#existential fog

[wickedzeevyln]

Purple Tiger

˚✮ The Things Unnoticed Are Your Things Lost ✮˚.⋆ Did I cry in my sad dreams?Of course, it was grimly sad.If it were a joyful dream and I was crying my head off, bawling my eyes out, having convulsions, then I’m the Mad Hatter. ˚✮ Nothing of You ✮˚.⋆ Questions fall like snow flurries in Ontario, piling up into heaps, immovable against the hardest shovels in murdering temperatures. Questions…

[supercantaloupe]

wish i could give you a hug about your migraines and medication struggles. you deserve to be cared about accommodated

thank you <3 to be clear so far i haven't encountered anyone who's been uncaring or unaccommodating about it. i'm mostly just frustrated at...not necessarily myself, i guess, but at the mere fact of experiencing new existential challenges in my daily life. it's hard and scary to admit that i'm struggling, it's hard to ask for help, and it's hard to do so with the knowledge that most people have very little real way to help other than going "that's rough, buddy"

[depths-of-existence]

The lighthouse

Where is your lighthouse? Are you looking towards it for navigation? If a boat sees the lighthouse but does not know how to use it, then responsibility cannot be ignored. Who will be responsible for the tragedy? If you do not go where the lighthouse points and get lost in the ocean can others be blamed? Goals are like the Lighthouse in our life. We look at them to find the way and move towards…

[aidanordanny]

The Fog.

The fog, that milky air

That feels so cool, yet it still feels fair

The freezing air makes the lungs ache and sting

And then, it is simply gone in a blink

And all that's left are the blushes nose and ears

The stiffen fingers and the cracked lips

And the air of my lungs becomes no more than a puff

Shining and twisting, just like the smoke that is a proof

Of the eternal fire I once felt I side my chest?

When will we be allowed to rest?

When will the Elysian Fields and the Heavens above take our souls?

But as much as I wonder that, I am no fool.

I stay in my place and watch the world go

As my dearest ones start to age and grow

Until their faces are wrinkled, and their hair is white

White like the Fog that already begins to fall

Is the life similar to the Fog I saw?

Does it sing and ache, does it show up and watch you slowly break?

Break like your lips it once had made crack

Yet still puts a comforting hand on your back?

Does life slowly dissapear?

Does it also become that restless peer,

That would follow you to the depths of Hell and back,

Providing the silent comfort when you feel its lack?

The fog comes and envelops you whole,

The milky white embraces your soul

As your body aches and pains

And the comforting cold is filling your veins

[mylovesstuffs]

The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu

Mingyu’s been in love with you forever but you’ve never seen him that way, or so he thinks. So he writes you anonymous letters, sends gifts, leaves clues—seven days of hope that you’ll catch on without him spelling it out for you. But every time you get close, you guess everyone but him. 

Genre: Non-idol au, college au, romance (?), comedy, modern au (no specific setting, but contemporary vibe), slice of life and light-hearted mystery 

Pairing: Mingyu × fem!reader

Content: Secret admirer, friends-to-lovers, slow burn (?), miscommunication, amnesia (in terms of realization—reader doesn’t realize Mingyu’s feelings), investigative humor, gift-giving (anonymous), letters (anonymous), silly investigation, mingyu’s subtle hints, light drama (misunderstandings and comedy), emotionally constipated Mingyu, orange juice, lavender, hidden camera, fake love ringtone trauma, laughter and fun with friends (Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Woozi, Seungkwan, Vernon and Dino), dramatic!seungkwan, over-invested! soonyoung, smug!jeonghan, unspoken yearning, heart-thumping hugs,  romantic confession.

Warnings: None for explicit content, just mild comedic frustration and tension related to the investigation. potential light anxiety (reader overanalyzes and stresses about figuring out the admirer), occasional bout of existential romantic confusion.

Word count: 20,620 words

A/N: HIT TEXT BLOCK LIMIT SO EXCUSE ME. this was my rushed valentine’s day fic; written in a fog of sleep deprivation and caffeine, desperately trying to meet the deadline [14th Feb] before tumblr decided to glitch its entire draft-saving system into oblivion. to this day, it still won’t let me fix it [dear tumblr devs: once i get my degree, i’m coming for your job. and then i’m resigning on the spot after fixing my own problem ☺️] if wanted to post this,, life, exhaustion, and tumblr’s war crimes said no because to post it, i would've had to sit down and format it from scratch for HOURS because drafts wouldn't worl. it took me until few weeks into the issue [Feb] to realize i could cheat the system with scheduled posts [which is still a cursed gamble when you're handling 3k+ words]. i reread this recently and cringed so hard i nearly vaporized. this is so metallic and roboticthis… it truly contains all the side effects of first-draft. but at the time, i gave this thing my everything. sleep was sacrificed. blood, sweat, and tears [real] were involved. i was running on loneliness too. this may be posting now, but like I said earlier, it was written a long time ago. the fics that will come after this are recent. so, they’re better and you’ll see the difference. i’m not the same writer anymore, and that’s something i’m low-key proud of bc i see improvements lolllll. massive, massive thanks to K @cheers-to-you-th Calli @hhaechansmoless and Tiya @gyubakeries for resurrecting this from the grave; you three deserve hazard pay for beta-reading this without losing braincells. also to Kae @studioeisa, who was quite literally the only person i spoke to while writing this. thank you for letting me talk  about this fic’s summary

inspired by the golden age of secret admirer tropes and that one friend who’s always been right in front of you, but you were too blind to believe it could be him. much love to GoSe for fueling Seungkwan and Soonyoung’s idiocy. also, Jeonghan’s smirk deserves a credits roll

to the readers: you deserve better than this first draft. but thank you for reading it anyway ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

You’re not expecting a package when you step outside your apartment door.

You're not expecting an online order—maybe the overpriced serum you panic-bought at 2 a.m. last week because TikTok convinced you your skincare routine was trash, but instead, there’s a neatly wrapped gift box on your doormat, and right on top of it, an envelope with your name on it.

Your first mistake is thinking this is a normal day. Your second mistake is opening the letter in front of your friends.

-

It was a normal afternoon at the café in your usual spot, where the group had gathered to do absolutely nothing productive as per tradition. You had just settled into your seat, wedging yourself between Mingyu and Soonyoung, when Seungkwan gasped.

"Oh my God, is that a love letter?"

Seungkwan’s voice was loud enough to startle the students at the next table. The café, previously humming with the background noise of clinking cups and conversations, now suddenly goes dead silent, at least, in your world, because now everyone is looking at you.

"It could be anything," you say, though the neatly written name on the envelope suggests otherwise.

"No, no, no," Soonyoung cuts in, already reaching for the letter. "We have to open this together. For the sake of the investigation."

"What investigation?"

"The one where we figure out who is in love with you, obviously."

Before you can argue, Jeonghan, sitting across from you, gestures toward the envelope. "Just open it. If you drop dead from embarrassment, at least we’ll have entertainment."

That’s all the permission Seungkwan needs before he grabs it, clearing his throat before reading aloud. "Dear Y/N," he read aloud in an exaggerated, sappy voice. " It feels a little cliché to start with Dear, but here we are. I don’t know if this is the best way to do this, but I guess I’m doing it anyway. The first time I met you, I thought the world had shifted just a little. You probably don’t remember, but I do. And I think… I always will. I see you. I see the way you get that little crease between your brows when you’re focused. The way you fight back a smile when you think something’s funny but pretend it isn’t. The way you give your things to people without thinking twice – your food, your jacket, your time. I see you, and I hope just this once you see me too.

P.S. You’re really bad at locking your phone screen. I already know your new favorite flower.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

"WHAT?!"

"NO WAY."

"Wait, wait, WAIT—who sent this?!"

Mingyu chokes on his drink. "Huh?"

You yanked the letter back, heart hammering. 

Jeonghan, lounging across from you, smirked. "Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer."

Seungkwan is already on his feet, "You have a secret admirer?! I—this is—what—WHO?!" And adds, "How come I don’t get secret admirers?!"

"Maybe because you announce every five minutes that you’re single and desperate." Jihoon deadpans.

"That is NOT—okay, but that’s beside the point!" Seungkwan huffed before rounding on you. "Who do you think it is?"

That was the question, wasn’t it? Your fingers traced the ink absently, brow furrowing. You wonder: Who, among them, is listening just a little too carefully? You steal a glance at your friends, Jeonghan is still smirking. Vernon and Chan are whispering to each other. Jihoon looks entirely uninterested, already focusing on his phone. Mingyu stays relaxed with that big smile in place. Soonyoung, who already struggles to sit still on a normal day, is practically vibrating in his seat.

"It has to be someone we know," you mutter, narrowing your eyes. "Someone who knows me really well."

Soonyoung gasped. "Wait. What if it’s Jihoon?"

Jihoon doesn’t even look up. "Do I look like the type to write love letters?"

Fair point.

Seungkwan ignores him. "No, no, no, think about it. The handwriting, it’s too neat, too precise. And look at this phrasing—'I see you'? That’s some poetic, brooding nonsense right there."

"That’s definitely not Jihoon," Vernon mutters, taking a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

"Okay, but who else could it be?" Chan muses.

"It has to be someone we know," you murmur, rereading the letter. The words are too personal. This isn’t some random admirer. This is someone who knows your habits, your quirks and stays with you a lot of the time.

"Maybe… Jeonghan?" Chan suggests.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. "Me? That’s cute, but if I were her admirer, she'd know. I’m not subtle."

Okay. Not him either. Your mind whirls, piecing together possibilities. "So then who?" you ask, exasperated.

Soonyoung slams a fist on the table. "We investigate."

Seungkwan nods, solemn. "Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N begins now."

Mingyu exhales, but no one notices. No one sees the way his shoulders drop, the barely-there shift in his posture, releasing something he was holding onto too tightly. No one catches the way Jeonghan glances at him from the side, a smirk playing on his lips like this is the most entertainment he’s had all week, and you obviously don't notice him either. Because you—sweet, oblivious, you have already ruled him out. Because of course Mingyu couldn’t be the one. The thought is too absurd, too ridiculous. How could he ever be into you? You don't even have the confidence to suspect him aloud. Mingyu, who walks into every room like he owns it, who grins too easily and makes everyone feel like they belong. Mingyu, who could have anyone if he wanted. And you’re just… you. It makes no sense. It has to be someone else, someone who wouldn't make your heart stutter in your chest just by standing too close. But if you really looked at him, you’d see it. His ears are pink, fingers drum against his knee, the way he looks at you when you’re not looking at him; but you don’t.

You’re too busy strategizing.

One thing that’s as clear as day now is that, you're suspecting your own friend group. While he wanted to stay anonymous with the letters, he had deliberately altered his handwriting hoping to throw you off but ironically in doing so, he somehow ended up mimicking Jihoon’s handwriting accidentally. And now, Jihoon is your prime suspect.

-

You, Soonyoung, Seungkwan, Jeonghan, and Mingyu are lounging in the library, passing time when Seungkwan starts scribbling something on a piece of paper, lips pressed together in deep concentration as he taps the pen twice against the table before declaring, “Soonyoung is out.”

“Hey!”

“And Seungkwan,” you add.

“Excuse me?”

“Be honest,” you deadpan, tilting your head slightly. “You can’t keep a secret for five minutes, let alone one day.”

Seungkwan opens his mouth to argue, but then stops, visibly deflating. Soonyoung, still grumbling about the injustice of it all, leans over to peer at the list Seungkwan has been working on. After a lot of back-and-forth (and Seungkwan rejecting some of Soonyoung’s wilder theories, like what if it’s a ghost?), the three of you narrow down the list of suspects. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan remain, with Jihoon being the prime suspect because, as Seungkwan pointed out, his handwriting is suspiciously similar to the letter.

Across the table, Jeonghan and Mingyu stay silent throughout the discussion. Jeonghan watches, bemused, while Mingyu leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Neither of them bother to chime in, letting the three of you spin as you, Soonyoung and Seungkwan plot to set a trap when the time is right. 

Now, Chan and Vernon, for some reason, being one of the suspects… Mingyu absolutely cannot wrap his head around it. Why those two? What about anything in that letter screamed them? Why is it so easy for you to entertain the idea that either of them could be your secret admirer, but not him when he’s right here breathing the same air as you? When the admirer is right in front of you? He can literally just straight up confess, but no, he has to wait. He has to hold himself back. After all, it hasn't even been a day since you received his first letter. He can be patient. He’s more calculated than people give him credit for. Sure, he might not seem like the type to plan things out, but when it comes to you, he’s meticulous. His friends know it, even you know it, but you’re too caught up in the role of being his friend to acknowledge that he’s more than just a guy who trips over thin air, that his intelligence is just as attractive as everything else about him.

Mingyu’s original plan was simple—he wanted you to figure it out. He thought that by leaving letters and gifts, you’d naturally start paying closer attention to the people around you. He assumed it would be obvious, that you’d pick up on the little details: how he knows things about you that only someone truly paying attention would, how each gift is something he’s seen you admire before. He expected you to connect the dots, to turn around, to look at him, and to realize. But instead, you’re sitting there, hunched over a notebook with Seungkwan and Soonyoung, listing off suspects like this is some kind of whodunnit mystery game.

Two

February 8th.

Walking up to your locker with Vernon, you sip the orange juice that Mingyu handed you just a few minutes ago. As you reach your locker, you pass the juice to Vernon and dig into your jacket pocket, searching for your keys. Your fingers brush against something unexpected, a small, rectangular object. You pull it out and take a closer look. It’s a bookmark, delicately pressed with a lavender flower—your favorite. Attached to it is a tiny note:

“It reminded me of you.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Turning to Vernon, you hold up the bookmark, but before you can say anything, you catch him sipping from your juice.

“Yah! That’s mine!” you exclaim, narrowing your eyes.

Vernon simply shrugs. “Right…” he says, unfazed, taking another sip.

Rolling your eyes, you shove the bookmark in his direction. “Are you sure you didn’t slip this into my pocket when I wasn’t looking?”

Vernon scoffs, shaking his head. “I swear, Y/N, it's not me. I mean, I like you, but not enough to be your secret admirer.”

You huff but decide to let it go. Shaking your head, you turn back to your locker and start gathering your things, your books, a notebook, and a pen before shutting the door with a soft click.

Slipping your bag over your shoulder, you glance at Vernon, who still is sipping your juice. Letting out a sigh, you wave him off. “See you later, thief.”

“Enjoy finding your secret admirer.”

Rolling your eyes, you turn on your heel and make your way toward the park near the college library. The crisp breeze brushes against your face as you walk, the bookmark still tucked safely in your grasp. As you reach the park, you spot Seungkwan and Soonyoung sitting on the swings, chatting animatedly. A smile tugs at your lips as you pick up your pace, ready to execute your usual routine, which is pushing Seungkwan off his swing and claiming it for yourself.

Just as you lunge forward to shove him away, Seungkwan, having caught sight of you from the corner of his eye, expertly stands up and moves aside at the last second. Caught off guard, your hands swipe through thin air instead of meeting his shoulder and the momentum sends you tumbling forward. Instead of landing smoothly on the swing, your foot catches on the ground, and you face-plant onto the seat before slipping off and landing in the most ungraceful heap.

Soonyoung bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubles over, his giggles echoing through the park. The scene now resembles a group of drunk boys fumbling around with a soccer ball, except the only thing truly injured is your pride.

Groaning, you lift your head just enough to mutter, “The earth is full of selfish people.”

Seungkwan scoffs, arms crossed. “As if.”

Soonyoung is still wheezing. Like, fully doubled over, hands on his knees as Seungkwan rolls his eyes before sighing. Eventually after much suffering, he and Soonyoung each grab an arm and help you back to your feet. Dusting yourself off, you all make your way toward the bench in front of the swings, settling down.

Seungkwan disappears for a bit with a, “I’ll go get us something to drink,” and comes back with three drinks and, bless him, some ice wrapped in a napkin for your mishap from earlier. “Here,” he says, plopping down next to you, “for your bruised dignity.”

You roll your eyes but accept the ice anyway, pressing it against your arm where you had landed a little too hard. It’s a little embarrassing how much it helps. “Anyway,” you say, setting down your drink and pulling something out of your pocket. “I got another gift from the admirer today. Vernon was with me when I found it in my jacket’s pocket.” You hold up the bookmark along with the note.

Seungkwan squints at it. “You sure it’s not Vernon?”

“He denies it,” you say, taking a sip of your drink. “But he’s still sus.”

At that, the two of them launch into a theorizing session, their ideas getting more ridiculous by the second. You’re pretty sure they're just saying words now. Seungkwan adds fuel to the fire, and before you know it, they’ve spun a whole conspiracy web involving secret codes. It’s a little concerning how quickly they came up with all this. “You guys are so stupid.”

“But seriously,” Seungkwan says, “how many gifts or letters have you gotten so far?”

“Yesterday, I got a letter which you both saw, and a small plant so in total, one letter and two gifts including today's bookmark.”

Last night, when you got back to your dorm, there was a box sitting neatly in front of your door. No note on the outside, no sign of who left it. You glanced up and down the hallway but nope, no secret admirer lurked in the shadows, just the usual dorm silence. So you brought the box inside, set it on your desk, and opened it. Inside was a small, neatly potted plant with a tiny note tucked beside it. The note read:

“Take care of it well.”

That’s it. No name, no signature, just that.

Soonyoung immediately decides it’s finally the time for drastic measures. “It’s time to set a trap.”

Seungkwan, already tired, sighs. “No, it's not.”

“Yes, it is,” Soonyoung insists. “We need cameras, motion sensors, maybe even a decoy package—”

Seungkwan holds up a hand. “Okay, first of all, you’re not rich enough to have motion sensors.”

“Fine, but we can record the next delivery,” Soonyoung counters. “We set up a camera, catch them in the act.”

Seungkwan hums, considering. “Actually… that could work.”

And so the plan is set. The three of you head to Soonyoung’s place, which is always a good idea. Not just because he always somehow manages to convince his sister to lend him something after only minimal begging (or a taekwondo match), but because his mom recently visited, which means homemade food. And if there’s one universal truth, it’s that Soonyoung’s mom’s cooking has the power to make you forget all your problems. So while Soonyoung is off on his mission to beg or fight, you and Seungkwan shamelessly take advantage of the situation by helping yourselves to an absolutely unnecessary amount of food. Every bite is warm and ridiculously comforting, enough to make you forget you’re literally in the middle of an undercover investigation.

By the time Soonyoung returns, looking victorious with the tiny camera in hand, you’re full, satisfied and only mildly guilty about eating half his mom’s cooking. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, too focused on phase two of Operation: Who’s In Love With Y/N. Soon, you all make your way back to your dorm, and upon arrival, you scout for the perfect spot to set up the device, ultimately deciding on a corner of the corridor wall just out of plain sight but with a clear view of your door. Now comes the tricky part: actually installing the camera.

With no ladder, no proper tools, and absolutely no sense of self-preservation, you’re left to your own devices, meaning an unsteady, completely improvised method of reaching the higher spot. This is how you end up watching one of the most questionable stunts in history unfold.

Seungkwan, grumbling under his breath about always being dragged into Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas, crouches on a chair to add some height. “I swear, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid at all,” you remind him helpfully.

“Exactly! That’s the problem!”

Then, after a brief, heated argument over whether this was a terrible idea (which Seungkwan insists it was), Soonyoung climbs onto Seungkwan’s back, steadying himself by pressing a hand against the wall.

Soonyoung stretches up, muttering instructions that Seungkwan has absolutely zero patience for. “Hold still,” Soonyoung hisses, wobbling slightly as he raises the camera in one hand and secures it in place.

“I am holding still!” Seungkwan retorts, voice strained from supporting Soonyoung’s weight.

“Then why do I feel like I’m on a boat in the middle of a storm?”

"Maybe because you're as heavy as a sack of rice!"

You, being entirely unhelpful, are doubled over in silent laughter, barely holding back tears.

Despite the constant bickering, Soonyoung manages to attach the camera securely without knocking anything over or causing a disaster which is an impressive feat in itself, given the circumstances. Once he's satisfied with the placement, he carefully climbs down, having only one near-death slip, but he catches himself just in time.

With the camera now rolling, the three of you retreat into your dorm, hoping that today might bring another letter. You settle in, playing a few rounds of UNO to pass the time while keeping an ear out for any sounds outside. However, as the hours tick by, no new delivery arrives. Eventually, as the clock edges past 8 PM, Soonyoung and Seungkwan decide to call it a day.

“Well,” Soonyoung sighs, stretching his arms above his head, “I guess we check the footage tomorrow.”

“Or,” Seungkwan grumbles, rubbing his sore shoulders, “this was all just an excuse for Soonyoung to climb on my back.”

You laugh, walking them to the door. “Thanks for helping out, though. See you guys tomorrow.”

With a final wave, they head off leaving you alone in the dorm. But as you glance at the door one last time before heading to your bedroom, a thought scratches at the back of your mind relentlessly: What if the admirer knows they’re being watched?

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away. Now’s not the time to get paranoid. You have other things to focus on, like your studies. After spending most of your day fooling around, it’s about time you catch up. With a sigh, you open your books and begin to study. Your eyes scan the page, absorbing formulas and theorems—polynomials, integrals, trigonometric identities, limits. It’s pure maths which always seems to make sense when you’re in the right mindset. You scribble through some practice problems, your pen moving quickly across the paper as you tackle linear algebra and calculus, but your focus doesn’t last long. After an hour of studying, the temptation to check your phone becomes unbearable. Just a quick break, you think. So you open Instagram and start mindlessly scrolling through reels, watching endless edits of SEVENTEEN. As the adrenaline from watching them starts to course through your veins, you stand up, feeling a little too hot and giddy from the rush. You need to walk it off so you head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water trying to cool down and calm your racing thoughts. But as you’re pouring the water, your eyes naturally drift toward the front door. And that’s when you see it.

A letter. Slipped under the crack of the door.

Your heart skips a beat, and afraid to move. It’s from the secret admirer. The thought sends a shockwave through you. The thought that the hidden camera set up by you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung might have actually caught the admirer in the act fills your mind, making your pulse quicken. Your hands are slightly trembling as you set the cold glass down, then without thinking twice, you rush over, bending down to pick it up. The envelope is unmarked, your fingers linger on it for a moment as a weird mix of excitement and nerves bubble in your chest. Slowly, you rip the top open and pull the letter out, unfolding it carefully.

“I saw you laughing today, and it made me stop for a second. You’ve been on my mind for a while now and if I’m being honest, I don’t think a single day passes without me thinking of you at least once. It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone can become a part of your thoughts without even trying. Anyway, I hope you liked the bookmark, thought you might like the lavender on that. It's nothing too fancy, but I hope it makes you smile. And before you ask – no, I won’t tell you who I am yet. You’ll figure it out when the time is right. Or maybe I’ll have to be the one to tell you. See you later.”

You place the letter on your desk and take a deep breath. Part of you just feels this strange comfort from the letter, but another part of you is still buzzing with excitement, wondering who the camera caught.

You decide against checking the camera right now, knowing full well that if you watch the footage without Seungkwan and Soonyoung, they’ll throw a fit and sulk for days. And dealing with their pouts and sighs isn’t worth it. They’d probably demand some sort of grand apology, maybe treating them to a big buffet or approving one of Soonyoung’s ridiculous ideas as compensation. Yeah, no thanks. With that in mind, you push aside your curiosity and decide to wait until tomorrow to watch it together.

Three

February 9th.

“Hey, have you been sleeping well? You always pretend you’re fine, but I know you haven’t been getting enough rest. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you rubbing your eyes or you zoning out when you’re supposed to be paying attention. I know you have a lot on your mind. Maybe even too much. If I could take some of that weight off your shoulders, I would. But for now, all I can do is remind you to please, take care of yourself.

Also, I know you’re probably looking everywhere for answers, but sometimes you’re too focused on finding them that you miss the simple ones. Take a breath. Relax. Not everything is a mystery – sometimes, the answer is right in front of you, waiting for you to notice.

Anyway, I saw you trip earlier. That was funny.”

-

You stand, dumbfounded, gripping both last night’s and today’s letters while Seungkwan struggles to restrain himself from launching a punch at Soonyoung. The excitement of finally discovering your secret admirer had kept you patient, waiting for the two boys so you could watch the footage together. Now, the three of you stand in a loose circle in your dorm room, Seungkwan holding the mini camera in one hand, his grip tight enough to crack plastic.

Soonyoung, your beloved and apparently utterly incompetent partner in crime, forgot to check the camera battery. Which meant that after a measly thirty minutes of recording, the camera died. Which meant it captured absolutely nothing. Which meant your admirer had narrowly avoided being caught, not because of their own cunning but because Soonyoung was an idiot.

A heavy collective sigh fills the room, a habit the three of you have apparently perfected at this point. There’s no point in dwelling on it now. Shoulders slumping in defeat, you all grab your bags and head toward the stairs, making your way to campus.

Seungkwan, however, is not letting it go. He insists that this is a catastrophe, that you’ve all officially lost your credibility as investigators, that Soonyoung should be banned from handling equipment ever again. “This is ridiculous. This is a disaster. This is an embarrassment.” He’s been nagging nonstop, words tumbling out at breakneck speed as he waves his hands. “How did we mess up something this simple? How does anyone forget to check the battery? We are so unserious—”

You groan, throwing a hand in front of his face, forcing him to stop mid-rant. “Seungkwan, shut the fuck up and watch where you’re walking before you trip over your own ego.” Although he’s not wrong, he was just as invested in this as you and Soonyoung were, so he really has no right to act this self-righteous.

He gasps, but to his credit, he actually shuts up, though you can feel the pout radiating off of him.

Soonyoung meanwhile, has already moved on. By the time you reach campus, he’s concocting another plan, mumbling under his breath about an official interrogation session. “Café,” he decides. “We’ll question the suspects in the café.”

It’s not the worst idea. After all, you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung did come up with a list of potential admirers. And since Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan were still blissfully unaware of their suspect status on the list, it wouldn’t hurt to gather more intel.

Soonyoung claps his hands together, grinning. “Alright! We meet up at the café later with the others, and then—”

“Then we go to class before you actually flunk out of college,” you interrupt, already dragging Seungkwan toward the lecture hall.

“Pfft. Rude.” Soonyoung huffs but waves you off. “I’ll see you later!”

As you and Seungkwan slip into your usual seats, you let your eyes drift over the letters once more, fingers tracing the words. If Soonyoung hadn’t messed up, would you have already known the answer? Probably, but still…

Instead of paying attention to whatever your lecturer is droning on about—something about algorithms, efficiency, and real-world applications—you and Seungkwan huddle together whispering over your list of suspects one last time. Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan. The same three names.

“We need a proper plan,” Seungkwan mutters, tapping his pen against his notebook.

You nod in agreement. “We can’t just corner them randomly without knowing what to ask.”

