slowly, absorbing your words. The vulnerability in his eyes makes your heart ache, and you wish you could take away his pain. “And it doesn't have to be now or tomorrow that we come clean about it. Hell, it might never even happen. So, don't blame yourself for it. If you do, you have to blame me too..."

You notice his face inching closer with every word that escapes your now quivering lips. You’re not sure whether he’s doing it intentionally or if he’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t realise your noses are touching, your lips just inches apart.

"Y-you don't have to tell Jake about it if you don't want to. I just wanted you to know that," your voice is breathless, probably inaudible if Heeseung wasn’t literally in your face. "So now that I know that you know that I know..." your train of thought derails with the distraction at hand. You bring your hand up to his chest in an attempt to wake him from whatever daze you think he’s in.

"I wouldn’t have to worry—"

He’s in no daze.

In the short one-and-a-half months that you’ve known this man, he’s reached into the deepest parts of your soul and connected them with his own, all before you even knew what his hands felt like. Despite what the majority say, despite everyone insisting that the two of you don’t belong together, you’re sitting here, body to body, chest to chest, hands in his, his hands on yours, and it feels so right.

So right that somehow, against all the wrongs you’ve been writing, you’re kissing him. You close your eyes, slowly drowning out the world around you; all the noise, the expectations, all the lies fade into white noise. In this moment, it’s just the two of you, raw and vulnerable.

You relish the familiar scent of teakwood and the fragrant floral scent of his laundry detergent. You also pick up the tangy smell of cigarettes lingering on his body, all of which drive you completely crazy.

The intensity of his kiss is indescribable, almost as if all the paths in the world have led to this very moment, and no matter how hard you or Heeseung try to stray away from it, you’ll always find your way back. He tugs on your arm, pulling you closer until you nearly fall onto his lap. He holds you so tightly, as if afraid you might run off. The sense of desperation he exudes is almost hungry, and you show him just how hungry you are for him too.

His arms slide around your waist, pulling you even closer. You swing your legs over him so that you are now straddling him, your arms running up his chest and around the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. Your lips move in unison, in a rhythmic silence that only the two of you can hear, speaking a language that only your souls understand.

There is a connection between you two that is so strong and priceless that the universe refuses to keep you apart. Heeseung moves back from your lips, but only far enough to catch a glimpse of your eyes, which remind him of the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on the ceiling of his room in an unfathomable mural.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes flicker between his darkened gaze and his lips, now swollen from your bites. To Heeseung, describing you as beautiful feels like an understatement. Everything about you is so foreign to him, yet so familiar. Maybe it’s the stories you’ve shared, the hurt, the longing for freedom that instigates that sense of familiarity.

He presses his lips back onto yours, attempting to tip your head back. You gasp as you feel him trailing feather-light kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. The sensation is so new and out of this world that it sends shivers down your spine. You cup your hands around his face, pushing him away gently so that he is face-to-face with you again. Your eyes meet, and it's as if your souls catch on fire. With your heart pounding wildly, you’re sure Heeseung can hear it. Your suspicions are confirmed when he flashes you a teasing smirk.

"Excited now, aren't we, Y/N?" The tips of your ears heat up, and you can only imagine how red they must be. You push your finger into the centre of his forehead, trying to break his piercing gaze and give yourself a moment to regain composure.

"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it yourself," you say, puffing up your cheeks in embarrassment. He shrugs, pulling you into one last embrace before lifting you gently off his lap and setting you back onto the duvet beside him.

"I'll go wash up and then take you home. Wait here, yeah?" He caresses your cheek, and you nod, watching as he stands up and heads towards the bathroom. You lie back, still feeling the warmth of his touch and the intensity of the moment lingering in the air.

You curl up in the comfort of his blankets, replaying the scene that had just taken place over and over again in your head. It only just occurs to you that you and Lee Heeseung had just made out. You place a hand on your chest, feeling the abnormal pattern of your heartbeat and the churning sensation in your stomach; it’s as if a whole zoo has been released inside you.

Exactly like how curiosity killed the cat, you dig relentlessly into the mystery that is Lee Heeseung. You notice that your heart is expanding uncontrollably as you get to know him better. It’s true that you’ve always desired a man to regard you as if you were a miracle, but what you hadn’t anticipated was that you would someday come across a man who actually do.

You smile softly, feeling a sense of connection with him that goes beyond the superficial. In this moment, you realise that despite the façades and the lies, you both are just trying to navigate through life, searching for acceptance and understanding. And maybe, just maybe, you can find that in each other.

Bringing the collar of his hoodie up to your nose, you inhale the comforting scent of Heeseung. You’re so occupied and distracted by everything that has happened tonight that it doesn’t even occur to you how physically and mentally exhausted you are. Without any care in the world, you unconsciously fall into a deep slumber, a subtle smile plastered on your lips as you grip tightly onto the sleeves of his hoodie.

On the other hand, washing up is just an excuse for Heeseung to escape the uninvited sexual tension that arose while you were making out. He closes his eyes, and all he can hear are the words of disappointment his father had said to him before. It scares him. Heeseung leans against the door of his bathroom, hands on his chest, feeling the irregular rhythm of his heartbeat. 

He’s attracted to you, sure, but falling in love? It’s out of the question. 

He takes a deep breath before confidently opening the door, his expression stoic. However, it’s later proved that he’s indeed a bad actor when his eyes soften and a smile unconsciously creeps up his lips as he watches you sleep so carelessly on his bed.

Heeseung sits down gently at the corner of his bed, the fondness in his smile never fading as he listens to the quiet breathing coming from your lips that were so desperately on his just a few minutes ago. He softly brushes a strand of hair aside and tucks it behind your ear, and only then does he notice just how long your eyelashes are.

He scrutinises your face, taking in every little feature he hadn’t noticed before, like the mole hidden right under your lip or the faded scar just above your eyebrow. He traces his finger along your jawline but snaps himself out of it when he realises how close he is to your face.

Sighing, Heeseung brushes a hand through his hair as he considers what he should do with you. Not wanting to wake you up, he tucks you in by throwing a blanket over you and slides onto the other side of his bed, making sure he isn’t too close to you. He lies on his side, staring at you, with millions of thoughts running through his mind. Only after what feels like hours does he slowly feel sleep catching up to him, not able to hear the sound of a car backing into the front porch of his property.

You awaken from your slumber to the blinding sunlight penetrating your eyelids. You lay on your back, unmoving for a while, staring at the ceiling covered in stars and down at the surroundings until you recognise that this isn’t your room. 

You snap your head to the left and almost scream when you see the sleeping figure of Lee Heeseung, his face only inches away from you. His hand is draped around your waist, and his lips are slightly parted—those lips. That’s right, the same lips that were on your very own the night before. You can barely catch yourself staring compellingly at him when you see his lips move.

"Good morning, sunshine," your eyes flicker up to his, finding them open and staring right back at you. A teasing expression creeps up on his face, and you gulp, knowing damn well that he has caught you in your little act. Something about Heeseung seems different this morning—perhaps it's his demeanour. He does seem more confident for some reason. So, why does he suddenly seem more attractive to you?

You shake your thoughts away as you turn your gaze back to the ceiling. "I thought you were going to take me home. What happened?"

"I was, until you decided to sleep like a roaring pig," he chuckles as he slowly sits up from his lying position. "It was impossible to wake you up." Heeseung teases as he tickles your feet, making you jerk them back, a pout forming on your lips.

"I do not snore," you jokingly sneer at him as you lightly kick him in his shin. Heeseung laughs as he gets off the bed, shivering as the cold air comes into contact with his exposed skin. His morning voice throws you off with how deep it is, and you shiver at the tone of his voice. Heeseung then throws on a hoodie and leaves the room without another word.

Is it just you, or is Heeseung pretending as if nothing happened between you two last night? You feel your heart drop in disappointment, but the feeling quickly subsides when Heeseung returns a few minutes later with clothes in his hand—women's clothes.

"These belong to my older sis. Pretty sure you're around the same size," he says, handing you a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. You return the gesture with a smile and slowly begin taking off the hoodie you’ve been wearing since last night. You instantly notice Heeseung turning shy, his gaze momentarily dipping down before he looks away, pointing at your legs as he does so. 

You look down, petrified, realising how far up your dress has ridden, exposing your thighs entirely. 

"Don't look!" you shriek as Heeseung nods and you quickly throw on the clothes he provided over your dress, pleased that they fit just slightly bigger than you.

"Okay, you can look now," your voice is small, clearly embarrassed, but you try to play it cool. Heeseung notices, but he doesn’t pick on you for it.

"Hey, look at that, it fits just right," he smiles with a hint of nostalgia, his eyes tracing over the familiar clothing on a body that’s not so familiar to him.

"I didn't know you had a sister," you say, carelessly folding his hoodie and placing it neatly on the corner of his bed. 

"Yeah, I don't really talk about her that much," he shrugs, picking up his car keys from his bedside table, signaling that he's ready to go whenever you are.

You slowly descend the staircase leading down into the common room, afraid that someone might hear and realise a stranger is in their house. Out of the many times you have been over, you have luckily never run into anyone other than the friendly old lady who greeted you at the front door.

Trailing behind Heeseung, your eyes wander everywhere except where you are going. This explains why you don’t notice Heeseung stopping in his tracks, and you clumsily bump into him. "You can't just stop in the middle of the halls," you grumble, peeking out from behind his shoulders to give him a big scolding. However, your intended reprimand is cut short when you see the reason for his sudden halt: an older man who bears a striking resemblance to Heeseung.

"Lee Heeseung, where are you going?" the man’s voice carries an assertive tone, his haughty demeanour sending shivers down your spine. His mere presence changes the mood in the usually silent house. He looks over at you, scrutinising you from head to toe, and then scoffs, giving you a look of disapproval as if you were caught committing a crime. In that moment, you mentally thank Heeseung for offering you a change of clothes.

Heeseung must notice how uncomfortable you feel under the man’s gaze. He pulls you behind him and shoots the man a glare of his own. "I'm just stepping out for a moment," he says, his usual snarky tone replaced with a nervous one.

"It's been a while since you've had someone over, hasn't it? Why don't you invite your little friend here to stay for some breakfast?" the man suggests with a smile that hides a hint of sarcasm. Who the hell does he think he is to talk to Heeseung like that?

"That won't be necessary, Father," Heeseung replies firmly.

Well fuck, you think, your eyes widening momentarily before you manage to withdraw the confused expression from your face. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Lee," you greet with a bow, trying to sound as calm as possible despite your pounding heartbeat. He barely acknowledges you, responding with a dismissive blink.

"I insist," Mr. Lee speaks with authority, making it clear that this is not a suggestion but a command. Heeseung is about to refute when you quickly interject, "I would love to.

As you make the long journey through the halls to the kitchen, you walk beside Heeseung with your head hanging low. Suddenly, you feel a vibration coming from your back pocket.

He nudges you softly, and you smile. That smile alone reassures Heeseung that everything will be okay because you are right beside him. The simple gesture, so intimate and sincere, calms the turmoil within him.

You sit next to Heeseung at the table, with his father situated across from him. The atmosphere is suffocating, making you feel queasy despite the lavish breakfast spread before you. It’s not just the tension in the air; it’s something about Mr. Lee—something ominous despite his composed demeanour. His presence dominates the room, casting a shadow over the entire meal.

"Eat," Mr. Lee commands, and Heeseung immediately picks up his utensils, stuffing food into his mouth with a mechanical precision. Despite your lack of appetite, you follow suit and start eating, the food tasting like sawdust in your mouth. You try to focus on the act of eating, but the knot in your stomach tightens with every bite.

"I didn't manage to catch your name, girl," Mr. Lee says, his voice dripping with condescension. You look up at him, noticing how even the way he eats is posh and lavish. His every movement exudes an air of superiority, making you feel small and out of place.

"It's Y/L/N Y/N, sir," you respond, your voice barely above a whisper. You hope the trembling in your hands isn’t too obvious as you place your fork down.

"Y/N, don't mind me asking," he continues, taking an elegant bite of scrambled eggs, swallowing, and then wiping his mouth with a handkerchief that probably costs more than the dress you’re wearing underneath. The dress, now drenched in sweat, clings uncomfortably to your skin. "Are you and my son dating by any chance?"

You nearly spit out your coffee, choking on the hot liquid. You’ve just met the man, and he’s already interrogating you, his eyes piercing through your façade. You resist the urge to scoff in his face, reminding yourself that you’re here to keep Heeseung out of trouble, not get him into more. "Sir—"

"We're just friends," Heeseung cuts you off hastily, his voice carrying a slight edge of desperation. You snap your head to look at him, his face a mix of determination and anxiety. It’s not like he’s lying; he’s practically saying what you were planning to. But why do those words leave you feeling so hollow, so disappointed? You try to decipher the look in his eyes, wondering if he feels the same sting of regret.

Yeah, you guys are friends—close friends even! So close that they kiss, make out, and sleep together. The memory of his lips on yours, the way his hands held you so tightly, flashes in your mind. The intimacy of the previous night now feels like a distant dream, overshadowed by the cold reality of Mr. Lee’s scrutiny.

"R-right, we're just friends. There's nothing to worry about," you stutter, still unsure of what you feel at that moment.

"Good," Mr. Lee smiles in satisfaction, his gaze cutting through you. "So, what brings you over so early on a Saturday morning?" His words are a thinly veiled attempt to humiliate you further, but you swallow your pride and respond calmly.

"Did Heeseung not tell you? We’re working on a project together," you say, trying to sound casual.

"Oh? What project, if you do not mind me asking?" Mr. Lee's voice is smooth, but his eyes remain cold and calculating.

"It's for a research project for a psychology presentation," Heeseung interjects quickly, cutting you off before you can respond. “Not like you care what I do in school anyway…” Heeseung’s voice is bitter, and you get the memo that his father probably doesn't know about him taking extra classes on music production over the weekends.

Mr. Lee clears his throat pointedly, a psychological tactic to reassert his dominance. You notice how Heeseung flinches, a small, involuntary movement that breaks your heart. The poor boy is scared shitless, and it infuriates you to think about how much emotional abuse he must have endured to flinch over a mere cough.

"I take it that you're in the same classes as my son?"

"That's right, I'm a senior majoring in psychology."

"If you're ever in a pinch looking for a job after graduating, there's an attachment program in my hospital just for fresh graduates like you, with no experience and connections," Mr. Lee comments. You know the intentions behind his words are far from genuine as you see the distinct flicker of power play in his eyes. And despite the jab affecting you more than you expected, you resist the urge to lash out.

