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alwaysanangelneverag0d · 1 day ago

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~Fast Break to your heart~Pazzi AU

NWSL Paige x WNBA Azzi

a/n:hello yall im very excited to release the first chapter of this i of course welcome any feedback or criticism.Especially in how i write womens soccer.I promise i will get a bit more detailed on that front jjst give me time🙏🙏🙏

Wc:5.3k(i swear most chapters will be much longer then this)

Chapter 1:Collision

Early May-2026

When she agreed to go to the game, Azzi told herself it was to keep the peace. Cam had called it team bonding. Azzi had been halfway through unpacking a box labeled kitchen decorations when Cam burst into her apartment, ripped open the blinds, and announced she was picking her up at three. Azzi had no choice. It was in moments like this that she wished she didn’t coincidentally live in the same apartment as Cameron Brink.

Now Azzi sat on the couch, book on her thigh, hoping Cam would forget she was forcing her into this.

But then she heard a knock and saw Cam standing in her doorway, arms crossed like a disappointed older sister.

“We’re gonna be late,” Cam’s tone was casual but sharp. “And I swear to God, if you bring that book with you, I’m throwing it out on the freeway.”

Azzi gasped. “Wow, threatening literature now—that’s low.”

“I’m not threatening the book. I’m threatening you, Fudd.” Cam stepped inside and snatched the book dramatically. “I’m not letting you third-wheel your own social life.”

Azzi sighed, running a hand through her curled hair. “It’s not about the book, I just couldn't care less about socc—”

Cam cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But consider this: it’s either sit in a packed stadium with friends or keep unpacking boxes, not knowing where you want to put your championship plaques.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “They aren’t even plaques… they’re framed jerseys.”

“Oh, my bad. I meant the Azzi Fudd Hall of Fame wall.”

Despite wanting to shoot daggers, Azzi cracked a grin, stifling a laugh.

Cam grinned back, knowing that when Azzi smiled, it meant victory. “That’s better. Now go put on something that isn’t sweatpants. You know Rickea hates waiting.”

Azzi groaned, mumbling, “The peer pressure is crazyyy.”

“Exactly,” Cam grinned. “Welcome to the team, Fudd.”

As they walked out of the apartment building, Cam reached out and bumped her shoulder slightly.

“Serious question,” Cam glanced sideways at her. “Why the hell are you still unpacking boxes for your kitchen? You’ve been here like two weeks.”

“Three, actually,” Azzi muttered. “Not that I’ve been counting.”

Cam raised a brow. “That is worse.”

Azzi didn’t respond immediately. She just kept walking through the lot, dragging her feet like her body was forcing her forward. The silence stretched long enough to make Cam look at her with concern.

“It’s not like, deep or anything,” Azzi said quickly, definitely not convincing. “I’ve just been really busy.”

“With what?” Cam added. “I have seen you read the same book three times this week.”

Azzi cracked a grin. “Hey, at least I’m consistent.”

Cam stopped walking and paused. “I get it—you don’t feel like this is home.”

Azzi’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s not about that.”

“It’s exactly about that.”

Azzi paused. She didn’t want to admit it, but Cam was right—even though she hadn’t fully acknowledged it out loud.

“I guess I just—” Azzi exhaled, “don’t feel settled yet.”

Cam didn’t say anything, letting Azzi open up at her own pace.

“I miss rhythm. The familiarity of the people, the court, routine.” She paused. “When I was at UConn, even the silence felt like it belonged to me. Here? It just feels like I’m a visitor. Like, I don’t belong here yet.”

Cam frowned, but her eyes showed understanding.

“You do belong here. Maybe just not in the ways you want to yet, but you do. You don’t have to force yourself to prove you belong every single day.”

Azzi nodded. “I know… but it’s just weird. Being without the girls. The noise. Familiarity.”

Cam bumped her shoulder once more. “Then let us be your noise.”

“You’re already loud enough.”

And then, to almost prove Azzi’s point, their moment was interrupted by a set of honks.

Azzi jumped, while Cam just shook her head with a grin.

“HELLOOOOOO!”

“Rickea, chill, we’re coming,” Azzi called back as they jogged toward the car.

“Took you long enough. I was about to start charging for loitering.”

Cam laughed. “My bad, Kea.”

Rickea shook her head. “Distractions get you nowhere when it comes to me.”

“Sorry, Kea. We’ll keep it quick next time.”

“You bet,” Rickea added. “’Cause next time, you’ll be walking to the game.”

———————————————————————-

Rickea’s Jeep vibrated with bass as Mary J. Blige blasted through the speakers, the windows rolled halfway down to let in the warm L.A. evening air. The girls were screaming the lyrics with unfiltered enthusiasm, not a single note in key, and none of them cared.

Cam was drumming on the dashboard like it was a snare, Rickea slapped the steering wheel in rhythm, and Dearica had her head halfway out the window, harmonizing so badly it looped around to charming. Azzi sat in the back, squeezed against the door, a reluctant passenger in the chaos.

But the noise was oddly comforting. Loud in a way that made silence feel impossible. Like friendship layered over static.

Azzi stared out the window, watching the city blur past in neon smudges and golden smears of sunlight. Her heart was ticking faster than it should’ve been, though she couldn’t decide if it was from nerves or something else.

She laughed when Cam tried to hit a high note and cracked spectacularly, clutching her chest like the lyrics had physically wounded her. It was ridiculous. And for a second, it felt good.

The closer they got to the arena, the more the atmosphere shifted.

Traffic thickened. Tailgates flipped open. Fans in pink and black filtered onto the sidewalks in packs. The air felt charged, like something big was about to happen.

Cam twisted sharply in her seat, dropping her sunglasses onto her lap as the chorus faded into the next track. She turned down the volume, not dramatically, but with purpose. The quiet hit harder after so much noise.

Cameron smiled at azzi as if she had something of great importance to say

“Just so you know,” she began dramatically, “there’s gonna be tons of hot, muscular women waiting for a beautiful, curly-headed basketball player like you to waltz in there.”

Azzi rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. This again.

The group’s obsession with trying to set her up was getting exhausting.

“You’re delusional.”

“I’m a visionary, actually,” Cam corrected, completely unbothered.

“A horny visionary.”

Rickea cackled as Cam threw her head back, clutching her chest like Azzi’s answer had physically wounded her.

“Listen, Az,” Cam said, leaning in like she was sharing sacred wisdom. “All I’m saying is—new city, new you. Let someone ruin you for once. Preferably someone with sexy thighs and a six-pack.”

Azzi groaned, already preparing to recite the same speech she’d been giving since she landed in L.A. “I’m not trying to date anyone right now. Or hook up. Or do anything other than basketball.”