So, while the rest of the class focuses on things that actually matter like, say, the lecture that’s apparently worth half of your grade, you and Seungkwan draft an interrogation script. Questions, strategies, ways to subtly (or not-so-subtly) catch the culprit slipping. Once it's done, Seungkwan sends the script to Soonyoung and without hesitation, drops a message in the group chat:

Seungkwan: Everyone. Café. After class. No exceptions.

Just as he hits send, "Seungkwan," your lecturer calls, voice heavy with disapproval.

You barely suppress a wince as Seungkwan slowly looks up, caught red-handed with his phone still in his grip. The lecturer pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, unimpressed. "Would you like to share what’s so important that you’d rather text in the middle of my very crucial, very grade-determining lecture?" (He says that every lecture. At this point, you’re convinced it’s just a scare tactic.)

Seungkwan, without missing a beat, gives the lecturer the most withering, unimpressed side-eye you’ve ever seen, one that he definitely doesn’t notice, too busy shifting his focus onto another poor student. With a sigh, Seungkwan stands up, gathers his things, and exits the room like a man facing exile.

After the lecture ends, you gather your things and step out of the hall, immediately spotting Seungkwan and Soonyoung waiting for you near the stairway landing. Seungkwan leans against the railing, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently and Soonyoung, on the other hand, is half-sitting on the lower step, scrolling through his phone, probably looking at some absurd meme he’s about to show you the moment you get close. The second you approach, Seungkwan spots you and gestures for your water bottle, giving you an expectant look. Without a word, you hand it over and he takes a long gulp like he’s been trekking through the desert. Meanwhile, you grab Soonyoung’s wrist to pull him up from his seat, and just like that, the three of you set off toward the café.

On the way, you pass by Chan’s lecture hall. He’s just stepping out when Soonyoung with no warning or whatsoever, hooks an arm around his neck and steers him in your direction. “Where are we going?” Dino asks, confused but not resisting.

“To the café,” Seungkwan answers. “We have an important interrogation.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Nope,” you and Soonyoung say at the same time.

“As expected…” Chan says sadly (fake).

When the four of you reach the café, you slide into your seat right between Seungkwan and Soonyoung, with Chan sitting beside Soonyoung. The moment you’re settled, the others start trickling in, each arriving on their own. That means they actually checked the group chat. If they hadn’t, well, you three would’ve just stormed into their respective halls and dragged them here by the ear. You weren’t about to wait around forever. Once everyone had gathered, Seungkwan takes charge.

“We’re here to interrogate Jihoon, Vernon, and Chan,” he announces, placing the list in the center of the table. “No questions about why they’re on the list. No complaints. We have our reasons.”

Mingyu watches all of this unfold, barely holding back a sigh. They’re never going to figure it out at this rate. He was never worried about Seungkwan and Soonyoung actually catching him. Those two could be geniuses in their own fields but when it came to deduction, they were absolute fools. It’s amusing how confident Seungkwan and Soonyoung are in their so-called investigation. He wants to scoff, wants to roll his eyes, but he keeps himself in check. You, on the other hand… you’re smart, but Mingyu is starting to think that your partnership with Seungkwan and Soonyoung might be lowering your IQ. Still, he lets it play out, keeping quiet as the interrogations begin.

Suspect Interrogations

✔ Jihoon goes first. He looks downright offended that his name is even on the list, crossing his arms over his chest as he scowls at you and Seungkwan. "Why would I do something so cheesy?" he demands. "I've told you already, it's not me!"

Seungkwan doesn’t miss a beat. He leans forward squinting at Jihoon, "That’s exactly what a guilty person would say!"

Jihoon visibly clenches his jaw, looking like he’s one second away from launching his drink at Seungkwan’s head. You almost want to stop him but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to see it happen.

✔ Vernon is next. He stares at you, eyes blinking slowly, looking about as confused as a man who’s been woken up mid-dream. "I don’t even write notes for myself, why would I write one for you?" he asks. "And I think I've told you many times, it's not me!"

You and Soonyoung exchange looks, still very suspicious of him for some reason.

✔ Chan goes last. He doesn’t even pretend to take this seriously, instead, he just laughs, "If I liked you, I’d just tell you," he says.

It’s a fair point. A good point. But then… he keeps talking. He starts adding unnecessary details, rambling about hypotheticals—the ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes’ that no innocent person would feel the need to explain. He’s digging a deeper hole with every word, and you can practically see Seungkwan’s brain short-circuiting beside you.

Then, all at once, Seungkwan slams a hand on the table and leans forward, "That sounds like something the real admirer would say to throw us off."

Chan looks so betrayed.

Jeonghan crosses his arms as he observes the mess of notes and theories sprawled out before him. "You're not going to get them to confess, you know," he says. "They want to stay anonymous. No amount of begging or interrogation is going to change that."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Then what do you suggest, Sherlock?"

Jeonghan smirks. "Simple. If you can’t catch them in the act, make them come to you."

He lays out his ideas: each one realistic, logical, and frustratingly effective. He insists that if the admirer is really in your friend group, they'll never slip up under pressure. They've already been careful and their goal isn't to get caught. It's to wait until they're ready.

But for the first time, Jeonghan is wrong.

Mingyu doesn’t want to stay anonymous because he isn’t ready. He’s been ready for as long as he can remember. He’s been in love with you since forever. The only thing stopping him from confessing outright is that he wants you to see it first. To realize, without anyone spelling it out for you that your admirer has been right in front of you this entire time. That it’s him.

Jeonghan keeps talking, giving you, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung ideas on how to lure out the admirer. You nod along, jotting down notes with Seungkwan, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu shifts in his seat, playing idly with the rings on his fingers, memorizing all of your plans. Jeonghan’s part is done, and now he just leans back, chatting lazily with Mingyu, who barely hears a word. Mingyu knows you’re not getting anywhere with this approach, not as long as you keep treating this like some detective novel. So, he decides to leave some hints of his own. Letting you catch him staring. Letting his fingers brush against yours just a second too long. 

A waiter approaches the table, setting down a glass of orange juice in front of you, along with a small hand warmer wrapped in soft fabric. A tiny note is attached, folded neatly under the band.

You blink, frowning. "I didn’t order this."

The waiter only smiles. "It was ordered anonymously. For you."

Before you can even process what that means, Seungkwan moves at the speed of 3×10⁸ m/s, snatching the orange juice off the table. "We are not letting her drink something from an unknown sender," he announces before he downs it in one go.

"You mean my secret admirer," you correct, deadpan, reaching for the note instead.

"So you say," he mutters.

Mingyu leans back in his seat, watching your reaction carefully as you unfold the tiny slip of paper. The words are simple yet enough to make your stomach flip:

“Keep your hands warm. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Seungkwan doesn’t even notice your momentary daze because he’s too busy sulking over his lack of a second drink. "That was good," he mutters, smacking his lips. "Would be nice if someone ordered one for me, though.”

Mingyu, cool, calm, and completely unbothered, raises a hand and calls the waiter over again. "Seven more orange juices, please," he says and then throws a pointed look at Seungkwan. "For everyone except him."

Seungkwan gasps. "What! Why not me?"

Mingyu smirks, propping his chin on his hand. "You already stole hers. No take-backs."

Seungkwan glares at him, indignant. “Oh, so now we’re playing favorites? Unbelievable.”

Mingyu only pokes his tongue out teasingly before leaning back in his chair, satisfied with the laughter echoing around the table. Soonyoung bursts into laughter first, quickly followed by the others. Mingyu just smiles to himself, but soon enough, you clear your throat, drawing everyone's attention. "So," you start, your voice slightly exasperated, "I was this close to catching the admirer in the act." You proceed to recount the series of events from yesterday and today, explaining how Soonyoung and Seungkwan had set up a hidden camera in your dorm’s corridor, only for the idiotic Soonyoung to forget to check the battery, causing it to die before it could record anything.

Mingyu who had been listening intently, releases a relieved breath, knowing how close he came to being discovered. The thought of you catching him in the act sends a shiver down his spine. He silently makes a mental note to be more careful with these anonymous deliveries. After all, he wants you to discover the admirer is him, but on your own time. Mingyu doesn’t want it to be forced.

Before he leaves, Mingyu stands up, making his way toward you. He gives you a hug and in that moment, it feels different unlike other times. His arms wrap around you with purpose, his chest pressing lightly against yours. The warmth of his body and the familiar scent of him, fresh and lightly musky with a hint of wood, lingers in your senses. You can feel the gentle pressure of his arms around you, and to not exaggerate, it feels like time had slowed down. Your heart stumbles over itself, a foolish, reckless thing, drunk on the way he feels against you. It’s ridiculous how a simple hug can make your head spin, how the warmth of his arms feels like something you shouldn’t crave, but do anyway. You press your lips together, willing yourself to breathe normally, to not let it show just how much this moment is unraveling you from the inside out. But it’s stupid. So, so stupid. Because this isn’t how you’re supposed to feel when your heart should be occupied with the mystery of your secret admirer—the person leaving you letters, the person who sees you in a way no one else does. You shouldn’t be aching for more, shouldn’t be selfishly lingering in Mingyu’s embrace, wishing he’d never let go. You shouldn’t want him to hold you like this again, and again, and again. But you do. And it feels wrong, because Mingyu isn’t the one writing you those letters…

He pulls back slightly, still holding you for a moment longer than usual as if trying to convey something without words. You notice how his touch lingers; the light yet deliberate way he lets you feel his presence though you don't fully catch onto his intentions. Meanwhile, Jeonghan raises an eyebrow at the hug. The others don’t really notice, as it’s not uncommon for the eight of you to hug, but something about this seems different even if they don't quite pinpoint it.

Mingyu pulls away, his smile still staying as he bids everyone goodbye, claiming he has another class in the afternoon that he can’t afford to miss.

However, as soon as he steps out of the café, he changes direction, heading not toward the classroom, but to a candle-making workshop he’d booked an appointment for a few days ago. Inside the workshop, Mingyu walks around with the instructor who guides him through the candle-making process. The space smells like warm wax and a cocktail of fragrances. The place is dancing with creativity but Mingyu already has a vision in mind.

His first idea is a rotating heart-shaped candle made of light pink wax, its design featuring ribbed layers that spiral upward giving it a unique 3D sort of effect. The second candle will be more playful, a rubik's cube made of hearts. It's a square candle and each side is covered in a grid of tiny hearts, all in varying shades of pink. The design is neat and the colors blend really well which makes the candle appear soft but striking at the same time.

Mingyu carefully selects the wax, something soft yet durable, perfect for the designs he has in mind and the colors, choosing soft shades of pink, each one different but complementing the others. He picks out the scents: a lavender with hints of vanilla. The instructor walks him through the remaining details, ensuring everything is perfect for the candles he’s about to create. Mingyu’s thoughts briefly drift back to you, wondering how you’ll react once you see the candles. But he has no time to waste anymore, so Mingyu rolls up his sleeves as the instructor prepares the workspace, laying out all the necessary materials. He’s focused, the idea of creating something special for you igniting a sense of excitement and purpose within him. The sound of the instructor’s instructions makes Mingyu feel like he’s entering a different world, one where he can focus solely on his vision.

Step 1: Preparing the Wax

The instructor starts by showing Mingyu how to melt the wax to the perfect consistency. Mingyu, fully engaged, watches carefully as the wax turns from solid to a glassy liquid. He chooses a light pink wax, the base for both candles, and pours it into a large mixing container, ready to be heated. The wax glows softly under the warm light and Mingyu smiles at how it resembles the color he envisions for the heart-shaped candle.

Step 2: Crafting the Heart Candle

Mingyu takes a special mold, shaped like a heart, and begins carefully pouring the melted wax into the mold. He does this slowly, ensuring there are no air bubbles and that the wax is evenly spread. As it fills the mold, he adds layers, letting each one cool slightly before pouring the next to create the ribbed, spiraled effect he wanted. With each layer, the heart shape begins to come to life, the design slowly becoming more intricate, giving it that soft, rotating effect he’d envisioned.

Once the mold is filled, Mingyu lets it cool. He then checks the temperature of the wax again, then chooses a faint vanilla scent to add, mixing it in thoroughly. He waits patiently, allowing the wax to solidify into the form of a delicate rotating heart.

Step 3: Crafting the Rubik's Cube Candle

Next, Mingyu turns his attention to the Rubik’s cube candle. He chooses a square mold, knowing it’ll be a bit trickier to get all the sides even but he’s determined. He melts a darker shade of pink wax, then carefully pours it into the mold, covering each side evenly. As the wax cools slightly, Mingyu presses tiny heart-shaped stamps into each side, ensuring each one is uniform but with slight variations in the shade of pink. Some hearts are light, some darker, creating a neat grid-like pattern.

Before he finishes, he adds the scent, a hint of lavender to the candle for a calming, refreshing scent that contrasts but compliments the soft vanilla in the heart-shaped candle. He doesn’t know why, but something about it feels just right.

Step 4: Setting Them to Cool

Mingyu carefully places both candles on the cooling racks, watching as they begin to set. He’s exhausted but satisfied, a small smile playing on his lips as he imagines you receiving them. He doesn’t need to say it but these candles are more than just gifts, they are symbols. Symbols of his feelings, wrapped up in a soft pink glow waiting for you to figure out that the admirer was always right in front of you.

As the wax cools and the candles solidify, Mingyu’s heart races just a little faster. He’s ready, he’s more than ready. He just needs you to realize it too.

Four

February 10th.

You carefully lift the velvet black box, a silk material cradling the delicate necklace inside. Your fingers brush against the golden chain as the lavender gemstone catches the light. The oval shape of the gemstone adds a timeless quality to it, and the way the facets reflect the light gives it an ethereal, almost magical quality. The chain is fine and delicate, emphasizing the dainty, feminine look of the necklace, which, in all its understated elegance, somehow feels like it was meant only for you. You can feel your heart race, knowing that someone took the time to pick out something that you also had your eyes on. 

Then your eyes fall on the note attached to the box, and you carefully read the words:

“I remember you mentioning this the other day. Couldn’t resist.”

Your heart skips a beat as the memory floods back. You remember the moment so clearly now. It was maybe an offhand comment but you had mentioned how much you adored that lavender gemstone necklace you saw during window-shopping. You had daydreamed about having it in your hands, imagining how beautiful it would be to wear and how it would make you feel. You'd been chatting with the others, and as you recall, the only ones who were around that day were Jeonghan, Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Chan. Your mind races as you quickly start to piece things together. It was one of them, wasn’t it? Vernon is out now but one of them had been paying attention and had remembered that fleeting wish. 

You set the necklace aside for a moment, turning your attention to the next gift. As you open the small package, your eyes widen in surprise. It's a keychain—a cute, round Doraemon keychain, the little blue robot cat you used to love watching as a kid. You can actually hear the theme song in your mind as you hold it in your hand.

You step into your room, carefully setting both gifts on your desk. It’s officially the fourth day since you found out about your secret admirer. Each day without fail you've received a gift along with a letter. But today, there’s been no letter yet. Which means it could arrive any moment. And that means this is your another chance. If you time things right, if you plan well enough, you might just catch them in the act. Your mind immediately goes to Seungkwan and Soonyoung. You need to meet up with them as soon as possible to strategize. Jeonghan’s advice had logic behind it, if there’s any hope of luring out the admirer, you’ll have to be smart about this.

With a deep breath, you check your phone to see the time and—Holy shit. You're late. Like, really late.

Your eyes widen as you scramble to grab your things. Soonyoung and Seungkwan are definitely going to scold you for making them wait. You don’t even have time to dwell on the gifts anymore, your priority is getting out of here now.

You rush to your closet, throwing on a gray oversized hoodie. It’s comfortable, and most importantly, easy to move in. You quickly pair it with high-waisted black wide-leg pants that you found hanging right in front of you. Slipping into your sneakers, you grab your black quilted tote bag, sliding it over your shoulder in one swift motion. Before heading out, you catch one last glimpse of yourself in the mirror, quickly applying a soft burgundy lipstick just enough to add some color to your face. Your Sony headphones settle around your neck as you practically bolt for the door. 

You can already imagine Seungkwan’s sigh and Soonyoung’s exaggerated disappointment. You are so not ready for this.

You burst into the library slightly out of breath, scanning the room until your eyes land on them sitting at one of the corner tables. Soonyoung is slouched over, lazily flipping through a book while Seungkwan looks far too unimpressed, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

The second you reach them, Seungkwan wastes no time. "You’re so late," he huffs, grabbing your wrist before you can even attempt an apology.

“Wait, I—” you start, but it’s useless.

Before you can even process what's happening, Seungkwan bolts out of the library with you in tow, dragging you behind him. You barely manage to throw Soonyoung an apologetic look but he just waves lazily, muttering something about meeting up later.

Seungkwan doesn’t stop until you’re both speed-walking through the hallway toward your class. “You seriously need to start checking the time,” he scolds though his grip on your wrist loosens once he sees you struggling to keep up.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you say between breaths, deciding to distract him before he starts a full-on lecture. “Anyway—oh my god, you won’t believe how noisy my neighbors have been lately.”

That catches his attention. “How noisy?”

“Loud loud,” you emphasize, lowering your voice as you both slip into the classroom and find your seats. “Like, I swear they’re either throwing a party every other night or filming some very questionable action scenes.”

Seungkwan gasps, already invested. “That’s insane. You have to spill everything later. But wait…” he pauses, turning to you, “...did you get anything from your secret admirer today?”

You nod, pulling your tote bag closer. “Yeah, actually. A keychain and a necklace.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Necklace? Okay, that’s new.”

“Yeah, yeah, but focus,” you whisper, nudging him as the professor enters. “We’ll talk about it later when Soonyoung’s here too.”

Seungkwan sighs but leans back in his seat, finally quieting down as class begins. You let out a relieved breath, glad you managed to avoid more nagging.

-

The plan was supposed to be foolproof. Simple, yet effective. You, Seungkwan, and Soonyoung had spent nearly an hour or two in the library piecing together the perfect strategy. Since the admirer delivered gifts and letters at completely random times, catching them in the act had been next to impossible. But then, Seungkwan had a moment of genius enlightenment or at least, that’s what he called it.

“You pretend to leave,” he had explained. “Turn off the lights, make some noise like you're walking away… but in reality, you're just hiding somewhere nearby, waiting to see who sneaks in.”

“I think it’s perfect!” Soonyoung grinned, clapping his hands together.

You weren’t as sure. On one hand, you wanted to catch him. On the other, you secretly hoped he’d be smart enough to avoid the trap. You didn’t want a dumb admirer, but you also desperately wanted to know who it was. 

And so it was set, you pretended to leave your dorm, deliberately shutting the door a little louder than necessary. The lights were turned off, and your footsteps echoed down the hallway only for you to quickly slip into a hiding spot right around the corner, out of direct sight but close enough to see anyone who entered.

Seungkwan and Soonyoung were stationed at different vantage points: Soonyoung crouched behind a vending machine down the hall, and Seungkwan, well… he was supposed to be hiding behind the stairwell.

Except he was the one who completely blew the mission.

You were barely five minutes into waiting when your phone suddenly blasted at full volume—

I'M SO SICK OF THIS FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~ FAKE LOVE~

Your heart stopped. Seungkwan was calling you.

You fumbled with your phone, fingers scrambling to hit decline as fast as humanly possible, but the damage was already done. From the dim light of the hallway, you saw a figure, tall, broad-shouldered frozen in place. There was a brief pause, and then… an unmistakable snort. Your admirer had just laughed at you.

Your mortification reached new heights as you caught a glimpse of movement just as Mingyu took a step back, blending into the shadows with alarming ease. But before he disappeared entirely, he let something slip from his fingers. A single envelope fluttered down to the floor. Then, just like that, he was gone. Mission failed.

The timing had been perfect. You had expected to wait for at least an hour, maybe two, or even five before the admirer would finally make a move. But no, he had shown up almost immediately after you hid. It should have been a victory. You had been so, so close, and yet…it still ended up failing. Your disappointment is immeasurable.

The one time you had a chance to catch him and Seungkwan of all people had to blow it. You don’t even want to look in his direction right now. Instead, you stare down at the envelope on the floor, left behind in his quick escape. You take a shaky breath before stepping forward, crouching down to pick it up. Your fingers brush against the smooth paper. It’s slightly warm, maybe from being held just moments ago. He was right in front of you and you missed him.

-

Mingyu sighs, his arm draped around your shoulders, patting you just below your shoulder blade. You lean into him, still fuming while Seungkwan sits stiffly across from you, avoiding eye contact. Soonyoung is usually the loudest one in the group but remains eerily quiet, the guilt probably eating him alive too.

You groan, burying your face against Mingyu’s chest. “I was so close! Like, insanely close. But no, of course, the universe had to humiliate me instead. The admirer didn’t just escape—he snorted at me. Snorted! He found it funny that I got caught!” You lift your head, eyes blazing with frustration. “You guys don’t understand. We had one job. One job! And we failed.”

Mingyu’s lips twitch, a mix of amusement and fondness. He’s enjoying this even as he strokes your arm absentmindedly, pretending to be the supportive friend. Jeonghan, on the other hand, actually smirks. “To be fair, I did tell you to be discreet.”

You shoot him a glare. “Don’t. Even. Start.”

Mingyu watches you closely and expectantly. Maybe you’ll finally piece it together now, maybe you’ll notice the way he’s been around you, the way the gifts are so him, the way his words always hold an extra layer of meaning. But no. Instead, you start throwing out the most ridiculous theories. “What if he’s not from our group? What if it’s some random stranger who’s been stalking me this entire time?”

Mingyu sighs deeply.

“What if it’s a professor?”

Mingyu groans.

“What if it’s—”

“Stop.”

You blink as he turns you toward him, his hands suddenly cupping your face. His palms are warm against your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your skin. Your eyes widen at the sudden closeness, at the way his gaze locks onto yours. For just a second he wonders if you’ll finally see it. If you’ll notice the way his eyes soften when he looks at you. If you’ll catch onto the warmth in his voice when he speaks. If you’ll recognize the way his hands feel so familiar, because he’s been by your side all along. But instead, you just stare at him puzzled.

Mingyu exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before pulling back. “Don’t overthink it,” he says. “The admirer will still admire you even after knowing you were spying on him without his consent. He has no reason not to.”

You blink at him. “That’s… oddly reassuring?”

Jeonghan watches the entire thing unfold, his smirk deepening. Of course, he picked it up. Mingyu releases you by shaking his head. He’s this close to just spelling it out for you, but no, you have to figure it out yourself. His fingers twitch slightly as he slips two candies into the pocket of your hoodie. You’re sharp and he knows that better than anyone. Always observing, always analyzing but right now, you seem lost in thought, your brows furrowed just slightly, lips pressed together as if deep in contemplation and he wonders who are you thinking about? Who are you suspecting? Because he's right here. He's always been right here but do you see him?

He leans back slightly, now one arm slung over the back of your chair, watching the way your fingers idly trace patterns on the wooden table. He wonders if you realize how much of yourself you give away. The way your shoulders relax ever so slightly when you’re comfortable. The way your fingers tense when you’re overthinking. The way your lips part just the tiniest bit when a thought clicks into place. And right now… you’re thinking hard. 

Meanwhile, his mind flashes back to earlier.

When your ringtone screamed Fake Love, he didn't panic but his body reacted on instinct, stepping back into the shadows, keeping his composure. And honestly, he had expected you to pull a stunt like this. Ever since he heard you setting up the hidden camera last time, he knew you’d try something even bolder next. That’s why he had prepared for it, why he was ten times more careful now especially since you’d taken Jeonghan’s advice. But the real problem was that you were so cute.

The way you hunched down, scrambling to decline the call, eyes darting around like a guilty child caught sneaking snacks before dinner. From the corner of his eye, he had watched you, heart clenching in the most endearing way. He wanted to stay longer just to see you try harder, to watch the determination in your eyes. But he had slipped the letter onto the floor and disappeared before you could catch him. 

-

At night, when you can’t get the gifts out of your head, the theories keep spinning, running faster than your thoughts. You pull out your phone, without even thinking about it. You tap his contact in your phone reflexively. He is the only person you can call for this, the only one who doesn’t mind when you ramble, who lets you spill every ridiculous and half-formed thought without ever making you feel like you’re too much. He’s the only one you trust to catch your words when they come tumbling out. But does he ever do the same? Does he ever pick up his phone in the middle of the night, scroll past contacts, and land on your name? When things get too loud in his head, when he feels too much, does he think about calling you the way you think about calling him?

The sound of the dial tone fills the silence in your room, your pulse quickening as you wait for him to pick up. It rings once, twice—until finally, he answers.

"Hello?" His voice is deep and groggy like you’ve just pulled him out of deep sleep.

"Hey," you say, your words spilling out all at once. "I think it’s Jihoon. His handwriting, I swear, it's obvious. And about that keychain, it could be Chan too, maybe he remembered that necklace…."

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and you’re too wrapped up in your thoughts to hear the shift in his voice. It’s a bit of a sigh like he’s holding back something. "Hmm," Mingyu murmurs, dragging the word out. "You think it’s Jihoon or Chan? I mean, I guess it could be them." But you don’t hear the tension in his tone.

You launch into another theory, oblivious to his discomfort. "Or it could be Jeonghan? I know he's blunt all the time but I only talked about the necklace with him, Chan, you, Jihoon and Seungkwan…so it has to be one of them, right?"

He chuckles softly though the sound feels strained, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair. "I don’t know. Maybe you should just… let it be for a little while. Think about it in the morning, yeah?"

"I’m not letting it go, Mingyu. I need to figure this out. It’s driving me crazy!"

You hear his deep exhale on the other end. He’s not chuckling anymore. "Okay, okay," he says, voice slightly more clipped. "But get some sleep, alright?"

You roll your eyes, but you’re not listening. You’re too focused on unraveling it. "I’ll sleep when I have answers. Thanks anyway, Mingyu."

By the time you glance at the clock, it’s already 2 a.m., and you’re still awake, thinking about everything.

-

“You seemed deep in thought today. I wonder what you were thinking about. Or rather… who. You’re sharp, you know. Always paying attention, always observing. I wonder if you realize how much of yourself you give away when you’re lost in your own head. You’re looking for answers right now, aren’t you? That’s okay. Just don’t get so caught up in looking that you forget to see what’s right in front of you.

I hope you liked today’s gift. I thought it suited you.”

Five

February 11th.

Another day, another failure. You, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan are officially verified stupid.

The three of you sit slumped against the dorm room wall staring at the ceiling in sheer defeat. The plan was foolproof but you didn't account for one crucial factor. You live in a building with other students. You guys decided to install a motion alarm. Too many false alarms. A passing student, a delivery guy, a gust of wind. Each time the alarm went off, you three sprang into action only to find a confused neighbor or an empty hallway. By the third false alarm, Seungkwan was done.