In fact, you laugh in the face of humiliation. You won't show this self-conceited, power-tripping asshole that his words offended you because that would just be giving him what he was looking for—submission to power.

Mr. Lee seems to find it amusing that you aren't shivering in his presence, and that irritates him. "Well, do enlighten me about this research my son was talking about, Y/N." His striking gaze feels like it’s shooting lasers through you, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't scared. For fuck’s sake, you literally just found out about this apparent research project you were supposedly working on, and he wants you to 'enlighten' him?

But come to think about it, It's okay to be scared. It just means you're about to do something really, really brave.

"I would be more than happy to. Our area of research focuses mainly on coercive human behaviours," you smile at him, noticing a slight twitch in his eyes.

"Oh, is that so? What have you learnt so far?" Mr. Lee raises his eyebrows, feigning interest.

"That being a control freak is a weakness, not a strength," you start, noticing his facial expression hardening. "A famous psychologist once said, 'If you can't allow others to shine, you're exhibiting signs of narcissism and showing a lack of self-confidence.'"

"I personally think it's just isolation through ego," you shrug, turning to look at Heeseung. His eyes, which lost their sparkle ever since his father showed up, look at you with so much fondness and admiration that you swear you see the entire galaxy in them.

"I think that's all the time I have for today. Excuse me, for I am a busy man," Mr. Lee stands up from his seat a little too aggressively, and for the first time since you met him, he falters.

"Thank you for the wonderful meal, Mr. Lee," you calmly stand from your seat, reaching out your hand to him. He reluctantly takes it in his own, forcing a smile that almost makes you burst out in laughter.

"Thank you for the wonderful company and insightful conversation, Y/N."

"The pleasure is all mine," you reply, maintaining your composure even as he exits the room.

#3 - The Paradox

You sprawl over in your own bed, tangling up in your blanket as you recall the events of that Saturday morning. You must've been crazy, drugged even, to have had that much courage to stand up to his father like that. You, who couldn't even say 'no' to your own friends, lost your temper over something like that? It must've been a fever dream.

Except it wasn't, and you lie there in disbelief, cursing yourself for making such a bold decision. Maybe Heeseung was right—you really were an idiot. You think back about what made you so angry and every conclusion leads to one thing (or person, actually): Lee Heeseung.

You can't bear to see him so helpless and afraid in front of someone who is supposed to be his father. Someone who literally gave life to him was making him feel like he couldn't even be safe at home. It angers you and, thus, scares you because you care about him more than you ever realised. Because caring about someone means being vulnerable, and you've never been good at that.

You tell yourself that it didn't have to be Heeseung—that for anybody else in that same predicament, you would have acted and felt the same. You convince yourself that what happened was your guilty conscience talking, your sense of justice prevailing, or literally anything that fits the narrative. You fail to consider that, hey, maybe you do have a soft spot for him.

Sure, you care about the boy since he is someone you can lean on and be yourself around. So why does every thought about him lead back to you on his lap, hands on his chest, and his lips on your own?

Your fingers absentmindedly reach up, landing on your lips as you fondle them. You notice how chapped they are and mentally cringe at the possibility that they were in this condition when you and Heeseung made out.

There it is again—the sound of your heartbeat pounding vigorously against your chest. It was just a kiss. You've had plenty of those, so why is it that when it comes to Heeseung, you can't seem to get rid of that churning feeling in your stomach?

That feeling scares you. So, you avoid him.

Heeseung has texted you multiple times over the past few days, asking if you wanted to come over to continue with your project. You've exhausted almost every excuse possible to avoid doing so. Partially because you don't want to risk running into his father again, but mainly because you're running away from your feelings—feelings that you are already subconsciously aware of, just buried deep within you.

Each excuse you send feels more feeble than the last. "Got a lot of homework." "Feeling under the weather." "Have to help Chaewon with something." You know Heeseung isn't buying it, but he doesn't push. Each time, he responds with understanding, though you can almost sense the disappointment in his texts.

Every time your phone buzzes with a new message from him, your heart skips a beat. You can’t help but read his messages over and over, your mind replaying the scene in his room. You remember how his eyes softened when he looked at you, how his touch sent shivers down your spine.

The more you think about it, the more you realise that avoiding him isn't going to make these feelings disappear. It's not going to make your heart stop racing or your stomach stop fluttering. You can't keep pretending that what happened didn't matter.

I made a little room in my heart. You, who I can't forget, is standing there. I open that door, so that your voice that I long for calls me...

"Y/L/N Y/N!" The familiar voice jolts you back to reality, followed by a series of knocks at your front door. You frown, not expecting any visitors on a weekday evening. As far as you know, only Chaewon, Yunjin, Sakura, and your parents know where you live.

Dragging your feet to the door, you check the mini tablet and see Lee Heeseung standing on the other side. What the fuck? It comes back to you that Heeseung has walked you home plenty of times, some days even to your front door after you insisted that he didn't need to.

You mentally panic as you scrutinise your appearance in the full-length mirror by the door, grimacing at your musty attire and the messy bun your hair is tied up in. You look... awake at best.

"Y/N? I swear to God I heard something." Heeseung's voice echoes through the intercom, and the panicky feeling settles in even more. You think to yourself that he came all the way here to see you; you can't possibly leave him stranded outside like that. After another knock on your door, you give in, unlocking it and coming face-to-face with the very man you've been avoiding all week.

"About time," Heeseung smirks, catching a view of you in all your glory. You roll your eyes and step aside to let him into your humble abode.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, trying to sound nonchalant.

"To see you," he shrugs, as you look away, blushing. Not that it mattered anyway, since Heeseung is concentrating on taking his shoes off carefully to avoid creasing them.

"We see each other in school. You didn't have to come all the way here," you say, eyebrows raised, still unsure of his true motives. It wasn't unusual for you and Heeseung to be together in an enclosed space, just the two of you, but something feels different than before. An atmosphere that only started presenting itself after your shared kiss the other day.

"Yeah, but not when you're literally avoiding me," he replies, squinting his eyes at you. You mentally face-palm, realising he already knew what you were doing.

"I was not!"

"Sure, princess, anything you say." Your heart skips a beat at his new nickname for you, and you almost overlook the slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Though I would believe otherwise when you literally looked at me and turned the other way that day in the cafeteria."

"I didn't even see you... besides, I was rushing off to run an errand somewhere," you lie, though your alibi isn't solid enough to justify it. "So, you do remember what happened." He leans in close to you with a cheeky smile that you hadn't realised you missed over the few days you hadn't seen him.

"Gosh, you're intolerable," you mutter, putting a reasonable distance between Heeseung and yourself as you brisk-walk timidly over to your sofa.

"I know, you've told me that twenty-three times now," he says, genuinely surprising you that he was even keeping count of the things you say to him. Heeseung thinks to himself if he was always this attentive to detail or if it was just because of you.

You sit down on the sofa, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Heeseung follows, sitting beside you, his presence both comforting and nerve-wracking.

"Though I'm really here to see you, I would also like to remind you that there's a project of some sort due in two weeks," Heeseung smirks, and you playfully roll your eyes.

"I would have you know that I did not forget, which is why I've been working on the melody in my own free time. In fact, I was even singing it right before you so abruptly barged into my apartment."

"Barged?" Heeseung scoffs, picking up a pillow and throwing it at you, purposely aiming higher so it'd fly over your head. You laugh, feeling a warm sensation spreading from your chest to the rest of your body.

"Okay, rockstar, then show me what you got." He passes you a half-filled water bottle, presumably for you to use as a microphone. Heeseung wants you to sing, right now, in front of him?

"Hell no."

"Oh, come on, you do know we have to actually record it, right? I'll hear you sing sooner or later," he tries to convince you. To be honest, you still aren't very confident. You aren't tone-deaf, thankfully, but definitely not the best singer out there. The only other person you've ever sung to was your grandmother, and that was when you were ten years old.

"Fine," you huff. "You're not allowed to laugh though."

Heeseung cackles and nods to reassure you, which doesn't really help, but it's the intention that counts. You close your eyes and begin singing the lyrics to one of the verses you wrote the other day.

In this unstable world, when there was no place to stand. It held me from somewhere, that invisible touch. Once again I want your warm embrace, I'll go and find you...

The words flow out, surprisingly smoothly, the melody carrying them effortlessly. You lose yourself in the song for a moment, forgetting Heeseung is even there. 

Heeseung once again finds all his senses bewitched by you; his eyes wander over your features as you sing, his nose drowning in the homely scent of you, and his ears captivated by the melancholic tone in your voice. He hears you sing for the first time, and it's almost angelic. As you had said, you're not the best singer, but that distinct sharpness in your voice makes it impossible for Heeseung to get it off his mind.

Heeseung finds himself reaching his hand out to you, unable to resist your magnetic pull as he you finish off the next line.

Your warm breath, dazzling smile. When I close my eyes, I feel you, I believe you...

You feel a warm touch rest upon your cheeks, and instinctively lean into it, seeking the comforting warmth in the approaching winter. Your eyes flutter open, wincing at the sudden waves of bright light that blur your vision. Gradually, as your sight clears, it focuses on one person alone, eclipsing everything else around you. Before you sits a masterpiece, captivating your attention entirely.

Heeseung finds himself ensnared in the stars of your eyes, momentarily delirious as he glimpses a whole other galaxy within them—a black hole drawing him closer to you. Then, amidst the cosmic symphony, he hears it—the mingling of your heartbeat with his own. His heart, accustomed to beating for himself, now beats for someone else, and it only takes a mere millisecond for him to realise he has fallen in love with you.

It also takes a mere millisecond for the image of his father to intrude upon his thoughts. 

Heeseung insisted on driving you back to your apartment that day, but you were adamant about him staying. You didn't want him to get into any more trouble because of you. However, it never occurred to you that he might just have wanted to leave with you just to escape his father's presence.

As you bid him goodbye and walked off his front porch, his father's voice echoed from behind Heeseung in a low whisper, "Cut off contact after this project of yours. Don't disappoint me, son."

Heeseung withdrew his hand from your face in a panic, and you, seeking the warmth you had just lost, leaned forward in a futile attempt to recapture it.

"Hey, what's wrong?" you ask, concern lacing your voice as you notice tears streaming down Heeseung's face. He frantically hides his face in the sleeves of his sweater, seemingly trying to shield his vulnerability from you as he does not want you worrying. 

Rightfully so, because you are worried. The last thing you expect when Heeseung shows up at your doorstep is to see him cry. Hell, you didn’t even know he had the ability to shed tears. Part of you wonders if you're somehow the cause of his tears, stirring up feelings of guilt within you.

"Was my singing so horrible that you burst into tears, Heeseung?" you try to lighten the mood with a joke, hoping to bring some comfort to the situation. You're relieved to hear a faint snort from behind his sweater paws, indicating that your attempt at humor isn't entirely lost on him. Still, you can't shake off the concern gnawing at you.

Instinctively, you reach out and grasp his wrist, delicately shifting aside his sweater to expose his tear-streaked face. His eyes are swollen, and his nose is red, the sight pulling at your heartstrings to witness him in such visible distress. "Didn't know you were such a crybaby," you say lightly, hoping to lighten the mood even more as you brush away a fresh tear that teeters on the edge of his cheek.

"You look like my bestie Rudolph!" you tease, lightly poking his nose. He scrunches it up, his lips forming a pout as he watches you caress his face, a hint of a smile breaking through his sadness.

"One might think you actually care for me," Heeseung murmurs, voicing his thoughts. You’re taken aback, the question echoing in your mind, both heart and mind answering: yes.

"If you know that already, then don't ever cry like this in front of me again," you say gently, your thumb tracing soothing circles on his cheeks. Your eyes search his face for any sign that he wants you to stop, but you find none. Instead, Heeseung leans in and plants a chaste peck on your lips, catching you by surprise. The warmth of his lips lingers, mingling with the salty taste of his tears. You purse your lips and cringe slightly, lightheartedly pushing him away as he laughs, the sound like music to your ears.

Heeseung, feeling an urgent need to be closer to you, grabs your legs and places them across his lap, positioning you to face him. The sudden movement startles you, but you quickly settle, bending your knees and leaning against them as you stare up at him. From this angle, you notice the sharpness of his nose, the slight stubble on his chin, and the way his eyes, now clear of tears, hold a depth of emotion that tugs at your heartstrings.

As you study his features, you’re overwhelmed by a rush of feelings. The boy who always seemed so strong and composed now looks at you with such raw vulnerability that it breaks and mends your heart simultaneously. Heeseung’s gaze is equally intense, his eyes exploring your face as if memorising every detail. He seems entranced, lost in your siren eyes as though he’s seeing you for the first time.

"Will you tell me why you suddenly cried now?" you ask softly, concern lacing your voice. A brief silence falls between you as Heeseung contemplates whether to come clean. You wait patiently, playing with the ring on his pinky finger, not wanting to push his boundaries if he isn’t ready to speak.

"Remember how I told you I have an older sister?" Heeseung begins, his gaze drifting past your eyes into a sea of nothingness. "Her name is Lee Hae-yi."

Heeseung giggles as he recalls details about his sister, and you look at him fondly. "She takes after our mother a lot. It's something I've always been envious of. Hae-yi, she's incredible. We had many similar interests growing up, and she was somehow always better than me at everything we did. She's my biggest role model. I'd give the entire world for her to be happy." His face brightens at the mention of his sister, and you find yourself envious of the sibling bond he has with her, wishing you had a sibling of your own.

"My father wants me to take over the company when he retires, but she’s the one that deserves it, not me. I have no intention of running the company, but he's very adamant about me being the one to do it." Heeseung sighs, tightening his grip on your hand. "Even though the entire family can see that my sister is the natural-born leader—it’s the only quality she takes after my father. But he refuses to leave it in her hands. He says a woman can never hold leadership positions or other misogynistic bullshit. So, my father sent her away to the States, told her to study there and someday prove herself to him."

"He was never going to give her a chance in the first place, and she knew it, but she went anyway..." Heeseung pauses, and your eyes shoot up when you hear him sniffle. "She left because of me. Now I can't go on another day knowing she probably hates me for taking her spot that she worked her entire life for." A lone tear escapes the crevices of his eye, and you reach up to swipe it away, your palm resting on his face as he leans into your warmth. 

"My father has a reputation to uphold, and I am naturally a part of that reputation. He expects me to be the perfect son, even if it's pretentious. I became the person I am and do the things I do as an act of defiance. I didn't want to feel like he had full control over me," Heeseung smiles solemnly, finally making eye contact with you after fully exposing every detail about himself and his story. It hits you that the things you knew about him were only surface-level problems and that they actually ran much deeper than just Jake.