“Yeah, but a basketball can’t kiss you goodnight,” Rickea chimed in from the driver’s seat, not even missing a beat.

“If it somehow could,” Azzi muttered, “it would probably still do it better than all the people you sleep with.”

Cam let out a loud snort. “BURN.”

Rickea gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like Azzi had shot her point blank. “She’s ruthless! Cam, I told you she was cold-blooded off the court, too!”

Cam and Rickea launched into a fake argument over who was the more emotionally neglected friend, their voices escalating with every fake accusation. Azzi leaned back into her seat and stared out the window, letting their banter fill the space around her.

There was something peaceful about the noise. Familiar. Like background music to her restless thoughts.

But the moment they stepped out of the car, everything changed.

The hum of the stadium hit Azzi like a wave—loud and alive. You could feel the energy in the air, buzzing with anticipation. The crowd, even from a distance, moved like a tide, their chatter and laughter rising in waves as the arena loomed overhead like a coliseum built for modern-day gladiators.

And the closer they walked, the more Azzi felt it: that quiet shift in the air. Like she wasn’t just walking into a soccer game, but into something bigger. Something electric.

The concrete beneath her sneakers felt different. The lights ahead were brighter. The sound of a thousand voices layered over one another felt like prophecy.

It was just a game.

Fans were weaving in and out of lines, most decked in jerseys, scarves, and posters in the team's hues of pink, black, and grey. But what pulled her into noticing was the name

Bueckers

Over and over again

It was on the back of jerseys in bold lettering. On colorful signs that almost felt like declarations. Even painted on the cheeks of young fans

Azzi’s breath hitched. Paige’s name might as well have been sewn into the air

They didn’t just admire. They adored her

‘’Is this normal? ’’ she asked under her breath as they headed towards their section of seats

Cam followed her gaze. “For Paige? Yes, L.A. worships her, she’s like the female Messi”.

“Shit they’d probably elect her for mayor and she wouldn’t even have to campaign” Rickea added.

Azzi let out a chuckle, but for some reason, her chest felt tight. She had played in front of sellout crowds. She saw her name on posters, jerseys, and faces, just like Paige. But this noise wasn’t for the sake of a team, it was for her.

Paige

The one the city had crowned theirs

Her eyes glazed over a sign ‘’The prophecy lives”

She didn’t know which made her feel worse. That Paige had a hype azzi dreamed to have one day.. Or the fact that she understood why.

—————————————————————-

As they weaved through the crowd towards their seats, Azzi found herself feeling weirdly off balance. Not sick, just..off.Maybe it was the lights. Or the noise.Or maybe something else.Someone else

She barely had a moment to ground herself when Cam cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed,

“PAIGEEEEE”

Azzi was mortified. “Cam, what are you doing?” Azzi hissed, grabbing the taller girl's arms in an attempt to stop the draw of attention Cam had summoned. Heads turned in their direction. Azzi immediately ducked lower in her seat. The last thing she wanted was attention, especially when it came to Cam’s antics

“I'm tryna get PB's attention,” Cam whined as she waved her arms frantically in the air like she was lost in the forest begging for a helicopter rescue.

Azzi followed her gaze towards the field. There she was. Paige Bueckers. Talking to a teammate, water bottle clutched in strong, veined hands. Azzi blinked. Something inside her hiccupped. She turned back to Cam.

“Wait, you know her?”

“ I could’ve sworn I mentioned her name once. Possibly even twice”

Azzi was truly astonished

“When you said ‘Paige’, I didn’t think you meant the Paige Bueckers.”

Can shot her a proud look. “Yep.The one and only. The chosen one, they say”

Rickea giggled, “We love Paigey, even though she looks mean, she's like a teddy bear.”

Azzi’s eyebrow raised. “She does not give off the vibes of a teddy bear’

“I mean to be honest, she has always had a certain reputation, you could say,” Rickea smirked as if she was about to reveal government secrets

“A Reputation of…?”.Azzi was curious

“Being a massive S-L-U-T,” Rickea’s smirked

“Don’t you think that's a bit harsh?” Dearica chimed in from the other side

Can let out a loud snicker at this. “Only harsh if you didn’t go to Stanford with her. I eventually lost track of the number of girls who came up to me, in literal tears, because Paige ghosted them

“Oh yeah,” Rickea added,” and always the same excuse- ’ I need to focus on soccer’.Not like she was lying.”

“I think I saw her sleep in cleats one time in spring sem,” Cam giggled.

‘She had the same line for everyone’’Rickea shook her head. “Never lasted more than a week with a girl.”

Azzi said nothing. Her eyes drifted unintentionally back to the bench. Paige was crouched, lacing her cleats. Something was mesmerizing about just that simple act. The way she carried herself in simplicity made Azzi’s stomach drop.

Azzi blinked, realizing she was staring. That’s when she felt a nudge

Dearica leaned in. “She’s hot, isn’t she?”

Azzi’s face flushed.”Um–what? No.”

But her voice was too flat for someone who was denying it.

Rickea smirked, “Mhm.”

“Seriously, I don’t have time for a distraction like that; basketball is my only focus.”

“Well, your loss.” Rickea licked her lips, “'Cause if I was into girls, I’d let Paige ruin my life.”She threw her head back dramatically .”Those gorgeous chiseled abs?That jawline? She could call me ugly, and I’d still thank her for acknowledging me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. Biting her cheeks to keep from breaking out in a grin

“I think you two would get along well.”

Azzi blinked, shocked at Cam’s sudden comment

“Me and Paige?”

Rickea and Cam nodded in agreement

“As weird as it sounds, yeah.” Cam added, “You are way more alike than you’d like to think.”

“I doubt that,” Azzi scoffed. What could she possibly have in common with Paige?

“I'm being serious, Az.” Cam paused, “You both live for the game, like, don't get me wrong, I love ball. But you both don't just play the game you love-you live it.”

Azzis breath caught

“You train it every day like it's a religion to be preached. You push yourselves even when you're long past empty. You breathe the game into your lungs. I've only met two people like that.You.And her”

Azzi was rendered speechless. She felt uncomfortable with how Paige’s dedication made her feel. How seen she felt

“Though I must say you are definitely much much nicer,” Rickea joked, earning a hard jab to the ribs from Cam in retaliation

“Still,” Cam added, “You would like her more than you think, hun.”

Azzid forced herself to let out a laugh and smile, but it came out ingenuine hollow. Forced

Might like her?Absolutely not. Liking Paige Bueckers would not be happening.

The lights dimmed slightly. The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, echoing off the walls and out of the open roof.