"I'm quitting." He declared, standing up immediately. "I can't do this anymore. I might commit a crime."

"But you want to find out, right?" Soonyoung asked.

"I do. But not like this..." Seungkwan rubbed his temples, looking at you for support.

You didn't understand him. At all. "We were so close this time, though!" you argued, but even you were starting to doubt that.

Soonyoung groaned, flopping onto the floor. "I thought this would be the one…"

"Well, it wasn't. And I need a break before I actually start throwing hands." Seungkwan warns.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the floor. The admirer was winning. Again. And you were running out of ideas.

Somewhere out there, Mingyu was definitely laughing.

A knock echoed through the room. Your heart jumped. Reaching for the door, you find another letter. Your stomach twisted. The admirer had already delivered it. He knew, he must have waited until you were distracted, until you were busy sulking over another failed plan before sneaking in and leaving this behind. You clenched your jaw. He was taunting you.

Seungkwan sighed, flopping onto the couch. "We lost again."

But you weren’t ready to admit defeat. You slowly opened the letter, your fingers brushing over the familiar handwriting.

“It’s interesting watching you try to figure this out. I wonder if you’ll ever catch on or if I’ll have to spell it out for you one day. You looked frustrated earlier. I know you hate it when things don’t make sense, but sometimes, not knowing is part of the fun. Not everything has to be a puzzle to solve, maybe I'm right in front of you. Still, I’m curious—how’s the investigation going? I guess I already know.”

-

The note says:

"Your favourite, hope you aren't mad anymore. Oh and to remind you, don’t finish this in one go. I know how much you love it but eating it all in one day might just lead to a cold! I won't be able to bear to see you sniffle with a red nose, especially when you're already so adorable. Take care of yourself, okay? I’m sure you don’t want to be caught with a runny nose.”

There you stand holding the tub of half baked Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. The combination of chocolate and vanilla ice cream with cookie dough and brownie chunks, your absolute favorite. You take a deep breath, a little smile tugging at your lips, but the mystery of the admirer still weighs heavy on your chest.

You stride over to the kitchen, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and making your way to the couch. You plop down, the tub in your lap and start digging in. The cold ice cream melts quickly on your tongue, soothing some of your earlier frustration. You scoop up another generous bite and let the flavors settle as you think.

Then, you grab your phone, typing away in the group chat. You snap a quick selfie, spoon still in your mouth, with the ice cream tub beside you. With a smirk, you send it out to the group chat:

Y/N: "Whoever got me this, thanks! But I'm still angry. If you don’t reveal yourself soon… you might just regret it."

Six

February 12th.

"You’ve been looking everywhere, hahah. Searching, questioning, analyzing... but sometimes, the answer is closer than you think. It’s easy to overlook the obvious when you’re searching too hard. But I don’t mind, I like watching you figure things out even if you’re terribly off track. Don’t forget to rest, okay? Also, I know you skip meals when you’re too busy, don’t do that. Take care of yourself, because someone out there cares enough to remind you every day."

-

"It's been six days!" he groans. "And still no clue who this admirer is?"

Seungkwan sighs, peering over his shoulder. "At this point, I’m starting to consider Soonyoung's idea that we’re dealing with a ghost."

Mingyu and Chan lean in, trying to catch a glimpse of the note. Mingyu’s heart beats faster not just from curiosity but from something else entirely.

Then, something clicks in your mind. Without a word, you dive into your bag shuffling through its contents in a frenzy. The others watch with curiosity as you pull out all six letters, carefully laying them side by side across the table.

Mingyu watches as your eyes scan each letter, analyzing every word, every phrase. His pulse quickens. Are you finally piecing it together? Are you about to turn to him, grab his collar and pull him in and kiss? Will you tell him you’ve known all along, that you’ve felt the same way, that he’s been in your heart just as you’ve been in his? He inches closer slowly, hoping to make it easier for you to reach for him when you want to pull him in. And then you gasp loudly.

Soonyoung jumps forward. “What? What is it?”

Your eyes widen, mouth agape in disbelief. “I—I think I know who it is.”

The room goes silent. Mingyu barely breathes.

You turn to the group, your expression resolute. “It’s Jeonghan.”

Mingyu’s heart stops. A crushing weight settles in his chest as his two-minute fantasy shatters in an instant. The imagined confession, the kiss, the overwhelming relief of finally being known is now gone.

"Jeonghan?" Seungkwan echoes, stunned.

You nod, “Think about it! The letters keep hinting that the answer is closer than I think, that I’m overlooking something obvious. And I completely dismissed Jeonghan before because I figured he’d be too lazy to go through all this effort.”

Soonyoung frowns. “That still seems like a stretch.”

“No, listen! Jeonghan was the one who told us the admirer isn’t ready to reveal himself yet, which means he knows who it is, because it's him! He was also there when I talked about the necklace. The admirer sent me one a few days later. That’s not a coincidence!” The group exchanges glances, mulling over your logic. “And,” you continue, “the letters keep saying I’m terribly off track. Who else could it be but the one person I never seriously considered?”

Mingyu stays quiet, watching as you piece together a puzzle with the wrong pieces. He clenches his jaw as you match all the clues to Jeonghan, not realizing that in your eagerness to connect the dots, you missed the most obvious thing of all. It's HIM that you never considered. Not even once.

He was the one listening when you spoke about the necklace. He was the one who spent hours writing each letter. He was the one who paid attention to every detail. He was the one who knew you so well he could predict your reactions before you even had them. He was the one who had been right in front of you all along. He was the one watching you search, waiting for the moment your eyes would finally land on him, but instead, you’ve drawn the wrong conclusion. Was he that unimportant? That invisible to you?

His heart sinks lower and lower as you present your case, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him. What will you do when you realize the truth? When you finally see what’s been in front of you this entire time? Will it be too late?

Seungkwan and Soonyoung looked at each other before nodding in agreement. “You know what? That actually makes sense,” Seungkwan says, arms crossed. “It has to be Jeonghan.”

Soonyoung says, “Honestly, the more I think about it, the more obvious it seems. He’s been here the whole time, just messing with us like always.”

Chan, who had been nervously eyeing the letters earlier, exhales in relief. “Well, at least that means it’s not me.” He mutters, sinking into his seat, visibly relaxed now that he’s off the suspect list.

Everyone’s looking at you, and in their eyes, you see the same thing. Certainty. You’ve convinced them. The mystery is nearly solved.

“You’re 100% sure?” Mingyu finally speaks, his voice light.

“No. 99. I just need to be 1% more sure.”

But for a moment you feel a strange hesitation, a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that you haven’t even considered how you feel about Jeonghan being your admirer. You were too caught up in the thrill of the mystery, in chasing after the truth that you forgot it involved real emotions. That someone out there has been writing to you with real feelings, with intention. Do you even want to know? What if the truth doesn’t match the version of the story you’ve built in your head? What if it’s not who you expect, not who you secretly hoped for? What if it’s not Jeonghan? Or what if it is? And what does it say about you that the thought makes your stomach twist? That, deep down, some foolish part of you already knows whose name you wish to see at the end of those letters? Not Jeonghan. Not Jihoon. Not Vernon. Not Chan. Not anyone you’ve guessed so far. What if the one person you want it to be is the same person you’ve already ruled out? The one who’s always felt just a little out of reach. The one you’ve spent years convincing yourself is too much, too good, too impossible, because the thought of him being your secret admirer is too absurd. Too ridiculous. Right? But you shake the thought away and turn to Mingyu, your most trusted ally in this.

“You’re close with Jeonghan,” you say, eyes locking onto his. “Out of everyone, he’ll lower his guard around you the most. Can you help me fish him out?”

Mingyu stiffens for a fraction of a second, but no one notices. His heart sinks at how easily you place your trust in him, at how confidently you believe in something so wrong. But he doesn’t know how to say no to you. He never has. So he forces a small smile, nodding even as his chest tightens. “Yeah… sure. I’ll help.”

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to fish out of Jeonghan when the admirer you’re searching for is him.

He forces himself to keep a neutral expression as Seungkwan and Soonyoung excitedly discuss possible ways to corner Jeonghan into confessing. Chan listens with mild amusement, occasionally throwing in a comment but Mingyu barely hears any of it. His thoughts are drowning in the bitter irony of the situation.

This was supposed to be his moment. A dull ache settles in his chest, an uncomfortable tightness that won’t go away. Had he been so careful, so subtle, that you never even considered him? He swallows down the lump in his throat, gripping the edge of the table as he grounds himself. 

“Mingyu?”

He blinks, snapping out of his thoughts only to find you looking at him expectantly. “You okay?” you ask, brows slightly furrowed.

He should say something. Laugh, tease, pretend everything is fine, but all he can manage is a weak nod. “Yeah,” he lies. “Just… thinking.”

Seungkwan snorts. “Thinking too hard. Come on, we need you on this. You know Jeonghan best.”

Mingyu forces a smile. Yeah, he knows Jeonghan well but more than that, he knows you and right now, he knows that you’re chasing the wrong person. And worst of all, he has to help you do it.

-

The air carries a faint warmth of the afternoon sun, but it does nothing to ease the cold ache settling in Mingyu’s chest. He nudges Chan and looks at you, “It’s getting late. We should head home.”

You nod, stretching slightly before gathering your things. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As you, Mingyu, and Soonyoung step out onto the streets, the golden light catches in your hair, turning it into something almost ethereal. Mingyu sees it but his heart feels heavy, weighed down by the thoughts swirling in his mind. The moment you confidently said Jeonghan’s name, the moment you smiled as if you had solved the puzzle, it had been like a dull knife sinking into his chest. A slow, dragging pain that refused to go away. It hurts. Really, really hurts. But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t let it show. Instead, he walks beside you, nodding and responding when necessary, pretending everything is fine.

By the time he drops you off at your dorm, his emotions are stretched thin, barely holding together. You wrap an arm around him, pressing yourself into his side in a casual hug. His breath hitches, but he forces himself to stay still. The warmth of your body against his should be comforting but it only reminds him of how far away you actually are.

“Don’t forget to talk to Jeonghan, okay?” you remind him, looking up at him with those bright, expectant eyes. “Let me know what he says.”

“I will.”

You disappear behind your door, and just like that, you’re gone.

Mingyu bids Soonyoung bye and stands there for a moment before turning on his heel and walking away. But he doesn’t go home.

Instead, he finds himself by the river, the city hums softly in the distance but here, it’s quieter, just the occasional ripple of water, the faint rustling of leaves. The soju bottle in his hand is already half-empty but the bitterness of it barely registers on his tongue.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to tell you when you inevitably ask about Jeonghan. He doesn’t know how to fake a conversation that never happened. He doesn’t know how to face you, knowing that you had every clue and still, still didn’t see him. He had waited; waited patiently, watched you go through your theories, your excitement, your endless blabbering about clues. He never snapped, never broke character, because he truly believed you would figure it out. That at the end of this little fun, you would finally turn to him and say his name with certainty. But you never did, and that’s what hurts the most. Not that Jeonghan, who was completely uninvolved, was about to be wrongfully accused. But that when you looked for the one who adored you, the one who knew you inside and out, the one who had spent every day thinking of ways to make you smile—you didn’t recognize him.

Still, if nothing else, at least he gave you something exciting. At least, for a few days, he gave you a mystery to solve, a thrill to chase. Even if in the end, he was the one left behind.

-

The almost-emptied bottle is plucked from Mingyu’s loose grip. He blinks, sluggish from both the alcohol and the weight pressing down on his heart and looks up to find Jeonghan standing over him. The older man wears his usual smile, one that could mean a hundred different things but his eyes tell another story, one that sees right through Mingyu’s poor attempt at pretending he’s fine.

Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He just turns his gaze back to the river, watching the water ripple under the dim glow of streetlights. Jeonghan exhales softly, before sitting down beside him. He doesn’t speak, or pry. He simply stays, settling Mingyu in a way that only a longtime friend can.

For a while, the only sound between them was the distant buzz of the city, and the lapping of the river against the banks.

Then, Mingyu finally breaks the silence. “She thinks it’s you,” his voice hoarse, the weight of the evening settling deeper into his bones. “She really, really thinks it’s you.” He lets out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “When the answer was right in front of her the whole time.” 

Jeonghan remains quiet, just listening.

“I’m not mad,” Mingyu continues, “I shouldn’t be mad. I’m just… a little hurt.” He pauses, gripping his knees. “No, actually… I am hurt.” His throat tightens. “I don’t even know why it hurts this much, but…”

He trails off, exhaling sharply before looking down at his hands.

“I thought she’d get there eventually. I really thought she would.” His voice drops to hissed tone “I waited. I watched her figure out her little theories, set up her stupid traps, get all excited over the mystery… and I was patient. I thought, ‘Any day now, she’ll turn around, she’ll realize, she’ll see me.’” Mingyu swallows, “But she never did.”

He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to say these things to Jeonghan, maybe because Jeonghan is good at keeping secrets, at holding things close without judgment. Maybe because Jeonghan doesn’t rush to give meaningless comfort but just stays.

Mingyu drags a hand down his face, exhaling bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do tomorrow. She wants me to ask you about the admirer—to ‘fish’ something out of you.” He lets out a dry laugh. “What the hell am I supposed to fish out of you, Jeonghan?”

Jeonghan finally speaks, his voice calm but softer, something that understands. “Well, I could always confess to being her secret admirer. She's not bad.”

Despite himself, Mingyu snorts, shaking his head. “Not funny.”

Jeonghan leans back on his palms, looking up at the night sky. “You’re hurting because you care. Because you love her and you wanted her to see you without you having to say it outright.” He tilts his head toward Mingyu. “But love doesn’t always work like that, you know?” Mingyu doesn’t answer. Jeonghan sighs. "If it's hurting this much, then maybe you should ask yourself why you're still holding on."

Mingyu stays silent for a long moment before finally admitting, “I wanted to make it exciting. I wanted it to be something she’d remember.” He clenches his fists. “But it all just went wrong.”

“She’ll figure it out eventually,” Jeonghan says a little too knowingly.

Mingyu huffs, unconvinced. “What if she doesn’t?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Then maybe it’s time you stop waiting for her to find you and let her see you instead.”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. He just looks out at the river again, letting Jeonghan’s words sink in. 

He simply lets the silence stretch out and finally after what feels like hours, Jeonghan stands up, brushing off his pants, “If you need to talk, you know where to find me.” His voice is soft, the teasing edge absent for the moment.

Mingyu nods, not trusting himself to speak. He watches Jeonghan walk away, the older man’s figure swallowed by the night, before his gaze drifts back to the river. He takes a deep breath trying to clear his mind but nothing seems to work. His heart still aches for you, for the way you’ll probably look at him tomorrow, expecting him to just play along, asking questions he has no answers to.

Seven

February 13th

“I wonder if you’ll figure it out or if I’ll have to spell it out for you. You looked happy yesterday. I hope it stays that way. I hope whoever I am to you, whoever I will be, gets to see that happiness every day. Maybe this whole thing was ridiculous. Maybe I should’ve just told you from the start. But I guess I wanted to see. To know if you’d ever look my way without me having to say it first.

See you soon.”

-

The elevator doors slide open and you step in, jabbing the button for the sixth floor with more force than necessary. The doors close, but your mind is still racing, still stuck on the morning’s events.

Jeonghan had shown up at your dorm today, standing at your door with his usual lazy smile, but soft eyes. “I heard you think it’s me,” he had said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You had opened your mouth to defend yourself, to explain the logic, to lay out all the pieces that led you to him, the way all the clues lined up in your head but before you could get a word out, he had sighed, shaking his head saying it's not him and just like that, everything crumbled. Because he wasn’t lying. You could hear it in his voice, see it in the way he looked at you, not with amusement, not with mischief, but with something almost like pity.

“You’re hurting him, you know,” he had added, too softly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

You had stiffened at that. “What?”

Jeonghan had just sighed again, then pulled you into a quick hug, arms warm around you, like he knew you needed the comfort. Then he had sat you down, looked you in the eye and said, “You’re misdirected, miserably so.”

You had thought you were getting closer, thought you were connecting the dots but you were connecting the wrong ones. Seven days. Seven days of chasing a ghost and you were nowhere.

It felt like you had been running in circles, grasping at shadows, only to be led astray at every turn. It wasn’t that you were upset Jeonghan wasn’t the secret admirer. No, that wasn’t what frustrated you. It was the fact that despite everything, you still couldn’t figure it out. You had failed. And then failed again.

After hearing Jeonghan out, you should have let it go, let your mind rest but something wouldn’t let you. Mingyu. You needed to hear what he had to say too. Jeonghan had been honest with you, and you believed him, but you still wanted to hear it from Mingyu’s mouth. What had he talked about with Jeonghan yesterday? Did he come to the same conclusion? Did he know Jeonghan wasn’t the admirer?

You weren’t sure why it mattered. Maybe it was because you trusted them both, maybe it was because you were still desperately searching for a lead, even if it meant going over the same conversation twice.

So now, here you are, frustrated and restless, storming into Mingyu’s apartment without so much as a knock, letting the door swing shut behind you. Mingyu, who had been standing by the kitchen counter, blinks in surprise as you march past him and collapse onto his couch.

“I can’t figure it out,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “Seven days, and I’ve gotten nothing.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you as he grabs a glass, pouring you some orange juice before walking over and setting it in front of you. You peek at him through your fingers. He's too quiet. Still, you sit up, grabbing the glass but barely paying attention to it. “Jeonghan came over this morning,” you start, swirling the juice in your hands. “He told me it’s not him.”

Mingyu hums, lowering himself onto the couch beside you but not too close like before; after what happened yesterday.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I mean, it makes sense now. My whole theory was just coincidence. But if it’s not him, then who?” You run a hand through your hair. “It’s like I’m playing Mafia game but worse—no real clues, no real strategy, just me failing over and over again.”

Mingyu swallows, looking away. Failing? No. Just blind. You don’t notice the way his fingers tighten around his knees, his shoulders curling in just slightly. You don’t notice him. “You trust Jeonghan, right?” he asks finally, his voice careful, controlled.

You nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Then why are you here?” His voice is steady but there’s something just barely restrained underneath. “What do you need from me?”

You hesitate, tilting your head. “I just… I wanted to hear what you talked about with Jeonghan yesterday.” You let out a breath. “I trust you both, but I wanted to see if you came to the same conclusion.”

Mingyu’s heart sinks after knowing you’re here for that. He nods slowly, fingers curling into fists against his legs. “Right.”

You don’t notice his jaw tightening, his expression flickering for half a second before smoothing over. You don’t see how the very person you’ve been searching for is sitting right beside you, falling apart. And Mingyu just listens because what else can he do?

The deeper hurt comes from the fact that he still loves you, and he's been waiting for you to realize it, but instead, you’ve been focused on other possibilities. He’s trying his best to stay supportive and patient, but it’s hard for him to keep his distance while you’re upset and trying to figure things out. There's a sense of loneliness in how he’s been handling everything on his own, even though he’s surrounded by people who care about him. He feels like he's been the quiet one in the background hoping you’d see him, but you haven’t. Now, hearing you rant about your failed attempts and frustrations, he feels both comforted and hurt—comforted that you trust him enough to vent to him, but hurt that, despite his feelings, you’re still unsure of him as the person who’s been giving you all those gifts and letters. He’s torn between wanting to confess his feelings, but knowing how much it would hurt to be rejected or overlooked again. He wants to be the one you turn to, the one you lean on when things get hard so in this moment, he's just there for you, listening, because that's what friends do, even when their heart is breaking.

-

Your voice is sharp with frustration as you pace around Mingyu’s apartment, fists clenched at your sides.“I just don’t get it,” you say, shaking your head. “Who would go through all this effort?”

Mingyu, watching you from where he sits on the couch, his heart aching, simply mutters, “I would.”

But it slips past you. You’re too caught up in your thoughts, too wrapped up in your own confusion to hear the weight behind his words. He watches as you continue to storm around, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying anything more.

Then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way he remains so still while you’re falling apart or maybe it’s the way his presence has always felt steady. But whatever it is, it pushes something inside you to snap.

"Why aren’t you saying anything?" You turn on him suddenly, as you throw another jab that Mingyu doesn’t deserve. He sits there, the heart inside him breaking. "You always have something to say, Mingyu. Always. But now, when I actually need someone to help me figure this out, you’re just sitting there looking at me like I’m missing something obvious!"

Mingyu exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. He’s been patient. So patient. But this is agony, watching you fight for an answer when he’s been in front of you the whole time. Watching you tear yourself apart over this, over something that was meant to be a confession of love. "Maybe because you are missing something obvious," he finally says, voice measured, but there’s an edge to it now.

Your brows furrow as you take a step toward him, your heart pounding for a reason you don’t understand. "Then tell me, Mingyu! What am I missing?"

His gaze hardens, but beneath the frustration, it's more vulnerable than ever. "You really want me to spell it out for you?"

"Yes!"

And suddenly, it hits you like a freight train crashing into your chest. Mingyu.

It’s always been him. You love him. Not in the way you love your friends. Not in the way you once thought love was supposed to feel. But in the way that makes your chest ache, in the way that makes your heart race even when you’re angry. You don’t care who the secret admirer is. You don’t need to figure it out anymore. Because it doesn’t matter. It never did. Because you love Mingyu. And you always have. It’s not that you never considered him, it’s that you forced yourself not to. Mingyu was too kind, too good, too perfect. He was the type of person every girl wanted, and you were just lucky enough to call him one of your closest friends. It was easier to pretend, easier to ignore your feelings than to face the possibility of rejection. Because the truth was, if you had acknowledged your feelings, it would have hurt too much to know he didn’t feel the same way. But now, as you really look at him, you realize just how foolish you’ve been. You love him.

Even now, as you lash out at him unfairly, he stays patient. Even though your words are cutting, he doesn’t push you away. He listens, endures, and understands, and that’s what hurts the most. "Wait…" Your voice comes out quieter now, your anger dissipating into something raw. "Do you… do you know something?"

Mingyu stares at you, disbelieving. His patience, his restraint, it all crumbles in an instant. "…Seriously?"

He grabs a piece of paper from the table, scrawls something quickly, and thrusts it into your hands. You look down.

“It’s me, dummy.”

The world stills.

Your breath catches as you read the words over and over again, the realization crashes into you like a wave, sweeping away every doubt, every misdirection, every foolish assumption you’ve made in the past week. It was always Mingyu. Your fingers tighten around the paper as your heart pounds against your ribs. You lift your gaze, meeting his, and suddenly everything makes sense; the lingering stares, the way he was always there, how he looked at you like you hung the stars in his sky. The sadness in his eyes earlier wasn’t just frustration; it was heartbreak. And you had been the one breaking him all along.

Mingyu watches you, his eyes holding everything. The years of waiting, the longing, the pain of standing so close yet feeling miles away. His confession wasn’t grand, wasn’t how he planned. It was raw, impulsive, torn from him in a moment of breaking. And now, he waits. For you to understand, for you to say something, for anything.

Your lips part but no words come because how do you speak when your heart is in your throat, when the very foundation of what you thought you knew has shifted beneath your feet? It was always Mingyu. The notes. The gifts. The presence. And you had spent all this time searching for someone who had never been lost.

“Mingyu…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he hears it. He always hears you.

His hands clench at his sides, bracing himself for whatever comes next. You can see it in the tension coiling just below his cheekbone, his breathing is just a little unsteady. He’s terrified, because now that you know, you could break him all over again.

But you don't want to break him this time. You've already broken him enough.

You simply step closer, so close he can feel the warmth radiating from you. His body stiffens when you reach for a piece of paper behind him, taking it from the table. Without a word, you flip it over, your fingers moving as you scribble something down. The tension of the past week melting into something softer, and new.

Then, before he can process it, you step in even closer reaching toward him, slipping the folded paper into the pocket of his hoodie. Your fingers brush against the fabric, barely grazing him but it’s enough to send a shiver down his spine. Mingyu blinks, startled, his hand instinctively reaching into his pocket as you take a step back. His fingers find the note, unfolding it with a mix of hesitation and urgency. His eyes scan the words, and his breath hitches.

"Tomorrow, dinner at 7? My treat, Secret Admirer."

For the first time in what feels like forever, a slow stunned smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He looks up at you, hope flickering in his eyes, searching for confirmation. And when you finally meet his gaze, your own lips curling into the softest, most knowing smile Mingyu knows.

A disbelieving laugh escapes him as he runs a hand through his hair, his shoulders sagging with relief. The tension that had been weighing on him for weeks, even years, unravels all at once, “you’re serious?” 

You tilt your head, your smile growing just a little. “Would I offer to pay if I wasn’t?”

Mingyu lets out a full, genuine laugh this time, shaking his head as he folds the note carefully, tucking it back into his pocket. “Tomorrow at seven,” he repeats, savoring the words.

But as soon as the weight of everything settles in, what just happened and what it means, you suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to run. Your heart is racing, your palms are clammy, and you don’t trust yourself to speak without making a fool of yourself. So, without thinking, you turn on your heel, ready to flee. But you don’t get far.

Mingyu’s hand wraps around your wrist in an instant, stopping you mid-step and before you can process it, you’re spun around, your momentum pulling you straight into him. You gasp as your body collides with his chest, the warmth of him, the solidness of him, momentarily knocking the breath out of you. His other hand finds its way to your waist instinctively, and your brain short-circuits.

His fingers glide up, brushing against your cheek, his touch so gentle it sends a shiver down your spine. You force yourself to look up at him, only to be met with the most breathtaking sight; Mingyu gazing down at you with that smile. Not just any smile, a smile that steals your breath, that makes the whole world blur at the edges. His slightly tousled hair falls over his forehead, the soft strands brushing against his brows making him look effortlessly perfect in a way that shouldn’t be fair. Your heart slams against your ribs.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly as he murmurs, “Now you can run away.” His lips curl into that signature mixture of a smile and smirk, teasing yet affectionate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “Oh, and don’t forget—you have a class to attend.” 

Your eyes widen slightly as the reminder crashes into you but Mingyu simply chuckles, finally letting go of your waist but not before leaning in just slightly, just enough to fluster you even more. The absence of his touch is almost immediate, leaving behind a warmth that lingers.

Mingyu now steps back, grinning as he watches your flustered expression unfold and as you stumble over your words, scrambling for any semblance of composure, he just stands there looking entirely too pleased with himself. He's already looking forward to tomorrow.

-

The sight in front of you is nothing short of chaos.

Seungkwan's grip on his iced Americano slips as he processes the revelation, and without thinking, you reach out, catching the cup just before it crashes to the floor. A few drops spill onto your hand, the cold seeping into your skin, but you're too preoccupied to see it.

Seungkwan looks utterly defeated. Soonyoung, however, isn't faring any better. His mouth hangs open, his entire body frozen and his brain is still buffering.