"Don't you ever just want to stop everything and be free?" you ask foolishly. Heeseung giggles at your innocence, unknowingly breaking your heart a little more.

"Of course I do, but I won’t suffer the consequences alone. To my father, his career comes first, and everything else falls in line after."

"Even family?" you ask, incredulous. Heeseung nods, and your lips part, wanting to say something, but you decide against it and return to listening attentively.

"That man would do anything to defend what's important to him, even if it means hurting his own blood. I can't—won't—allow the people I care about to suffer because of my actions, even if it means playing a pawn in his little game." Heeseung caresses your hand, drawing circles in the centre of your palm. You grin and push the hair covering his eyes away from his face, noting the softness of his hair and the way it falls perfectly even when dishevelled.

"Thank you, Heeseung, for telling me this," you say, your voice filled with sincerity. Although you want to argue that he should fight for his freedom and not live for the sake of others, you can't bring yourself to tell him that, because you are doing the exact same thing.

"No, thank you for listening, Y/N.”

"Well, if running a company isn't your forté, what do you actually want to do?" you ask, hoping to take his mind off his very pressing situation. You watch him closely, noticing the way his expression shifts to one of even deeper regret.

"I think you already have some sort of an idea," he replies, managing a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I want to be a singer-songwriter."

"That surprisingly kind of suits you, Mr. Idol," you laugh, reaching out to pinch his cheeks. He puffs them up, making you lose your grip, and you can't help but smile at his playful defiance. Leaning down, he gently pushes you back onto the sofa, his hand supporting the small of your back as he towers over you. Your hair sprawls over the cushion beneath you as you look up at him, your breathing becoming uneven from the sudden closeness.

As you gaze into his eyes, you feel an undeniable connection. Everything the two of you do feels so natural; from the hand-holding to the hugging to the kissing even. It's as if you two are actually dating, but you aren't. It feels almost too perfect, too seamless. That alone feels wrong, how it comes so naturally even though you have no labels. 

You close your eyes, expecting your lips to meet his again, but instead, you feel his warm lips gently press against your forehead. The unexpected tenderness makes your heart swell, and when your eyes flutter open, you see his own staring back at you with an intensity that takes your breath away. He gazes at you as if you are the most precious thing in the world, and it sends shivers down your spine.

You giggle softly as he snuggles into your neck, his hand wrapping around your waist protectively. You make space for him on the couch, allowing him to fit perfectly beside you. With your face buried in his chest, his chin resting on top of your head, and his arms wrapped securely around your small frame, you feel a profound sense of peace wash over you. His warmth seeps into your skin, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you finally feel safe.

One question constantly replays itself in your mind as you slowly drift off into a deep slumber. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your ear is both soothing and grounding. In the hushed quiet of the room, you whisper, "What are we?"

The question hangs in the air, laden with all the emotions and uncertainties you've been grappling with. You feel his arms tighten around you, a silent promise of protection and something more. As you drift into sleep, the thought lingers, a beacon of hope and a source of fear all at once.

That morning, as you gradually awaken to the muted light filtering through your window, you're met with an emptiness beside you that's both physical and emotional. The warmth lingering in the vacant space beside you feels like a cruel reminder of Heeseung's absence, and it weighs heavily on your heart. The realisation that he left without a word of farewell hits you like a punch to the gut, leaving you disheartened and bewildered.

Before you have a chance to fully process his departure, the bright rays of the morning sun illuminate your living room, casting warm hues across the space. The sudden awareness of the time jolts you into action, and you curse under your breath at the realisation that you're running late for class.

"Curse you, Lee Heeseung," you groan, quickly ripping the blanket covering your body away and scrambling to your feet, feeling lightheaded from the sudden movement.

"Good morning, sunshine," your head instantly whips around at the familiar voice you were longing for just a few seconds again, momentarily taken aback before relief floods your senses. 

"I thought you left," you murmur, the words tinged with a mixture of hurt and longing, though you try to keep your tone neutral. He smirks, sensing the disappointment in your voice. Oh, how you wish you could rip that sweet sweet smile off his face..

"Why? Were you disappointed because you thought I left?" Heeseung's teasing tone irks you, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. His smirk only serves to deepen your irritation, fueling a desire to push back against his playful demeanour.

"Jerk," you grumble and Heeseung laughs, finding your sulking expression adorable.

"Who's the crybaby now, huh?" Heeseung's playful jab catches you off guard, eliciting a scoff as you feign nonchalance.

"I'm not even crying, idiot," you retort, a mixture of amusement and exasperation colouring your words as you shoot him a playful glare. Heeseung giggles and carefully pulls you into a warm embrace, as if you’re a piece of fragile glass, afraid that even the slightest pressure might make you crumble.

It’s official—You and Heeseung are in a situationship. If someone were to ask you how it feels to have something you wanted so badly just within reach yet still fail to grasp it, you'd tell them it feels absolutely shitty.

It bothers you how he doesn't seem to mind that your relationship has no label, yet he still initiates things that only couples do. You're conflicted; your heart tells you one thing, but your mind tells you another, and you can't seem to decide which feeling to follow. The only thing you're certain of is that you want to be by his side.

It's a tangled web of emotions, one that Heeseung and you are both ensnared in. He knows it's complicated. He'd be a liar if he said he didn't want to be with you, close to you. But that courage to stand up against his father seems to evade him every time he tries to grasp it. Every time Heeseung closes his eyes, attempting to convince himself to fight for what he wants, his father's image intrudes his thoughts, and he’s back at square one all over again. It’s an endless cycle he can’t break out of. So, instead of making promises he knows damn well he can’t keep, he keeps you close to him under the guise of a research project that is only going to last a mere week.

As promised to his father, after one week, you'll be gone from his life, and vice versa. It's for the best, or at least that's what Heeseung has convinced himself of, that one week is all he needs to psycho himself into believing he doesn't need you; like the two of you never even met.

Except you did, and now you know each other's deepest, darkest secrets. But he knows you wouldn’t tell a soul, and likewise for himself. Then again, Heeseung is making all these decisions on his own, assuming that you’d be perfectly okay with it when the time comes around.

The ambiguity of your relationship with Heeseung leaves you grappling with questions that have no easy answers. As you try to make sense of it all, you can't help but wonder if he's aware of the turmoil brewing within you.

It's a silent struggle, one that you keep hidden beneath a façade of normalcy. It's almost funny how when you thought he didn't stay, you were hurt; when you realised he didn't actually leave, you were still hurt because you knew deep down that you couldn't hold onto him forever. Yet, amidst the confusion, there's a glimmer of hope, a fleeting sense of connection that keeps drawing you back to him, despite the looming deadline that threatens to tear you apart.

Saturday arrives, and for once, you find yourself declining your friends' invitation to attend the weekly parties. They're disappointed sure, but you reassure yourself that missing one party won't be detrimental to anyone. Chaewon did notice your frequent moments of distraction and introspection, behaviours she's never observed in you before. You brush off her concerns, attributing your preoccupation to stress over upcoming projects and submission deadlines. After all, it's your final semester.

Sunghoon also picks up on your behavioural changes, especially when you're around Heeseung. To him, you appear shy, like a kindergarten kid experiencing their first crush. However, he knows you well enough to anticipate that you'd argue otherwise if he were to express his observations.

Meanwhile, you find yourself spending most of your time in Heeseung's bedroom, working on a song that holds no academic value. You vaguely remember how you were dreading even thinking about this project and just wanting to get it over with, hell, you were even willing to turn in a nursery rhyme if the situation calls for it. With that thought, you chuckle to yourself as you sit in your usual spot on Heeseung’s bed, enveloped in the familiar scent of Teakwood and cigarettes lingering in the sweater that embraced you.

"Thoughts about singing the last chorus together?" Heeseung skillfully tucks the pencil he was just using behind his ear as he swivels around on his chair from his table to face you. 

"You sure about that? I'm afraid I might outshine you." You comically brush your loose hair and shoot him a smirk, prompting him to jokingly roll his eyes back at you. "Is that so, Ms. Mariah Carey?"

"On a serious note, I really think singing the last chorus makes the song sound, I don't know... more desperate?"

"I see your point. Though I would hate to ruin the climax of the song with my horrendous singing, if Mr. Future K-pop Star says so, I have to do it." You smirk again when Heeseung scoffs before breaking out into small fits of laughter—laughter that sounds like music to your ears. "I can't take you seriously." He swivels back to face the computer displaying the music editing software. Your song is in its final stages of production before you and Heeseung can go ahead and record the demo, and it's one demo away before Heeseung has to completely cut you out of his life as promised.

The mere thought of letting go fills his heart with unease and uncertainty, crossing his mind during the day or even right before he falls asleep. Every fibre of his being resists the notion of parting ways, as if holding on tighter could somehow freeze time and preserve the precious connection you share.

In the quiet depths of his heart, Heeseung finds himself surreptitiously gazing at you, consumed by an overwhelming affection while struggling with the bittersweet truth that letting go may be an inevitable choice, but one he's not yet ready to make.

The universe is a paradox. Some might believe that even though a person eventually dies, your relationship with them doesn't, as it will live on forever, never changing. However, the truth about forever? It doesn't exist. Nothing lasts forever. Not you, your feelings, your relationships, the sun, the moon, or even the galaxies. Although forever has no meaning when one is living in the moment, and you, for one, aren't ready for that moment to end.

At the end of the day, the absolute truth is that all this shit about 'nothing lasts forever' is just an excuse for both of your lack of courage and commitment because those who truly want to be together find a way to make it happen.

In an inconspicuous outbuilding situated in the family's backyard, the hallways are unusually clean yet dark. Heeseung explains that the building is being used as sleeping quarters for the housemaids, which explains the customised doors that line the halls. He also mentions it's the only part of the house where he could actually build a recording studio without his father finding out.

You step into the recording booth, the air humming with anticipation as the padded walls cocoon you in a world of sound. With a pair of headphones hugging your ears, you feel the rhythm pulsate through your veins, while the microphone stands tall, poised to capture every nuance of your voice. The word 'nervous' is more than an understatement for what you're feeling at the moment as you watch Heeseung's every move on the other side of the tempered glass. It's endearing to say the least, watching the boy thrive in his element, right where he belongs.

You jump a little as you hear his voice coming out from the speakers in the booth, "You ready?" You find Heeseung looking at you with confidence, maybe more than you have for yourself. You feel the pressure, and Heeseung knows that the only thing he can do is show you that he believes in you. Heeseung is right because something about his unspoken trust assures you, even gives you that little boost of self-confidence you need as you sing your lines in the first verse.

Tears filled with regrets flow unconsciously. I wish I could follow to wherever and flow somewhere. In that warm sunlight, I want to let myself go, so that I can meet you...

Almost on instinct, Heeseung leans in, captivated by every word that leaves your lips, his gaze fixed upon you as your melodic voice fills the room. Every note, every accentuation, every lyric, is delicately captured by his ears as if he's savouring a rare delicacy.

At that moment, the world around him fades into a distant murmur, leaving only the desperate purity of your singing. He listens not only with his ears but with his heart, appreciating the beauty of your voice and the story it conveys. His face reflects a mixture of awe and admiration, mirroring the emotions woven into each line you sing. 

The room is filled with an unspoken connection, a shared language that transcends words. In this tender exchange of sound, Heeseung embraces your vulnerability, your strength, and the extraordinary power you have over him.

You're one star, that's your name

You finish off the last line of the song before realising you had your eyes closed the entire time. Turning to look at Heeseung, who has an unfathomable expression on his face, you know singing wasn't your forte, but it couldn't have been so bad to the point he looked like he was about to cry. "So... did I do okay?" The sound of your voice brings Heeseung back from whatever futile thoughts he had running through his head, focusing on the present—on you.

"You were amazing, princess," Heeseung says, and you blush upon hearing the nickname he gave you. Although it isn't the first time, you still feel light-headed whenever he uses it. "I'll take whatever compliment I can get," you comment, and he smiles lightly to himself, replaying the recording so you can hear it for yourself. Heeseung was right; you weren't half-bad after all.

After re-recording some parts and unwillingly adding in adlibs as per Heeseung's request, this time you find yourself in the producer's seat while Heeseung stands behind the microphone, which he had to readjust to fit his height. It's no surprise that he manages to record everything in such a short period of time with very minimal mistakes. Once again, you catch a glimpse of the Heeseung who can do anything if he puts his heart and mind into it.

This is your first time recording a song, and you're pretty sure it shouldn't be this easy. You were mentally preparing yourself for the insults that he would throw at you. However, considering this is just for a mere ungraded school project, you think maybe that's why Heeseung isn't picking on every little flaw like he would any other project. Then again, the Heeseung you know is a perfectionist, so being able to leave the recording studio unscathed is a mystery for not only you but also Heeseung himself.

"I can't believe we actually finished this song," you remark as you stroll alongside Heeseung in the hallway, a slight spring in your steps. Heeseung grins, carefully matching his pace with yours, still attentively listening to your speech of accomplishment.

"The night is still young. I say we take our celebrations to the party at Sunoo’s. You could finally meet my friends so they can stop having this false perception of you. What do you think?" You turn on your heels to face him, half-expecting an excited expression on his face, so you are taken aback when a lone tear falls past his cheek.

"Heeseung-ah..." Without a second thought, you pull him into a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, I said that without thinking. We don't have to go. Let's stay in and watch a movie instead, hm?" Heeseung shakes his head beside you, and you pull away just enough to catch sight of his face. "No, I'm not crying because of that, don't worry."

"Then what is it about?"

"I'm just... happy, that's all."

"You're so precious, you know that?" You hold his face between your cold hands as you stare into his eyes, neither of you willing to look away first. You lean in and gently kiss the freshly escaped teardrop as if the essence of sorrow itself had been distilled into this tiny, tasteable form. "This is the second time I caught you crying, that's twice more than me." He giggles as he gently grabs your hands into the palm of his own. "Let's go."

"Great! I have this movie I really wanted to-"

"No, Y/N, let's go meet your friends."

With a heavy heart and a bittersweet urgency, Heeseung embraces the knowledge that your time together is drawing to a close. The impending separation looms, but he clings to a precious sliver of time, determined to make it count, even if it means sacrificing everything to see you smile one last time.

You give Heeseung the address to Sunoo’s place and tell him to meet you in front of his house. Standing outside in your off-shoulder top, you take yet another glance at your watch—10 minutes past your agreed meeting time. Anxiety creeps in, mingling with the chilly night air, as you wonder if he'll show up or if this was a mistake.