Azzi shifted in her seat. She hadn’t expected to come here and feel like this. Her heart ticked like it was ready to explode. Not in fear of the game . There was the unfamiliar weight lingering. A force threatening to break her walls.

A quick montage played on the arena jumbotron.Highlights flashing. Explosive cuts of goals and saves.

One by one, the announcer began calling out the starting eleven players, each name sparking a wave of applause and chants. The anticipation built steadily, like the calm before a storm.

“Starting in goal… number 19… Angelina Anderson!”

The crowd erupted with cheers, fans waving scarves and chanting her name.

“And holding midfield… number 23… Christen Press!”

A fresh roar surged through the stands, a mix of whistles and applause echoing off the arena walls.

Rickea hit Azzi’s side. “Just wait until you hear the crowd when they announce her.”

Azzi just nodded at Rickea's words. Her body began to sweat

Why is she affecting her like this

“And starting at forward…”

Cam rubbed her hands together in excitement

A quick pause of silence

“Number 5…..PAIGEE BUECKERRRSSS!”

The stadium exploded in increased volume

“PB! PB!

Chants came from every end of the arena

But this wasn’t like the names before. It wasn’t cheering.This was worship

Devotion.As if she were something holy. The entire stadium had turned into a congregation, and Paige was there gospel

She gazed up in silence as the Jumbotron showed Paige’s slow jog onto the field. Her movements were calm and easy. Like she didn’t need to meet the energy of the crowd.The energy wrapped around her.Made space for her

Azzi hated how poetic every thought in her brain felt. She was jealous that just a jersey and a name brought utter devotion from people.

The city didn’t just love Paige. They believed in her. The kind of belief where they built statues.The kind of belief that puts pressure on your soul.

But she knew then something deep inside her had shifted. Something her mind had failed to catch up with.

A warning, maybe, or possibly a pull.

And that terrified her.

___

The field was in complete chaos. players colliding like atoms, cleats slicing grass, arms jostling for space. And then, without warning, the chaos formed around her

Paige.

She didn’t just receive the ball- she absorbed it. A touch so clean it looked magnetic, as if the ball had been drawn towards her. Her back was to goal, one defender already pressing close, but Paige’s first move was so subtle it barely registered until the defender lunged and missed.

Azzi leaned forward in her seat.

Paige spun, shielding with her shoulder, and accelerated. Not in the way most players sprinted-desperate, messy-, but like a blade sliding through air. Each stride was long, hungry, clean. She pushed the ball ahead with the outside of her foot and slipped through a seam that shouldn’t have existed. Azzi blinked. The defenders were caught on their heels, like they were chasing a ghost.

One last defender closed in, a center back with broad shoulders and fast feet. Paige didn’t slow. She tapped the ball to the right with her instep, drawing the defender that direction, then cut back left so sharply the girl nearly tripped over her own two feet. Paige was through. Open.

Azzi’s pulse quickened.

The box approached. The goalie stepped up.

And Paige didn’t hesitate.

Her foot met the ball with terrifying control, a low, curling strike with the inside of her cleat that spun like it had a mind of its own. It curled around the keeper’s outstretched hand, bent at the last moment, and kissed the inside of the far post before settling into the back of the net.

Azzi didn’t even realize she’d held her breath until the crowd exploded.

A sound so huge it felt like it shifted the air in her lungs.

Paige didn’t celebrate

She turned back towards midfield

And then she did it

Lifted the hem of her jersey to wipe the beads of sweat off her face

A simple gesture

But to Azzi, it felt like her world had tilted

Her eyes caught the flash of skin. Smooth, carved with the definition that could only come from obsession,from hours of morning reps . Paige’s abs were unreal. She was convinced they were sculpted from the gods. Sharp lines traced down her stomach, flexing even more with heavy breaths. In that moment, Azzi wondered what it would be like to trace the tips of her fingers along those sharp lines.

She blinked, forcing her mind and eyes to gather themselves

Did she just stare at Paige Bueckers' abs?

Yes, god yes, she had

She glanced away as fast as she could, hoping none of her teammates had picked up on Azzi’s wandering eyes.

But to her dismay, Ricked leaned in

“Now you see what I was talking about.”

Azzi groaned, “Don’t.”

“Like I said,” Rickea whispered, “I would let Paige ruin me.” She let out a low whistle, eyes still fixed on the field.

Azzi tried to force a laugh, but she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She felt deeply unsettled and wasn’t sure if it was due to Paige’s ridiculous body or the fact that for a full 11 seconds, Azzi had frozen. Completely mesmerized

But she wasn’t interested. She swore it

She crossed her arms, trying to shut the feeling out. But her mind only drifted back toward the slow lift of that jersey. The pale skin. A strength only achieved by devotion and obsession

The way it made her feel something.A feeling that she had spent her whole career running from.

For the rest of the game, she told herself she was watching in the interest of the sport. She clapped when the crowd clapped, winced when they gasped, and nodded when Cam shouted about a missed call. But in truth?

She wasn’t watching the game

She was watching her

Every time Paige moved across the field, Azzi felt her eyes follow. It wasn’t out of her conscious-but something magnetic. Like rereading a line in a book that left her hollow

The way Paige sprinted in perfect form.The way she called for the ball-voice loud and imposing, carrying through the crowd.The flick of her hand when she made a gesture.The flame in her eyes when a pass didn’t connect.

Azzi Fudd knew nothing about soccer, but she didn’t need to. Paige made the rules irrelevant. Watching her play was not about understanding the strategy. It was about feeling intensity radiate off of every kick, every pivot.

She played like it was her god given purpose. Not cocky, but inevitable

It was irritating. And maddening

Yet Azzi couldn’t stop watching.

When the final whistle blew, the crowd cheered. Azzi felt as if she had just snapped out of a trance

The game was over, and yet Azzi couldn’t help but feel like it just started.

Cam insisted on staying behind to greet Paige.

Azzi lingered at the edge of the group as they approached, keeping her distance like a cautious observer. She wasn’t trying to be rude—she just didn’t want to intrude. It felt strange, being here. It was like she was hovering on the edge of Paige’s spotlight. Cam wasted no time. She threw her arms around Paige in one of her signature Brink hugs, the kind that squeezed the air out of you. To Azzi’s surprise, Paige laughed a soft, raspy sound that felt too human for someone Azzi had half-convinced herself was just a goal-scoring robot.

Still, she stayed back.Watching.Observing

When Paige’s eyes finally flicked toward her, Azzi turned away—too quickly, too obviously. She pretended to squint up at the arena seats, as if something up there had suddenly become fascinating. Anything to avoid the weight of her stare. Because even as Rickea and Dearica began chatting with Paige, Azzi could feel her eyes trailing across her skin like a scan. Cold.Observant.