"You mean to tell me—" Seungkwan starts, his voice high-pitched, "Mingyu?! Clumsy-ass, can’t-lie-to-save-his-life, trips-over-air Mingyu?!"

You nod.

They had too dismissed the possibility at first, thinking there was no way he could pull off something so sly. Not when his entire history was filled with clumsy mistakes and awkward cover-ups. The Mingyu they knew was many things, but a master of deception? Not a chance. And yet, here you three were, blindsided.

They had spent the entire morning preparing themselves to comfort you, fully expecting you to be in shambles after your 99% certainty that Jeonghan was your secret admirer turned out to be 100% wrong. When Jeonghan had told you in the morning that he wasn't the one, they thought you'd either be breaking down in devastation or burning something down in frustration (which, technically, you were). But they definitely hadn’t expected you to walk in with the revelation of your secret admirer.

Eight

February 14th

The moment you step out of your apartment, Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat.

He was supposed to have dinner with you at night for your first Valentine’s Day date, but he insisted on spending the day together before dinner. And now, here you are, standing in front of him with your hair down, looking confident and stylish in your new boots and skirt.

The delicate lavender gemstone around your neck catches the morning sunlight, its golden chain resting just above your collarbone on top of your sweater. You’re wearing the necklace—the one he gave you. And now, seeing it on you, knowing you chose to wear it today of all days, something warm and undeniable unfurls in his chest.

He clears his throat, trying to focus as he hands you a bouquet of lavender flowers nestled between soft pink roses. “For you,” he murmurs, watching closely for your reaction.

Your lips part as your fingers gently trace the petals. “Lavender…” you whisper, your gaze lifting to meet his.

Mingyu grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. And roses, because…well, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Something tugs at your heart but before you can dwell on it, he’s taking your hand, leading you toward the day he’s planned just for you.  Mingyu decides to take you everywhere.

-

The smell of warm pastries fills the air as you both settle into a booth. Mingyu insists you try his favorite pancakes. They’re stacked high, topped with whipped cream, and drizzled with syrup. You raise an eyebrow, skeptically eyeing the enormous portion.

“Okay, you have to try these,” he insists, pushing a plate of pancakes toward you. 

“Are you sure these are as good as you say?”

“Trust me, they’re life-changing,” Mingyu says practically bouncing in his seat, eager for you to try them.

You take a bite, and the fluffiness, the sweetness, the perfect amount of syrup, all of it hits your taste buds in a rush. You pause, eyes wide in surprise. “Okay, okay, I admit it. They’re that good.”

“See? I told you!” Mingyu grins. “Now, pass me the last bite.” You hold your fork up, about to take the last piece of pancake for yourself, when Mingyu leans across the table, “I’m not letting you have it that easily.”

“Oh, it’s on,” you smirk, holding the bite just out of reach. You raise an eyebrow, giving him a challenging look. “You want this last bite? You’re gonna have to work for it.”

He laughs, his voice full of amusement. “You’re really gonna make me fight for it?”

“Absolutely,” you say, digging in your heels and preparing for the battle.

And so begins the great pancake fight. You both fall into an exaggerated tug-of-war with the last piece of pancake. Mingyu’s laughter rings out, the sound infectious. Finally, you make a show of pretending to ‘fight’ for the last bite, your fork and his clashing in the air, until you grab it and pop it in your mouth. He glares at you mockingly, then laughs again, shrugging good-naturedly.

“I’ll get you next time,” he promises, and you roll your eyes.

After wiping syrup off your chin with a napkin, Mingyu stands up with a contented sigh, stretching his arms above his head. He looks down at you with a grin. "Alright, time to burn off all that sugar," he says, picking up the check and tossing a few bills onto the table. "Next stop—arcade!"

"An arcade? Really?"

"Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for."

You grab your bag, following him out of the café and into the crisp air. As you both walk down the street, Mingyu leads the way basically bouncing as you head toward the neon-lit arcade a few blocks away. The sound of clinking coins and cheerful music grows louder the closer you get, and you can feel the excitement building.

When you reach the entrance, Mingyu holds the door open for you with a flourish. "After you," he says with a grin.

You step inside, greeted by the flashing lights and the vibrant sounds of the arcade. It’s a bit overwhelming at first but then you hear Mingyu’s voice over the noise, full of enthusiasm.

“Let’s see if you can keep up!” Mingyu’s eyes light up the moment he sees a game he’s good at. You follow him, amused, and find yourself standing in front of a claw machine. The giant stuffed animals inside stare down at you, their big eyes unblinking. “I’m warning you now,” Mingyu says, his tone smug. “I’ve got a 100% success rate with these things.”

You roll your eyes. "Is that so? Well, I’m about to prove you wrong."

He grins and hands you some coins. “Sure, but don’t get too upset when I win.”

You laugh, stepping up to the claw machine and starting your attempt. The claw moves clumsily, completely missing the prize.

“See? Told you,” Mingyu teases, already stepping up to take his turn. His fingers hover over the controls, his focus making his brow furrow in concentration. "Watch and learn," he says, as he carefully maneuvers the claw. You can see the way he’s calculating every move, adjusting his grip with precision. With one smooth motion, the claw sinks perfectly into the plush bear's fur, and with a satisfying click, it hoists the stuffed animal up.

You’re left speechless for a moment as Mingyu snatches it from the prize chute, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He holds it out to you, the oversized bear almost comically larger than his own chest.

“Here,” he says, clearly too pleased with himself. “Told you I’d win.”

You take the bear, grinning in defeat. “Fine, you win this round. But I’m getting you back.”

“I’m not worried. Let’s see how you do in the next game.”

The competition continues, the two of you moving from machine to machine. Every game brings another round of teasing, laughter, and playful banter. Mingyu gets so competitive that his voice rises in exaggerated frustration when he loses and you can't help but giggle at how seriously he takes everything. At one point you're both doubled over in laughter, unable to breathe as Mingyu pretends to ‘fall’ into a virtual race car, his arms flailing as he crashes into the walls of the game.

By the end of it, you’re both out of breath and giggling uncontrollably, each sporting a ridiculous grin. You look at the stuffed animal still tucked under your arm and then back at Mingyu. “Guess it’s mine after all,” you say with a sigh, not bothering to hide the smile on your face.

Mingyu just laughs, his arm slipping around your shoulders. “Of course it is. You should know better by now.”

The sun is now setting as you both arrive at the park, the golden hour light casting everything in a warm, soft glow. Mingyu's carrying  a wicker basket in one hand, the other brushing through his hair as he looks for the perfect spot and you just follow, taking in the peaceful scenery.

He drops the basket beside a large, checkered blanket he’s already laid out, smoothing it down with care. There’s something so domestic about the whole setup, so surprisingly perfect. He places a few cushions on the blanket, pulling everything into place as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

As you sit down beside him, he smiles, a little shy. “Okay, here’s the moment of truth.” He opens the basket, revealing containers filled with food like homemade sandwiches, fresh fruit, a small salad, and a few pastries wrapped up neatly. It all looks perfectly arranged, the kind of meal you’d expect from someone who knows what they’re doing.

"You made all this?"

Mingyu nods proudly though there's a trace of nervousness in his expression. “Yep. Every single thing. I might not be a professional, but I can follow a recipe.”

You chuckle, “Well, we’ll see if it’s as good as they look.”

Without hesitation, you grab one of the sandwiches taking a big bite. The flavors hit you immediately—fresh, savory, and not so surprisingly, delicious. Your eyes widen as you chew, momentarily lost in the taste.

Mingyu watches you with a grin, anticipating your reaction. He bites his lip nervously, fingers drumming against the basket as he waits for your verdict.

The bread is perfectly toasted, the filling is perfectly seasoned, and it’s just... good. No surprise there. You’ve had his cooking many, many times by now and every time he manages to make even the simplest things taste like a five-star meal.

You glance up at him as you chew. “Not bad,” you say with a teasing smile though it’s a compliment disguised as a joke. “I’m actually kind of impressed. This is, what, your fiftieth time making me lunch?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes, right?” He looks at you with a mix of pride and that shy smile that’s too endearing. “I mean, it’s not that surprising, is it? I’ve been cooking for years.”

A small smile tugging at your lips. "True. You've always been the one to get way too competitive in the kitchen. But really, it's good. It's… annoyingly good, as usual."

He beams pleased by your reaction, “I’m glad you think so,” he says, his voice low and warm. He watches you take another bite before reaching for a small container of fruit. You can see the glint in his eyes like he’s genuinely happy to share something he’s put effort into with you.

Time melts away, the day slipping through your fingers like golden sunlight filtering through the trees. And then, as the sky deepens into hues of pink and orange, Mingyu, reaches into his bag, pulling out a box. He hands it to you, eyes soft but filled. “One more gift,” he says, his voice lower now, savoring this moment just as much as you are.

You carefully lift the lid of the box, your curiosity piqued. Inside are two candles, one shaped like a rotating heart, the other a Rubik’s cube, but with tiny hearts as the pieces. You look at them then up at him, your heart suddenly skipping a beat. 

“I made these,” his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the box. “The heart one… it reminded me of you. And the cube, well…” He lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing his thumb nervously over the box’s edge. “It felt like something I could make, something fun.”

You’re silent for a moment, taking in everything. There’s something about the care he’s put into every detail, the choices he made, the way he looked at you all day, it all makes your heart ache in the best way possible. “You made these?” you ask, your fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the candles, studying the intricate designs. There’s so much attention to detail, so much of him in every inch of them.

Mingyu nods, the corners of his lips curling upward as he watches your reaction. “Yeah. Picked the scents, the colors… everything.” You notice how his fingers twitch at his side, a nervous habit he doesn’t even realize he’s doing. “Do you like them?”

You don’t answer with words instead, you step closer, the soft rustling of the grass beneath barely registering as you close the distance between the two of you. Without a second thought, you wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek softly against his chest.

There’s a brief stillness. You feel his breath catch, his heartbeat thumping in the space between you. His arms hesitate for a fraction of a second but, he pulls you closer. His hands find your back, his embrace steady, warm, like it was meant for this moment. He exhales slowly, the tension that had built throughout the day is finally melting away. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely a murmur, but full of all the unsaid things between you. His arms tighten around you, and you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace, savoring the quiet, the stillness, and the feeling of being exactly where you’re meant to be.

As the evening unfolds, the last stop of your day is quickly approaching: dinner. But before you can indulge in a fancy meal, Mingyu takes a slight detour.

He glances at you as you both drive toward your dorm. "Let’s stop by your place first. You need to drop off those stuffed animals," he says with a grin, glancing over at the pile of plush toys filling the backseat.

You chuckle, nodding. "Good idea. I’m not sure how much more my arms can handle."

When you arrive, you grab the stuffed animals one by one, making your way into the dorm. Mingyu follows, standing by the door as you carefully place each one in its spot. There’s a chuckle in the air as you look at the growing collection. "You know," you say with a smile, "I’m going to need a bigger bed at this point."

"I'll help you make room," Mingyu says easily, his voice light as he stands in the doorway, watching you. 

Once the stuffed animals are safely tucked away, you both head back to the car, driving to the destination. Arriving at the restaurant, Mingyu opens the door for you, his presence is as attentive as ever. The place is just as elegant as you remembered when you booked it, soft candlelight, a cozy ambiance, and the murmur of other patrons creating the perfect atmosphere for an unforgettable night.

Dinner is everything you could’ve hoped for. The food is exquisite, the conversation flowing naturally between the two of you as if this was just another evening together. There’s no need for pretension, no need to try too hard. Everything feels easy, comfortable, and perfect.

When the check arrives, you reach for your wallet instinctively but Mingyu is already one step ahead. "Nope," he says firmly, his smile still warm and gentle as he pushes your hand away. "I insist. I’m treating you tonight."

You give him a mock pout, raising an eyebrow. "But I was supposed to pay! Remember our deal?"

"I know," he says, his voice a little playful, a little serious. "But you’ve already made this day so special. Let me do this, okay?" His smile grows as he sees the look in your eyes that says, You’re not getting out of this one.

Sighing dramatically but with a fond smile, you relent. "Fine. But next time, it’s on me."

He nods, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he settles the bill. As the two of you leave the restaurant, the night feels like it’s already wrapped in a perfect little bow.

By the time you arrive to his place, it feels as if the day has come full circle, every moment leading to this one, this next step, whatever it may be.

Mingyu pulls into the parking spot and without a word, he opens the door for you, his hand brushing yours as you both step out. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your heart flutter.

As the door closes behind you both, Mingyu sets his suit jacket down, now left only in his black button-down shirt. You, on the other hand, sink into the couch, not sure what to do or say next. It’s 9 p.m., and you’ve got an hour left before you have to return to your dorm. The day has been filled with so much laughter and moments that have made your heart race and now here you are, in his cozy apartment, not quite ready for it to end.

As you sit there lost in your thoughts, you don’t expect what happens next. Mingyu extends his hand toward you, his fingers beckoning in the soft glow of the room inviting you into his space, into his arms. You don’t hesitate for a second, your hand finding his without a second thought, letting him pull you up to your feet. And then he naturally begins to guide you into a slow dance. The music in the background is soft, almost a whisper, but it doesn’t matter as it’s the rhythm of your hearts that sets the pace now.

You take a step forward, your chest brushing gently against his. Mingyu stays perfectly still, like he’s holding his breath, as if afraid to break the spell. There’s a delicate tension between you, a space between your lips that’s filled only with the moment.

Your fingers glide along the collar of his shirt, drawn to him by some unseen force and you lean in just slightly, “You never really told me why you chose lavender.”

Mingyu’s eyes flicker to yours, his gaze soft, intense and filled with a sincerity that makes your heart race a little faster. His hands find their place on your waist but he hesitates for a fraction of a second before pulling you even closer, the heat from his palms burning through the fabric of your sweater, leaving a trace of his warmth on your skin.

His breath is warm against your ear as he speaks, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Because,” he says, his lips grazing your ear, “it reminds me of you… and it's your favourite”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart stuttering in your chest. You didn’t expect him to say something like this, leaving you speechless for a moment. You can feel the room closing in around you, the mood lights casting soft shadows that only make the space between you two feel even more intimate. The world outside feels distant now, irrelevant. All that matters is the way Mingyu holds you, the way he makes everything feel right.

Then in a surprising and tender move, Mingyu slowly sinks to one knee, his gaze never leaving yours. His hands still linger on your waist, steadying himself as he looks up at you with a soft, genuine smile. “I’ve had the best day with you, and I can’t imagine my days without you anymore,” he says, his voice filled, his heart in his eyes. “So... I need to ask you, officially… will you be my girlfriend?”

The room feels even smaller now, the moment so heavy with emotion that it’s almost suffocating in the best way possible. Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as his words settle in your mind. Your heart swells with joy as you look down at him, knowing that you’ve both come this far, knowing that this is more than just a question. 

“Yes.” The word escapes your lips and as soon as it’s out, Mingyu’s smile stretches wide, that same smile that makes everything around you fade into the background. His eyes sparkle with joy, and you swear it’s like he’s glowing. You can feel a warmth fill your chest, overwhelming.

He stands up, his grin still never faltering and leans in, resting his forehead against yours. There’s no need for words now; the silence between you is thick with meaning, with a thousand unspoken things that only the two of you understand. 

But as the joy of the moment settles in, a sudden realization makes your heart tighten and it feels heavy in your chest. A thought flashes through your mind that makes your throat close up and your chest ache.

You think about how you never really noticed Mingyu. How you were blind to him, how you failed to see him for what he was to you. How, all along, he was there, patient and constant, while you kept pushing him away, thinking he was just a friend. He was the secret admirer you never even considered and he had carried all that weight on his own. He never lashed out. He never got angry. Instead, he waited. He never gave up on you, never turned away, even when you hurt him again and again with your obliviousness. A rush of guilt floods through you. The thought of how much you put him through, how you always doubted yourself thinking he was too good for you, never giving him the chance to show you how much he cared, it makes your heart ache in a way you can’t explain.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, pulling back just slightly so you can look into his eyes, searching for the words to say, what’s been buried inside you for so long. “I need to tell you something.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening as he waits, already knowing something heavy is coming.

“I always liked you,” you admit, the words trembling on your lips, finally finding their way into the open air. “But I never came to terms with it, because I was scared. I was scared that if I let myself believe it, it would only end in disappointment. You’re… you’re so out of my league, Mingyu. You’re the kind of person every woman dreams of. And me? I’m just lucky to be one of your closest friends. I didn’t want to push my luck, to ask for more.” You take a breath, “I never thought you’d choose me. I never thought I could be more than just your friend. But then you were always so kind, so patient with me even when I didn’t see it. You carried all of that on your own and I’m sorry for that. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known what was right in front of me. And if you never confessed, I might’ve never been able to say this to you… but I like you, Mingyu. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone.”

The moment you finish, everything feels still. His eyes widen, his lips part slightly but he doesn’t speak and neither do you. It’s like time has frozen and all you can do is stand there, your heart racing, waiting for him to process what you’ve said. The silence is deafening and yet it’s comforting, because it feels like this is the most real thing you’ve ever said.

Mingyu stands still for a moment, his hand still resting lightly on your waist and then slowly, his expression changes. “I don’t want you to ever doubt yourself,” he finally says. “You’re everything I could ever want, and more. I didn’t care about being the man of every woman’s dreams, because all I ever wanted was you.” He lifts his hand to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “I waited because I knew it would be worth it,” he adds, his eyes never leaving yours. “And now, I’m just… so glad I did.”

Tears prick at your eyes as the full weight of his words hits you, and before you can stop them, a tear slips down your cheek. Mingyu wipes it away kindly, his smile full of so much love that it nearly breaks you.

“You never hurt me, you know,” he says lovingly, “because I knew we’d get here eventually. And now, all I want is for you to know that I’m here. Always here for you no matter what happens.”

Mingyu doesn't like you, but loves you, more than you ever thought possible. He'd never needed anyone else because all along, you were enough. No one else could compare to you in his eyes. The thought of being with anyone else never crossed his mind, because it was always you.

You tiptoe and press a soft kiss on his lips, an apology for the past misunderstandings, a rush of emotions fills your chest. You pull away but before you can even fully pull back, his hands are already on your waist, drawing you back to him. His lips find yours again, this time with a hunger that makes your stomach flip, a desperation that feels almost uncontainable. His kiss is deep, slow, and deliberate and the weight of it is enough to knock the breath out of you. "Mingyu..." you murmur against his lips, your body melting into his warmth. His grip tightens ever so slightly, his body stiffening in worry. He pulls away, chest heaving with shallow breaths. His voice is laced with uncertainty though it trembles with desire.

"Tell me to stop," he says, low and unsteady, "And I will."

For a moment you just look at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. But there's nothing. His love for you is written in every inch of him, in the way his fingers gently graze your cheek, in the way his breath catches when you shift closer.

You lean in again, closing the space between you. The moment your lips meet, he kisses you slow, deep and it makes your heart race. His hand moves from your cheek to your back, pulling you flush against him and you can feel every beat of his heart against yours. There's nothing hurried about it, just slow, careful movements that send sparks flying in your veins making you feel like you're floating. Everything is perfectly, wonderfully right.

He knows that this time, you see him. This time you see the admirer is right in front of you.

-

“To the one who has always been right in front of me,

I used to write these letters with the hope that one day, you’d realize it was me. That somehow, my words would reach you before I had to say them out loud. But today, I don’t need to hide behind words anymore.

You know me now—not just as the admirer, but as Mingyu. And I know you, not as someone I can only love from afar, but as someone who chose me back. Still, I wanted to write this—one last letter, not as a confession, but as a promise. A promise that I’ll keep looking at you the way I always have. That I’ll love you not just in grand gestures, but in the small moments too, the ones where love isn’t loud, but it’s there, steady and certain.

So here. This time, I’m not slipping it into a locker or leaving it on a table. I’m giving it to you with my own hands, looking right at you, so you know—this has always been real.

Yours, always.

— Mingyu”

Lee Y/N @y/nisnot_sleeping · 1h  

Been mine for a while now…

♡ 4        🔁 -      🗨️ 4

Boo @americano_.boo · 57m

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

Did you just ditch us for THIS ?¡?%&!? 

♡ 2        🔁 -      🗨️ 1

yoon ★ @yjh1004 · 49m  

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

Finally!!!!

♡ 3        🔁 -      🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 45m  

Replying to @y/nisnot_sleeping  

🫢🫢🫢

♡ 2        🔁 -      🗨️ -

Chan @dinonaras.ltd · 44m  

Replying to @americano_.boo  

where is @horang_m_a_n ?? crying in the corner because the investigation flopped?

♡ -        🔁 -      🗨️ -

⌦ 💌 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for reading—your reblog means everything. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming! ◜ᴗ◝

[allisonreader]

Ack!

[internetdaddy98]

The Ties That Bind Us - Chapter 3

Previous | Next

[Series Masterlist]

Content Warning: Gunshot injuries; blood; medical procedures; I have 0 medical knowledge; if I've missed any warnings, please let me know.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was barely up when you walked into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, coffee cup in one hand, badge clipped to your scrub top. Daylight streamed through the rotating doors—mocking, almost, in its calm. Unlike the night shifts that had swallowed you whole in adrenaline and triage chaos, today felt like stepping into unfamiliar territory. You preferred the dark. Things made sense in the dark, sharper instincts, fewer witnesses. But today, you'd be working under the full scrutiny of fluorescent lights, bustling staff, and most importantly, him.

You’d barely set your cup down at the nurses’ station when you heard Dana’s voice.

“Dr. Williams,” she said, clipboard under her arm. Eyes warm and friendly “You’re here early.”

“I like to see what I’m walking into,” You replied, sipping on your chamomile tea, “Chaos is more polite when you greet it first.”

She gave a low chuckle. “You’ll fit right in alright.”

As you headed towards the lounge, you began to take in the place that you had come to know after hours. The hospital felt quieter during the day, or maybe you were just getting used to the hum of codes, psych holds, the unrelenting stream of mayhem. You were nine weeks into your fellowship, and while that hardly made you a seasoned veteran, the initial fog of disorientation had lifted. You knew which nurses worked nights versus days, which CT techs were the fastest, and which vending machine had the good stuff. 

You caught a glimpse of Dr. Robby’s back as you entered the lounge room, and he headed towards Dana. You hadn’t talked since that night after the Pittfest shooting, but he had become a constant thought, threading in and out of your days like a song you hadn’t meant to memorize.

You wondered what his story was. The real one. Not the rumors from the other residents—something about a patient he couldn’t save, about working too many shifts and not enough sleep.

The lingering shadows of that night in the Pedes' room had remained with you for days after. But today you’d be working together again. Officially. Attending and fellow. Supervisor and learner and you were willing to learn. 

“Dr. Williams,” Robby greeted you at the nurses’ station, glancing at you through his glasses, before returning to look at the tablet in his hand. “You look awake. What’s your secret?”

You smiled as you leaned over. “Excessive caffeine and existential dread.”

He let out a soft chuckle, the kind that came from deep exhaustion. “Ah, the classics.”

“Good morning, good morning come on over. We have a new face joining us today,” he began, inviting the residents and interns to huddle around both of you.

“This is Dr. Williams, Emergency Medicine fellow fresh from night shift”, Robby continued to introduce you to the team as you smiled and waved at everyone. ”If I’m not available, she is the person you find”, Robby added.

You started walking the floor together, reviewing labs and orders, updating notes on the fly. You noticed the way he read the chart notes like he was trying to solve a puzzle that had a missing piece.

He had a way of listening that made patients lean in a little closer, and a way of speaking that made families breathe easier, even when the words weren’t good. Every patient came with a rhythm: neuro checks, vitals, med orders. Robby didn’t micromanage. He observed. Nudged gently. Asked questions that made you think but didn’t corner you.

He didn’t hover when you took charge of a GSW to the abdomen. Didn’t flinch when you suggested changing the antibiotic order for the open tib-fib. When you slipped on a word explaining a FAST scan to a med student, he seamlessly jumped in—not to correct you, but to reinforce your point.

He had a way of making space for people without shrinking himself. And you couldn’t decide if that made him more or less intriguing to your wandering mind “So Dr. Williams,” he said between cases, “day shift treating you better than night?”

You breathed out a laugh, “I haven’t had anything thrown at me yet,” you said. “Seems promising.”

He grinned—really grinned—for the first time that morning. “Give it time. We haven’t hit the lunch rush.”

Throughout the day, you slipped into your role instinctively—leading the ABCs, calling for chest x-rays, ultrasound probe in hand. Robby stood behind you, watching. You could feel his presence like static electricity on the back of your neck.

“He's hypotensive,” You called out. “FAST is positive—right upper quadrant.”

“Good eye, Dr. Williams,” Robby murmured. Then, louder to the room: “Prep for trauma laparotomy. Notify OR.”

It wasn’t until the patient was off to surgery that you realized your hands were shaking just a little.

Later, after a long stretch of back-to-back trauma codes and one surgical boarding nightmare, you caught a break in Abbot’s spot. You leaned over the rails, looking out, chewing a protein bar like it had personally wronged you.

You heard the emergency door creak open and shut, you looked over your shoulder to find Dr. Robby walking towards you.

“You did well down there, kept your cool,” Robby said once he stood beside you. “Nice work leading that.”

“I was a little worried you’d grab the probe out of my hand,” you admitted, only half-joking.

You left out a long breath.

“Is it always this insane during the day?” you asked, looking down at the ground floor of the hospital.

“More noise. Fewer excuses,” Robby replied.

There was a beat of silence before you added, “Thanks for not micromanaging me earlier.”

“I didn’t need to,” he said with a shrug. “I trust you.”

There were so many things you wanted to say. About how you still dream of the Pittfest victims. About the guilt that creeps in when you laugh too freely or go a day without remembering the patients who coded in your arms. But instead, you just stood there in silence.

You stayed a little after shift change, scribbling down notes, double-checking charts, not quite ready to leave. You finally stood, stretching the stiffness from your spine, when you felt his presence.

“Thanks for today,” you said.

“You didn’t need me much,” he replied. “That’s a good sign.”

“I still want to learn from you.”

Robby looked at you, his gaze suddenly serious but not cold.

“You will. But don’t forget you already bring something to the table. You’re not just here to follow. You’re here to lead.”

Your throat caught, just a little. And you nodded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This fic is a 25 parter that kinda took a life of its own

[bixels]

Portal 2 is still the perfect game to me. I hyperfixated on it like crazy in middle school. Would sing Want You Gone out loud cuz I had ADHD and no social awareness. Would make fan animations and pixel art. Would explain the ending spoilers and fan theories to anyone who'd listen. Would keep up with DeviantArt posts of the cores as humans. Would find and play community-made maps (Gelocity is insanely fun).

I still can't believe this game came out 12 years ago and it looks like THIS.