You come to a consensus that you should've known better than to convince Heeseung to go partying with you after everything he did to hide that fact from everyone. Guilt gnaws at you, knowing you may have pushed him out of his comfort zone, and you wouldn’t even blame him if he decided to bail on you.

You text Chaewon, asking her where they are so you can go ahead and look for them, but you receive no response. You figure she's probably having too much fun to pay attention to her phone.

Freezing and desperate for a glass of alcohol to numb your nerves, you make your way into the house. Inside, it pulses with energy as vibrant music fills the air, its rhythmic beats reverberating through the packed living room. Colourful lights flash and dance across the room, casting an enchanting glow on the eclectic crowd that has gathered for a night of revelry. The dance floor is a sea of motion, a kaleidoscope of bodies writhing to the infectious tunes, and you make a mental note not to lose yourself in the bustling crowd this evening.

Approaching the open bar, you pour yourself a cup of beer to kick off the night. The cool liquid soothes your parched throat, offering a momentary reprieve from the chaos around you. It's ironic, really, now that you think about it, because no matter how hard you try to escape or manifest excuses out of thin air, you always end up back here with a beer in hand, willingly or not.

As much as you've convinced yourself that you certainly weren't made for the nightlife, you can't deny that you stand out amidst the sea of people. Maybe sometimes, you actually do have fun, more than you'd let yourself believe.

As you take a sip from your cup, you feel a hand on your lower back, causing you to almost jerk forward. "Hey baby, you here alone?" Turning around, you find a young man in a button-up shirt that accentuates his physique. The strong smell of alcohol emanating from him indicates that he's already quite drunk, even though it's barely 8 PM.

"I'm actually here with some friends, thanks for asking," you respond politely, trying to maintain composure despite the uncomfortable situation. However, your patience wears thin as you feel him inching closer. "Can't a lady have her personal space?" you retort, your tone growing irritated as you notice his offensive scrutiny of your attire.

But he brushes off your discomfort, continuing to leer at you. "Come on, don't act like you hate it. You're basically asking for it, I mean look at this dress..." His words trail off as he shamelessly scrutinises your appearance, his hand still firmly planted on your back. Feeling increasingly uneasy, you shift uncomfortably under his gaze, and he takes advantage of your vulnerability by leaning in closer, his breath uncomfortably close to your ear.

You despise how some men automatically assume they're entitled to your attention or affection, simply because of how you're dressed. You know that physically fighting back would likely escalate the situation, especially since he appears much stronger than you. Not wanting to cause a scene in the bar, you consider threatening to call the police as a last resort.

Before you can take action, however, a sudden commotion erupts nearby, and the man is forcibly pulled away from you. Relief washes over you as you realise that someone has intervened, sparing you from further discomfort.

"She has a boyfriend." Your head snaps to the source of the voice, finding Heeseung glaring daggers at the man.

"Heeseung," you call out softly. He turns to you, searching your eyes for any sign of disapproval. When he finds none, he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Should have known it was too good to be true," the man mutters, ruffling his hair in clear frustration. You can't help but laugh, realising you're probably just one of many attempts he's made tonight. Heeseung walks up beside you at the bar, pouring a drink before turning to you.

"Didn't think I'd show up?" he asks, noticing the stunned expression on your face. You nod, still watching him, grateful for his intervention.

"So you're my boyfriend now?" you smirk, taking another sip from your cup to mask the fluttering feeling in your chest. Heeseung laughs, a bit embarrassed, and takes a sip from his own drink.

"Why? You like the sound of that?" he teases.

It's almost comical. You wouldn't take crap from any other man, not even Sunghoon or Jay, but you’d let this man openly tease you about your ongoing situationship. Yet, you willingly succumb yourself to the fluttering feeling in your chest.

"You don't?" you retort boldly. Your response catches Heeseung off guard, and he nearly chokes on his drink. As you laugh at his reaction, you notice a fleeting look of panic and sorrow on his face. The thought that he does like the idea of being your boyfriend crosses his mind, only dampened by the reality that this might be his last chance to be this close to you.

You're about to push the joke even further when a familiar voice calls out. "Y/N!" You turn to see Chaewon and Sakura making their way towards you from the corner where your friends are gathered. Their overjoyed expressions slowly morph into confusion as they notice Heeseung standing beside you.

You wonder why Chaewon and Sakura seem so confused—it’s not like they didn't know you were hanging around Heeseung. Then, as you really take in his appearance for the first time that night, you realise he’s dressed up for the occasion. He’s wearing a black graphic tee with a blazer thrown on haphazardly, his hair carefully parted down the centre, and his iconic round glasses are gone, no longer perched on his nose. This is the Lee Heeseung you first noticed at that club all those months back.

It slowly hits you: this is the first time your friends are seeing him outside of his usual nerdy persona.

"Lee?" Chaewon questions, eyebrows furrowed as she wraps her hand around Sakura's arm, nudging her. Heeseung smiles awkwardly and gives you a knowing look, silently asking you to act like you forced him to come (which, technically, you did).

"Chaewon, Sakura. I don’t think you two have officially met. This is Lee Heeseung." Chaewon subtly tilts her head, clearly puzzled as to why the academy's top student is at a frat party on a Saturday evening. "I wanted to have some fun after finishing our project, so I dragged him here," you explain hastily, hoping neither of them notices the little white lie.

"Wow, you really dressed him up nicely," Sakura remarks, her backhanded compliment making you roll your eyes as you quietly mouth curses at her.

"Come on, let’s introduce you to the gang," Chaewon cuts in just before the atmosphere turns awkward, and you mentally thank her for being the angel she is.

You sense Heeseung stiffen beside you, so you take his hand to reassure him that your friends are nice. Not that he doubted their kindness; he just doubted they’d want him there. However, he did say he'd come to meet your friends, so he doesn't resist.

With eager anticipation, you lead him into the heart of your cherished social circle, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as your two worlds collide. You can't help but steal glances at Heeseung, who seems to be taking in everything with cautious curiosity. Your friends, too, look intrigued, if not a bit taken aback, by his transformation.

It’s awkward at first, but after some drinks and a few icebreakers, Heeseung starts to warm up to your friends, and vice versa. Yunjin, in particular, gets more comfortable with him than you’d like. Knowing her, it’s probably her attempt at flirting with Heeseung now that he’s the hot guy at the party everyone wants a piece of. You don’t expect any better from Yunjin, but Heeseung? He gladly reciprocates her flirtatious attempts, even black knight drinks for her whenever she loses one of your drinking games.

You’ve been sending Heeseung death glares, which he’d notice if only he spared you a glance or two in the last fifteen minutes. The word 'jealousy' is an understatement at this point. But then again, why would you be jealous? It’s not like the two of you are dating. But you did get close to him first. You know his little secret, you slept on his bed, heck, you even made out with him. You, not Yunjin, not Chaewon, not Sakura, and certainly not Jay or Sunghoon. So why are you getting the least attention from him among everyone else?

Frustrated, you pull out your phone and send him a piece of your mind. His phone vibrates on the table, but he doesn’t notice it. Pettily, you kick him in the shin under the table, and he lets out a yelp. You signal to his phone, and he checks it, smirking when he sees the content.

Heeseung excuses himself first, and you follow a few minutes later, claiming you’re going to get more drinks for everyone. Your friends are already past the boundary between sober and drunk, and they probably don’t even hear you. If they do, they’re too intoxicated to process it in their heads fast enough before you leave.

You squeeze yourself between the messy tango of people in the house until you reach the base of the staircase. Upstairs has fewer people, though most of them are likely looking for an empty room to complete their seven minutes in heaven with a stranger they just met. You find Heeseung leaning against the ledge overlooking the ground floor, and you just stand and admire him in all his glory until he finally notices you.

“Took you long enough,” Heeseung teases, reaching a hand out for you to hold, and you do just that. He pulls you in closer, spinning you around against the ledge so you’re now trapped between it and him. His arms press against either side of you, leaving you with nowhere to run, not that you would if given the chance.

“Never knew The Y/L/N Y/N could get jealous so easily. I must have overestimated you.” He leans in, and you can smell the vivid scent of alcohol mixed with cigarettes edged onto the fabric of his clothes.

“I told you, I’m not jealous.” You roll your eyes, trying to mask the fact that he’s hit the nail on the head.

“Oh, really?” Heeseung’s voice is a low murmur, his breath warm against your ear. “Then why were you glaring at me like that?”

“I just didn’t like seeing Yunjin all over you,” you admit, your voice softer than you intended. The truth slips out before you can stop it, and you feel a rush of vulnerability.

Heeseung chuckles, a sound that vibrates through you. “Well, I’m sorry that you felt like I wasn’t giving you enough attention. You have it all now.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and you look up at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But all you see is the same boy who has become so important to you, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and affection.

“You’re impossible,” you mumble, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He shifts his hands to hold you firmly on your sides, not breaking eye contact for a second. “Am I holding on to you like you’re precious now?” You mentally cringe at yourself for having sent him that text. Not wanting to give him that satisfaction, you purposely ignore the question.

Heeseung smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “My precious princess,” he murmurs, closing the distance between you. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s both gentle and passionate, and you feel yourself melting into him.

In that moment, the noise of the party fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world. And as Heeseung’s arms wrap around you, holding you close, you come to terms with the feeling that yes you do, you feel precious.

#4 - The Fallout

The night ends in a blur of emotions and stolen moments, the memory of Heeseung’s kiss lingering on your lips as you part ways. Heeseung walks you to your door, his hand lingering on yours before he finally lets go, promising to text you later. You watch him disappear into the night, a warm feeling settling in your chest despite the cold air.

But Heeseung’s warmth is replaced by a chilling reality when he arrives home. The house is dark and quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the party. Heeseung tiptoes through the hallway, trying to avoid waking anyone, but the creak of a floorboard betrays him.

“Lee Heeseung.”

The voice is cold and sharp, freezing Heeseung in his tracks. He turns to see his father standing at the top of the stairs, the dim light casting a shadow over his face. His father’s stern expression is enough to drain any remaining warmth from Heeseung’s veins.

“Where have you been?” His father’s voice is controlled, but Heeseung can hear the underlying anger.

“I was just out with some friends,” Heeseung replies, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Don’t lie to me,” his father snaps, descending the stairs with heavy, deliberate steps. “I got a call from Mr Kim. His son showed him pictures of you at a party posted all over the academy’s forum.”

Heeseung’s heart sinks. Mr Kim, a family friend and strict disciplinarian. The old man's disapproval was well-known, and Heeseung’s father always took his word seriously. He must have been tipped off by his own children studying at the academy, and in true fashion, news spread like wildfire, especially among the elites. The anxiety gnaws at him as he imagines Mr. Kim's stern face, the way his father’s expression will harden with disappointment. Heeseung’s mind races, trying to find a way to mitigate the fallout.

“Father, I—”

Before he can finish, his father’s hand strikes him across the face, the force of the blow sending him stumbling back. The sharp sting spreads across his cheek, but it’s the look of disappointment in his father’s eyes that hurts the most.

“You disgrace this family,” his father seethes. “Sneaking out to drink and party like some delinquent. You’re throwing away everything we’ve worked for.”

Heeseung tries to speak, to defend himself, but his father’s next blow catches him in the ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Heeseung doubles over, gasping for breath, his vision blurring with tears. He doesn’t dare fight back; he knows it will only make things worse.

“You think you can just do whatever you want?” His father’s voice is a harsh whisper, filled with venom. “You’re nothing without this family, without me.”

Another punch lands on Heeseung’s shoulder, and he crumples to the floor, curling into himself in a futile attempt to shield his body from the blows. Each hit is a reminder of his place, of the expectations he’s failed to meet.

The beating continues, each strike heavier than the last, until finally, his father steps back, breathing heavily. Heeseung remains on the floor, pain radiating through his body, tears mixing with the blood from his split lip.

“Get to your room,” his father orders, voice cold. “And don’t think about leaving this house again without my permission.”

Heeseung drags himself up, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through him. He stumbles to his room, collapsing onto his bed. The darkness of his room feels like a refuge, but it’s not enough to keep the tears from falling.

Heeseung curls into himself, clutching his phone to his chest. He wants to call you, to hear your voice, to find some comfort in your presence, but he knows he can’t. The risk is too great. Instead, he texts you a simple goodnight, hoping you’ll understand the unspoken plea for solace.

As the pain in his body slowly dulls, the emotional scars feel even deeper. Heeseung closes his eyes, wishing for sleep to take him away from the reality of his life. But even in his dreams, he can’t escape the feeling of his father’s disappointment, a weight that crushes him more than any physical blow ever could.

A whole week passes by since that night at Sunoo’s, and you wonder if the universe is playing another game with you. You no longer run into Heeseung in the hallway or find him huddled up reading in a corner of the library. It’s strange. Not only have you not seen him, but he also hasn’t texted you back. He always texts you back.

You even consider finding him at his mansion, but now that your project is done and dusted, you no longer have a reason to show up at his front door without looking like a clingy girlfriend—who isn’t his girlfriend. There is also the issue with his father; you don’t want to risk running into that man more than you need to.

Surely something must’ve happened for him to blatantly ignore you. You’re not even going to convince yourself otherwise, because nobody just suddenly goes radio silent on someone. You think back to that night, wondering what could’ve possibly gone wrong. Was it the kiss? Did you come off too possessive in your text messages? Or was it the fact you guilt-tripped him into attending the party with you, and his face ended up everywhere on the Decelis T?

Yes, you’ve seen the posts. You’ve seen the way people talk about you and Heeseung. Frankly speaking, you couldn’t care less. This isn’t your first rodeo with what the people in this school have to say about you. You’re used to it. What you hate to see are the posts about Heeseung, about how you ruined his bright future. And you can’t help but think that what these trolls are saying holds some truth.

The whispers in the hallways, the stares, and the snide remarks—they don’t bother you. But the thought that Heeseung might be suffering because of you does. You remember the way he had held you at the party, the way he had looked at you with such warmth and affection. It seems impossible that he would just abandon you without a word.

You decide to visit the library one more time, hoping against hope that you might find him there. The library is almost empty, the silence broken only by the soft rustling of pages and the occasional whisper. You scan the room, but there’s no sign of him.

Defeated, you sit down at one of the tables, your mind racing with a thousand questions. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your messages with Heeseung, rereading them in search of any clue you might have missed. Each unanswered text feels like a weight on your chest, a reminder of the distance growing between you.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a sudden ping from your phone. You glance down, heart leaping with hope, only to see a message from Chaewon. She’s asking if you want to grab lunch, but you can’t muster the energy to respond. All you can think about is Heeseung and why he’s disappeared from your life so abruptly.