Her skin suddenly felt too cold for a warm L.A. night.

She forced herself to glance back. Paige was still watching her, expression unreadable.

“Who’s she?” Paige asked, nodding toward Azzi. Her voice was low clipped and polite, but hollow. Void of interest. It wasn’t curiosity, just protocol.

“That’s Azzi!” Cam said brightly. “The super cool, ridiculously talented new teammate I told you about.” She shoved Azzi forward like she was offering up a shiny trophy.

“Oh. Right,” Paige said, her tone dry. She shifted her weight, hands fidgeting at her sides. “Nice to meet you.” The words landed with a dull thud, lacking warmth or care.

Azzi stepped forward only slightly, offering a stiff nod. “Nice goal earlier,” she said flatly, the compliment thinly veiled behind indifference

Her voice was cooler than usual, measured, detached. The kind of voice she used on the court when the scoreboard was close and emotions were too dangerous. Her teammates shot each other quiet looks, confused. That wasn’t how Azzi usually spoke to people. That wasn't the girl who laughed at Cam’s dumb jokes or hugged Rickea after practices.

Paige didn’t even blink. “Thanks.” Her response was mechanical, as if she were reading off a script. No smile. No acknowledgment. Just a hand held out like a formality.

Azzi shook it briefly. The handshake was firm, businesslike. Her palm was warm but steady, soft yet calloused. Azzi hated that she noticed that. Hated that, for a second, she wondered how someone could have hands like that and still feel so distant. So far from reach.

As soon as their hands separated, the thread between them snapped. Paige turned back to Cam, as if Azzi had never been there. Like she wasn’t worth more than a few seconds of transactional introduction.

Azzi stood still, pretending it didn’t bother her. Pretending she hadn’t just been dismissed. She told herself she didn’t care.

They stayed a while longer, the conversation flowing around her like a current that was too dangerous to step into. Paige talked to Cam, laughed with Rickea. Even joked with Dearica. But not once did she address Azzi again.

And Azzi didn’t try either.

When it was time to go, she gave Cam a quick hug, hearing her say, “We’re overdue for a chat and some Shirley Temples.” Azzi gave a small, detached wave in return and followed the others toward the exit. Her chest tightened, but her face remained calm.

She wasn’t offended

She just didn’t expect someone to be so good at making her feel invisible.

———————————————————————

Later, as they were walking back to Rickea’s car, the sun had dipped, causing the sky to be painted in deep blue and oranges should’ve made Azzi lighten. Usually, she would pull her phone out and take a picture, but her body still felt rigid. Her Hand still felt warm. She could still feel the way Paige didn’t acknowledge her. Like she didn’t exist

Nope.Nope.She was not letting a small interaction get in her head. Especially when that person was probably gonna forget her name the next day

She was pulled out of her trance as Rickea made a dramatic stop in front of the car

“Ok, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?”

“Why were you acting like Elsa the ice queen when you met Paige?”

Dearica gave Rickea a look and leaned against the passenger door.” Seriously, Azzi, you shook her hand like you had just ended a business meeting.”

Rickea added, “Yeah, that’s not like you at all.”

Azzi scoffed, smirking even though she had wanted to curl in a ball at the fact they had also noticed.”I was being normal, you guys are just being dramatic.”

“Normal,” Dearica shot back, “You were stiffer than Cam’s hair on picture day. That’s not the same Azzi who tried to fight the vending machine for stealing her protein bar.”

“I'm just tired, it's been a long day,” she replied, her voice in a calm tone that signified she was done talking about it.

But she felt it in the way they looked at her. As if they could see straight through her lie.

“Ok, let's go.” Azzi opened the back door of the car and slid in. Grateful that they didn’t push. She rested her head against the hot window. Silence settled in the car as the hum of the city slowing down filled the space

Rickea and Dearica talked quietly in the front, but Azzi felt elsewhere. She was too busy fighting against her brain

Stop overthinking about someone you met once. You’re being dramatic. She’s allowed to act cold towards you if she feels like it. She doesn’t know you

She most definitely forgot your name already, anyway. Which is good because that means it will be easier to forget her, too. You are here for basketball. Not that kind of attention

Paige Bueckers shouldn’t bother her. But her thoughts still betrayed her. She had been ignored by worse. Her parents, her coaches, and teammates. But somehow, the ignorance of a stranger stung her heart deeper.

It was the effortlessness of Paige's switch to indifference that made her stomach do backflips.

She’s probably just an asshole to everyone. Cam practically said it herself

But somehow Paige's ignoring her had felt deeply personal. And thats what pissed her off most. How was she letting a stranger occupy her mind like this

You don't even know her, and you have a game tomorrow. Stay focused.

She clenched her hands into fists in her lap to regain control.

Azzi Fudd never feels like this. Curious about someone.Not right.Unsettled

And definitely not intrigued. Especially by someone like Paige Bueckers

But even as Rickea pulled into the apartment parking lot

Azzi knew the thought of Paige would still linger.No matter how far she pushed it down

——————————————————————

Later that night, after unpacking two or so more boxes. The apartment was purely quiet. A silence she had been craving all day

A blanket was pulled over her legs while Stewie snoozed between her feet. A half-unpacked box sat next to her mockingly

Azzi sipped from her second glass of wine. Or maybe it was her third? She didn’t bother to count. Staring at the book in her hand

She had read the same paragraph 7 times in the last ten minutes. Her eyes tried again to absorb the words of her book, but her brain wasn’t registering them

It was probably just nerves. She had her first regular-season game tomorrow, and that had her in her head.

But as she turned another page, she knew that wasn't true. Her only thoughts were a certain 5’8 blonde

Paige.

Not in a weird way, not like a crush or some shit. You’re just curious.

But the game had ended hours ago, and thoughts of Paige still lingered like static in the crevices of her brain. Azzi kept picturing those stupid abs and how they caught the lights in the arena. She could still feel the Vibration from when they chanted her name. Like it was a sermon at church.As if she were the Holy gospel

The way they worshipped Paige.Pure devotion. It got under Azzis' skin in ways that made her wanna squirm. Yet she couldn’t stop thinking about it

Before her brain could stop her, she reached for her phone. Tapped into Instagram

Just out of curiosity.Not intrigue

Her fingers typed the name like it was second nature. As if her name was something she regularly searched

@ paigebueckers

Her profile was clean. Not much personality.Serious.But here and there was the odd personal photo. Still, Azzi kept scrolling as if she were studying a code she couldn’t decipher. Then she stopped

It was just a team photo. The year Stanford won the national championship. Paige was right in the middle, and she was smiling. One that was too real to be a posed smile like in various of her other photos.Real.Genuine.And for a few seconds, Azzi just stared

So there is softness somewhere deep inside.