Like Mirror's Edge, the timeless art style and economic yet atmospheric lighting means this game will never age. The decision not to include any visible humans (ideas of Doug Rattmann showing up or a human co-op partner were cut) is doing so much legroom too. And the idea to use geometric tileset-like level designs is so smart! I sincerely believe that, by design, no game with a "realistic art style" has looked better than Portal 2.

Do you guys remember when Nvidia released Portal with RTX at it looked like dogshit? Just the most airbrushed crap I've ever seen; completely erased the cold, dry, clinical feel of Aperture.

So many breathtakingly pit-in-your-stomach moments I still think about too. And it's such a unique feeling; I'd describe at as... architectural existentialism? Experiencing the sublime under the shadow of manmade structures (Look up Giovanni Battista Piranesi's art if you're curious)? That scene where you're running from GLaDOS with Wheatley on a catwalk over a bottomless pit and––out of rage and desperation––GLaDOS silently begins tearing her facility apart and Wheatley cries 'She's bringing the whole place down!' and ENORMOUS apartment building-sized blocks begin groaning towards you on suspended rails and cement pillars crumble and sparks fly and the metal catwalk strains and bends and snaps under your feet. And when you finally make it to the safety of a work lift, you look back and watch the facility close its jaws behind you as it screams.

Or the horror of knowing you're already miles underground, and then Wheatley smashes you down an elevator shaft and you realize it goes deeper. That there's a hell under hell, and it's much, much older.

Or how about the moment when you finally claw your way out of Old Aperture, reaching the peak of this underground mountain, only to look up and discover an endless stone ceiling built above you. There's a service door connected to some stairs ahead, but surrounding you is this array of giant, building-sized springs that hold the entire facility up. They stretch on into the fog. You keep climbing.

I love that the facility itself is treated like an android zooid too, a colony of nano-machines and service cores and sentient panel arms and security cameras and more. And now, after thousands of years of neglect, the facility is festering with decomposition and microbes; deer, raccoons, birds. There are ghosts too. You're never alone, even when it's quiet. I wonder what you'd hear if you put your ear up against a test chamber's walls and listened. (I say that all contemplatively, but that's literally an easter egg in the game. You hear a voice.)

Also, a reminder that GLaDOS and Chell are not related and their relationship is meant to be psychosexual. There was a cut bit where GLaDOS would role-play as Chell's jealous housewife and accuse her of seeing other cores in between chambers. And their shared struggle for freedom and control? GLaDOS realizing, after remembering her past life, that she's become the abuser and deciding that she has the power to stop? That even if she can't be free, she can let Chell go because she hates her. And she loves her. Most people interpret GLaDOS "deleting Caroline in her brain" as an ominous sign, that she's forgetting her human roots and becoming "fully robot." But to me, it's a sign of hope for GLaDOS. She's relieving herself of the baggage that has defined her very existence, she's letting Caroline finally rest, and she's allowing herself to grow beyond what Cave and Aperture and the scientists defined her to be. The fact that GLaDOS still lets you go after deleting Caroline proves this. She doesn't double-back or change her mind like Wheatley did, she sticks to her word because she knows who she is. No one and nothing can influence her because she's in control. GLaDOS proves she's capable of empathy and mercy and change, human or not.

That's my retrospective, I love this game to bits. I wish I could experience it for the first time again.

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |17|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Seventeen: Delayed Motion Sickness

warnings: graphic depictions of cannibalism and discussion of consuming human flesh, severe psychological trauma and mental health issues , graphic descriptions of vomiting/illness, discussions of grief and death, brief mention of potential suicidal ideation, emotional distress, and existential horror.

note(s): tai: "so where the hell are we gonna get food?" lottie: "we're gonna dig up y/n's dead girlfriend!" y/n: "yeah, dumbass, we're gonna dig up- dig up y/n's dead girlfriend?!?!??"

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The world returns in fragments—voices filtering through darkness, the sting of cold against your face, hands gripping your shoulders. You register movement, being half-carried back toward the cabin, someone murmuring reassurances that don't penetrate the fog of horror enveloping your mind.

"Get her inside," Tai's voice cuts through the haze, authoritative even in crisis.

Your stomach lurches again as they maneuver you through the doorway. You twist violently in their grasp, desperate to avoid fouling the cabin floor.

"She's gonna be sick again," Mari warns, just as you double over.

Someone thrusts a bucket beneath your chin just in time, and you empty whatever's left in your stomach—bile mostly, burning your throat and bringing tears to your eyes. A hand holds your hair back; another rubs circles between your shoulder blades.

"It's okay," Travis murmurs from somewhere above you. "Get it all out."

When the heaving finally subsides, you're guided to your sleeping area, hands gently pressing you down onto your makeshift bed. A cup appears at your lips—water, blessed water to wash away the acrid taste. You sip gratefully, hands trembling too badly to hold the cup yourself.

Through tear-blurred vision, you make out faces hovering around you—concerned, wary, exchanging glances loaded with meaning you can't decipher. The cabin has gone unnaturally quiet, everyone waiting for whatever comes next.

"What happened?" Tai finally asks, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You open your mouth, but the words lodge in your throat. How do you articulate the horror unfolding in your mind? The memories bursting through barriers you didn't know you'd constructed?

"Jackie," you manage, the name barely a whisper.

Something passes between them—a look, a silent conversation flowing above your head. Confusion crawls through your fog of panic.

"She remembered," Lottie says from somewhere to your left, her voice strangely calm. "What we did."

You turn toward her voice, finding her perched on the edge of a nearby trunk, her expression serene despite the tension crackling through the room.

"What are you talking about?" you rasp, though part of you already knows—the part that's been drowning in repressed memories since you stepped outside.

No one speaks. The silence stretches, taut with unspoken truths.

"Someone fucking tell me," you demand, voice gaining strength born of desperation. "Tell me I didn't... that we didn't..."

"You really didn't know?" Natalie asks, incredulous. "This whole time?"

"Know what?" The words tear from your throat, edged with hysteria.

Another exchange of glances, another silent communication from which you're excluded. Then Van steps forward, crouching beside your bed.

"After Jackie died," she begins carefully, "things got pretty bad. Food was scarce, and we were all starving, and—"

"No." You shake your head violently, as if the physical motion can dispel the horror taking shape. "No, we buried her. We waited for the ground to thaw and we buried her."

Van's eyes are soft with pity. "We didn't bury her, Y/N."

Your name in her mouth somehow makes it worse—makes it real in a way nothing else has. You pull away, pressing yourself against the wall.

"You're lying," you insist, gaze darting from face to face, searching for someone to contradict her. "We wouldn't... I wouldn't..."

"It was your idea," Lottie says, the simple statement falling like a stone into still water.

Your breath catches. "What?"

"Not exactly," Tai interjects quickly, shooting Lottie a warning look. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" The question emerges as a plea, begging for an explanation that could somehow make sense of the fragments surfacing in your mind.

Tai sighs, settling on the floor beside your bed. "We were starving. Really starving. The hunting had failed for days, and the last of our rations were gone. Jackie was... she was already gone. Her body was just—"

"Meat," you finish, the word tasting like poison.

Tai nods once, her expression grim. "It was about survival. We all agreed."

"Including me." It's not a question anymore.

"You were... different after Jackie died," Travis offers hesitantly. "Not really yourself."

"Different how?" Despite the dread pooling in your stomach, you need to know.

Travis looks to Tai, clearly uncomfortable with being the messenger. Tai meets your gaze steadily.

"You were obsessed with her body," she says bluntly. "You wouldn't let us move her at first. You'd sit with her for hours, talking to her like she was still there. You'd arrange her hair, fix her clothes."

The memory surfaces unbidden—Jackie's frost-stiffened fingers in yours, combing through her tangled hair with a makeshift brush, carefully braiding the strands while chattering about nothing, everything, as if she could still hear you.

"You'd dress her up," Mari adds softly. "Change her outfits. Put that lipstick we found in her bag on her."

Your stomach lurches again, but there's nothing left to expel. "Oh god."

"When we finally decided to... use her body," Tai continues carefully, "you were the one who volunteered to... prepare her."

The knife in your hand. Blood on snow. The weight of flesh being carved from bone. Your breath comes in short, painful gasps as the memories assault you.

"Stop," you plead, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could physically block the images. "Please stop."

A hand touches your shoulder—Lottie, moved from her perch to kneel beside you. "The wilderness provides," she says softly. "Jackie provided. There's no shame in that."

You recoil from her touch, something primal and panicked clawing at your insides. "Don't. Don't fucking touch me."

Lottie withdraws her hand but remains close, her eyes locked on yours with that same unnerving intensity from the forest. "You didn't do anything wrong."

A bitter laugh escapes you. "I ate the woman I loved, but sure, no big deal, right?" The words hang in the silence, your declaration of love for Jackie spoken aloud for the first time. "Where's Shauna?"

The question seems to catch them off guard, heads turning to scan the cabin. Shauna is nowhere to be seen.

"She was just here," Van says, frowning. "She helped bring you in."

The realization dawns slowly, a new horror layering over the first. "She knew," you whisper. "She knew I didn't remember."

No one contradicts you. The silence is confirmation enough.

"Why didn't any of you tell me?" Your voice cracks on the question. "Why let me go on thinking—believing—"

"We thought you knew," Natalie interrupts, looking genuinely confused. "You were there. You participated. You ate the same meals as the rest of us."

"I don't remember!" The shout tears from your throat. "I don't remember any of it! The meals, the... preparation. None of it!"

"That's not possible," Tai says skeptically. "You were functional. You talked, you worked, you—"

"I don't remember the first few weeks after she died," you insist, desperation lending strength to your voice. "It's all... fragmented. Blurry. I thought it was grief, or shock, or..." You trail off, the implication of your words sinking in.

"Dissociation," Lottie supplies calmly. "Your mind protected you from what you couldn't handle."

"Until now," you finish bitterly. "Until I fucked you in the same shed where we..." You can't complete the sentence, nausea rising again at the connection your mind has made.

Lottie doesn't flinch at your crudeness. "The body remembers what the mind tries to forget."

"Jesus, Lottie, give it a rest with the fortune cookie wisdom," Natalie snaps, then turns to you. "Look, this is fucked up. The whole situation is fucked up. But none of us knew you'd blocked it out."

You shake your head, trying to reconcile their version of events with the gaping holes in your memory. "I thought we buried her," you repeat, softer now. "I had this... this mental image of us digging a grave when the ground thawed. Saying goodbye."

"We did have a ceremony," Van offers gently. "After. We said words for her, thanked her for... for helping us survive. It was Lottie's idea."

"A ritual," Lottie corrects. "To honor her sacrifice."

The door opens before you can respond, a gust of cold air preceding Shauna as she slips inside. Her eyes find you immediately, widening slightly at your conscious state. She looks different somehow—younger, vulnerable in a way you rarely see.

"Hey," she says awkwardly, hovering by the door. "You're awake."

"Where were you?" The question comes out sharper than intended.

Shauna shifts uncomfortably. "Just needed some air."

"Right," you reply, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. "Me too."

A tense silence falls. Tai stands, motioning to the others. "Let's give them a minute," she suggests, though it's clearly an order rather than a request.

One by one, they filter away to various corners of the cabin, providing the illusion of privacy in a space too small for secrets. Only Lottie lingers, her gaze flicking between you and Shauna with undisguised interest.

"Lottie," Tai says pointedly. "Come on."

With visible reluctance, Lottie rises, her fingertips brushing your arm as she leaves—a touch so brief you might have imagined it. Shauna watches the interaction, her expression tightening before she approaches, taking the spot Lottie vacated.

"You knew," you say without preamble, keeping your voice low enough that it won't carry to the others. "You knew I didn't remember."

Shauna doesn't deny it. "I suspected," she admits. "The way you talked about Jackie, about... after. It didn't line up."

"And you didn't think to mention it?" The hurt in your voice is unmistakable. "To say, 'Hey, by the way, we ate your dead girlfriend'?"

"Your relationship wasn't exactly public," Shauna replies automatically, then winces at her own tone. "Sorry. That wasn't... I didn't mean—"

"Whatever." You turn away, facing the wall. "Just go away."

"Y/N, please." Her hand lands on your shoulder, gentle but insistent. "I thought I was protecting you."

"Protecting me?" You twist back to face her, incredulous. "By letting me live in a fantasy world where my biggest crime was leaving her body in the snow?"

"You were broken after she died," Shauna says quietly. "You'd sit with her body for hours, talking to her, brushing her hair like she was a doll. You weren't eating, weren't sleeping. We were afraid you'd—" She stops, swallowing hard.

"Kill myself?" you finish for her.

Her eyes answer you, never leaving yours. "Then the food ran out. Everyone was getting desperate. Lottie suggested that Jackie... that her body could..."

"And I volunteered," you supply, the memory surfacing like something dead rising to the water's surface. "To cut her up."

Shauna flinches at your bluntness but doesn't contradict you. "You said it should be someone who loved her. That she'd want to help us survive."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up your throat. "That's rich. I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know we treated her like a fucking Sunday roast."

"It wasn't like that," Shauna insists, her voice dropping even lower. "It was... respectful. As much as it could be."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The tears you've been fighting finally spill over, hot trails down cold cheeks. "That we said grace before tearing into her like a bunch of paganists?"

Shauna's hand finds yours, gripping it tightly despite your half-hearted attempt to pull away. "We thought you'd processed it."

"I forgot it," you correct bitterly. "Locked it away in some dark corner of my mind where I wouldn't have to look at it."

Shauna's thumb traces circles on your palm, the gesture achingly familiar. "Why tonight?"

You close your eyes, seeing again the congealed stew, feeling the texture on your tongue. "The food. Something about tonight's dinner just... connected."

Shauna is quiet for a long moment, her hand still holding yours. "The way you talked about Jackie... it was like you had this whole narrative in your head about what happened after she died. A story where we honored her properly, buried her, moved on naturally."

"And you just let me believe it." The hurt resurfaces, sharper now.

"At first, I wasn't sure," Shauna admits. "I thought maybe you were just... I don't know, coping differently. But then that fight we had yesterday, when you asked about the baby..." She trails off, shaking her head. "I realized you really didn't remember. But by then, you were already so angry with me, and then with Lottie, you were—"

You pull your hand from hers, a new memory surfacing. "The baby."

Shauna's expression shutters. 

"You still never told me what happened..." Your words hang between you, loaded with implications neither of you is ready to face.

"Please don't," Shauna whispers, echoing your own plea from earlier. "Please don't ask me that. I can't go through this conversation again. Not tonight. Not when you're already dealing with..." She gestures vaguely, encompassing the situation, your breakdown, everything.

The refusal should anger you—another secret, another piece of truth withheld. Instead, an odd calm settles over you, a numbness that's almost comforting in its completeness.

"Okay," you agree, surprising yourself as much as her. "Not tonight."

Relief flashes across her face, quickly followed by wariness, as if she doesn't quite trust your acquiescence. "Are you... how are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" You repeat the question with a hollow laugh. "I just found out I ate someone I loved. Processing that might take a minute."

Shauna winces but doesn't back down. "Do you need anything? Water? More blankets?"

The normalcy of the offer—its domestic banality in the face of your horrific revelation—strikes you as absurdly funny. A giggle escapes you, then another, building quickly into semi-hysterical laughter that you can't seem to control.

Shauna watches with growing alarm. "Y/N? Hey, it's okay. Just breathe."

"It's really not okay," you gasp between fits of laughter that are rapidly transforming into sobs. "It's so far from okay that okay isn't even visible from here."

Arms wrap around you suddenly—Shauna pulling you against her chest, holding you through the storm of emotions. You should push her away, maintain the anger that's been your shield since returning to the cabin. Instead, you collapse into her embrace, sobs wracking your body as the full weight of reality crashes down.

"I ate her," you choke out against Shauna's shoulder. "I ate Jackie."

"We all did," Shauna murmurs, her hands making soothing motions across your back. "We survived because of her."

The distinction feels meaningless in the face of your guilt, but you cling to Shauna anyway, desperate for any anchor in the storm of your fractured memories.

"I loved her," you whisper, the admission worn smooth with repetition in your mind but rarely spoken aloud.

"I know," Shauna says softly. "She knew too."

Something in her tone makes you pull back slightly, studying her face. "And I love you."

Her eyes meet yours, something vulnerable and raw in their depths. "You should get some rest."

The dismissal hangs between you, neither reciprocation nor rejection but something in between. 

"You're right..." you say, exhaustion suddenly washing over you. 

Shauna's hand finds yours again, squeezing gently. "Don't disappear again. Please."

The plea in her voice tugs at something in your chest. "I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise." The word feels binding in a way few things have since the crash upended your world.

Shauna nods, seeming satisfied. She starts to rise, but your hand tightens on hers, keeping her in place.

"Stay?" The request slips out before you can reconsider it. "Just... I don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now."

She hesitates only briefly before settling back beside you. "I'll stay."

Across the cabin, you catch Lottie watching, her expression unreadable in the firelit shadows. She inclines her head slightly when your eyes meet—acknowledgment without challenge. Whatever existed between you in the forest, in the meat shed, feels distant now, overshadowed by the horrors unearthed from your own mind.

You lean against Shauna, allowing your eyes to close, hoping for the oblivion of sleep without dreams. The memories will still be there tomorrow, waiting to be examined, processed, somehow integrated into your understanding of yourself. For now, though, there's just the warmth of human contact, the steady rhythm of Shauna's breathing, and the fragile promise of not facing the darkness alone.

"You'll be okay," Shauna whispers, her lips brushing your hair. "We both will."

You don't answer, don't point out the hollowness of such assurances in the face of your collective trauma. Instead, you let yourself believe it, just for tonight—a comforting fiction to cling to while the truth settles its weight upon your shoulders.

Outside, the wind howls through bare trees, a sound too similar to human keening. Inside, wrapped in Shauna's arms, you finally surrender to exhaustion, sliding into darkness with Jackie's name on your lips and the taste of memory like ashes on your tongue and you can't help but feel a wave of deja vu wash over you. 

[astrolook]

📦✨Jupiter Rx in the Houses : Big Wisdom, Delayed shipping!📦✨

Note: These are my personal observations over the years from readings, patterns, and late-night chart deep dives. Always take what resonates and leave the rest. Huge shoutout to the anon who asked me to make this post, you snapped with the idea. Thank you for the push 💌 Also, Lemme know in the comments about your Jupiter Rx experiences!

🔥 Fire Signs (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) - You wanna believe in yourself so bad, but there's always an inner voice like “Are you actually that bitch?” You’re born to inspire, but it takes time to trust your own hype. Your confidence is built through trial, error, and existential meltdowns. You question your purpose so much, the universe’s auto-reply is “again?” People think you’re bold but the truth is you are doubting yourself with flair. You won’t follow a guru, you’ll eventually become the wild one others quote.

🌊 Water Signs (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) - You’ve been spiritual since the you're a womb in your mommy's tummy, but also suspicious AF about it. Jupiter Rx here makes your faith moody, deep, and a lil paranoid. You trust the universe unless it ghosts you (again). You're soft but spooky.

🌬 Air Signs (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) - You believe in ideas, until they contradict each other, then spiral. Jupiter Rx here is like your mind has an inner debate club with no moderator. You don’t “feel” faith, you analyze it, blog about it, then delete it. Spirituality is a thesis paper you’ve been rewriting since age 12. You're skeptical of everything including your own skepticism. Your luck activates when you stop googling everything and actually live it.

🌍 Earth Signs (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) - You want your faith to come with a user manual and solid reviews. Jupiter Rx here means you don’t just believe, you need proof, practice, and a planner. You take forever to trust, but once you do, you’re loyal to the divine like it’s your 9-5. Your wisdom is built brick by brick and no shortcuts. You’ll doubt the journey 1,000 times but you never quit it.

Jupiter Rx in 1st - You radiate depth but rarely broadcast it loud. It takes a while to believe in yourself, but once you do you are unstoppable. You weren’t born with luck though you had to define what that even meant. You expand through identity crises. Yay? You don’t trust gurus as you might become one.

Jupiter Rx in 2nd - You lowkey feel guilty spending on yourself. Delayed abundance but deep appreciation. Security is an inside job with interest. You don’t spend easily, you want meaning in every dollar.

Jupiter Rx in 3rd - You don’t talk to talk, you talk to understand reality. You’ll rewrite your entire belief system before breakfast. Childhood may have felt isolating or misunderstood. Small talk feels like violence. Your big ideas buffers internally. You have a PhD in over-thinking. Small talk feels like violence. Siblings may have felt like karmic classmates.

Jupiter Rx in 4th - Your childhood might have felt like a live-in soul lesson. You inherited emotional debt, not just furniture. You parented your parents at least once. You age backwards emotionally (in a good way). You’re your ancestors’ wildest karmic plot twist. The “happy home” ideal took work, not luck.

Jupiter Rx in 5th - Joy didn’t come easy, you had to Google it emotionally. You're a late-bloomer creative genius. Romance is your spiritual lesson disguised as chaos. You’re funny without trying but deeply intense too.

Jupiter Rx in 6th - Routines make you existential. Co-workers are your soul contracts with HR. You don’t “clock in,” you time travel. Service is sacred, but so is rest. You tried everything but consistency.

Jupiter Rx in 7th - Relationships are your crash course in self-worth. Partnerships are your mirror like sometimes fogged, sometimes cracked. Boundaries weren’t natural, you had to learn ‘em the hard way. Love isn’t luck for you, it’s wisdom in heels.

Jupiter Rx in 8th - You transform like it’s a side hustle. Power scares you because you know how real it is. Sex, death, rebirth are your usual weekend topics. You feel luckiest after breakdowns (fun, right?). You’re here to alchemize the taboo into truth.

Jupiter Rx in 9th - You didn’t just lose faith, you interrogated it. Your mind is like a haunted university. You’ll travel to find yourself, then lose your luggage and ego. Truth is your compass, but seriously, it wanders.

Jupiter Rx in 10th - You weren’t handed success, you were handed a character arc. Career might feel like a karmic obstacle course. You’ve outgrown more job titles than LinkedIn can handle. Achievement comes after identity crisis #3.

Jupiter Rx in 11th - You’ve always felt like the weirdo in the group chat. You never fit in and you will own it later in life. You might have a future-cult-leader vision, minus the cult. You’re not the outcast, you’re the blueprint.

Jupiter Rx in 12th - You feel the world’s emotions like spam emails. Also, luck feels like a dream you can’t wake up from. Spiritual since birth, confused ever since. LOL, your dreams have dreams. You know things without knowing why (and it’s spooky). Your unconscious is a spiritual jungle gym. You’re here to turn solitude into sacred ground.

Wanna know how your Jupiter Rx works in your birth chart and what past life themes it’s dragging into this one? DM me for a complete astrology reading and check out my pinned post for pricing 💫

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 6 ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 8 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: hey hey! i wrote a little minimum wage, maximum suffering side story for a nanami x reader request! obviously, it’s not canon to this main fic—just a fun little “what if” scenario where the barista and nanami get to be two overworked exhausted souls, bake together, and accidentally start catching feelings. if that sounds like your vibe, feel free to check it out! also, just a reminder that i’m taking requests, so if there’s something specific you wanna see in this universe or any jjk x reader content in general, send it my way! thank you all so much for the love and kind feedback—reading your reactions truly makes my day. hope you’re enjoying the chaos!! 🫶

You wake up to the sound of your phone buzzing aggressively against your nightstand. You consider letting it vibrate itself into the abyss, but then you see the name on the screen.

Greg the Manager.

Of course, it’s Greg.

You contemplate ignoring it. After all, you've gotten pretty good at ghosting calls from him. But then you remember the last time you did that, and Greg left you a voicemail that said, "Hey dude, I know you don’t like getting called, but I need help because the espresso machine is like… emitting a black fog? But no worries, bro, I handled it—put a towel over it."

The towel, you later discovered, had caught fire.

So, for the sake of fire safety and whatever remains of your sanity, you begrudgingly pick up.

"Yo," Greg the Manager answers, sounding unreasonably chill.

"What’s wrong," you say, already bracing yourself.

"Uh. Don’t freak out, but the espresso machine made a sound that was, like… unholy."

You close your eyes. Rub your face. Consider throwing your phone out the window. "Greg. It always does that."

"Like, bro, I’m telling you, it sounded sentient this time."

"It’s just a machine, Greg," you reply, a deep sigh escaping you.

"I don’t know, man. It said something."

You sit up now, the exhaustion of life creeping up on you. "It spoke?"

"Not, like, English," Greg clarifies, sounding very much like he’s trying to convince himself. "But it made a noise that felt like it had intent."

Before you can even come up with something appropriately sarcastic, Greg makes a noise of panic. "Oh god. It’s smoking. Again."

You hang up.

By the time you drag yourself to work, the café smells like burnt espresso, disappointment, and what you can only assume is the palpable scent of existential dread. Greg the Manager is standing frozen in front of the espresso machine, which looks like it’s on the verge of giving up on life—or maybe plotting to drag him into some alternate dimension. You can’t decide. Either way, it’s rattling violently, as if trying to break free from the shackles of this mortal plane.

"Hey," Greg greets you, looking vaguely guilty.

You stare at him, then at the machine, which lets out a low, menacing hum. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" he says, a little too defensively.

You narrow your eyes.

"Okay, so I may have, like, smacked it real hard because it wasn’t working."

"You WHAT?!" You take a step back, half-expecting the espresso machine to come alive and launch itself at you like some caffeinated version of The Terminator.

"I—"

Before he can finish his sentence, the espresso machine lets out a noise that can only be described as otherworldly. It’s a screech that would make an animal in pain sound pleasant by comparison. The lights flicker. A single ominous spark shoots out of its side.

You take another step back, because honestly, at this point, there’s nothing left to do but stare at the impending doom of your workplace with all the grace and patience of a minimum-wage worker who’s clocking in for a shift that’s definitely going to suck.

“Cool,” you say flatly. “So we’re all gonna die today.”

When you hear no response, you turn. Of course, Greg—ever useless—has disappeared. Just gone. Like a damn mirage. You glance around the café, mentally preparing for the usual gauntlet of weirdness.

Muffin Guy is in his usual spot, staring at his muffin like it holds the secrets of the universe, and a woman is peering at the menu like it’s written in hieroglyphics. The vibes are bad. Just another typical day at the café.

And then—because life loves making things worse—the door chimes. You look up to see Choso and Yuji walking in. Well, Yuji walks in like a normal person. Choso, however, enters like he’s surveying enemy territory. He, as usual, zeros in on you like a heat-seeking missile.

"Barista," Choso greets you solemnly, as if he’s about to deliver some deeply important news.

"Choso," you reply, because this is just how your conversations go now.

"I have returned."

"You sure have, bud."

“You look exhausted.” Choso observes, his brows furrowing like he’s genuinely concerned.