With a sigh, you put your phone away and rest your head on your arms, feeling a mixture of frustration and sadness. The library’s quiet atmosphere does little to soothe your troubled mind. As you sit there, your mind in a whirlwind of confusion and concern, you hear footsteps approaching. You glance up to see Jake walking past you, a book in hand and a frown on his face. Relief washes over you at the sight of a familiar face.

"Jake," you call out, standing up. The boy seems surprised that you even knew his name, given that you barely talked to him.

"Have you seen Heeseung? I haven't heard from him all week."

Jake's frown deepens. "No, I haven't seen him. I thought he was just busy with you. Looks like you don’t know where he’s been either.” You sense some animosity in his words, but you try not to focus too much on it.

“What do you mean busy with me?” you ask, eyebrows raised.

“That’s what everyone’s been saying. Lee Heeseung sleeping around with the campus slut.” You’re taken aback by his words, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t sting, especially on an open wound.

“Okay, ouch? What did I even do to you?” Your voice comes out more defensive than you wanted it to, and Jake isn’t dumb enough to not notice it.

“You’re one to talk,” he mutters, now just pushing at the tiny bits of patience you had left after all the shit you’ve endured this entire week.

Jake hesitates, then sighs. "He told me he was going to stay out of trouble and focus on his studies, but it seems like he lied. He’s been sneaking off to parties, thanks to the likes of you. Who knows? He’s probably grounded right now because of that.”

Your anger flares, and you take a step closer to Jake. "You think this is all my fault? That I'm some kind of bad influence on Heeseung? Do you even know what he’s going through? He needed an escape, Jake. He needed friends to support him, not judge him."

Jake crosses his arms, still looking skeptical. "Support? By dragging him to parties and getting him in trouble?"

"Support by being there for him when he feels suffocated by his father and this school!" you snap. "You don’t know half of what Heeseung’s dealing with. You think he’s lying to you, but maybe he just didn’t want to burden you with his problems."

Jake's expression softens slightly, but he still looks unconvinced. "I just thought he was focusing on his future. Now it seems like he’s throwing it all away."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Jake, Heeseung is trying to balance everything. He’s not perfect, and he’s going to make mistakes. But he needs his friends now more than ever. You don’t get to be disappointed in him without even trying to understand."

“And what makes you think you understand him? Y/N, you knew him barely for a quarter of the time I did. If there’s anything, he would’ve told me by now.” Jake snaps, his voice rising and attracting the attention of every nearby patron.

“I don’t think I understand him, Jake. I know I understand him, more than you ever will. Because if you really understood him, you’d know he never wanted to be tied down by all these expectations from you or his father. If you really cared about Heeseung, you wouldn’t be here arguing with me about what’s best for him, because who are you to decide that for him? You should be showing up, reaching out to him now more than ever, but you’re not.” You say your last piece with conviction, each word laden with frustration and a hint of desperation.

Jake is stunned, his face paling as he absorbs your words. You can tell by the way he’s disassociating, his eyes glazing over and his expression becoming distant, that some part of what you said hit him hard. 

The library is now uncomfortably silent, the eyes of the other patrons heavy on you both. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat, your hands trembling slightly from the intensity of the confrontation. But Jake doesn’t say anything, just stands there, his mind clearly racing.

You take a step back, the anger and adrenaline starting to ebb away, replaced by a gnawing worry for Heeseung. "I’m going to find him, Jake. With or without your help," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper, but firm. With your new resolve, you leave Jake standing still in the middle of the library, the gears in his head turning as he tries to recall all the times Heeseung was ever out of character, even for just a second.

Then it strikes him. All those times Jake showed up at Heeseung’s house over the holidays, he was somehow never home. His clothes always had a hint of cigarettes, but Jake was never too sure because Heeseung would attempt to drown out the smell with his cologne. Then there was that one time over winter break when Heeseung drunk-texted him one evening, but when Jake confronted him about it the next morning, Heeseung claimed he was at a company event with his father and had drunk to entertain the guests. All of it sounded perfectly reasonable to Jake at the time.

Jake’s mind races, piecing together the fragments of inconsistencies. Is Heeseung not who he seems to be? This realisation hits Jake like a ton of bricks. He’s been blind, perhaps too caught up in his own expectations to notice his friend’s struggles. And like the theorist he is, Jake is determined to find out the truth.

The conversation ends, and the conviction in Jake’s messages gives Heeseung a strength he didn’t know he had. Heeseung recalls a particular conversation he had with you, about how if Jake truly cares for him, he’d appreciate his honesty. And you weren’t wrong, because Heeseung and Jake come out of this with a brotherhood stronger than ever. It’s like you knew this would happen.

Then again, you always give the best advice and always know what to say to reassure him. You know him like the back of your hand, reading his thoughts like the cover of a book, which convinces Heeseung even further that if you aren’t soulmates, no other words can describe the connection you two hold. And it’s because you two are soulmates that the universe decides it’s finally time to piece the two of you together so that neither of you has to continue pretending to be someone you’re not.

But no, you’re not soulmates. What you have isn’t because of some cosmic design. Heeseung willed this. He willed you to come into his life; he willed you to show up at that club all those months back to catch him in the act; he willed you to be the one he can be himself around. He intricately weaved the threads of fate himself until they spelt your name. And right now, your name, Y/N, is like a mantra in his head, echoing itself over and over again until he sees you in the flesh, until he feels your presence in his vicinity. That mantra is the only thing driving his decision.

That night, Heeseung sneaks out of his mansion. He moves quietly, making sure not to alert anyone, especially his father. His heart pounds in his chest, each beat a mixture of fear and excitement. Every creak of the floorboards seems amplified in the stillness of the house, and he holds his breath, praying no one hears. Heeseung has never felt so alive, the adrenaline surging through his veins as he edges closer to freedom.

The cool night air greets him as he slips out the back door, a stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of his home. The stars above seem to twinkle with approval, as if they too support his decision. Heeseung pulls his jacket tighter around him, not just for warmth but for comfort, as he heads towards your apartment. Each step is a step towards reclaiming his life, towards taking control of his own destiny.

As he walks through the quiet streets, memories of you flood his mind. He thinks of your smile, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, the sound of your laughter. The thought of seeing you again, of being in your presence, propels him forward. Heeseung’s heart swells with a mixture of longing and determination. This is what he wants. This is what he needs.

Heeseung finally arrives at your apartment building, his pulse quickening. He takes a moment to gather himself, taking deep breaths to steady his racing heart. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, but he knows he has to do this. For himself. For you.

He approaches your door, his hand trembling slightly as he raises it to knock. The sound echoes softly in the hallway, and he waits, his breath caught in his throat.

When you open the door, the sight of you takes Heeseung’s breath away. You look surprised, but there’s a warmth in your eyes that reassures him. For a moment, neither of you speaks.

“Heeseung,” you finally say, your voice soft but filled with concern and relief. “Where have you been? I was worried sick!” You hit him softly on his chest, and Heeseung smiles, the familiar gesture a balm to his frayed nerves.

“I know, I’m so sorry, Y/N. But I really needed to see you,” he replies, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with regret.

“You think you can just disappear whenever it’s convenient and come back when you want to see me? What if I want to see you? Have you ever thought about that? Selfish jerk.” You fight back the tears threatening to fall. Part of you is angry that Heeseung is doing whatever he pleases, but another part of you wants to just forget the pain and longing you’ve been experiencing the past week and crash into his arms. It’s sickening, the power he has over you.

“I was wrong, princess. I won’t disappear again. Not anymore.”

You step aside, allowing him to enter. The familiar scent of your apartment wraps around him like a comforting embrace. The tension that has been gripping him for days begins to ebb away, replaced by a sense of belonging and peace. He realises now, more than ever, how much he’s missed you, how much he needs you.

You both stand there for a moment, the silence filled with unspoken words and emotions. Heeseung reaches out and gently takes your hand, his touch sending a reassuring warmth through you. “I’ve missed you so much, Y/N. I didn’t realise how much until I couldn’t see you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his for sincerity. “Promise me you won’t shut me out again.”

Heeseung pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around you securely. “I promise, Y/N. I won’t shut you out. You mean too much to me.”

As you stand there, enveloped in his embrace, you can feel the tension in your own body slowly melting away. You close your eyes, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Each thump is a reminder that he’s here, that he cares, that he won’t leave you again. You take a deep breath, savouring the moment.

You open your eyes, and the two of you just look at each other, a silent understanding passing between you. You smile, your heart full, and you know that this time, his promise will be kept.

You have no clue what happened to him the past week, you don’t know what stunts he had to pull in order to get to you today and have you in his arms. To be frank, you aren’t looking forward to finding out. The cuts on his face and the bruises on his arms tell you plenty—more than you need, really. You didn’t comment on it when you first saw it, not wanting to bring up anything that caused him pain. When he’s ready, he’ll tell you what happened on his own.

You draw back slightly to look at him, your fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin is warm under your touch, and his eyes hold a mixture of relief, regret, and deep affection. He leans into your touch, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. You take his hand and guide him to the couch, where you sit close together, the familiarity of your surroundings adding to the comfort of the moment. 

You spent almost an hour talking about everything but nothing at the same time, it's like every time Heeseung felt he was ready to talk, he backs out and veers off into another topic instead. He shares about his reconciliation with Jake, how your advice about honesty proved true, and his regret over not being upfront sooner. He mentions the newfound attention he's received since the party at Sunoo's, people sliding into his DMs, but it all seems like a distraction from what he really wants to share.

You can see the struggle in his eyes, the weight of unspoken words on his mind. Without needing to say much, you place your hand gently on his, a silent assurance that you're here, you understand, and he can take his time. “Hey, slow down yeah? Heeseung, there’s no rush to tell me everything right now. I’ll be here whenever.” You say gently, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

In the depths of human nature, is an obsessive desire for logical explanations that make sense. However, there’s no explanation logical enough for how you just always seem to know your way around his emotions, because the gesture works almost immediately in calming his nerves.

Heeseung takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. His fingers intertwine with yours, and you can feel the tension in his grip. It’s a silent signal that he’s ready to share what’s been weighing on his mind.

“Remember, you don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready.” 

“No, I need to tell you. You deserve to know.”  He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “That night at Sunoo’s, everything was fine until I got home. My father was waiting for me. Someone probably sent him the pictures from the party, the ones all over the Decelis T. He was furious.”

You nod, encouraging him to continue. The anguish in his voice is palpable, and it breaks your heart to see him like this.

“He was so angry. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. He just kept yelling about how I was ruining everything, how I was throwing away my future. And then…” Heeseung’s voice falters, and he swallows hard. “Then he hit me. Over and over.”

Your heart clenches, and you feel a surge of protective anger. “Heeseung…” you whisper, your voice trembling. You reach out, gently tracing the bruises on his arms with your fingertips. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe he did that to you.”

Heeseung’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I tried to stand up for myself, Y/N. I really did. But it only made things worse. He said I was a disgrace, that I wasn’t living up to the family name. He threatened to cut me off completely if I didn’t get my act together.”

You’re in fury by this point, because how could anyone possibly expect you sit still and listen when someone you care about is being hurt by someone who is suppose to shelter him with love and hope. This anger is mixed with sadness when you realise this is probably a frequent occurrence for him.

“You don’t deserve any of this. You’re amazing, Heeseung. Don’t let him make you believe otherwise.”

Heeseung takes a shaky breath, his grip on your hand tightening. “After that, Jake called me, and he helped me realise that I need to fight for my own life. That I can’t keep living under my father’s thumb. That’s when I decided to sneak out and come here. I needed to see you. You’re the one thing that keeps me grounded, that makes me feel like I can be myself.”

Tears well up in your eyes, and you pull him into a tight embrace. “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Heeseung holds you close, his voice filled with a mix of relief and determination. "Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you." His words, though fitting for the occasion, hit you more deeply than you expect. You feel his heartbeat against your chest, each thump echoing the sincerity of his words. The realisation that he is relying on you as much as you are on him sinks in. You understand that the only thing keeping both of you sane, preventing you from becoming the versions of yourselves that others expect, is each other.

That night, you make the bold decision to invite Heeseung to stay over, considering it’s already well past midnight. As if sneaking out wasn't difficult enough, Heeseung assumes sneaking back in before dawn and before anyone realises he’s gone missing wouldn’t be too much of a challenge. Without even thinking twice, Heeseung accepts your offer, a mixture of relief that for a night, at least, he doesn’t have to feel trapped in the confines of his makeshift prison.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t fully thought this through. You live in a studio apartment, and with your queen-size bed spilling into your so called living room, there’s no privacy. You two are essentially sharing the same space. The room feels suddenly smaller, the proximity more intimate than ever before.

Noticing Heeseung’s fading bruises, you almost offer to take the couch so he can sleep comfortably on the bed. However, you know he’d likely reject your offer anyway so you didn’t even try. As you rack your brain trying to find a solution that works for both of you, Heeseung speaks up.

“We can just share the bed.” He shrugs, his expression stoic as if he hadn’t just spout the most out of pocket thing ever. Speechless, you stare at him, eyebrows raised, trying to form a coherent sentence that won’t embarrass you.

"Uhm..."

“What? Your bed is huge; I’m pretty sure we could both fit on there.” You can’t tell if he’s playing innocent, being naive, or if his dad knocked some sense out of him, but the shamelessness is almost baffling.

You won't lie and say the idea didn't cross your mind at some point, but the thought of sleeping next to Heeseung, especially now that you’ve come to terms with your feelings for him, seems like an impossible task. You’re afraid your heartbeat will vibrate across the mattress, and he’ll hear it and question you. The mere thought brings heat to your face, your pulse quickening at the proximity.

“Oh I see, you’re shy. Come on, it’s not like it’ll be the first time we’re sleeping together anyway.” He says, referring to the night the two of you made out and you accidentally fell asleep on his bed.

“Don’t phrase it like that, gosh. And that time was an accident.” You puff your cheeks, willing the heat to cool down but to no avail. The memory of that night, the closeness, and the vulnerability, floods back, making your heart race.

“You’re the one making this weird; it’s literally just sleeping. Not like we’re going to have sex or anything.” He giggles. You’re taken aback by the statement, and more so by his little giggle that accompanied it. How can he laugh in this situation when you’re as panicked as it is?

“Okay, now you’re just being annoying.” You turn your back towards him, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance, though honestly, it only makes you feel more embarrassed for reacting the way you did. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. If it makes you comfortable, I’ll take the couch.” His voice softens, sensing your discomfort, but his eyes hold a plea, a silent wish to stay close.