She zoomed in without a thought, pulling the image wider. As if she would be able to see more of her this way.

Then her thumb betrayed her and double-tapped.

Fuck.

She felt her soul leave her body

Azzis' eyes widened in fear, staring blankly at what she had just done. It wasn’t just any photo. But a photo from three years ago. And Paige would see it at the top of her notifications

Wait. She probably won’t notice. She gets thousands of likes per day. It will be buried in seconds. And she won't see it in time

Azzi set her phone down on the coffee table. And reached for the wine. Planning to finish the bottle to forget what she had just done

But the second the glass lifted to her lips, her phone buzzed

She looked. Her body suddenly felt cold

paigebueckers sent you a message request

No way.No

Her mind raced ahead, imagining the worst. A string of question marks. Or worse, Paige calling her out, sharp and ruthless: “Who the hell are you?” or “Stop creeping on me.”

But when the message loaded, it was nothing like what she expected.

paigebueckers: I didn’t take you to be a Stanford fan.

Her heart fluttered.

In that moment, Azzi Fudd wished she had chosen something stronger than a bottle of wine.

#uconn wbb #pazzi #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige x azzi #azzi fudd #pazzi fics

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dissociativewriter · 10 hours ago

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Unnatural Affinity- Part 12

Isekai!Reader x Love and Deepspace

wc: 2.6k

cw: angst, very vague allusions to self harm, semi-crash out from em i guess (?), hurt/comfort technically, yearning tbh, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns (i try to avoid that but sorry), im getting really casual with these content warnings, mostly bc i think no one reads what i actually write up here

Synopsis: While you talk with Rafayel, Sylus gets a visit from someone he thought had disappeared. (i’m bad at synopses)

author’s note: this took me a little longer to put out so im sorry >_< im really looking forward to writing zayne next though! then caleb and then its reader and em again and its gonna get crazy and then im gonna put up a poll so y’all can decide how i end it! i hope y’all are excited lol im getting closer to the end and its making me kinda sad cause i love this series but i have multiple ideas for different series so i might have multiple ongoing after this <3

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @junni-berry @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead

Series Masterlist

Onychinus’s base was quiet. Its occupants were comfortably off fulfilling their own tasks, no last-minute crises disrupting them. An unexpected peace settled, though an air of anticipation filled the space.

Sylus had been eyeing the door since you left this morning. Just like he had when you left yesterday.

He knew he shouldn’t worry. He knew you could handle yourself.

He also knew he was going to worry anyway.

You came to him after your talk with Xavier last night, a serious, somber expression painted on. You were quiet at first, sorting through the conversation. He let you. You’d filled Sylus in then, just enough to keep him updated, to know everything was fine. He respected your privacy, the distance you kept with such a sensitive subject, though he wished you’d confide in him.

Allow him to give you shelter from the storm in your eyes.

You’d stopped him, before you left for bed. Told him not to worry. It was sweet of him, you’d said, but unnecessary. That he didn’t need to give Luke and Kieran a task as boring as watching you talk to Xavier, that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

Sylus didn’t tell you that he knew that, too. He didn’t tell you that he wanted Luke and Kieran to watch you with Xavier to see if you were interested in him, interested in a way Sylus couldn’t compete with.

Instead, Sylus told you he’d let you be. Not before making you promise to tell him if something goes wrong, though. He’s only a phone call away, after all.

Even a panicked look to Mephisto would do.

You nodded, assuring him that he would be the first person you’d call if things went haywire.

He wasn’t quite sure if he believed you, but he relented nonetheless.

So, when you left the base early this morning, just as Sylus’s business day was ending, he’d told Luke and Kieran to simply drop you off where you asked, no need to watch you.

Of course, now his eyes hadn’t wandered from the front door.

Even as the dark circles under his eyes sunk deeper and his shoulders drooped, Sylus stayed. Waiting patiently.

He wasn’t sure when you’d be back. He just wanted to see you as soon as you were. Make sure you were okay under the guise of a smug smile and a teasing remark.

It wasn’t worth risking the raw vulnerability embedded in his worry if you had another man in your heart, after all.

The soft click of the back door pulled Sylus’s head up, listening carefully to the barely audible footsteps padding through the hallway behind him. Two sets, he noted. Luke and Kieran.

The tension in his shoulders relaxed again as he turned to see the two boys unceremoniously drop onto the couch.

“Shouldn’t you be asleep, Boss?” Kieran asked.

“I’m alright,” Sylus answered shortly.

“You sure, Boss-man?” Luke pushed. “Looks like the bags under your eyes could carry the weight of the world.”

Sylus stared at the twins. “Don’t you two have something better to do than worry about my sleeping habits?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Luke starts, sitting up. “I almost forgot why we came here.”

Kieran sighed. “We’re here to give you a report on the tracking.”

Sylus nodded. “Continue.”

“Looks like Em and Caleb have been staying at his apartment in Skyhaven since Little Boss came here. Haven’t been outside much,” Kieran explained.

“Yeah, they’ve just been holed up in there together. From what we could tell, things looked pretty tense,” Luke said. “But it was pretty much the same thing for a week. Except today. Em left early, about 7:30. Caleb left at 8:00. Went to the Fleet, a new mission or something. We couldn’t track him very far, too high of surveillance on the Colonel.”

“We could track Em after she left, though,” Kieran continued. “She boarded the Coelum Express at 8:00, arriving back in Linkon at 10:00. She first went to her apartment, where she checked every room before leaving. Then she went to the Hunter’s Association.”

“She went to her desk immediately, and she was stopped by Tara and Simone. They talked for about five minutes before Jenna called Em over,” Luke listed off. “Em reported on her most recent mission and then said she had to go. Then she went to Research, talking to Nero very briefly where he gave her very vague answers. Em then sought out Xavier, who seemed more worried about how panicked she looked then answering the questions she asked him.”

Sylus nodded. “Seems like everything’s following the plan,” he muttered. “Where is Em now?”

Kieran shifted on his feet. “That’s the thing, Boss,” he confessed. “We lost her.”

Linkon was incredibly lively.

Bustling streets filled with locals and tourists alike. The chatter rose, echoing through the city so that even the quietest corners were filled with the hum of connection.

It was overwhelming, to say the least.

You navigated the busy streets, wondering just how anyone could manage to live here permanently.

Wondering how the you from before you landed in Love and Deepspace did it.