You, running on caffeine and spite, give him a tired look. “That’s just my face.”

Choso doesn’t get sarcasm. Not even a little. His frown deepens. "I will give you nourishment."

Yuji, sensing an impending crisis, groans loudly. "Choso, please. We talked about this."

You already know what’s coming. You brace yourself. “Let me guess. You brought an entire feast again?”

Choso, ever serious, reaches into his pocket. You hold your breath.

And then, finally, he pulls out a single, modest red apple and places it on the counter like he’s offering you the Holy Grail.

Yuji’s jaw drops. “Character development?! He only brought one thing?”

Choso nods solemnly, like he just made a sacrifice. “I am learning restraint.”

You stare at the apple. “Where did you even get this?”

Choso pauses. Looks at Yuji. Looks at the apple. Looks away.

Yuji’s expression shifts to pure betrayal. “Did you—DID YOU STEAL THIS FROM THE FRUIT STAND WE WALKED BY EARLIER?”

Choso looks totally unbothered. “The barista needs nourishment.”

“THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU CAN JUST COMMIT CRIMES—”

Before Yuji can launch into a full-on rant about the ethics of fruit theft, the door chimes again, and in walks a new customer.

This guy?

He radiates vibes.

The kind of vibes that scream, "I’m either a cult leader or a very rich businessman who just walked out of a TED Talk on ‘The Secrets of Power.’"

Tall, sharp features, long black hair partially tied up in a man bun with loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing traditional robes that look like they cost more than your monthly rent. His movements are slow and deliberate with the kind of controlled grace that screams villain.

As he steps inside, he sniffs—like a Victorian aristocrat who just walked into a peasant’s barn. Then, with a look of absolute disdain, he pulls out a small spray bottle, mutters "disgusting," and mists himself like a beauty influencer on a self-care day.

You blink. Slowly.

Did this man just Febreze himself?

He catches your stare. Of course he does. And you instantly know: This man is judging you. Hard. You can feel it deep in your soul.

Choso immediately tenses. Yuji just looks confused.

“...Do I know you? You look sorta familiar,” Yuji asks, like he’s trying to place the guy who just sprayed himself down with Eau de I Think I’m Better Than You.

The man ignores both of them and strides up to the counter.

Then, he smiles.

It is fake as all hell. You would know, you give fake smiles on the daily.

"Hello," he says, voice smooth and deeply insincere.

Your customer service instincts activate against your will. “Hi. Welcome to—"

"You work here?" he interrupts, in the same tone someone might use to ask, "You live in filth?"

“…No. I just wear the apron and make lattes for fun.”

His lip curls slightly, as if your existence alone offends him. "I see. Sharp-tongued for a monkey."

There’s a pause.

You stare at the man.

Yuji sputters, clutching his hoodie like it might protect him from the sheer audacity unfolding before him.

Choso glares, his resting murder-face intensifying.

The man—who is now on your personal Most Hated Customers List, right beneath that one guy who asked if oat milk had dairy in it—lets out a long, exasperated sigh, as if he’s the one enduring the most in this situation.

"It’s just an observation," he says smoothly, like that somehow makes it better.

You deadpan. "Observation of what? My ability to use tools? My advanced problem-solving skills?"

"Charming," he muses, as if you’re some kind of exotic street performer. "No wonder Satoru enjoys this place."

Your eye twitches. Oh god. Of course.

"You know Gojo?"

The man’s expression flickers—just for a second. His eyes darken slightly before he schools his face back into the usual smooth, infuriating calm.

"In a way," he says cryptically, which is not an answer, but whatever.

Yuji cautiously clears his throat. "Uh. So. What’s your name?"

The man smiles, slow and deliberate. "Suguru Geto."

Choso, who has not stopped glaring since this conversation began, somehow glares harder. Geto notices and, rather than feeling threatened like a normal person, looks vaguely pleased.

"Can’t a man enjoy a cup of tea?" Geto asks, all silk and smugness. Then, he turns back to you, fixing you with an expression so judgmental it makes your soul itch. "This is an establishment that serves tea, isn’t it?"

You squint at him. "You seem like the type to order something obscure, like… oolong infused with the souls of the damned."

His lips twitch, like he wants to smirk but refuses to let you amuse him. "Just green tea will suffice."

"Sure," you nod half-heartedly. "Coming right up."

As you prepare the drink, you vaguely register that Yuji looks like he’s trying to astral project himself out of this situation, while Choso—without a word—has positioned himself just slightly in front of you, like a silent, glaring guard dog.

Then, as if the universe has decided that this moment isn’t chaotic enough, the café door SLAMS open.

And in saunters Gojo.

Like he owns the place. Like he’s walking onto the stage of his own Broadway debut.

"HELLO, MY FAVORITE MINIMUM WAGE WORKER!" Gojo announces loudly. "HAVE YOU SEEN A—"

Then, he sees him.

Gojo’s entire body freezes.

Geto, for his part, remains utterly calm. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift. The only movement comes from his fingers, lightly tapping against his tea cup you had just placed in front of him like this is some casual interaction and not charged with enough tension to power the national grid.

"Satoru," Geto greets smoothly, tilting his head.

Gojo blinks once. Twice. Then he grins—but it’s different. It’s not his usual annoying, gremlin-esque grin. It’s sharper. Tighter. Colder.

"Suguru," he replies, voice light, but not playful.

You, oblivious to all actual context, just sigh.

"Cool," you say, absolutely exhausted. "What is this? A long-lost soap opera reunion?"

Geto lets out a low chuckle. "Something like that," he hums, setting his tea down with elegant precision. "We're… old friends."

You know drama when you hear it.

“Old friends,” you repeat, skeptical. "Like actual old friends, or ‘we broke up and now we’re enemies who pretend not to care but totally do’?"

Gojo, without missing a beat, grins. “Oh, it’s the second one.”

Geto’s eye twitches.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

There’s a pause. The kind of silence thick with unspoken words and deep-seated resentment. The kind of silence that happens right before someone dramatically walks out of a family Thanksgiving dinner.

Naturally, Gojo—because he can’t handle silence like a normal person—fills it.

“Man, this really takes me back,” he says wistfully, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Us, standing together in a café, like old times—”

“We never did this,” Geto interrupts with an unimpressed expression.

“—Me, looking as handsome as ever,” Gojo continues, undeterred. “You, glaring at me because you can’t admit you miss me.”

Geto lets out the deepest, most suffering sigh you have ever heard. “I don’t.”

“Lies.”

You press a hand against your forehead. "I don’t get paid enough for this."

Unfortunately, Geto has now turned his hyper-critical stare back on you, and it is very much unwelcome.

"How pathetic," Geto murmurs, studying you like you’re some kind of pitiful lab rat trapped in the maze of capitalism. "To be stuck in such a miserable life."

You're too exhausted for whatever pretentious nonsense he’s about to drop. "I know you’re about to say some weird philosophical nonsense, and I do not have the mental capacity for it today."

Gojo snorts.

Geto tilts his head, smiling in that way that makes you feel like he thinks he’s playing some kind of intellectual chess match. You are, unfortunately, not interested in playing.

Choso, usually the embodiment of silent, looming presence, apparently hit his limit. Without hesitation, he stepped directly in front of you like he was personally responsible for your well-being, his posture stiff and protective, his face a masterpiece of disapproval. His expression was one part overprotective, three parts ready to physically launch a man through the nearest window.

"Do not insult the barista."

His voice was so serious, so weighted with dramatic intensity, that for a moment, the café itself seemed to still. Geto raised an eyebrow, vaguely intrigued. Yuji looked like he was about to pass out from the amount of secondhand embarrassment. Gojo’s grin stretched wider, already living for the drama.

You sighed, deeply accustomed to the daily horrors of customer service. "Choso, I literally get insulted daily. It’s fine."

"It is not fine," Choso insisted, his voice filled with righteous indignation. "You are valued."

There was a pause.

A long one.

You blink a few times.

Yuji made a noise. A high-pitched, inhuman noise that sounded like a balloon deflating in sheer disbelief.

Gojo clutched his chest, looking like he’d just witnessed the most beautiful love confession of the century.

Geto? Silent. Watching with rapt fascination, like a scientist observing a new species exhibit an unexpected behavior.

Meanwhile, you stared at Choso like he had just dramatically confessed his eternal devotion to a bag of expired croissants.

"I… okay," you said finally, unsure how to respond to this level of sincerity at nine in the morning. "…Thanks?"

Choso nodded, as solemn as ever. "You deserve respect."

Yuji, still desperately trying to process what was happening, let out a tiny, suffering groan, like his soul was actively exiting his body. "Choso, please. You can’t just—just declare things like that—"

"But it’s true, brother." Choso replied simply, as if that justified everything. "The barista is important."

Gojo, absolutely thriving on the chaos, turned to Geto with a shit-eating grin. "See, Suguru? That’s how you show appreciation. Unlike someone I know."

Geto ignored him, his eyes flickering between you and Choso with a quiet, analytical interest. He looked like he was filing this entire interaction away for later use, tucking it into some folder labeled: Barista-Choso Phenomenon. His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

"My, my," he mused, tilting his head. "How unexpectedly devoted."

Choso, ever the man of direct responses, stared him down. "I would kill you."

Yuji visibly malfunctioned. "CHO."

"Oh, this is interesting," Geto murmured, his eyes twinkling like he was delighted by this development. "Satoru, did you know your little friend here had such a strong sense of loyalty?"

Gojo, grinning like he just won the chaos lottery, threw an arm around Choso’s shoulders. "Oh, yeah. Big bro instincts. Real serious about them."

Choso immediately shrugged Gojo off like he was nothing more than an unwanted speck of dust.

Gojo dramatically clutched his chest, stumbling back. "Oof. Rejected. That one hurt."

You exhaled sharply, ready to throw all of them out. "Can we please get back to the part where I have a job and you are all customers and not—whatever the hell this is?"

Gojo clapped his hands together, bright as ever. "Okay! So! What’s my favorite barista been up to?"

You considered lying. Unfortunately, your reality was too bleak to sugarcoat.

"Oh, you know," you said, voice flat as a pancake. "The usual. Greg is definitely useless. A man tried to pay for his coffee with wisdom, which, fun fact, does not pay my rent."

Gojo gasped dramatically. "Shocking. Wisdom is worthless?"

"Yes," you deadpanned. "Turns out, landlords prefer actual money. Who knew?"

Gojo nodded, stroking his chin like an old wise sage reflecting on the tragedy of the modern world. "Late-stage capitalism. Terrible stuff."

"You don’t know the half of it," you muttered.

And then—because your suffering was never-ending—Greg the Manager wandered in from the back, looking just as dazed and blissfully unaware as ever.

"Yo," he greeted.

Geto’s nose wrinkled in visible disgust. His gaze flicked to you, then back to Greg, and for a moment, he seemed genuinely baffled that such a person existed.

“…Who is this?” Geto asked, his voice laced with pure judgment.

Greg, oblivious to the chaos around him and completely missing Geto's stare of disdain, stretched lazily. "The espresso machine started making weird noises again. It was, like, growling or something, so I put a sign on it."

Your eyes narrowed. "What kind of sign?"

Greg shrugged again. "You know. ‘Out of Order.’ But also, ‘Do Not Anger It.’ Just in case."

Geto slowly turned his head to you, processing this information. His expression was unreadable.

"…Your machine growls?" he asked, a little too intrigued.

You exhaled sharply. "It makes noises. But it’s not haunted."

Geto looked from the espresso machine, back to you, back to the espresso machine, like he was staring at a very stupid child.

"…You poor, oblivious fool."

Before you could fire back with peak sarcasm, the espresso machine let out an unholy screech that could only be described as a hundred lost souls wailing in agony.

The lights flickered violently.

Muffin Guy finally blinked.

Geto’s fingers stilled around his cup. His gaze flickered toward the espresso machine with genuine curiosity.

"Tell me," he said, tilting his head. "Do you ever feel like something is… watching you in this place?"

"Dude, I work in customer service. I feel eyes on me all the time."

Geto chuckled, seemingly amused by your suffering. "No, not customers. Something… else."

"Oh my god," you scoffed. "Are you also about to tell me the espresso machine is cursed?"

The espresso machine, as if personally offended, let out another deep, guttural groan. The lights dimmed.

You refused to react. This was just your life now.

Geto raised a single brow. "You don’t find that strange?"

You sighed and crossed your atms. "It just does that sometimes."

"Fascinating." Geto mused, though you had the sense that he was being condescending. He then turned to Gojo, still lounging near the counter. "Satoru, I have to ask. Why haven’t you exorcised that thing yet?"

Gojo grinned. "Hey, it’s part of our beloved minimum wage worker’s daily experience! It would be cruel to take away such an iconic workplace feature."

"Why does everyone keep making ominous comments about my espresso machine?!" you demanded. "It’s just a little broken!"

Greg the Manager nodded sagely and put his two cents in even though nobody asked. "Yeah. Just a little."

The espresso machine rattled violently.

Greg backpedaled. "Actually, maybe more than a little."

You caught Choso still glaring at Geto like he was actively plotting his downfall. Yuji, meanwhile, looked like he was actively trying to escape this awkward situation through sheer force of will.

And then—just when you thought it couldn’t get worse—Geto picked up his tea and walked straight to the nearest table.

And sat down.

And got comfortable.

Your stomach dropped.

"…You’re staying?" you asked, dreading the answer.

Geto sipped his tea, looking far too smug. "Oh, yes. I think I’ll linger."

You turned to Gojo, silently begging for intervention.

Gojo just grinned. "Oh, buddy. He’s a linger-er."

Your soul left your body.

Yuji, still tense, whispered to Choso, "Uh. We should probably go."

Choso crossed his arms. "Not until he leaves."

Geto, ever the bastard, smirked.

Yuji groaned, fully done with everything. "Oh my god. This is literally the worst possible dynamic."

It was.

It really, truly was.

And as you watched Geto settle in, taking in the café like he owned the place, you realized something horrifying:

Your life was about to get even worse.

₊⊹. tag list: @alpha-mommy69 @luluminati @amortsukii-writes @inthedarkshadows000 @isomehowexist @not-aya @emochosoluvr @lov3vivian @literallyushiwaka

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 12

˗ˏˋ vanilla coffee ˎˊ˗

"There's a science to making perfect coffee, he says. But there's no science to explain why watching him make it—shirtless and sleep-rumpled—makes you forget every reason you shouldn't want him."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 7,4k

rating: explicit (sex)

content: jungkook literally has a vanilla kink at this point i'm sorry that wasn't even planned he's just got free will, coffee lessons that are somehow hot, tiny shorts being instigators, verbal sparring as foreplay, protected sex, titty play, titty worship, penetrative vaginal sex, him fingering her

✧ author's note ✧

Listen. LISTEN. I don’t know what kind of demonic possession took over me while writing this chapter, but I had zero control over my own hands. Like, the coffee scene? The mug sharing? The delicious moment??? I AM IN HELL. (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

I started this chapter with the intention of them being petty little gremlins about vanilla-scented products, and somehow it ended with Jungkook making a whole latte just to flex on Y/N. A LATTE. And don’t even get me started on the mug proximity crimes. The way Y/N is actively short-circuiting over his hands and forearms like a Victorian woman seeing ankle for the first time?? We are ALL in trouble. (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

And then—oh, god—the sweatpants menace. If you know, you know.

As always, please send thoughts, screams, and existential crises to the comment box. Love you, stay hydrated, and if a man ever offers to elevate your coffee… RUN. (Or sit in his lap. Your call.) (¬‿¬)

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Good tired is still tired.

Your bag hits the dining table with a thud that perfectly matches how your brain feels right now—heavy and slightly bruised. 

7PM. 

You gave him way more than forty minutes. Actually gave him two whole hours, not that you're counting. 

Not that you care. You're just... observant.

But then you catch it—that familiar scent hanging in the air. Vanilla. Your mind immediately goes to that specific vanilla body wash that costs way too much but is the only thing that doesn't make your skin break out.

Oh, he fucking didn't.

Your fist connects with his door maybe a bit harder than necessary. There's a loud thud from inside, followed by what sounds like someone falling off a bed, then a muffled "shit” before footsteps approach.

The door swings open and—oh.

Oh no.

He's shirtless, because of course he is. Hair a disaster, eyes heavy with sleep, that stupid silver ring catching the light as he runs a hand down his face. There's a pillow crease on his cheek and he looks... soft. Which is absolutely not what you need right now when you're trying to be angry.

"What," he growls, voice rough with sleep, "is your problem?"

Right. Anger. Focus on that.

"My problem?" You gesture vaguely at the air between you. "My problem is you letting random hookups use my shit!"

His brow furrows, like he's trying to process your words through a fog of interrupted sleep. Then his expression does this complicated thing—confusion to understanding to something else you can't quite read.

He presses his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Phoenix, I didn't." When he looks at you again, he seems more awake. "I told her your stuff was off limits."

"Then why does it smell like—"

He brushes past you, heading toward the bathroom, and you absolutely do not notice how warm he is when he passes. Or how he still smells like rain under the vanilla.

"Are you seriously walking away while I'm—"

He stops so suddenly you almost run into him. Turns. Points at the coffee table.

"It's your candle."

You follow his finger and... oh.

There's one of your vanilla candles burning quietly on the table, nearly at its end. Which means it's been lit for...

He groans, running a hand down his face again. "You said to open the windows, and I just..." He waves vaguely at the candle. "Whatever."

"You..." The words aren't quite computing. "You lit my candle?"

"You told me to air out the apartment."

"So you used my candle to get cozy with some random—"

"For fuck's sake, Phoenix." He looks like he's regretting every life choice that led him here. "I lit it because you like these stupid vanilla things, okay? Thought it'd make the place smell nice when you got back."

Oh.

Something warm and uncomfortable squirms in your chest. Because that's... that's actually kind of...

"Well." You cross your arms, refusing to acknowledge the weird feeling. "Maybe ask next time before using my stuff."

"Maybe don't ghost me for two hours when I asked for forty minutes."

"I was studying!"

"With your phone on silent?"

"Some of us have actual academic responsibilities, Rogue."

His mouth twitches. "Some of us have other responsibilities."

"Yeah, bet ‘pussy eating’ looks great on a résumé.”

“Didn’t eat her pussy. Just fucked it.”

You grimace. “TMI.”

He shrugs. “You brought it up.”

“You were the one bragging about responsibilities like it’s a noble calling.”

“Hey, takes dedication. Skill. Stamina.” A smirk. “Not my fault you’re fixated on it.”

Fixated—

“Right. Just like I’m fixated on your four-hour recovery nap.”

“Wasn’t napping the whole time.”

“Gross.”

“You asked.”

“I literally didn’t.”

He's fighting a smile now, you can tell. Which is annoying because you're trying to be mad about your candle. Or your body wash. Or... something.

"Whatever." You turn toward your room, because this conversation needs to end before you do something stupid like thank him for thinking about the smell. "Just ask next time."

"Before lighting your pretentious vanilla candles?"

"They're not pretentious."

"They're thirty dollars each."

"How do you know how much they—" You spin back around. "Have you been looking up my candles?"

"No."

"Oh my god, you totally have."

"I was curious why they cost so much when they all smell the same!"

"They do not all smell the same, you absolute heathen."

He raises an eyebrow. "French Vanilla and Vanilla Bean are literally the same thing."

"I'm not having this conversation with someone who probably thinks Old Spice is a personality trait."

"At least I don't need a PhD to buy soap."

"No, you just need—" You stop, narrowing your eyes. "Wait. How do you know what's in my shower?"

"You know what?" He stretches, and you absolutely do not track the movement with your eyes. "All this talk about vanilla is making me crave coffee. Specifically..." He grins, slow and deliberate. "Those vanilla capsules you hide in the back of the cabinet."

"Don't you dare—"

"The ones behind the protein powder?"

"Those are mine." You follow him as he saunters toward the kitchen, still annoyingly shirtless. "I specifically said they weren't for you."

"Come on, Phoenix." He's already moving toward the kitchen, all loose limbs and bare chest like putting on a shirt is beneath him. "Let me show you how to actually make coffee. Teach you some culture. Some technique."

You swat at him as he passes. "I know how to use a coffee maker."

"Sure you do." His laugh is rough with sleep, and you hate that you notice. "That's why you murdered a perfectly good espresso shot this morning."

"I did not—"

"The beans were crying, Phoenix. I heard them."

But you're already following him to the kitchen because apparently you hate yourself. 

He's wearing those stupid gray sweatpants that hang just low enough to be illegal in at least three states, and his hair is still a disaster from sleep, curling at the nape of his neck.

"First rule," he says, running his hands over the coffee maker like it's something precious, "is respecting the machine."

"It's a coffee maker, not royalty."

"See? No respect." His fingers dance over the settings with practiced ease. "That's why your coffee tastes like sad bean water."

You lean against the counter, watching as he measures grounds with ridiculous precision. 

"My coffee tastes fine."

"Your coffee tastes like betrayal and broken dreams." He adjusts the grind size, movements quick and sure. "You probably think instant coffee is acceptable."

"Only when I'm feeling particularly spiteful."

His horrified gasp is so dramatic it actually makes you laugh. "You're a monster."

"Guilty."

He shakes his head, tamping down the grounds with absolutely unnecessary focus. The muscles in his forearms flex with the movement, and you definitely don't notice. Just like you don't notice how his hands look wrapping around the portafilter, or how his ring catches the kitchen light when he locks it into place.

"Watch," he says, flipping switches with the confidence of someone who definitely spent too much time watching barista tutorials on YouTube. "This is where the magic happens."

"It's coffee, not alchemy."

"Shh. You're ruining the moment."

The machine hums to life, and okay—maybe you can kind of see why he's so precious about it. There's something almost hypnotic about the way the espresso streams out, dark and perfect.

"See how it's not running too fast?" He's fully in teacher mode now, gesturing at the flow. "That's what you want. Nice and steady. Not that waterfall disaster you created this morning."

"Are you done being pretentious yet?"

"Never." He grabs your vanilla capsules—the ones you specifically told him not to touch—and starts steaming milk. "But I'll make it worth your while."

"By stealing my coffee?"

"By elevating your coffee." The milk pitcher moves in his hand like it's an extension of his arm. "You'll never want that chain store stuff again."

"Bold of you to assume I want anything you make."

His smile is all trouble. "Liar."

And okay, maybe he has a point. Because the drink he slides across the counter a few minutes later looks... kind of perfect. The foam is glossy and smooth, and the vanilla smell hits just right.

"Well?" He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

You take a sip and—fuck.

Fuck.

"It's..." 

No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction.

But he's already grinning, the bastard. "Say it."

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Phoenix." He leans forward, elbows on the counter. "Admit it. I made your vanilla whatever-the-fuck better than you ever could."

"I will literally die first."

"That good, huh?"

You flip him off, taking another sip instead of answering. But then he's there, right there, and when did he get so close? His fingers brush yours as he takes the mug, gentle but deliberate, and your throat goes dry.

He holds your gaze, something dark and playful dancing in his eyes. Doesn't ask permission with words—just tilts his head slightly, the question clear in the quirk of his mouth. And you should say something. Should stop him. Should—

The mug touches his lips. Your lips were just there. Three seconds ago, your mouth was exactly where his is now, and that shouldn't make your stomach clench but it does.

His eyes are too much. Too dark, too intense, too fucking knowing as he takes a slow sip. Have they always been this brown? This smoky? Like whiskey in low light, like trouble wrapped in honey. 

The kind of eyes that should come with a warning label: Danger. Side effects may include stupid decisions and ruined underwear.

His tongue darts out, catching a stray drop on his lower lip. Slow. Deliberate. The silver ring on his hand catches the light as he lowers the mug, and his voice drops to something husky.

"Delicious."

Nope. Absolutely not.

You snatch the mug back, ignoring how your fingers tingle where they brush his. "Make your own, you coffee nerd."

Retreat. Strategic retreat to the couch is definitely the smart play here. Because your brain is currently short-circuiting, trying to process how one word—one stupid, fucking word—in that voice can make your thighs press together.

His laugh follows you, low and knowing. The sound wraps around you like smoke, like the way he smelled that thunderstorm night, like—

Griffin chooses that exact moment to slink into the living room, green eyes judging you both as he hops onto the windowsill. He stretches, impossibly long, before curling into a perfect orange circle, pointedly turning his back to you both. 

At least someone in this apartment has standards.

Focus. You're focusing.

But then you hear him moving behind you. The quiet rhythm of his breathing, the soft appreciative hums as he works the coffee maker. The whisper of fabric as his sweatpants shift with his movements. Each sound feels magnified, like your brain has decided to process everything in HD surround sound.

Don't look back. Don't do it. Don't—

Fuck.

You glance over your shoulder and immediately regret every decision that led to this moment. Because his back is a work of art, all broad shoulders and defined muscle, and it's not fair. It's not fucking fair that even from behind he's attractive enough to make your mouth water. The way his shoulder blades move as he works the machine, the dip of his spine disappearing into those low-hanging sweats, the unruly hairs curling at his nape...

Snap your head forward. Drink your coffee. Stop being a horny disaster for five consecutive minutes.

But you can still hear him. Still feel his presence behind you like a looming cloud. Still taste the ghost of his lips where they touched the same spot yours did on the mug.

This is fine. Everything is fine. You're just tired and touch-starved and maybe a little worked up from your stupid assignments—

"Want another taste, Phoenix?"

His voice is closer now, right behind you, and you absolutely do not shiver. "Didn't anyone teach you to drink your own coffee?"

"Didn't anyone teach you that stealing tastes better?"

You refuse to turn around. Refuse to acknowledge how his words squeeze your chest. "You're impossible."

"You like impossible."

And that's... that's not something you're equipped to handle right now. Not with him standing there all sleep-warm and shirtless, voice rough like gravel, smelling like rain and coffee and sin.

"I like peace and quiet," you lie, taking another sip of your rapidly cooling drink.

His laugh is soft, dangerous. "Liar."

The couch dips as he drops down next to you, thigh pressed against yours like he owns the space. Like personal boundaries are just suggestions. He has a mug in hand now, and his coffee smells kind of amazing and you hate him for it.

You shift away, but his hand lands on your thigh—warm, heavy, there. His fingers span the width of it easily, and your brain helpfully supplies memories of those same fingers in other contexts. 

It doesn’t escape your notice, how his eyes linger on where your shorts have ridden up your thighs from your hours in the library. 

"No," you manage, swatting his thigh with yours.

"No what?" His voice is still rough from sleep, and it's doing things to you. Unfair things.

"No manspreading next to me." You try to sound annoyed instead of affected. "Keep your sweaty balls to yourself."

He squeezes your thigh, just once. Just enough to make you want to throw the mug at him. Or yourself. "My balls aren't sweaty."

"Bet they are.”

"Want to check?"