“What? No! You’re injured; you should be getting plenty of quality rest.” You insist, your concern for him outweighing your own embarrassment. The sight of his bruises, the fatigue in his eyes, tugs at your heartstrings.

“And let you take the couch? Don’t even try.” He shakes his head, his determination clear. His gaze is steady, filled with a mixture of stubbornness and affection.

“Fine. We’ll share the bed, but you’ll stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine. No. Funny. Business.” You say firmly, trying to set boundaries, but the warmth in his eyes makes your resolve waver. The idea of sharing a bed with him, feeling his presence so close, is both thrilling and terrifying.

As you both settle into bed, the silence is filled with the soft rustling of sheets and the distant hum of the city outside. The mattress dips under his weight, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body and hear the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The room is dark, but the glow from the streetlights outside casts a soft light across his face. He looks peaceful, and for a moment, you just watch him, your heart swelling with emotions too complex to name.

Heeseung turns to face you, and you immediately turn away, hoping he didn’t catch you staring. You lie stoically on your bed, looking up at the ceiling, afraid to move a single muscle as you sense his gaze on you.

A few minutes pass, and you still feel his eyes on you. You suspect Heeseung himself doesn’t even realise he’s been staring at you unwittinglyaa as. You feel the tension between you hit a new high, the silence growing heavier with each passing second that you feel the creeping need to dig a hole right where you are and hide inside it. The elephant in the room is big, way too fucking big, and you finally decide to address it.

“There’s something else we need to talk about,” you say, finally turning your body to face him. His eyes meet yours in the dim light. You can barely make out the expressions on his face, but you can tell from the sudden shift in his body language that his guard is up at your proclamation.

“What is it?” he asks, his voice soft yet tinged with apprehension.

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts and courage. “This… situation between us. What are we doing, Heeseung?”

Heeseung’s eyes flicker with uncertainty, and he looks down at his hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” he admits. “I don’t want to mess this up, whatever it is.”

You feel a pang of vulnerability, a raw honesty hanging in the air. Before you can say anything else, Heeseung speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with intensity. “I like you, a lot actually. If it wasn’t already obvious enough, I like you, Y/N.” You can tell it took him a lot of courage to confess this to you.

Before you even got the chance to reciprocate his feelings, he stops you, wanting you to finish listening to what he has to say before he can bring himself to hear your answer. So you let him.

“I know our situation is really unconventional, and that it’ll be situationally better for both of us if I stayed away from you. That’s how I initially planned to keep you safe. But something about you, its like a drug; I just keep wanting more. Every minute, every second of every fucking day I’m just thinking about you. I want to know what you’re doing, who you’re with. I want to punch every single person who has nothing good to say about you. I want to feel you, I want to hug you, god, I want to kiss you so bad.”

He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “I realised how much you mean to me when I no longer try to force myself to sleep, trying to dream of something that'll numb my pain just a little. Instead, I can't sleep thinking about you because, for the first time, my reality is finally better than any dream. This, whatever we have, is real, and it’s the only thing that makes sense in my life right now. But every time I close my eyes thinking about you, I’m just reminded of the fact that I can’t have you and treat you the way you deserve.”

“You can have me, Heeseung,” you say, your voice filled with determination and emotion.

“You know what I mean, Y/N. I mean just look at the state I’m in. If my father can do this to his own blood, I don’t see why he wouldn’t do worse to you. I can’t have that.”

You reach out and gently touch his face, your fingers tracing the bruises and cuts. “Heeseung, I don’t care about the risks. I care about you. I want to be with you, no matter what.”

Heeseung looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear, hope, and love. He leans into your touch, his hand covering yours. “I don’t want to lose you, Y/N.”

“You won’t,” you promise, your voice steady and sure. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Heeseung’s eyes soften, and he leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Those words again. The phrase, "I don’t know what I’d do without you," to you isn’t mindless appreciation but a genuine confession. In your fucked-up realities, you are each other’s only salvation where he doesn’t have to shed any part of himself to feel connected with you. You see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he looks at you with a mixture of hope and desperation. It’s a look that tells you he needs you as much as you need him.

With that realisation, you know you are ready to be the person who loves him, no matter how imperfect he is. This is no easy feat, because it is easy to love someone when they’re perfect. But loving someone when they are wearing their flaws like an apology, when nobody else tries to really know them and accept them for who they are—that is what truly makes a difference. You think back to all the moments when he was vulnerable, when he let down his guard and showed you the parts of himself that he kept hidden from the world. Those are the moments that made you fall in love with him, not despite his flaws, but because of them.

You smile, your heart swelling with love as you reply to his sentiment, “Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find out.”

Heeseung’s arms tighten around you, and you can feel the tension in his body slowly melting away. His shoulders, once rigid with stress and fear, relax against you. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the faint smell of cigarettes, is comforting and familiar. You realise that this is where you both belong, in each other’s arms, facing whatever comes your way together.

Heeseung’s fingers gently brush against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and your eyes flutter closed as his lips meet yours in a tender, lingering kiss.

When you finally pull away, Heeseung’s forehead rests against yours, his fingers tangled in your hair. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice filled with emotion. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, to make this work.” You nod, tears welling up in your eyes.

Funny, isn’t it, how you started insisting he stayed on his side of the bed, and now you’re wrapped in his arms with barely any space between your bodies. You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, his breath against your neck. His eyes meet yours, and you see a depth of emotion there that takes your breath away. It’s a look of pure, unfiltered love and gratitude. You know that this moment, this connection, is what you’ve both been searching for.

It’s the kind of love that makes you feel alive.

That makes you feel whole.

That makes you feel like you.

masterlist | part two

[keferon]

Blurr and Swerve (set sometime during the Blurr chapter when Blurr first gets his mech), because these two have apparently taken up residence in my brain

--------------------------------------------------

Swerve wonders, waiting for Blurr to show up to inspect his new mech, if Blurr has ever felt anything less than confident, less than certain. 

Does he have any hesitation or doubts about joining the mecha program, becoming a pilot? 

If he has, you'd never know it by the way he walks into the mechanic's hall like he owns the place – accompanied by a flustered looking staffer from the upper floors and a full five minutes later than when he was scheduled to arrive.  (Not that anyone seems to care whether Blurr keeps to a schedule or how much it disrupts everyone else's ability to just do their jobs. He's Blurr after all.)

Swerve watches Blurr walk away from the staffer with barely a thank you.  Watches as Blurr asks one, two, then three times for directions as he crosses the long hall.  And each time he's greeted with smiles, attempts at conversation, and people kindly pointing out Swerve's direction.  And each time, Blurr gives the same thank you – short and dismissive, without a backward glance.

Swerve wonders, as he watches, whether Blurr ever feels shame or has second thoughts about how he treats everyone else as though they are less than him. 

If he does, it certainly doesn't show from the way that lazy grin never slips from his face the whole way across the hall.  Even up close, even as Swerve shakes Blurr's hand and has to reintroduce himself and remind the man that they've met before (and how many times has it been now?), Blurr's smile never wavers.

Does it ever falter when Blurr is alone?  Does the smile ever slip from his face as he thinks back on his actions in private?  Or is it just a permanent feature of the man -- along with the shining eyes, blindingly white teeth, and immaculate hair.  Superficially perfect in every way to an extent that standing next to Blurr is enough on its own to make Swerve feel special.

And then Blurr is gone, moving to inspect his mech.  And the shallowness of it all hits Swerve in full force again.

Swerve wonders, watching Blurr move under the shadow of the looming metal machine, whether the man ever feels fear. 

Does he realize that mechs are synonymous with death?  That the machine he is standing under is built to kill.  Aliens, yes.  But pilots die too -- alarmingly often.  Even if Blurr isn't on the front lines (and Swerve can't imagine Swindle risking his money on that) there are still risks.  Accidents.  Injuries.  Deaths.  Would he care if he knew?  Maybe his ego is such that he believes such fates are for lesser men.

But Blurr's mech in particular – Swerve worked on the specs for Blurr's mech.  Does the man realize that his machine is a death trap? 

Maybe ignorance truly is bliss.  Swerve wonders whether he should tell him.  Swerve wonders whether it would even matter.  Would Blurr even listen, if he pulls him aside?

Swerve never gets the chance.  He is crowded out by a swarm of photographers, staffers, and mechanics -- come to watch Blurr set foot in his mech for the first time.

Blurr hops into the pilot's seat as casually as though he's taking his car out for a drive around the block.  He smiles that blinding smile down at the crowd and waves for the cameras.

And Swerve wonders, watching Blurr, whether he envies the way Blurr can just breeze through life seemingly untouched and unphased by it all.

ANON I LOVE YOU MARRY ME /J

This is absolutely delightful ehehhengkgkhmh it synchronizes SO WELL with my mental image of them you literally caught my brain waves lglmgkg i love it so fucking much it's part of the canon for me now

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

18. It means, my dear sister 💌

Spending money becomes a hobby when it doesn’t come out of your pockets.

“So what are you thinking of buying him?” You ask while sipping a bubble tea–the very drink that caused your descent into a comfortable pile of pillows.

Thoma runs a hand through his golden hair before scanning the clothing racks, “That’s why you’re here because, I have no idea.”

“And I’m supposed to know?”

He stops in his tracks, tilts his head, and squints. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. You always can–Thoma is an open book, but something about his gaze makes you uneasy. He takes a sip of his drink and shrugs, “Two heads are better than one.”

You sigh and it’s not a breath of relief, “How about clothes?”

Thoma shakes his head in disapproval as he feels the fabric of a navy blue polo, “He has more luxury brands than I can count.” That’s not surprising considering the car Childe owns or the clothes he wears in his posts. You can tell he comes from a wealthy family both in love and money.

“Did you ask him what he wants?”

Thoma looks at you as if you were a failed experiment he had the consequence of cleaning after–synonymous with the expression he gives you every day so it’s no different, just exaggerated, “If he told me, I wouldn’t be here. He said, “Surprise me,” With what? A successful talking stage? A therapist?”

You chuckled, recalling the conversation you had a few hours ago. You surmise that the ginger is more of a provider than a receiver. Perhaps in all context, “I bet he’d like anything you give him.”

“He would. He’s like a golden retriever on crack. He’s a dumbass, but he’s funny so it cancels out. It reminds me of a time when he was practicing in the gym for a swim competition—and a girl walked in looking for something. He thought she was pretty so he started acting cool but in the locker room there was a huge rat and he came out screaming, “I’m not a pervert.”

You giggle with your brother whose head is thrown back from a fit of laughter. His free hand hovered over his stomach and his face was bright tomato. You recall the day it happened–how gorgeous Childe looked in the water and how silly he seemed running out for help. That was a throwback.

“That’s insane.”

He nods aggressively while catching his breath, trying to form the right words without coughing, “Exactly, but I think he’s hung up on that girl.”

“Really?” You act surprised.

“I just have a hunch.”

“Does he like that girl?” Maybe you shouldn’t have pressed. But when Childe is the subject of conversation you seem to want more, to know more, to see more.

Your brother thinks. You know that expression too well. Something he does as a habit every time he’s being witty, thinking of trouble, or giving you the best advice your parents couldn’t compare to. Finally, he finds his thoughts, “I’m not sure, he has a habit of getting attached and disconnecting. It’s happened before–multiple times.”

“Oh.”

The thing about the English language or any language for that matter is that there are words used interchangeably depending on the tone one uses–either surprise, disappointment, or disgust.

And the thing about Thoma is that he reads people, especially those he holds dear.

“But with her…” He begins, “It’s different. The way he talks about her is the same as when he talks about swimming–You can see the passion.”

That comforts you. It gives you hope, but too much of it is dangerous. Childe is a book everyone discusses with praise and you want to know why but a part of you dreads that once you do, you won’t like the ending. That you’ll be disappointed with the money and time you spent because the hype wasn’t for you.

But curiosity is human greed. And Childe is a conversation you want to have, “What does he say about her?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Because I’m scared of being disappointed again.

“I’m just curious—you made him sound like a playboy. Maybe the girl needs to be warned.”

“It’s not like he’s a bad guy. I just don’t want him or her to get hurt. Relationships aren’t easy—you know that.”

“What if…” You start, already regretting the question in your head. But Thoma looks at you expectantly, urging you to continue, “I started seeing someone like him… what would you say?”

“I’d say fuck him.”

“I’ve been trying to.”

He shoves you out of the store and you almost stumble next to a person.

“I’m joking! Give me a serious answer then.”

He crosses his arms and squints his eyes before raising a brow, “Why? Who’s this guy? What’s his name?”

You give him a look.

He matches it but he gives in, “Someone like Childe? There’s no one like him. As much as I shit on him, he has a good character, and I respect that. So I’d say unless you’re bringing the real one, don’t come home at all.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, my dear sister…” Thoma opens his mouth then shuts it close only to shake his head as if constricting himself, “Don’t worry about it.”

“What?”

He shrugs and says nothing more.

You follow your brother, pushing back the conversation you had despite the questions ramming your head every thirty seconds.

But when you pass by a cosmetic store, a new thought comes to mind.

“You should buy him skin care.”

NOTES:

👀👀 i’m on a roll with these updates

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back

CHILDE x FEM!READER

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[seancekitsch]

How about something with Vox and an assistant reader? I'm so excited your writing for Hazbin!

hehehe you have received: smut with fem reader

“I mean, do I have to hypnotize anyone if the marketing team is good? Darling, fire them all. Especially the ones I own. Make them squirm,” Vox talks, at you, not to you while you plug in the information on your V-Pad. 

“Just squirm or flounder too?” you ask, not looking up at him either. 

“Is that a fucking fish pun?” he turns on you, pushing his chair back from his desk. 

“A synonym, Sir.”

You tap the screen a few times, filling his request and adding a bit of your own to it. 

“Done. No severance package.”

You meet his gaze, smile toothy and wide. 

“Devious bitch,” he muses, smiling just as wide, “Come to Daddy.”

You set the tablet down at the table near the door, smoothing out your skirt as you start to strut across the office, essentially modeling the outfit Vox had gotten designed for you. But before you can make it even a quarter of the way, Vox stops you with a look.

Right, how could you forget? You kick off your stilettos, a flash of the red bottoms against the navy carpet and you sink to your hands and knees; slowly, seductively crawling towards the overlord at his desk. 