You’d almost forgotten it, how this life wasn’t really your own. You were filling in the slot of a life already lived, already planned, that you had no recollection of.

Was that person from before really you? Or did you steal the life of another, taking what they deserved?

Feeling your chest tighten, you tried to focus on your breathing instead.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

It wasn’t like the feeling was new. On the contrary, you often felt like your life wasn’t really your own. Like it wasn’t real, you weren’t real. That all that you’d experienced before was just a precursor to what life really was, what it was supposed to be. Almost convincing yourself that the life you had couldn’t be real, because wasn’t life supposed to be more than that?

Maybe you were still that kid reading Narnia, waiting for a world at the end of the Wardrobe to find her.

You were almost getting better, you thought as you sat down at a cafe. Your hands itched at your thighs, the lengths you’d gone to feel real again a constant reminder.

But then you got dropped into Love and Deepspace. A world that, as far as you were concerned, was just a game come to life.

This wasn’t real, you told yourself. Which is why the fulfillment this life brought hurt all the more.

You thought of what Xavier had said when you told him. How he wasn’t really surprised.

That had caught you off guard at first, but it all clicked when you thought about it later.

Xavier hadn’t been your favorite Love Interest, but there was always something there you connected to. Something quiet, lurking there but not making a show out of itself.

Xavier was never really present, it felt. He was quiet, reserved, always lost in his mind or his dreams.

Always thinking of something else, always something taking his focus, never truly being in the moment.

It made sense he would almost expect a twisted reality, after all he’s seen.

But then you thought of what he’d said after.

It’s real to me. That’s enough.

You hadn’t understood at the time, hadn’t gotten how he could so easily live with that doubt.

How could you live with the possibility that this life might not completely be your own?

But maybe that’s what you were missing. That doubt is just a part of life. No one’s ever really sure, you thought, and that’s okay.

Our reality is what we make it.

It seems this is your reality now. If this is what you have, it’s time to make the best of it.

Sylus was now settled in his office, eyelids still feeling heavy as he watched the security screens. He watched as you made your way to Mo Art Studio, Mephisto patiently watching you from a distance. He wouldn’t know what you were talking about, but he could see if anyone laid a hand on you, and that was enough for him.

Luke and Kieran had run off to who knows where, to sleep or to prank Sylus didn’t know. It was negligible to him, what they did. They had limits, he knew, and he could clean up any messes they made.

It had been a while since their last prank, though, so Sylus kept an eye on the door behind him. He wouldn’t put it past them to do something now, especially since he’s so tired and out of his element.

Sylus didn’t flinch when the door slammed open. Didn’t flinch when his chair was aggressively pulled back from the desk.

What gave him pause was, instead, the click of heels against the floor.

The feeds were immediately cut, any glimpse of what they had shown gone as soon as the door opened.

A security measure Sylus was now thankful he’d implemented.

“Where is she?” Em hissed.

Sylus rose from his chair leisurely, letting out a deep breath. “I don’t know who you’re referring to.”

“You know damn well who I mean!” she exclaimed. “I saw Mephisto outside that morning. I shooed him away, but when I came back she was gone.”

“What a shame.” Sylus smirked. “If you’d let him be, he might have seen who took her.”

“I know it was you, Sylus, just admit it! I saw your stupid bird outside, and that same day she was gone!”

“And obviously, that means I took her.” Sylus raised an eyebrow.

“Well, who else would have?” she asked.

“Enlighten me,” Sylus sighed. “What reason would I have to take your little friend?”

“I don’t know,” Em groaned. “All I know is she’s gone. I—” Her breath caught, eyes watering ever so slightly. “I lost her,” she whispered. “And now I can’t find her.”

Sylus inhaled sharply, staying quiet for a few beats. “You lost her,” he began softly. “Have you ever considering she doesn’t want to be found?”

Mo Art Studio was bright, elegant, a seaside paradise. The soft crash of waves could be heard throughout the grounds, a view of the changing tides almost always visible. You checked your phone again, seeing Rafayel’s latest confirmation that it was okay for you to stop by. The gates in front of the studio were intricate and, most noticeably, open.

You hesitantly made your way through the grounds, stopping just before the front door. With a deep breath, you pushed it open, immediately met with the smell of paint, canvas, and seafood. Rafayel was easily spotted in the open floor plan, situated in an awkward position in front of a canvas.

“Great timing, cutie,” he said as he cast his paintbrush aside. “If I stayed in that position any longer, I’d probably be stuck like that.”

You chuckled as he stretched, white shirt opening slightly. You remained silent as he walked towards you, leaving down slightly to match your height.

“Now, cutie, why did you need to see me so urgently?” he asked.

“I’ve got something important to tell you,” you said, wringing your hands.

Rafayel straightened up. “Do you want to go walk on the beach for this?” He pointed back towards the opened French doors behind him.

Nodding, you took his hand as he led you out onto the sand.

You both discarded your shoes once you got off the boardwalk through the dunes, allowing the sand to shift under your bare feet. The incoming waves nipped at your heels as you took a deep breath.

“Do you remember the first time we met, that painting we were looking at?”

“Of course,” he nodded, “I loved that piece. So did you. But, it didn’t sell.”

“And you remember what you said about when you painted it? How that afternoon was really weird, like the universe was trying to fit in something new?”

Rafayel nodded again, the crease between his brows growing deeper.

“That afternoon was weird for me, too.” You exhaled. “See, I’m not from here, not like you are. I’m from a— a different world. I think that was what was weird about that day. It was me coming into this world.”

Rafayel stared at you. A few beats of silence passed. “So… so what? You’re saying there’s other worlds? Other dimensions? How did you even get here?” he sputtered. A deep sigh. “I knew something weird happened, I just didn’t think…”

“I don’t know how it happened. All I know is, I was there one moment, and the next, I was in Linkon,” you explained.

“Is it that Deepspace tunnel?” he muttered.

“There’s another thing,” you said sheepishly. “In my world, there’s this game, Love and Deepspace.” You tried to explain it slowly, carefully. You explained the events of the Main Story, everything that had happened that even he didn’t know all about. You left out the memories, the romantic moments stolen away that hadn’t happened yet.

You told him about the past lives, though, all that you knew. You watched as a myriad of emotions passed through his eyes, the ghosts of past loves haunting him.

“You know what’s going to happen, then? How it’s going to end?” he asked quietly.

“Not really,” you admitted. “I just know a lot about what has happened, even the things other people haven’t noticed.”

With barely a nod, Rafayel turned to the incoming ocean. Treading the water, his pants were soaked, up through the calf with salt staining the silken black.

“She had my heart,” he whispered, keeping his back to you. “I guess I never had hers, though.”