"You're actually the worst." But you don't move his hand. Why aren't you moving his hand?

"That's not what you said last time."

And fuck him for bringing up last time. Fuck him for smelling like rain and coffee and sleep-warm skin. Fuck him for the way his thumb is drawing absent circles on your thigh, like he's not even aware he's doing it.

"Lapse in judgment."

His laugh rumbles through you, too close, too much. "Which time?"

"Pick one."

"I'd rather pick you up."

You turn to tell him exactly where he can shove that line, but it's a mistake. Because he's right there, all heavy-lidded eyes and sleep-soft mouth, and your brain fizzles. His hair is still a mess, curling at his temples, and you want to grab it. Want to find out if it's as soft as it looks. Want to—

"You're staring, Phoenix."

"Untrue."

His fingers flex on your thigh. "Big word for someone who can't stop looking at my mouth."

"I'm not—" But you are. You absolutely are. "Shut up."

"Make me."

Always those two damn words. Always saying ‘make me’, like he knows how it riles you up. Like he likes how it riles you up. His eyes are dark, dangerous, and you can feel his pulse through his fingers on your thigh. Or maybe that's your pulse. Everything feels too hot, too close, too—

"Your coffee's getting cold," you manage, voice embarrassingly breathy.

His smile is slow, knowing. "Yeah?”

His eyes drop to your shorts—the ones you've been wearing all day, the ones that rode up your thighs during your study session. And okay, maybe they're a little too short. Maybe you felt Jimin's concerned glance when you stretched in the library. But it's not your fault the AC in your car is temperamental at best.

"These can't be comfortable after sitting in the library all day," he murmurs, fingers playing with the hem. “Could help you out of them."

"Thought you were tired from your afternoon activities."

"Second wind." His thumb traces the seam where it cuts into your thigh. "Come here."

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring how your body wants to lean into his touch. "I am here."

"No," and his voice drops lower, rougher. "Here." He pats his lap, and the casual confidence of it irritating. Hot. Irritatingly hot. "Unless you're scared."

"Of what? Your ego?"

"Of how bad you want it." His eyes flick to your chest, where your shirt dips just low enough to be interesting. "Been thinking about these shorts all day. Since you drove me to class."

"Didn't realize my driving skills were such a turn on."

"Your driving skills are terrible." His hand slides higher, testing. "But watching you grip the steering wheel..."

You swallow. "That's kind of pathetic."

"Yeah?" His fingers find the spot where your shorts meet skin. "Then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Because you're annoying me."

He laughs, low and dangerous. "Hop on, Phoenix. Let me annoy you properly."

"That's your big move? 'Hop on'?"

“As long as it gets you on top of me...” He smiles now, actually smiles. “I’d say it’s working.”

And fuck him for being right. Fuck him for the way his eyes are all pupil now, for how his skin is still warm, for how he smells like everything you want to taste.

"You're awful," you breathe, but you're already shifting closer.

"Show me how awful."

His fingers hook through your belt loop and suddenly you're being yanked forward with zero warning. The squeak that leaves your mouth is embarrassing.

"Rude," you swat at him, but he catches your wrist easily. His hand is so warm around your cold skin.

"C'mere," he breathes, and before you can process it, you're straddling him. 

His hands slide down to grab your ass, fingers digging into the flesh and pulling you closer until you fall forward, catching yourself with hands on either side of his head.

He hums, the sound vibrating through you where you're pressed against him. And—yeah. Well. That's definitely not his phone in his sweats.

"Ride me?" The way he says it is almost lazy, but his eyes are dark, hungry. That half-lidded look that means tarnation.

"Excuse me?"

"Come on, Phoenix." His fingers flex on your ass, making you rock against him. "Don't be mean."

You raise an eyebrow, trying to ignore how good he feels under you. "Mean?"

"Been hard since I saw you in these fucking shorts this morning." He bites his lip, looking up at you through his lashes. "Just thinking about your thighs spread over my lap like this..."

"That sounds like a you problem."

His laugh is breathless, a little wild. "I’ll make it an us problem."

"Thought you were tired from earlier."

"Different kind of tired." His hands guide you into a slow grind against him. "This is more... inspiration."

"You're actually insane."

"Yeah?" He rocks up, making you gasp. "Feeling pretty sane right now. Feeling like I really want you to—fuck—" 

You'd rolled your hips, just to shut him up. Just to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. But now he's looking at you like you’re his favorite dessert, and his hands are everywhere, and—

"That's it," he breathes, voice gone raspy. "Just like that, come on..."

He guides your hips into another roll, watching you with that hungry, hazy look. His thumbs dig into your hipbones, controlling the pressure, the pace.

"Been thinking about this," he breathes, voice rough. "How you'd look bouncing on my cock. How your tits would—fuck—" You grind down harder, feeling him twitch against you. "Haven't even gotten to see them properly yet."

"Poor you," but your voice shakes when his hands slide up under your shirt, spanning your ribs.

"Poor me," he agrees, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "All I got was that quick fuck against the window. Then you cumming on my tongue." His eyes are dark, pupils blown. "But this? Getting to watch you ride me? See these bounce while you—"

"You talk too much." You're trying for annoyed but it comes out breathy.

"Make me shut up then." His hips snap up. "Come on, Phoenix. Show me how well you can take it, yeah?"

"That's your big plan? Get me all worked up in the living room?"

“Getting worked up anywhere you’ll let me.” His fingers find your nipples through your bra, rolling them until you arch. “Been waiting to get you like this. Spread out on top of me, swallowing me deep in this greedy pussy…”

You let out a breathy laugh, grinding down just to spite him. “Yeah?” Your voice is pure teasing, but the heat is real. “She didn’t wring you out completely?”

His grip tightens on your waist, nails pressing in just enough to make you feel it. “Seems like she didn’t.”

You hum, dragging your hips forward again, slow and deliberate. “Mm. That’s a shame.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips, rough and taunting, but his hands—his fucking hands—are already shoving your shirt up, fingers tracing up your spine before yanking your bra down just enough to expose you. His thumb drags over one nipple, his breath warm against your throat. “You wanna fix that?”

You pretend to consider, rolling your hips again, dragging your pussy right over the thick ridge of him. Fuck. He’s not even inside you, and it’s already so good.

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t want to overwork you.”

His laugh is sharp, incredulous. “Nix.” His voice is wrecked—the kind of hoarse, hungry sound that goes straight to your cunt. “You feel what you’re doing to me?” He thrusts up, slow but deep, and you suck in a breath. “Think I’m fucking tired?”

And yeah, okay. He’s still hard as fucking steel beneath you. Still needy. Still looking at you like he’s seconds from losing what little patience he has left.

“It’s these fucking shorts,” he mutters, grabbing a handful of your ass like he wants to leave bruises. “Oh my god, this fucking ass.”

You hold back a laugh, rolling your hips again, enjoying the way his breath stutters. “That easy, huh?”

His hands tighten on you. “You know what you do to me.” His mouth finds your throat, teeth scraping just enough to make you quiver. “S’why you wore these, right?”

You don’t answer, just reach between you to shove down his sweatpants, dragging them low enough to free his cock. And—fuck. He’s so hard it’s almost obscene, thick and flushed and already leaking. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, running a teasing finger up his shaft, watching his stomach tense. “Didn’t even get a full reset, did you?”

His jaw flexes. “No.” A muscle in his cheek jumps as he watches you wrap your hand around him. “The fuck do you expect when you walk around in these little fucking—” His breath hitches when you thumb over the head, smearing the wetness there. “Shit—shorts. The second I saw you, I knew—”

“You knew what?” You press the question into his skin, lips just beneath his jaw, hand still working him slow.

His grip on your ass tightens, grounding, punishing. “Knew I was gonna end up inside you tonight.”

And fuck. That sends a fresh wave of heat through you, has your thighs squeezing around him. Because yeah, okay, maybe you had the same thought the second you walked in and saw him standing there in nothing but those damn sweatpants.

But there’s still one thing gnawing at you. One thing that makes your brain fight for a fraction of control through the heat.

“Did you use condoms?”

His head snaps up, brow furrowing like you just asked if water is wet. “Of course I did. Who the fuck do you think I am?”

You exhale, relief flooding through you faster than the heat pooling low in your stomach. 

“Okay, fuck. Okay.” You swallow. “Where are they?”

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—instead of answering, he grabs your tits. Both hands, rough and impatient, unclasping you bra like it personally offended him.

“Jesus—wait—” You barely manage to lift your arms before he’s yanking it over your head, flinging it somewhere behind him.

“You on the pill?” he murmurs, barely pausing his focus on your tits.

“No.” You don’t even hesitate.

And to his credit, he doesn’t either. “Okay. Condoms it is.”

Respectful. A menace, but respectful.

You barely have time to process that before his fingers are pressing into the small of your back, guiding you forward, making you press flush against him as he leans toward the coffee table.

And you—because apparently you’re both equally insane—just let him.

His other hand reaches forward, jerking open the small drawer in the coffee table, fishing out a foil packet with practiced ease.

“You keep condoms in the living room?”

Jungkook doesn’t even blink. “Yeah. Just in case.”

“In case?” Your eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t you fuck in your room like normal people?”

“Yeah?” He grabs the foil packet, tossing it onto the couch beside him before his hands are right back on your waist, thumbs sliding under the waistband of your shorts. “But, y’know… just in case you wanted it.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Me?”

“You, Phoenix.” He squeezes your hips like he’s grounding himself, like he has to touch you while he says it. “I usually fuck in my room. But you and me—we already did it against the window, so I figured…” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Might as well be prepared.”

“I—” You blink, processing, trying to form actual thoughts. “That’s crazy.”

He shrugs, so fucking nonchalant it’s unfair. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Think about it.” His mouth curls, eyes flicking from your mouth to your bare chest and back again. “Imagine I had to stop and go all the way to my room right now.” He pauses, letting the implication settle. “Wouldn’t that just kill the mood?”

And okay. You do snort at that.

Because this is ridiculous.

Because this is actually thoughtful.

Because he’s still hard as a rock under you, talking about condom logistics while casually groping your ass, like he’s planning for a fire drill and not fucking you senseless on the couch.

“No, like. You’re a complete nut case,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Quick access,” he corrects, and then—fuck.

His mouth is on your tits again.

No hesitation, no teasing buildup, just his tongue dragging over one nipple, warm and slick before closing his lips around it.

Your breath catches, fingers twitching where they brace on his shoulders. “Jesus—”

He hums against your skin, like this is just an extension of the conversation. Like he can talk about fucking you and have his tongue on your tits in the same breath.

And then, because he’s Jungkook and apparently completely fucking obsessed with your chest, he moves to the other one, sucking deep and slow, like he’s savoring it.

“Can’t help it,” he mutters against you, voice rough. “Tits too fucking perfect.”

Which—okay. You shouldn’t preen at that, but his mouth is so fucking warm, and his hands are so fucking big—

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and his breath stutters.

And then he’s leaning back just enough to look up at you, lips slick, pupils blown. “You gonna let me fuck you cowgirl now, or you wanna keep pretending we’re still talking?”

You poke at his dick playfully, watching with satisfaction as it twitches immediately.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking up to yours, but he doesn’t say a word. Just watches—completely absorbed—as you pluck the condom from the side and roll it down over him, slow and deliberate.

His jaw flexes, lips parting slightly, and when you glance up, you catch it—his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice all low and wrecked.

You smirk, dragging your fingers back up his shaft just because you can, because you like making him twitch, like how he watches you like he’s seconds from losing his mind.

His hands are already on your thighs when you lift up, finally removing those tiny ass shorts—but when your fingers hook into your panties, he stops you.

“Keep them.”

You blink, brows furrowing. “What?”

“Fuck, I don’t know.” His hands skim up, palms rough against your bare skin. “They’re red and lacy and fucking beautiful—” His voice breaks off into a sharp exhale as he shifts under you, cock nudging against the damp lace between your legs. “Just shove them to the side and let me fuck you like this.”

Heat licks down your spine, and fuck, maybe it is kind of hot—his voice raw, gaze locked where you’re already so wet for him.

“Yeah?” You drag the fabric aside, slow and teasing, letting him see what he’s about to have. “You want me to ride you like this?”

“Nix.” His voice is all smoke and gravel. “Fucking sit on it.”

Your fingers tighten on his shoulders.

And then, in one swift motion, you sink down onto him.

“Fuck—”

Jungkook shudders, breath breaking apart as he bottoms out inside you, hands clamping down on your hips so hard it’s murderous. His fingers dig deep into your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to slam you down harder, deeper, but he doesn’t—he just grips, holds, feels.

And fucking watches.

Because this—this—is his favorite.

The way you stretch around him, the way he can see it, can watch himself disappear inside you from this angle. The lace of your panties bunched to the side, the way your slick coats his cock, the slow, obscene drag as he throbs inside you.

His jaw clenches, his head falling back, but his eyes stay locked on where your bodies meet. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You suck in a breath, thighs trembling slightly, trying to adjust to the stretch, the pressure, the way he fills you completely. You brace your hands on his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle shift beneath your palms as he groans deep in his throat.

“You feel that, Nix?” His voice is rough, wrecked. “Feel how deep you’re taking me?”

You bite your lip, trying not to squirm at the way that sounds coming from him, the way his cock pulses inside you like he can feel every little squeeze.

His grip on your hips flexes. “Come on, let me hear you.”

You swallow hard, already feeling too fucking warm. “I—”

“I what?” His hands slide down, palms rough and greedy as they find your ass, grabbing handfuls, spreading you just to push inside you deeper. “Fuck, Phoenix, you feel so fucking good.”

Your thighs twitch, heat licking up your spine, and okay—okay, maybe that makes something inside you tighten. The way he wants you to feel it. The way he sounds like he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you. Sitting so fucking pretty on my cock like this.”

Your breath stutters.

“Fuck—” His fingers flex again, grip punishing, possessive. “Knew you’d look good like this. In this position. Been dreaming ‘bout it.”

You exhale shakily, pressing your palms harder against his chest, feeling his heart pound beneath your hands.

“Yeah?” The word slips out before you can stop it, quiet, breathless, barely more than an exhale. 

And then, even as much as you convince yourself you hate dirty talk—his dirty talk—how you tell yourself it’s cringe… You find yourself engaging. You find yourself slipping. 

“You wanted me in this position, Ro? Riding you?”

And Jungkook? He fucking relishes on it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, dark eyes flicking up to yours, mouth curling slow, dirty. “Getting bold on me, Phee?”

Heat rushes up your throat, your pulse pounding, but you don’t look away. You can’t—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with how deep he is inside you.

“God,” he groans, hands gripping your ass again, spreading you wider just to watch himself sink into you even more. “You should see how you look right now.”

His voice is wrecked—half-growl, half-moan—and you have to fight the way your thighs want to squeeze around him, hold him there.

But he notices.

And grins.

“Fucking knew it,” he mutters, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like hearing it, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers twitching on his chest. “Shut up.”

“Nah.” He tilts his head, thumbs digging into your skin, grounding, teasing. “Think I finally got you to like it.”

And fuck—fuck—you can’t even argue, because his cock twitches inside you and your whole body reacts, a shiver running up your spine.

His smirk widens. “See?”

You exhale sharply. “Rogue.”

“Phoenix.” His hands tighten again, his voice a slow, taunting drawl. “C’mon, yeah? Ride me.”

Your thighs flex as you lift yourself up, the slow drag of him leaving you just enough to make you whimper, then you sink back down, faster this time, harder.

Jungkook’s jaw goes slack, hands gripping your ass like he’s barely holding himself together. “Christ—”

But you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You move again, rising and dropping, setting a pace that has his breath coming out in ragged exhales, his nails biting into your skin. Every inch of him stretches you open, fills you up, makes your stomach coil tighter and tighter.

And then—

His right hand moves.

Fingers slipping lower, rough against your skin, then lower, lower—

Until he’s spreading you.

His fingers part your folds, stretching you open wider just so he can watch himself disappear inside you.

“For fuck’s sake Ro—”

“Shit,” he exhales, low and wrecked, eyes locked on where his cock is sliding in and out of you, the obscene wetness coating both of you. “Look at that. Fucking dripping for me, Phoenix. Can’t help it.”

Your thighs shake, breath shuddering, and you want to tell him to shut the fuck up—but you can’t, because you may not see it, but you feel it. The way your body takes him, how slick and messy it is, how deep he’s buried every time you drop back down.

It’s filthy. He’s filthy.

“You’re so nasty,” you gasp, nails digging into his chest for balance.

He laughs, dark and smug. “And you fucking love it.”

Before you can snap back, he finally—finally—looks up at you.

And his breath stutters.

Because, of course, in this position, your tits are bouncing.

His pupils blow wide, throat working through a hard swallow, and then—his hands fly up immediately.

Grabbing. Palming. Squeezing.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice breaking apart, gaze flicking between your tits and your face like he doesn’t know where to look first. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His grip on your waist tightens, nails digging in, and then—his head falls back. His chest rises and falls beneath your hands, breath coming in sharp, desperate pants.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he gasps, voice wrecked, low and so needy you almost mewl, because you’ve never heard him like that. “Gonna cum so fucking bad—”

Your rhythm stutters. “Don’t you dare finish before me.”

“Fucking—” He grunts, muscles tensing beneath you as his hands clamp down harder, like he’s fighting it, trying to hold on, but— “Oh my fucking god, Phoenix—”

You can feel him struggling—his thighs trembling beneath you, abs flexing tight, his cock twitching inside you, buried so deep.

“How the fffffuck—” his breath shudders, “do you expect me—Jesus Christ—to hold b-back when your tits—god—”

His hands are everywhere—palming, grabbing, fucking worshiping your chest like he’s possessed—and then his mouth is there again, latching onto your right tit, tongue flicking over your nipple, sucking deep and wet.

“Shit,” you whimper, back arching.

“Fuck—fuck—” 

He suddenly leans back, dragging you down hard onto his cock as he thrusts up to meet you, hips snapping with short, frantic rolls.

Your breath shatters, thighs burning, your whole body jolting with every desperate slam of his hips. 

And his eyes.

Jesus.

His eyes are locked on you, wide and hungry, flicking between your parted lips and your chest.

And then—

“Grab ‘em,” he pants, voice rough, ruined. “Fuck—grab those titties for me, Phee.”

Your stomach flips.

“Grab’em while you ride me—” His breath catches, his abs flexing. “Fucking—God, I need to see it—”

Heat floods your spine, your pulse pounding as you do what he says—palms sliding up, gripping the soft weight of your tits, squeezing just enough to lift, to move, to give him exactly what he wants.

And his reaction—

“Jesus fucking—” His head falls back hard against the couch before snapping back up, completely fucking wrecked. “Oh my god—look at them—look at you—fuck, fuck—”

His fingers dig into your hips, forcing you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you as he thrusts up, trying to get deeper, trying to burn this into his brain.

“Oh god, oh god, Phoenix— I swear to fucking God—” His hands slide down, gripping your ass. “Fucking dripping— so messy for me—”

His voice breaks on a groan, hips slamming up, chasing it, his body seizing up as he loses it.

“Shit—shit—I’m—oh my god—fuck—I’m cumming—”

And then—he snaps.

His grip on your waist locks, his whole body tensing beneath you, and his head tips back, mouth falling open as he moans—a deep, raw sound from the bottom of his fucking chest.

He creams inside the condom, hips jerking up in short, shallow thrusts, pulsing thick and hot as he spills into it.

His hands shake as they guide your hips down, grinding you onto him, milking every last drop, needing to feel every second of it.

And you—

You’re about to sigh, about to roll your eyes, because seriously? He just came? You haven’t even—

But before the frustration can even fully settle, he moves.

One second, he’s slumped against the couch, breathless, spent. 

The next—he’s flipping you onto your back.

Your gasp barely leaves your lips before his hands are on your thighs, gripping, spreading you open like it’s his fucking right, pushing your knees toward your chest.

And then—no hesitation.

No questions asked, no smug teasing, no half-assed effort—just his fingers shoving your panties back to the side, replacing his cock with two thick fingers, burying them inside you like he already fucking knows you can taste it.

Your breath shatters. “Jesus—”

“Shh,” he murmurs, focused, dark eyes locked on your pussy as his fingers curl, stretching you open, pressing deep. “Not leaving you hanging.”

And fuck—fuck—his thumb.

Right there, dragging over your clit, pressing just right with slow, deliberate circles.

Your thighs twitch, your hands clenching in the couch cushions as your body jolts from the sudden shock of pleasure. “Oh—fuck—”

“That’s it,” he groans, gaze flicking up to watch your face, your wrecked fucking expression as he fingers you open. “Gimme that pretty little shake—know you’re close.”

You barely process your own whimper before he’s pressing in harder, thrusting his fingers faster, his thumb working you like he owns your orgasm.

“You think I’d leave you like that?” His voice is low, hushed, wrecked, pressing filthy into the space between you. “Think I’d fucking cum and not make you lose your mind, too?”

“Ro—”

“Nah, Phoenix.” His fingers drive into you, slick and obscene, thumb relentless. “You’re gonna cum all over my hand—” he leans in, breath warm against your throat, “and I’m gonna watch every fucking second of it.”

His fingers pump into you, wet and filthy, every slick thrust echoing between you. And god, the sounds are just so fucking obscene it makes you want to die a little.

“Come on, give it to me, Phee,” Jungkook rasps.

You can barely breathe. His thumb keeps dragging over your clit in these slow, devastating circles, the pressure just right, and your whole body is trembling, your thighs twitching where he holds them open.

“Listen to that,” he groans, gaze flicking down, mesmerized. “So fucking wet for me. Making a mess all over my hand.”

And then his mouth is on you again.

He latches onto your tit, sucking deep, tongue flicking over your nipple before pulling off just to groan against your skin. 

“God, your vanilla shit Phoenix. Makes you taste so good. Could suck on these all fucking day—”

“Jungkook—”

“Yeah? You gonna cum?” 

Your back arches, hands flying to grip his arms because—fuck—fuck. The pressure is too much, his fingers so deep, his mouth so hot, and you’re right there—right fucking there—

“That’s it,” he groans, hand drenched, your walls pulsing around his fingers. “Come on, give it to me.”

And then—

It hits.

Pleasure rips through you, fast and all-consuming.

And Jungkook—fucking Jungkook—just groans, watching you fall apart.

“Mm, yeah that’s it,” he mutters, fixated on the way you shake, the way your pussy flutters around his fingers, soaking his palm. “So fucking good, huh?”

His name slips out in a wrecked, shattered moan, and he loves it, enjoying every sound, drinking in every twitch and tremble.

He finally slows his movements as you shudder through the aftershocks, his fingers still deep, thumb pressing lazy circles to wring out every last second of it.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice a little breathless, and when you manage to blink down at him, he’s staring at his own hand—glistening, messy, coated in you.

His throat works.

And then—his eyes flick back to yours.

And he fucking grins.

Jungkook collapses on top of you.

Full weight. No warning. Just dead fucking weight pressing you into the couch, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Oh my—get off!” You yelp, struggling beneath him, but he doesn’t budge.

“Nnngghh,” he groans into your neck, voice muffled, completely ignoring you. “Shut the fuck up and let me rest for five minutes.”

You blink up at the ceiling, absolutely fucking done. “Weren’t you sleeping, like, thirty minutes ago?”

“Your point?” His breath is warm against your skin, his body solid and heavy, still way too fucking hot from everything that just happened.

“My point,” you grumble, wiggling under him, “is that you’ve done literally nothing today except nut and nap, so why are you tired?”

“Because,” he mutters, arms tightening around your waist, “I’m a growing boy.”

You snort, smacking his bare back. “You’re a menace.”

He just hums, pressing his face into your neck like he’s about to fall asleep right there, and for a second, you let it happen—just breathing, the two of you still wrecked, bodies cooling down, silence stretching.

But then—

“Oh, shit—”

Jungkook jumps, suddenly wide awake, jolting upright so fast he nearly knocks you off the couch.

You blink up at him, still catching your breath. “What the fuck is wrong with you—”

“Wait—” He leans over you, hands on either side of your head, eyes huge and excited. “Do you have any toys?”

You stare at him. “What?”

“Toys,” he repeats, fully invested now. “Sex toys, Nix. I didn’t even think about it, but—fuck—I could’ve made you finish with one.”

You blink again, brain scrambling to catch up. “No?”

His brows furrow. “Why not?”

“Why would I—” You sit up slightly, pushing at his chest. “Do I look like I came here with a full-ass sex kit?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, genuinely baffled, “don’t you girls have dildos and shit?”

“Oh my fucking—” You shove his shoulder. “Do you really think when I was packing my shit to move in, I was like, ‘mmm, yeah, definitely need to bring my dildo’?”

His eyes narrow. “So you had one?”

“No—”

“So you’ve never had one?”

“No, Ro, my parents would’ve killed me.”

He pauses, frowning like he’s actually considering that for a second. Then, with absolutely zero hesitation—

“Okay, then we’re going toy shopping.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, no, fuck that.” He waves a hand, like this is a done deal, like you don’t even get a say. “You’re getting something. I refuse to believe you’ve gone your whole life without at least a vibrator. That’s a crime.”

“A crime?”

“Yes.” His face is serious, like this is a personal offense to him. “You deserve to cum even when I’m not here.”

“I don’t need you to cum.”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“Oh my fucking—” You drop your head back against the couch, groaning. “You’re so stupid.”

“I’m being a good friend.” He grins, smug as hell. “And an amazing fuck buddy.”

“We are not friends.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’re not friends.” You cross your arms, looking him dead in the eye. “Fuck buddies. No friends.”

Jungkook gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you just deeply wounded him. “That hurts.”

“You’ll live.”

“Aren’t we, like, friends with benefits or something?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies. No friends. Just the benefits.”

“That’s the stupidest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Coming from Mr. Stupid himself? Woah.”

“Pft. Right.” He stretches, cracking his neck, still grinning like an idiot. “Then we’re going this weekend.”

“To what?”

“Buy you a vibrator.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bet.”

You swat at him, grin still on his face and all. 

next | index

⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[soberpluto]

Examining Neptune's Spell

Apologies for not being here after so much time, but now I'm back and very thrilled to share this with you all! I'm hopeful many can find this helpful.

Unnecesary context aside, just recently I was having a long and deep conversation with a friend of mine about my semi-recurring mini existential crises. After hearing me patiently, with the dear intention of making me realize I was drowning in my tiny glass of water, he simply (and brilliantly) replied:

"I think you're problem is that you have unrealistic expectations about yourself."