His screen glitches briefly, electrical current sparkling along the edges of him. He watches you fixated like a predator stalking his prey, yet you flourish under his scrutiny, proud and confident as your nails dig into the carpet and you make your way to the spot at his feet. Vox pats his lap, a silent invitation. There is no seat for you in this office, and thats on purpose. Vox always wants you on his lap, draped over him, straddling him, perched like a shiny trophy. Today you choose to straddle him, hiking up your skirt as you settle in facing him.

“Any panties?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“No point when I work for you,” you tease, settling yourself flush against him, bare against his lap. He’s already hard, because of course he is. When is Vox not hard if you’re in the room? It strokes your ego, the power you have over the overlord, the control you have over a powerful man.

“Seriously, where would I be without you?” he purrs, leaning in close and grabbing fistfuls of your ass.

“Hmm, probably struggling to keep your schedule?” you muse, nails raking down the front of his suit jacket.

Without warning, he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his hips like second nature at this point before he throws you unceremoniously down onto his desk, muscle memory stopping the back of your head from connecting to his keyboard. You’d learned that the hard way when this all started.

“Certainly wouldn’t be making a mess of my office,” he muses, his claws tracing down your front, teasing your cleavage and down your navel.

You reach for his belt buckle, making quick work of it.

“For the third time this week,” you say, always teasing him. Always pushing your boss’ buttons.

Vox hastily pushes your hands away, tugging his dress shirt out of his pants and undoing them enough to slide them down, his boxers coming with them. You gaze down at his cock, while fucking has become routine you’re always somewhat in awe of the size of him.

He’s quick to push your skirt up, bunching it around your waist without any care for the fabric. He’ll probably just buy you another one, so arch your back into his movements, letting him pull you into position while slots himself right where he needs to be. His eyes meet yours, screen bright and blinding. Sharp teeth in two identical smiles, and he pushes in.

You struggle to keep your eyes on his as you moan around the stretch, no matter how many times this happens it always catches your breath in your throat.

“Fffffuck yes,” Vox practically growls, voice modulator losing control as he bottoms out with your bodies fully connecting. He wastes no time setting a pace, hips snapping against yours, slightly upwards, hitting a truly amazing spot within you. You see stars, disoriented and already high on him him him.

Vox runs his claws along your hips, electrical currents running along your skin just strong enough to make your body twitch beneath him. His hands trail under your legs, hoisting them up against his chest to control you that much more as he leans over you.

“All mine, fuck, all mine,” Vox pants, speeding up his thrusts, rocking you further into the desk as his claws dig into your thighs to keep you flush against him. He grinds his pelvis into yours each time he bottoms out, sweet friction punctuated by featherlight sparks of electricity radiating from skin on skin. You nod eagerly, gritting your teeth, but that isn’t good enough for the CEO above you.

“Fuckin— say it! Say you’re mine,” he begs, his voice urgent and desperate.

“I’m— I’m—“

A moan cuts off anything you have to say, electrical pulses going straight to your cunt and frying your brain in the process.

“Gonna short circuit for me?” he teases now, and fuck he’s so confident. You’d like for once to have him writhing the way he does you. But your brain does indeed short circuit before you can dwell on that too much, your orgasm having snuck up on you, white hot intensity behind your eyes. You wail underneath him, your hands reaching out for his and prying his claws from your thighs. Instantly, he intertwines his fingers with yours, giving you stability as he fucks you through your orgasm. Vox groans as he spills into you only moments later, practically collapsing on top of you.

He stays there, with you folded in half, his length softening inside you, your fingers still tangled together.

“Can you say it now?” he asks, the edge of his screen resting against your shirt as it dims.

“I’m yours,” you confirm, “you needy prick.”

Vox laughs, loud and barking, and finally pushes himself off you. He’s incredibly gentle to pull out, to slowly unfold limbs and help you to sit up, letting you lean onto him.

“You know, I should really report you to HR for name calling,” Vox finally says, winking as he does.

It’s your turn to laugh, scoffing as you weakly slap at his chest.

“Right, and if you get me demoted I promise you that Peppermint couldn’t give you pussy half as good as this.”

Vox kisses you hard on the mouth, static crackling as screen touches lips.

Voxtech doesn’t even have an HR department.

[comphy-and-cozy]

Fourth Down Conversion - Brady Skjei

Pairing: NFL!Brady Skjei x cheerleader!Reader (f)

Summary: On the sidelines underneath bright stadium lights, a spark flickers between Tennessee Titans star quarterback, Brady Skjei, and you, a cheerleader for the team.

Word Count: 4.7K

Author's Note: Written for @jxmieoleksiaks for @wyattjohnston's Winter Fic Exchange! Hope you enjoy this dive into this AU with everyone's favorite All-American quarterback! Inspired by @smileysvech's NFL Brady moodboard.

Warnings: Mature content (semi-public blowjob), alcohol use, persistent man pursuing a woman, maybe a little too much world building. The standard sexism/sexualization of women that comes with professional cheerleading, etc.

← BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

Brady Skjei has everything: Money, fame, talent, devastating good looks. As the star quarterback for the Tennessee Titans, it’s safe to say that he is a man that women want to be with and who other men want to be. Since having a record-setting college career culminating in a National Championship title and a Heisman trophy, he’s continued to excel in the NFL: 2 MVPs and one Super Bowl ring to his name, with the expectation of more to come in the coming years.

His 6-bedroom mansion in Belle Meade is decadent. Luxury marble countertops, a fully stocked wine cellar, and a home cinema satisfy his extravagant lifestyle, known for hosting excellent celebration parties. He’s got a team the size of a small youth soccer team that services his house, cooks his meals, and keeps him in top physical shape in his state-of-the-art basement gym. In essence, his life is pretty close to perfect.

But he doesn’t have a girl.

And not for lack of options—being Brady Skjei certainly has its perks. With Instagram models fawning over themselves, desperate for a chance to be his arm candy for even just a night, he merely has to flash his ovary-bursting smile to win women over. He’s had rumored (but never confirmed) flings with no less than two top tier celebrities, the gossip columns frequently spotlighting the handsome quarterback, his face plastered across glossy magazine covers in grocery stores. 

But the truth is, because of his travel schedule and lifestyle, it’s hard for him to casually date. And even if he could, half of the girls in his dating pool only want him for clout. At first, it was nice, even fun, to have his pick of virtually any girl he wanted. But after a few years of it all, he’s started to grow bored of the same desperate, too-eager act. He doesn’t really have the energy or the time to distinguish between the authentic ones and the ones seeking five minutes of fame, so it’s easier to stay single-adjacent, earning himself the unofficial title of playboy millionaire. 

The upcoming season will be Brady’s second in Nashville, his seventh in the league, and all eyes are on the Titans, expected to challenge for a title in the postseason. His first season in Nashville, the team made a playoff run for the first time in nearly ten years. There’s a buzz in the city, his name becoming synonymous with something akin to the savior of the state of Tennessee sports.

For you, a three-year veteran on the Titans Cheerleading team, it means tighter expectations, smaller margins of error, and an increased demand for perfection. You’re fortunate to have a remote job that affords you a flexible schedule, allowing you to spend extra time at the studio practicing or at the gym training. It’s exhausting, albeit exciting.

You’ve chatted with Brady a few times, but only surface-level, having seen each other around the Titans’ practice facility from time to time. Enough for you to be somewhat comfortable in his presence, but never enough for you to expect him to remember—or even know—your name, let alone approach you and say hello.

But here he is all the same, greeting you as you sit cross-legged on the ground, your small sewing kit beside you. He frowns at the sight of you sewing in additional padding around the inner hem of your sequined uniform. “What are you doing?”

You tie off the last thread and flip the top right side out to inspect it and ensure there are no visible signs of your doctoring. “I have to add in padding because the sequins cut into my sides.”

“They cut you?”

“Sometimes it makes me bleed on a bad day.”

Brady’s eyebrows crease. “Your uniforms aren’t made in a way that won’t hurt you?”

“The uniforms are made for male entertainment,” you say with a matter-of-fact shrug. It’s true—you’re more than aware of the fact that being under the male gaze is part of your life, part of your job. You accepted that fact a long time ago; you might as well take advantage of your youth and fast metabolism while you can.

“That uniform was made for guys like me.”

It’s a bold statement, one that takes you a moment to recover from. You zip up the case containing your sewing kit and toss it, along with your uniform, back into your bag before you stand and lock eyes with him. If he’s going to be bold, then so are you. “Brady, what are you doing?”

“Wanted to ask you out on a date.” He says it casually, like he had just been walking by when the idea struck his fancy. Like it isn’t completely out of the blue.

Your eyes roll. You watch the way his eyes trail over the Nike Pros you know are just a little too short, gaze traveling down your freshly self-tanned leg. His eyes move back up to meet yours, the dark umber glittering at you along with an expectant smile. 

“Don’t you think it’s a little cliche?”

“What is?”

Your eyebrow raises, conscious of the way you kneel—not bend over—to tug your gym bag off the floor. “The cheerleader and the football player?”

A feline smirk crawls its way onto his face. He’s even more handsome with a smile. “It’s a classic.”

“Goodbye, Brady.”

You’re in sweatpants on your couch, splitting a bottle of wine with two of your teammates. Love Island is playing on the television when your phone buzzes beside you. The red alert notifying you of a new Instagram message has you swiping to read it, the blue checkmark catching your attention.

[bradyskjei:] Call me when you’re ready to take a chance. 555-890-4392.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way your pulse thumps a little quicker in your throat. It’s no longer just a passing fancy, akin to an intrusive thought that takes over; he’d taken the time to look up your Instagram and send you a message to reaffirm his interest. The thought makes you shiver.

Not only is it quite literally written in your contract, but it goes against your moral compass to entertain the thought, the boundary of not sleeping with your colleagues a firm one for you. He isn’t really a colleague, you tell yourself, not technically, anyway. Either way, it’s a little taboo, and the idea of sneaking around tempts your daring side.

But he also scares you. Not just because of his celebrity, though the idea of being in that level of spotlight is intimidating, too. His reputation isn’t anything you’re interested in; you don’t want to get involved with gossip columns and celebrity drama. It’s also his larger-than-life persona, his lifestyle so much bigger than anything—or anyone—you know.

But you can’t deny that you’re attracted to him.

You don’t reply, assuming that he’s got much more important things to do than check if you’ve seen his DM. But another hour goes by and you see another message.

[bradyskjei:] left on read? ouch.

Part of you is annoyed by the double text, the insistence despite your clear lack of interest—men—but another part of you recognizes his persistence as his way of showing you he really is interested. You’re sure he’s never been told ‘no,’ but there’s something about him that doesn’t make you turn away in disgust. He could have his pick of any girl he wants, and yet here he is, spending his time messaging you and noticing that you’ve read it and not responded.

Your response is simple: “I’m not interested in being a play thing.”

[bradyskjei:] What if I’m not interested in having a play thing?

Admittedly, your curiosity does ring—what does that mean? You stare at the screen, at the electronic keyboard, searching for something to say. Nothing comes, and you decide that no reply is a reply in itself.

Week 9 of the Titans’ schedule is a home game and it’s against the Ravens, one of two other opponents who remain undefeated. There’s an air in the city, a palpable, infectious energy, that’s seeped into every building, street, and stoplight. Having your life revolve around the team, feeding off of their success and contributing to the atmosphere in the stadium, it’s hard not to let that contagious excitement flutter in your chest. You’re a genuine Titans fan, rooting for the success of the team.

So when Brady throws a career-high 4 touchdowns, you find yourself leaping in the air beside your teammates as the whistle is blown and the field is flooded by reporters and players converging in the middle to shake hands. It’s been weeks since he last tried to pursue you, but at the moment, you’re just like every other Nashville resident, and you’re ecstatic that the best football player in the world is on your team.

By the time you’re done packing up your things in the cheerleaders’ locker room, your heart rate has returned to normal. Slipping on an oversized sweatshirt, you sling your Adidas bag over your shoulder and bid goodbye to the few girls left in the room. Brady Skjei is on your mind as you walk out into the lobby, that handsome, heart-melting smile like a fucking teenage heartthrob.

Which is why your heart does a triple flip when you see him walking down the opposite hallway. He turns his head at the sound of your footsteps, a grin breaking out onto his face when he realizes it’s you. “Guess it really is my lucky night.”

Your smile is coy, but you can’t fight the real smile that blooms at the way he beams. There’s a light in his eyes that you’ve never seen before, adrenaline still coursing through his veins from his exhilarating night. “Congratulations, Brady. It was a hell of a game.”

“Thank you,” he says. You like the way he says it, like he’s so genuinely grateful for your compliment. It surprises you, the peek into the real him, the one that’s beneath the big grins and Nike commercials. “Heading home?”

You nod. 

There’s a brief air of hesitation, gone so quick you thought you imagined it. Then he asks, “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

“You want me to go out in downtown Nashville, in the city where you just had a huge milestone game and your name is the only thing everyone’s talking about?” You can’t help the incredulous tone of your voice or the pointed look you give him.

He smiles, letting the indirect accolades roll off as if they don’t mean anything to him. Maybe they don’t. “Does that mean you’d be talking about me too?”

You ignore his chide. A vision of flashing cameras, trending hashtags, and an inbox full of hate messages from jealous Instagram models passes through your mind, a dread filling your gut. You’re not ready for that. Not for a few hours with a man you barely know.

“I’m really not in for a crowd,” you say, turning to walk away. It’s the truth, but part of you—you’re really not sure which—wonders if you shouldn’t have rejected his advances. What if you did have a connection? 

You only get to take one step before he’s calling after you again.

“What do I have to do to get you to give me a chance?”

You pause, thinking. Then you turn and smile. “Win a Super Bowl. Then we’ll talk.”

The celebrations are legendary. Navy and light blue confetti flies in the air, the roar of the crowd near deafening; later, champagne and beer flow in excess and the music pumps loud through the speakers in the dark, packed bar. Despite the typical order against fraternizing, you and your teammates are earnestly invited to the afterparty. We just won the Super Bowl, they say, no one can touch us.

Brady is preoccupied all night, constantly surrounded by teammates, friends, family, and beautiful girls. If he remembers your unofficial promise, or intends to act on it, he doesn’t show it; you don’t even get the chance to talk to him amidst the celebration. You don’t hear from him at all, so you assume your lack of interest has caused his own to dwindle, writing you off as a lost cause and moving on to the next target.

About a week after the Super Bowl, you’re at the stadium clearing out your locker in the dressing room. The deep, familiar voice comes from behind you.

“I won the Super Bowl.”

When you turn around, Brady Skjei, Super Bowl MVP is standing in the open doorway. He’s sporting joggers and an expensive-looking sweatshirt, and you wonder what he’s doing at the stadium.