You took a step forward, the waves lapping at your legs. Pearls dropped, one by one, to the ocean, their tiny splashes becoming lost in the moving tides.

“Rafayel…” you began.

He turned to you, eyes bright and swirling like the eye of a hurricane. “She was never really going to be mine, was she? Not wholly, not completely.” He let out a dull, empty laugh. “Not in this life, not in the last, not in the next. I guess I was never really meant to have a love like that. All I get is something not meant to last, but something that can’t seem to let me breathe without aching.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“Do you know… what happens to me? The bond, it’s still—”

You shook your head. “I’m sorry, I really don’t know.”

“Then… did she ever really love me?” His hands trembled at his sides, the hurricane in his eyes nearly spilling out.

You rushed forward, taking your hand in his. “Of course she did,” you murmured. “She’s always loved you. I think she always will.” You laughed lightly. “I don’t know if it’s ‘meant to be’ like you say, but I think anyone would be foolish not to love you.”

Rafayel chuckled, looking back to the sun’s rays across the ocean before his gaze met yours again, leaning down once more so he was eye-level with you.

“Well, well, cutie. Does this mean you love me, too?” He grinned.

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks warm up. He moved next to you, pulling you against him with an arm around your shoulder.

Pressing a kiss to your hair, he whispered, “Thank you, cutie. That’s more than I need. She was never meant to willingly give me her heart. Maybe its time I find a new muse.”

comments and reblogs appreciated and asks open! <3

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asmodeussunderstudy · 2 days ago

Text

im losing it im going insane im losing it LESS THAN A DAY

i dont think mlp kids vs wings of fire kids will win but if it does im so excited to draw random people as dragons holy shit holy shit holy shit

i also really like city vs forest and think my guys would look so cool in like. aoubewidb fgioaebndfo it would be so cool please.

(crystals v fossils is also pretty good ig)

i really dislike time/space and heart/soul both bc theyre too close to homestuck classpects and also because i dont know how to draw those in interesting ways frankly. other than just doing time/space as creation/destruction

i know some people like them but. i. dont want them.

Hi Art Fighters! While you wait for the theme reveal, represent your teams by filling out This or That, 2025 edition!

#Artfight2025 #Art Fight #artfight brainrot

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txniesha · 6 hours ago

Text

Complication Sylus x Non!MC Reader Pt 5

Synopsis: You wanted to get away but he dragged you back like he always does. The only question is, why don't you leave, why do voluntarily stay?

cw: angst, typos, grammar

word count: aprox. 3000

A/N: finally got my macbook charger replaced so im back to writing. I'm excited to get back to updating this regularly and even starting a new one. I hope you guys enjoy and sorry for posting this so late at night.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

The ride back was a lot more awkward than you had expected. You expected screaming and anger, not pure silence. He didn’t even have music on; he was just staring quietly out of the window. It deeply unnerved you as Sylus was a quiet man but not like this. Usually his silence spoke volumes, but you couldn’t tell what he was thinking at that moment.

When you arrived back to the N109 zone you felt a sense of nervousness, you couldn’t stop fidgeting with your hands and you really wished you could smoke a cigarette. Your phone was shattered and was barely functioning, so you didn’t even have that to distract yourself during the ride. “Here” Sylus says, and you look over at him. He was holding a box, a new phone. You accept the phone hesitantly. “Don’t worry, I didn’t even start it up. I heard how angry you were when we were talking and figured you would do something stupid… like break your phone” he says, his tone a bit disinterested, nodding at your shattered phone.

You just nod and give him a silent thank you. It irritated you that he waited the entire ride back from Linkon to finally give you the phone, but it was whatever. You spent the remainder of the ride setting up the phone and transferring your things over. You weren’t really surprised when you got the service set back up and your phone lit up with missed calls and text messages.

You looked over to see Sylus' reaction to the flurry of messages but were surprised to see him still staring out of the window. This behavior unnerved you. Usually, he would make some slick remark about your ‘boyfriend texting you’ or take your phone and power it off. You decided to ignore it and respond to the messages. You weren’t surprised to have a few from Xavier asking you to please tell him you were okay. You sent back a quick message telling him you were fine and not to worry. Zayne had also sent you a message, but you decided not to look at it. You didn’t know why but you felt like seeing a message from him would make you regret agreeing to go with Sylus.

The car came to a slow stop in front of the main base of Onychinus. This base holds Sylus’ multi-story penthouse at the very top. The driver opens the door for you, and you thank him as you step out of the car. You did not miss the cold dark city of the N109 and longed to be back in Linkon already. Sylus walked ahead of you, and you couldn’t help but follow behind him like a lost puppy.

The air here felt different, and you could tell everyone in the base was more on edge than usual around him. You felt bad that everyone had to suffer the backlash of your actions and walked with your head down. The elevator ride up was tense and awkward also, with Sylus not even looking at you, just staring blankly at the elevator doors.

The doors opened up to Sylus' luxury penthouse and you stepped out into the cold dark hallways. You were surprised to see Luke and Kieran leaning against the wall talking. They had somehow managed to make it back before the two of you. They perked up at the sight of you two and rushed over to Sylus. “We did well right boss!” Luke asks in an excited tone.

Sylus nods and waves them off. “Yes yes, the two of you are free to do whatever it is you both do for the rest of the evening.” Luke and Kieran high five each other and excitedly hurry to the elevator doors. “See you later boss lady” Luke shouts after you. “Don’t get in too much trouble” Kieran adds before the sound of the elaborate doors closing symbolizes the isolation of you and Sylus.

He turns and starts walking down the corridor and you follow behind him. You’ve known Sylus for years but had never actually been inside this property of his. The ambience here was so much different than the other properties you had been to. This one felt more like home. The place was a lot more decorated and smelt distinctly of him. You followed behind him like a lost puppy, hot on his trail, not really sure about what to do and not sure if you should do anything.

He led you to a big door with immaculate craftsmanship in the wood and it opened for him as if it sensed he was there. The room was beautiful, with a couch placed against a wall and a bookshelf lined with records behind it, both placed in front of a beautiful fireplace with leather chairs surrounding it. A gold record player was set to the side of the couch and behind that was a bed in front of a full-length window, red velvet curtains positioned to the side showing you the N109 zone in all its glory. You looked to the side and saw a small bathroom positioned behind a glass wall. The room was too grand to be a guest room. It was his.

You looked at Sylus confused as he took his blazer off and placed it over one of the chairs. “This is where you will be staying” he says as he loosened his tie, his back turned to you. “Sylus I can stay in a guest room” you say quietly. You started to speak again, but he raised his hand, silencing you. He turned and looked at you, his face stoic.