Any attempt to blurt out in self-defense ceased instantly because of how deep these words sunk in my mind. I stared into the wall before for me and felt how the missing puzzle piece finally dropped into the perfect spot. Obviously, the thought of having my sun in Cancer and Neptune in almost exact opposition popped inside, and it took a WHOLE new dimmension. How could this statement not be true?! OF COURSE he was right! It's not that I wasn't told that before or haven't read about it multiple times in my astrology studies, but the truth is, (a very Neptunian thing now that I think about it) I didn't believe it quite applied to me. Because I don't like to feel mediocre and because I think of myself as a spiritual and highly self-aware woman, I was convinced that holding myself to "unrealistic standards" was definitely NOT the reason that triggered me to want fleed to a desert islands at times when reality felt like too much. It was bitterly humorous when I realized I evidently missed the fact that Neptune was making a hell of a job doing what he does best: casting its spells of illusion and glittery distorted beliefs about how things were "supposed to be" in a surprisingly unadverted way into my life. I was truly relieved to actually understand (or accept, better said) why trying to have a simple and happy life seemed too tricky at times. It all made sense.

Now, let me introduce Neptune, if you happen to be unacquainted.

Neptune in astrology is like the ultimate dream weaver, spinning a web of intuition, imagination, and mystery. It’s the planet of all things ethereal, where reality gets a little blurry, and you’re invited to dive into the deep end of fantasy, spirituality, and idealism. Neptune whispers, "What if?" and suddenly, we're seeing the world through a kaleidoscope of possibilities, but a "little" foggy on the details. We're all influenced by Neptune one way or another, but when it touches personal planets or points in our charts, it’s like life hands us a pair of customized rose-colored glasses, but the prescription is way off. Suddenly, everything feels a bit magical, like we're starring in your own fairytale, except the castle is made of mist, the prince might just be a mirage, and that enchanted forest? It’s actually a parking lot.

But why bother making us feel loony? On a more serious note, our master illusionist possesses the higher purpose of awakening our connection to something greater than the everyday grind. It gently pulls us out of the rigid boundaries of reality and whispers, "There’s more to life than meets the eye." It invites us to explore the depths of our imagination, spirituality, and compassion, blurring the lines between self and universe. The illusions it creates are really a nudge to dissolve our ego’s grip, helping us see beyond the material and embrace a higher sense of love, creativity, and unity with the cosmos.

As inspiring and touching as it sounds, the catch is that fulfilling Neptune’s mission can feel like chasing fog—just when we think we’ve got a handle on it, it slips through our fingers. Neptune wants us to transcend reality and connect with the divine, but let’s be real: that’s not exactly a day-to-day, grocery-list-friendly goal. For someone with heavy Neptune influence, this pursuit of higher meaning can be disorienting, leaving them feeling lost in a sea of "what ifs" and "maybes." And thanks to its grandeur idealism, it can push people to be hypersensitive, highly fearful of failure and completely inaccurate with what they may achieve in a day, let alone a lifetime!

For a Neptunian, the intuitive desire to be flawless and sufficient does not come from wordly expectations, but from a place of soulful calling that more often unconsciously than consciously tells them they're limitless beings living in a limited reality. And this is exactly the greatest challenge of all: to accept that the truth must be known while respecting the illusion, just as a spiritual teacher Michael Mirdad states.

That said, you can imagine what happens when mystical and whimsical Neptune gets cozy with your personal planets. Let's see in detail how it sprinkles its glitter them:

Sun

Soft Aspects: With soft aspects, your Sun is shining brighter than ever! Neptune sprinkles fairy dust on your creativity and confidence, making you feel like a superstar in your own musical. It’s all about embracing your spiritual side and believing that you can conquer the world—cape optional!

Hard Aspects: You’re the artist of your own identity, but the canvas keeps shifting. One day you’re an astronaut, the next day you’re a poet, and by the end of the week, you’re contemplating becoming a full-time mystic. Neptune tells you, "Be everything," but sometimes that just leaves you wondering, "Who am I, really?"

Moon

Soft Aspects: Your emotions flow like a gentle river, and you’re tuned in to everyone’s feelings like a super empath (you could be a cool wizard/witch or clairvoyant!). Neptune wraps you in a cozy blanket of intuition, making heartfelt connections feel like a warm hug from the universe. Cue the happy tears!

Hard Aspects: Enter the emotional whirlpool! Neptune can stir up your feelings like a cosmic blender, leading to mood swings and a general sense of overwhelm. You might find yourself daydreaming your way through real-life emotions, and good luck figuring out what you actually feel!

Mercury

Soft Aspects: With Neptune’s gentle nudge, your thoughts become a beautiful symphony! Communication flows like honey, and you’re bursting with creative ideas. It’s a fantastic time for writing, brainstorming, or chatting about all things magical and dreamy! You could be a music lover, a great singer or a romantic poet.

Hard Aspects: But when Neptune goes rogue, it’s like trying to read a recipe in a funhouse—everything’s upside down! Your thoughts get scattered, and communication feels like a game of telephone gone wrong. Get ready for misunderstandings and the occasional “Wait, what did you just say?” This aspect looks very similar to a Piscean or Sagittarian Mercury, a common link to ADHD.

Venus

Soft Aspects: Love is in the air! Neptune turns your romantic life into a whimsical fairy tale, where everything feels enchanting. Your heart opens wide, and connections deepen, making even the smallest moments feel like a scene from a rom-com.

Hard Aspects: But hold on! Neptune might have you wearing those rose-colored glasses a bit too tightly. You might find yourself idealizing partners or being swept away by fantasies, only to crash back to reality when things don’t match your dreamy expectations. Ouch!

Mars

Soft Aspects: With Neptune in your corner, your drive becomes a creative spark! You’re ready to take action with a burst of inspiration, making you feel like a superhero on a mission. Time to tackle those goals with flair and imagination!

Hard Aspects: When Neptune throws in a twist, it’s like trying to run through quicksand. Your motivation might wane, leaving you confused about where to focus your energy. It’s a cosmic case of “I had a plan… what was it again?”

To wrap it up after such long post, living with Neptune’s influence means you’ve got a backstage pass to the land of dreams, creativity, and big feelings. But it also means you might find yourself getting tangled up in illusions, setting sky-high standards that real life simply can’t meet. So when Neptune touches your personal planets, just remember: it's okay to dream big, but keep a little reality check in your back pocket. You can chase those rainbows, but don’t forget to pack an umbrella for when they dissolve into rain.

Thanks so much for reading, love you! 🥰

Written by @soberpluto

[astrosouldivinity]

𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑬𝒚𝒆: ⁺⋆🧿⋆⁺ (𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎)

𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑬𝒚𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑼𝒔𝒆:

1. 𝑬𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚-𝑺𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 (➖)

• Recruiting Allies: They recruit other people to help with undermining you, knowing they can't succeed alone.

• Obsessive Monitoring: They engage in gang-stalking behavior, fixating on you, plotting and praying on your downfall.

• Controlling Behavior: They nitpick and belittle you, trying to manipulate your emotions and provoke reactions.

• One-Sided Relationships: You invest your energy into them, but they offer nothing in return. Essentially, pouring into an empty cup, leaving you drained and feeling entitled to your energy.

• Deteriorating Health: Their influence can manifest in negative effects on your well-being, leading to visible changes such as decreased vitality, increased illness, and persistent brain fog.

2. 𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 👹

• Gaslighting: They make you question your reality through passive-aggressive tactics, engaging in psychological warfare that is truly diabolical. This involves throwing stones and hiding their hands, creating confusion that drives you to doubt your perceptions and feel like you’re going crazy.

• Isolation: Following a smear campaign, you may find yourself ostracized, leaving you vulnerable and unprotected. This isolation is even more distressing if you don’t fully understand what’s happening.

• Existential Neglect: They act as if you don’t exist, undermining your self-worth and causing you to doubt yourself. This behavior pushes you to seek their validation, aiming to disconnect you from your true self.

3. 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖 🪢

• Commitment to Misunderstanding: They are dedicated to misinterpreting you, and people who dislike you will always find faults, fueled by a relentless desire to undermine you.

• Projection: They impose their limiting perceptions on you, trying to box you into a version they can control.

• Stagnation: They resist your growth, attempting to keep you in a state where they had the most control over you, and project their own lack of evolution onto you.

4. 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 🪬

1. Wear Protective Crystals: Utilize stones such as black tourmaline, obsidian, and smoky quartz. Wear evil eye jewelry, and incorporate protective practices like spell jars, mantras, and visualization techniques.

• I create evil eye-themed jewelry, crystal jewelry, and spell jars, which will be available for purchase soon. 💟

• 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝙹𝚊𝚛𝚜 🌱🫙

2. Pray for Protection: If necessary, consider return-to-sender or freeze spells. However, these are most effective when you know the source of the negativity. Identifying the evil eye source can be challenging, especially in omnipresent situations.

• 𝚁𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛/𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕

3. Practice Energetic Detachment: Employ the "grey rock" method—remain unresponsive and stoic. By becoming an emotionless force, you deprive them of the energy they seek to access.

4. Embrace Your Inner Power: Recognize that they are sending negative energy towards you. Channel that energy back to them, transmuting it into your own strength. Remember, these individuals are ultimately weak; their attempts to bring you down are driven by a desire to feel powerful and in control.

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 1

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 2

𝚃𝚒𝚙 𝙹𝚊𝚛 🫙🙏🏿

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝: @𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 🖤

*✧🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧･ﾟ🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧･ﾟ🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧*

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚎𝚢𝚎. 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎; 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢. 😓

©𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚁𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍.

[angrycheesegirl]

Super underrated thing in Ultrakill is how whenever you see a new layer's open landscape for the first time, that first moment is free of enemies, letting the calm version of the level's track set the tone of the layer. The clean versions in these levels are all united in that their breakcore elements are completely absent, allowing for just the raw atmosphere of the instrumentals to shine through. Each one is unique however, so it feels only right to explain them all individually. Spoilers for Ultrakill below the cut.

LIMBO

For anyone that's never read the Divine Comedy, this moment is a bit of a shock to the system. Hell is a place of fire and brimstone; devils and lakes of blood, no? So why is it so... nice? There's birds chirping, calm piano music playing, trees, a fountain; it seems wrong. And then you see the projector walls; the lack of a building behind the door; the transparency of the trees; the speakers playing the ambience. It's all fake, and the calm music only serves to make it all more sinister. It's a great tone-setter for what had previously only been a corridor shooter, and indicates there's more surprises in store.

LUST

After the series of interconnected rooms that was Limbo, Lust doesn't play its hand immediately, lulling you into a false sense of familiarity with a familiarly-designed techbase. It's only after ascending the shaft and using the bouncepad that you truly see Lust for what it is, and Cold Winds' opening notes perfectly convey the wonder and scale as you ascend into the air, this seemingly endless city stretching into the distance. It's majestic; and it's the first moment Ultrakill really shows what it's capable of (a moment very much improved by the recent Ultra-Revamp to remove the 2D skybox)

GLUTTONY

Gluttony opens to a room of writhing flesh, with the echoing, discordant notes of Guts playing. It's disgusting, it's unsettling, and after the battle with King Minos' corpse, it allows the player to properly think on the horror of what happened to the King of Lust, as well as the supposed Angel that killed him. This is the supposed palace of Gabriel, Judge of Hell. It perfectly sets up the twist reveal of Glory later in the level, and the eventual battle with Gabriel in 3-2 by putting the player on edge.

GREED

After a climatic battle with Gabriel and the subsequent plot developments, Greed pulls out another massive shakeup, opening to a massive desert cast in the shadow of a distant pyramid. The influences of Ancient Egypt are obvious from the first moments, and Dune Eternal's intentionally choir-sounding opening drone perfectly reflects that. The entire level is oozing desert atmosphere, as is the whole layer. After the weight and disgust of Gluttony, it's nice to have a change of pace.

WRATH

Wrath holds off on truly showing the extent of the layer until its second level, and thanks to that deliberate restraint, this moment is much stronger as a result. The flooded facility in First was already indicative of something going on; but this? This is an endless ocean of damned souls, and He is the Light in my Darkness's quiet harpsichord proves appropriately somber to accompany this moment. It is dark, and depressing, and really hammers home the true existential horror of Ultrakill's world; Mankind really is dead, and this is the consequence.

HERESY

Heresy waits to reveal the city of Dis until halfway through the level, and my god is it a powerful reveal. The slowed fall as the red fog slowly recedes to reveal the massive hanging landscape... it's a twisted reflection of Lust's intro, and the music damn well knows how important this moment is. The muted guitars of Altars of Apostasy are powerful, and really act as a wakeup call: we're well and truly in the Belly of the Beast now. This is Hell Proper, and if there was ever a time to turn back, it's long since gone. My literal only complaint with this moment is that I wish the level text were here instead of in the opening corridor; THIS is the moment that deserves to claim the layer of Heresy, bar none.

VIOLENCE

Violence is an unique layer in that technically every level has its own Moment™, but 7-2 is by far the most impactful to the layer as a whole. After our rematch with Gabriel and the subsequent dissolution of Heaven's Council; the Labyrinth and its Minotaur; and the serenity of the opening rooms being shattered by an intruding Gutterman, we ascend the stairs to see... a literal warzone. This entire place has been scorched black by endless conflict; rivers of blood flow through gaping holes in the landscape; the now-familiar pristine white architecture of the Labyrinth is shattered and burned at every turn, with entire rooms once-buried now open to the skies. This place bears striking resemblance to the London Blitz, which is no doubt intentional considering the Final War's roots in the World Wars. The frantic piano notes of Hear! The Siren Song; Call of Death really hammer home the endless war that has ravaged this circle of hell, as the song is constantly shifting time signature to keep itself feeling unpredictable.

I love this game and its Soundtrack, man. There is so much genuienly care and effort put into every little detail that I can't help but gush about *checks notes* the first 10 seconds of specific levels. That said @hakitadev HAKITA! MOVE THE LEVEL TEXT OF 6-1 TO THE REVEAL OF DIS, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

[luvrsux]

“just friends, right?”

chapter I ~ prologue

☕️ ~ other chapters

While staring at the two familiar faces in front of you, you felt like darting to one of the taxis passing by and making a sudden escape would prevent you from losing your mind… Or throwing up. Both would be embarrassing. You blinked a few times while they exchanged distinct chatter, the same chatter that began to fog out of your hearing. Your eyes dilated and your vision got blurry, tracing back to a memory.

“I’m sorry, (F/N). I can’t really focus on… y’know… Dating…”

Law seemed so embarrassed. His cheeks were red and he had furrowed eyebrows, painfully telling you the words that shot through your chest like bullets. You weren’t optimistic. I mean, you dove into this whole confession thing blind and naive. You repeated his words into your skull for what felt like a decade. ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I can’t’ bounced through your brain folds that gave you a headache.

“I hope we can still be friends, right?”

“Yeah, no worries”

Those words felt like razor blades falling off your tongue. You didn’t want to, but you didn’t want to lose Law as a friend as well because of your stupid emotions. You saw Law sigh in relief, more so worried about breaking you than your actual feelings for him. He folded his lips and patted you on the shoulder. While you watched him disappear in your high school corridors, you felt the area that he patted sting for a slight moment. You couldn’t cry, especially in this populated area, but also because you expected this. He was way out of your league, you thought.

Now, seeing him with none other than Nico Robin herself made you want to split your scalp open. They recently started dating, about a few months into Law’s medical school first semester. They have only been dating for a few weeks but now you tagged along, only because Law felt bad for leaving you out.

Issue was, Robin wasn’t a bad person. She was actually quite nice. She’d recommend books she’d enjoy, which mainly consisted of true crime or horror novels. You read them, as reluctant you were, you still did. Law was your best friend and you didn’t want to disrespect him. You were his friend, right?

Him being with Robin wasn’t an issue because you wish you were her, rather than he was being hypocritical about his initial reason why he rejected you. All that for nothing, you thought. He was drowning in medical school and he chose to date such a stoic woman? Your brain couldn’t handle it.

“(F/N)?”

You heard your name being softly echoed by a charming voice. Robin stared at you with her pearly gaze and sparkling lips. You raised your eyebrows and laughed. The cloud air fogged as you opened your mouth.

“Sorry I was daydreaming. Everything good?” You cheerfully responded as if you weren’t undergoing an existential crisis a moment ago. Robin smiled and locked eyes with Law that stood beside her. His height towered over you and her so effortlessly.

“Yeah, I’m just about to head back home. I just wanted to say bye” Robin giggled. You were so locked into your own brain you forgot the two of you were walking Robin back to her residence after you were painfully third wheeling. You glanced at her tall city apartment and back at her.

“Oh! Right, right, sorry” You open your arms to accept the black haired girl's embrace as a parting gift. You could feel her smile in the crook of your neck. Her perfume accumulates your nostrils. Peonies and poppies, for sure.

She detached herself from you and went to latch onto Law. Only difference is this one ended with a peck on the lips and a share of loving giggles. You might as well take the barfing option after all. You heard her boots clack like firecrackers onto the pavement as you and your friend watched her disappear into her home. Law sighed. That sigh was enough to explain he did like her. Quite a bit. You glanced at him.

“Alright, c’mon. Your turn” Law spoke. The way he spoke to you and Robin was so subtle yet so black and white. He spoke to you slightly deeper than Robin. It was so painfully noticeable for you that you wish you ripped your ears off.

You both took off, walking side by side but at a respectable distance. You had your hands tucked into your jacket pockets and Law had his hands effortlessly tucked into his jeans. The air was so brisk that it made your fingers slow.

“You and Robin seem to be doing great” You blurted out, due to the painful silence you two were drowning in. You knew Law felt it too, so you felt like you were doing a favor. Law hummed at your comment.

“Yeah, I suppose so. Just a little occupied with my studies, though” That response made your eye twitch ever so subtly. You don’t say, you thought. The irony might as well take you out itself instead of the zipping cars beside you two.

“I see,” You finally muttered. It’s all you could say. The other options were antagonizing Law for his utter hypocrisy and you wouldn’t want to cause a scene. You gave him a quick glance that wasn’t shared.

You admired his features like how you did back in high school. He didn’t change much, only his jawline was more defined and his eye bags worsened. His eyelids got sharper so his gaze could pierce deeper. His hair was a bit longer too, almost down his neck. Your body took a snapshot when Law felt your eyes poking at his cheek. He snapped his gray eyes at you with a raised eyebrow.

“You need somethin’?” He said. His voice grumbling, slightly taken aback about your prolonged stare. Your cheeks heated up but thankfully the dark night sky pretty much masked it. You cleared your throat.

“No, sorry. Just thought there was something on your face” You lied through your teeth. Your false assumption caused Law to examine his face with his hands to make sure he really didn’t have anything. He felt his fingertips that were dry and stuffed his hands back into his pockets.

“Weird question but—… How did you and Robin actually meet?” You ask, trying to not only break the silence between you and Law but also be nosey in his love life. You heard Law sigh.

“She goes to the same school as me. She’s studying Anthropology and Archaeology and we just so happened to have the same Psychology class” He explained, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous tick. “After that we just sorta—hit it off?” His explanation was very anticlimactic. You felt like if this were to come from Robin, it’d be more thorough. She’d read it off to you like a love novel. You were more than unimpressed.

“Wow, how romantic" You say sarcastically. You let out a small snicker for humor and Law smirked at you ever so slightly. He gave you a slight shove on your back.

“Not my fault you're lonely”

His words shot through you. You knew it was a joke, and your body reacted because it was a joke. But you didn’t like that it was a joke. Ever since Law rejected you, you’ve had many other instances where you liked someone but it didn’t turn out well. You thought you’d be better off doing your studies instead. You watched Law’s boots clamp against the pavement as you got closer and closer to your home. You felt his eyes drag on you, causing you to make quick eye contact.

“How’s your art going?” He asked, immediately breaking the shared eye contact. You blinked, partially hoping he’d turn back around. Your mind traced back to his question and realized you hadn’t worked on any personal pieces yet. Your paintings were compiled of whatever your professor asked of you to get a grade.

“It’s going alright,” You smile. Law hummed and smiled back down at you, pleased that you seem to be enjoying your major. Considering he grew up with you, he knew you’d be good at it someday. Not to mention he’d always enjoy admiring your pieces.

You both stood in front of your apartment building and you stared at the dark windows with no lights. Law sighed, doing almost the same thing. You turned up at him and smiled ever so slightly.

“Thanks for walking me” Law darted his eyes back down at you. Yet again, sharing deep eye contact. He goes quiet for a moment but you fold your lips, ready to speak again.

“How are you gonna get home?” You ask, remembering Law does not live close to you whatsoever. Walking was out of the question, especially knowing his physical prowess.

“Shachi was supposed to be here but I guess…” Law flipped his head side to side. The gray car that his redhead friend blasted music in frequently was absent. He sighed, a cloud of cold winter air escaping his mouth. “He’s not here yet. What a moron…”

You snicker, knowing how late Shachi would be. You take a deep breath in and prepare your body to make a sudden decision. Your brain flickered the time he rejected you the first time. You licked your dry lips, the warmth of your mouth coating over the coldness.

“Do you… Wanna come inside? It’s like—totally freezing out here, I’d hate to make you sit outside” You abruptly ask. Your heart might as well break through your coat. You watched Law’s eyebrow raise and his eyes drag over to you. You froze. You awaited his rejection.

“Sure, I don’t see why not”

His words chiming in agreement made your whole body practically melt despite the freezing temperatures. You were relieved and didn’t have to face sudden embarrassment yet again after nearly five years. You smiled at him to show your appreciation and approach your building.

You unlocked the front door and were welcomed with warmth that you craved all night. You sighed in relief and stepped aside to let the tall raven haired boy inside as well. He carefully shut the door behind you. His head rotated to admire the interior of your room, while you hung up your scarf and coat in its proper area.

You had your own works hung up on the walls as well as others you commissioned. Law hasn’t visited since you first moved in. He enjoyed the cozy scenery. You didn’t fail to include color to your house. Fairy hang lights, false leaves, colorful decorations. It resembles you as a person. Law felt like he could stay here forever.

Law walked up to a Shodo piece that was framed in your kitchen. He analyzed it for a moment before he felt your presence creeping closer.

“Yamato gave that to me. He’s in my calligraphy class. It says ‘Empty mind’” You explained. Law’s eyes were fixated at it now that he heard the explanation. You smiled, appreciating his admiration.

“What about the others? You have so many pieces” He asked. Your eyes lit up so brightly, feeling appreciative for his sudden love for your passion. You nodded frantically.

“Some I’ve bought from festivals. Some of Yamato's other Shodo writings are in my room as well.” You smile. Law carved a smirk. That smirk. The smirk you fell for back in highschool. It crept on you yet again years later. You quickly had to walk away.

“Anyway, want something to eat? Drink?” You offer, trying to pace around your kitchen like you work at a 5 star restaurant to avoid him even getting a glimpse at your tinted cheeks. Law conveniently felt welcomed enough to lounge on your couch. You heard the impact from your kitchen.

“Just a coffee. Black please” He requested. You hummed in agreement and prepared the coffee. The smell of coffee grounds weirdly enough calms you down. You turn on your coffee maker to begin the brewing process. The area of the kitchen began to suffocate in the morning smell of coffee, despite it being past 9 PM.

“So when is Shachi going to be here?” You ask. Law sighed and cocked his head back to meet eye contact with you through the frame of your kitchen. His angle made your heart flutter.

“About another fifteen minutes. He forgot.” He rolled his eyes. You gave him a giggle before he retracted his head forward. You heard the black coffee trickle into the glass coffee pot.

“Typical. I remember when Shachi would be so late to school” You commented. You heard Law chuckle behind you. You watched the black coffee fill the pot.

“He’d be such a moron”

You poured the coffee into a blank coffee cup. The pouring of the coffee echoed throughout the walls of your apartment. The smoke of the hot liquid hugged your cheeks before briefly disappearing. The cup was hot, but not hot enough to scorch your hand. Maybe your lips though.

You brought the cup to Law, its smoke trailing with you. Law looked up at you with a pleasurable smile before taking the hot cup off your hands. He effortlessly sipped the coffee immediately, exhaling due to its temperature. You sat beside him.

“I’m sorry I don’t really drop by as often” Law randomly apologized. He took you aback, not expecting a sudden shift in emotion. You sat up quickly. Law swirled the contents of his beverage to avoid eye contact.

“It’s totally alright. Y’know you’re always welcome to drop by at any time you need anything” You reassured. It carved a slight smile on his tan lips. It caused an infectious effect to have you smile as well.

“Med school honestly is such a drag. I don’t even drop by Robin’s house as much anymore” He vented. You were rather surprised. You assumed Law didn’t speak to you because of Robin. “But she comes over every now and then so…”

Your body deflated just slightly. Why were you so jealous? You felt like you didn’t like Law as much as you used to anymore. You were confident you were over him. So why did you deflate ever so slightly at that. Why was it such a punch in the face?

“Well, don’t feel like a stranger” You giggled, trying to mask your internal battle that roared in your brain. Law nodded, taking another sip from his coffee. You wondered how it wasn’t burning his lips off.

“Trust me, I won’t” Law kept that same smirk but he finally made eye contact with you. You stared for a bit, so did he. It felt like time surrounding the both of you stopped for just a moment. The sound of ongoing traffic muffled out, and the scent of coffee began to disappear. Law admired your features, even noticing the slight tint of blush on your cheeks. You admired his steel eyes and fine facial hair. For the first time in a lifetime, this sudden eye contact didn’t feel awkward or painful. It felt… Calm.

But it was rudely disrupted by the vibrations of Law's device.

“S-Sorry” Law stammered. You fluttered your eyelids and quickly snapped your head away. All you could mutter was an ‘mhm’ and rub your cheeks to soften its pigment. Law frantically searched for his phone that drowned in your red blanket. His hands finally grasped it and it was none other than his ride.

“Shachi…” He whispered. He gave you one last glance before sliding it to answer. He set his unfinished coffee cup down on your coffee table to stand up.

“Alright I’ll be down. Yeah yeah, I know. Bye” Law muttered on the phone. All you could think about was the sudden intimate eye contact you shared with him all of a sudden. You wondered if he felt awkward or weirded out by it. You felt like tossing your brain out the large window to finally shut it up.

“So Shachi is here. I’ll see you, alright” Law spoke, you snapped your head at him and nodded, tucking a stray strand of hair that escaped due to your dramatic hands.

“And uh—I’ll be sure to come over sometime soon. I promise” Law said those words as smooth as butter and it was all you needed. You smiled so delightfully and he reciprocated. You watched him approach the front door one last time.

“Tell Shachi I said hi” You giggle.

“Gotcha”

The click of the door echoed once more and you were left alone. You massage your scalp, repeating what scenario just happened in your mind again. Those eyes. Goddamn, those eyes. They pretty much pierced your soul straight through you. You couldn’t pinpoint why your heart was beating so fast and why that affected you so much. Did it really never go away? It has to.

He loves Robin, right?

Maybe you should sleep it off.

credits for the dividers, they r not mine!

© all rights reserved to luvrsux