“You did,” you say, not trying to hide the grin that grows on your face. “Congratulations, Brady. You—you’re… really special to watch.”

He looks surprised at your genuine compliment, and he blinks. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating?”

His smirk is wicked, eyes flicking down to your leggings. “What if I want to celebrate with you?”

God damn, is he smooth. Against your own will, you feel your heart pulse a little bit faster. “Me, huh?”

“Who wouldn’t want to celebrate with the prettiest girl in Nashville?” 

“Laying it on pretty thick, aren’t you, Skjei?”

“Just telling the truth,” he says with a wink; you fight the urge to roll your eyes. Then, “How do you like dive bars?”

Pausing, you allow your eyebrows to raise before looking back at him. “All that pining and now you’re okay with our first date being at a dive bar?”

“Who said anything about a date?” he says, winking, then grinning at the expression on your face.

Twenty minutes later, you’re stepping hesitantly out of his truck (that costs more money than you have in your savings account) and walking through the door he opens for you. Your self-preservation radar is blinking as you take in the seedy bar, but Brady’s large, looming presence at your back comforts you. The bar isn’t empty, but it is definitely a dive: dim lighting, a neon Miller Light sign on the wall right beside the ‘Cash Only’ sign written in sharpie, and well-worn barstools create a dingy ambience. The bartender doesn’t look up at the opening of the door, but he does nod in familiarity when Brady approaches the bar. You wonder how in the world he knows about this place. 

From the booth you settled in, you watch the two exchange a few words before the bartender sets off to grab the two Bud Lights that he hands him. Back across from you, he slides one bottle across the table at you. He offers the lip of his bottle in a silent toast, which you clink yours against before you take a drink.

“Not so bad, huh?”

“How do you even know about this place?” you laugh incredulously. 

“Been coming here since I moved here,” he explains. “Tom—the owner—was one of the few people who didn’t treat me like this huge elephant in the room. It was the only place I could be just… Brady.”

You cast your eyes down, gaze tracing over the initials carved into the wood of the table. You were guilty of doing exactly what he said; making him into someone larger than he is, letting the weight of his name make your decisions about him before even giving him a chance. 

“It comes with the territory,” he says, like he can sense your guilt. “Everyone does it.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, I am the savior of Nashville sports,” he says with a cheeky grin, and just like that, any discomfort has dissipated, clearing the air in an instant. Then he asks, “How long have you lived in Nashville?”

At first, you hesitate, debating with yourself how much of yourself you want to reveal to him. You look into his eyes, trying to determine how interested he really is. They glitter as he looks at you, that handsome, all-American charm radiating over his features. But beneath that, you see sincerity, almost a pleading look—maybe for you to just give him a tiny bit of leeway. 

“Four years. I’ve been on the cheer team for three,” you ultimately say. 

“Dancer?”

Your eyes narrow. True, it isn’t far-fetched to know that the majority of professional cheerleaders have a background and training in dance, but you’re suspicious of how he knows it. Does he know because he’s been around them since being thrust into the world of the NFL, or did he have a more intimate knowledge?

“My sister’s a cheerleader,” he says with a shrug. You get the strange sense he was reading your thoughts. “And, believe it or not, I am capable of making friends that are female.”

“Can you blame me for my suspicion?” 

Another broad grin. “Only a little.”

Conversation comes easier than you expect. Turns out, you have more in common than you thought, and in addition to being handsome and talented and successful, he’s also got funny on his resume. He tells you about his sister, his dogs, and how he typically spends his offseasons. The longer he talks, the more you realize he really is just a normal guy beneath a public persona and 8.1M Instagram followers. 

Bit by bit, he breaks down the brick wall you’ve constructed around yourself, your hesitance around getting to know him evaporating with each laugh that he pulls from your lips. It surprises you how nice it is to see him like this; it makes you feel special that he’s comfortable enough to peel back a few layers with you. You wonder how many people get to see this version of Brady.

And good lord is he handsome. You’ve never really had much of an opportunity to speak with him up close; you never noticed the scar on his chin, the ridge in his nose, or the freckle on his jawline. Sitting across from him, he looks at you like you’re the only person left in the world, not seeming to notice the handful of other patrons in the bar or their lingering stares. 

Being the center of his attention, the subject of his attentive gaze, is intoxicating.

“Man, you are so out of my league,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle, leaning back against the cushion back of the booth. He shakes his head like he knows he’s in trouble. Even in the dim lighting, his cheeks are tinged with pink.

You can’t help the laugh that barks out in response. “You realize who you are, right?”

“I do.”

“And that you’re quite literally in the biggest sports league in the world?”

He nods, that same sincere look in his eyes as before. “I think you’re insanely beautiful. And talented. And funny. Unless you’re a serial killer, you’re the perfect catch.”

The joke creates an easy opportunity for a laugh, but you find your heart fluttering at his words. As much as you’d like to be immune to the weight of a compliment coming from Brady Skjei, it’s easier said than done. Satisfaction and humility bubble up inside you against your will, and you smile and thank him shyly. It isn’t lost on you that it’s exactly what people say about him.

When you told Brady you’d get one drink with him, you really meant it. But even your impenetrable fortress isn’t immune to his charm; three drinks later, you find yourself pressed against the passenger door of Brady’s car while he mouths at your jawline. His lips are hot against your skin, heating radiating through your body while they trail fire over your neck. A soft moan escapes your lips—it feels so fucking good, so good that you can barely even bring yourself to care that you’re in the middle of the parking lot getting felt up by NFL superstar Brady Skjei.

Your hand clutches onto his bicep, another gasp escaping when his teeth sink gently into your skin. His tongue caresses the sting, finding a tandem that earns another rush of pleasure down your spine. The space between your legs is hot in your leggings, your center seeking out his firm leg; you feel the smirk against your neck before he nudges his knee between your thighs.

His groan rumbles against you when your hips begin to grind yourself against him, creating the friction you desperately need. Soon enough, you’re whimpering shamelessly with his large hand—the one that throws the football—groping at the flesh of your ass to guide you along.

“C’mon,” he murmurs against your lips. “Lemme see you.”

The heat formulates in you faster than you expect, exploding at the apex of your thighs as you cry out. Almost immediately, his hand claps over your mouth to cover the sound, an amused laugh on his face at what he’s done to you, unable to control your own scream. His breathing is almost as heavy as yours when he curses in your ear. “Fuck, baby.”

Your lips are damp from where they were locked with his, feeling slightly swollen as you smile at him when he pulls away, opening the door for you and offering his hand to help you inside the car. “I’ll take you back.”

When he settles back into the driver’s seat, he turns to look at you with a smile before he puts his seatbelt on. Maybe it’s the beer or maybe it’s the fire he lit inside of you, but something makes your hand reach out to stop him, instead leaning over the center console to kiss him hotly. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it, accepting your kiss eagerly and allowing you to brush your hand over his thigh. At first, it lingers on the inside just above his knee, but the return of his tongue to your mouth encourages it to draw higher.

Brady’s breath hitches in his throat when your palm comes up to press against the firm bulge beneath his zipper. You like knowing you have an effect on him, like the way he releases a sigh when you apply a little pressure and squeeze him. 

“Can I?” Your question is a purr in his ear, fingers toying with the waistband of his joggers.

“You want to get your hands on me before I get to touch you? That’s criminal,” he says.

“Guess you gotta work harder than that,” you tease, liking the power you have over him when his dick is in your hand. 

His response is simply a groan, followed by a conceding nod, lifting his hips to help you shimmy his joggers down his legs. It’s a bit cramped in the car, but all you’re focused on is the sizable erection that springs free. Headlights turn on in the parking lot, illuminating the road beside you, and you keep a normal expression even as your hand wraps around his length—you’d almost forgotten that someone could very realistically catch you here, in the act. 

He’s warm, soft skin over the very hard appendage. Your fist begins to stroke, earning a lower groan from him. Glancing over, you smile at the way his eyes close; it amuses you that Brady Skjei, one of America’s most eligible bachelors, is falling apart over a handjob in a dive bar parking lot. 

When you lower your mouth to his tip, allowing your lips to ever so gently brush the head, you look up at him in another silent question.

Brady practically whines. “Now you get to taste me before I get to even touch you?”

“You already tasted my lips,” you say, fully aware of the innuendo. His answering grumble makes your lips curl up on your face. 

His tip is warm, soft against your lips, a dribble of precum leaking out that you catch with your tongue. He’s firm in your mouth, and you find yourself pleased at the physical evidence of his attraction to you. The guttural sound that leaves his throat is motivation to take him further, working your lips around his length.

Nothing about sucking Super Bowl Champion Brady Skjei’s dick in the parking lot of a seedy dive bar is normal, or even remotely how you anticipated your evening would go. But now that you’re here, something inside of you is determined to see it through—if he wants to be a simp, you’re going to give him a reason to be a simp.

Unlike most other men, he has a body part that’s more prized than his penis, but you’re willing to bet that it’s a close second on the list. So you worship him, giving each inch the attention it deserves. Judging by the white knuckle grip he has on the steering wheel, his other hand tangled in your hair to keep it out of your way, you’re confident he approves of your performance.

He grunts out a warning before he finishes, and afterwards, he opens the glove box to fish out a handful of fast food napkins—celebrities, they’re just like us!—and offers you one to help clean up your mouth. “I think I’m in love. D’you want to get married?”

You laugh. “I have to say, a marriage proposal is quite the endorsement.”

“I have a lot to endorse,” he says. “God, you’re perfect.”

Brady drives you back to your car at the arena, one of three vehicles left in the staff parking garage—perhaps the cleaning crew, given how late it is—and he looks at you when he puts the car in park beside yours. “You gonna give me your number this time?”

“I have your number,” you say with a smile. You’re not sure what the last little bit of resistance left in you—you just sucked the guy’s dick in a dive bar parking lot, for Christ’s sake—but it’s what takes the driver’s seat and puts up one last layer of defense.

He smiles back, unbothered by your antics. “I’d like to see you again.” “I’m sure you would,” you reply with a smile, casting a glance down at his lap and earning a chuckle from him. 

“I’m serious. A date. Nothing physical. I have to prove to you that it’s not all about that for me.”

You hesitate. “A drink is very different from a date. I could get kicked off the team—”

“I can be discreet.”

“I don’t know, Brady. The consequences are much steeper for me than for you if this goes sideways.”

Brady grimaces—he hadn’t thought of it like that. He’s quiet for a moment, like he’s trying to conjure a magic solution out of thin air. Then he announces, “I’ll take the blame.”

“I’m not sure it works that way,” you say with a sad smile. 

“I won them a Super Bowl. I’m pretty much untouchable,” he continues, and he says it without an ounce of ego behind his words. “Breaking the tiny rule of pursuing a beautiful girl—which there is evidence of, by the way—won’t even be a scratch on my record.”

You consider his words. He had a point. Brady Skjei is untouchable in Nashville, and you do have the evidence proving his interest long before you ever agreed to see him outside of Titans-sanctioned events. Would it actually do anything to save you should things go sideways? You aren’t sure, but you think it has to count for something. 

There’s also the fact that beneath the surface, through your interactions with him, you’ve found he’s kind, funny, and caring. He’s exceeded all expectations, so much so that he had you humping his leg after just a couple of beers. You feel a flutter between your legs at the thought of what he might have you doing after a real date. 

You hate to admit that you’re really intrigued at what a date with Brady Skjei would look like. How it would feel to spend time with him that has a label, an intention. If it’s anything like tonight—simple and fun and easy—it’d be wonderful. Though you’ve tried to ignore it, there’s something there, the hint of a spark. You can’t deny your curiosity to see if it fizzles or flames. 

“Just one date?” you ask, and the grin that forms on his face is wider than the one he had after he won his second Super Bowl ring. 

“That’s all I need.”

[kots-kots]

so like what if I drew passione if they were in warriors 😭

Names and design explanations under cut!!

bruno - ripplestripe!!! he has zipper-like stripes along his body. his hair charms are golden berries

Abbacchio - Bluesong; he has forget-me-not flowers bcuz he chooses not to let go of his past

Mista - Mistyguide; he has 6 toes!! And 6 stripes on his tails. Im honestly not entirely sure how the sex pistols would work, maybe they’re birds…?

Narancia - Dancestep; he has a plane marking along his back lmao 😭 supposed to look a lot like bruno

Fugo - Purplegaze FOR OBVIOUS REASONS. I imagine he was a kittypet named Panacotta before

Giorno - Goldenwind (funnnyyyyy…) I imagine he was originally named Springkit/Springpaw before being renamed

Trish - she’d probably still be called Trish until the gang renames her Spicepaw and then Spiceflower when she locks tf in. Her stripes are based off spice girl LOL

LA SQUADRA

Risotto - Nightridge; night being a substitute for black aka nero and ridge because… it kinda sounds like ris! Plus he died on a ridge 😭

Prosciutto - Prowlshade; his design is a direct counterpart to Bruno’s! They have similar stripes ^_^ His name references shades, a synonym for ghosts

Pesci - Beachbay!!! He’s a Scottish fold LOL

Ghiaccio - Whiteice; his stripe placement is based off White Album

Melone - Meadowmask; pretty self explanatory but holy fuck he is the most purplest most raccoon looking cat ever

Formaggio - Littlefeet; references fire and his manga colors

Illuso - Clearmane; Mane is just a reference to man like “mane in the mirror”

UNITA SPECIALE

Diavolo - Doublestar; his two tails take after his weird coattail thingies. He has the 9 lives special cuz I want him to die over and over again

Doppio - Doubletail; kittypet name: Froggy. He takes off his collar and turns into diavolo 😭 more spots n stuff appear

Squalo - Squirrelsplash

Tiziano - Tigereye

Those two are often seen at the beach together LOL

Cioccolata - Greenday; medicine cat that went insaneeee but diavolo keeps him around

Secco - Oasispath; med cat assistant. Same schtick

NOT PICTURED:

Polpo - Poppypond

Sorbet - Softbite

Gelato - Galelark

Mr Pericolo - Pericolo or just “Peri”

Carne - Curlnettle

Polnareff - Silverchance

LORE/PLOT STUFF

The stand arrow is probably the Moonstone. They get their powers from it yadda yadda

I do not know if they have stands. Bc itd be pretty funny for them to have stands but then again it’s warriors 😭 most they’ll have is probably foresight, super strength/hearing/listening, etc but idk abt much else

I was thinking Polpo is the deputy but after he died, Bucciarati had the opportunity to become deputy so that’s why he takes upon Diavolo’s mission to get Trish n whatnot lawllll

Other stuff idek abt thats all I have sorry 😿