He walks towards you and corners you against one of the chairs, making you fall back in it. He grabs your face and makes you look up at him. “You left me. Lied to me. Slept with another man. You don’t deserve a guest room.” He lets go of your chin and grabs your hand. He reaches into his pocket and slips out a ring. Your ring. He slips it back onto your finger and kisses it. He leans down and gets face level with you. “Don’t try to run from me again. I need you” his voice is painfully full of emotion.

He gets up and gestures toward the in-room bathroom. “Go, take a shower. I’ll have dinner and clothes waiting for you.” He then leaves the room, and you get up and walk towards the bathroom.

It wasn’t much of one, just a shower and a toilet. The walls were lined with various body washes, shampoos, conditioners, scrubs, and facial products. You were not really shocked as he was a man who very much cared about his hygiene. What shocked you was the number of feminine products in the shower that were clearly used. You sighed, biting your lip in anger. This was just another sign that she had been here—frequently, at that.

You took your time showering and did a petty thing, pouring all of the products he had used down the drain and putting them back in their place. You used some of Sylus’ unscented washes and exited the shower.

When you left the bathroom, there was a plate sitting on the table and a pair of clothes—women’s clothes. You guessed that those were hers, and you refused to even put them on. You sat on the couch and ate dinner as you waited for Sylus.

He came back into the room as you were almost finished, and he looked at the pile of untouched clothes. He smirks slightly. “Do you plan on being naked for your entire stay?” he says as he sits next to you, crossing his legs.You roll your eyes. “No. But I'm not going to wear her clothes or use the things she showers with. You say you need me, but numerous things in here scream her.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re always so busy worrying about other people and what I do and who I see when I’m not with you. If it displeases you so much, I’ll get rid of all of it.” He reaches into his pocket and throws his wallet on the table. “Go buy the things you need tomorrow. I'm done with this conversation and we’re not having it again,” he says, his voice ice cold.

He gets up off the couch and walks to the bathroom.You get up and walk toward the only other door in the room that wasn’t the one that led to the hallway, guessing it was the closet. You were correct in your assessment and started looking around for what you expected to be there.

Sure enough, there was an entire section in the closet designated for her. You grab the clothes and begin throwing them out of the closet onto the floor. As you were digging through some of the drawers, finding more of her things, Sylus came in. “What the hell are you doing?” he says, his voice full of confusion.

“Well, if I'm going shopping tomorrow, I need space, right?” you say, continuing to throw her things out of the closet. “That doesn’t mean you go trashing my room,” he says, irritation now present in his voice. “I'm not trashing it. I'm going to pick them up and throw them away when I'm done,” you say, now turning to him.

He was wrapped in only a towel, much like yourself, his hair still wet and dripping water down to his torso. You had to look away, reminding yourself you were very much upset with him and would not be tempted.

He sighs heavily. “I told you I would throw it all away. Why are you making a scene?” he says, stepping deeper into the closet and grabbing your arm to make you look at him. “I don’t trust that you mean it,” you say, scoffing and pulling your arm out from his grasp.

His jaw tightens and you can see the irritation on his face now. “You think I would keep her things around just to what, taunt you, make you feel like she’s still a choice?” You nod your head, lips pursed. “Yes. I think that is exactly what you would do, because you’re a terrible person when you feel wronged or hurt.”

His face drops into one of stoicism and his grip loosens. He grabs your face gently. “Is that really what you think of me? Some manipulative dickhead who goes to extreme measures just to keep you around?” Yes, you say to yourself in your mind.

“I know what I’ve done to you in the past twenty-four hours is a bit extreme, but I just don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. I don't know what you want from me, and I don’t know how to ask you without you blowing up on me. If you didn’t matter, if I didn’t…” he looks away, sighing, and drops his hands.

He turns and grabs a shirt off of a hanger, his shirt, and gives it to you. “I’m tired. Let’s talk in the morning. Sleep in here,” he says, and then leaves.

You stopped your rummaging and sat in silence, contemplating what had just happened. You sighed and decided to go and lay down, putting on the shirt. The bed was a luxurious one with silk sheets. Everything smelt just like him, and it brought you comfort strangely. Your moment of calmness made you realize that you weren’t just angry at him; you were angry at yourself for caring about him. For still feeling something for him, letting him get under your skin, drag you back to him. You close your eyes, deciding sleep is your only option now.

A week of awkwardness went by. A week of glances, unsaid words, and awkward dinners together. He worked in his office when he wasn't down in Onychinus base handling business. You had grown so tired of the awkwardness that you had started talking to his private chef as he made meals just to hear someone speak. Zayne and Xavier had been calling and texting, trying to get ahold of you, but you couldn't bear to talk to them knowing how much it would hurt. How you gave up on the two who cared and tried to protect you just to go back to the one who hurt you the most.

You walked into the kitchen expecting his private chef to be gone already and the kitchen to be empty, but were surprised to see Sylus in there pouring coffee, his hair messy and looking like he had been up all night. You turned to leave, but a red mist quickly pulled you back around to face him.

“No more avoiding. Sit,” he says, and your body involuntarily takes a seat at the kitchen island. He places two cups of coffee on the table and sits across the island from you. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” you say, taking the coffee and blowing the hot drink.

“Not talking to me for a week, awkward side glances, leaving the room every time I'm in there. If that's not avoiding, I don't know what is,” he says with a sly smirk. You sigh and shrug. “Maybe I just need some time to think about all of this. I don't know what you want from me, Sylus,” you say softly.

“You could've left a week ago. Could've run away again, hid better this time. I want you to stop acting like you're not here by choice,” he says softly and grabs your face. “I... I care about you a lot, more than I would like to admit.” You leaned into his touch, not ready to say the words held in your chest. “Sylus, I can't allow myself to be hurt by you again,” you say.

“I won't. I know I haven't given you much reason to trust me, but baby, I promise you, I will do better.” Before you could say anything, the elevators to the penthouse dinged. You both looked over, probably expecting the loudness of Luke and Kieran to grace your presence, but were instead surprised to see her walking down the hallway like she owned the place. Her hair was put up in a ponytail, and she dressed casually with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“Sylus,” she called out, not looking up from her phone.You look over to him and roll your eyes. “Doing better starts now. If you don't handle this, I’m leaving,” you say to him, irritated.

His jaw sets and clenches as he looks toward the doorway where she approaches. She finally looked up and saw you. You were dressed in his clothes, both of your hair messy. It wasn’t hard to guess what she was thinking.“Sy... what's going on here? Why is she here?” she asked.

You get up off the stool and walk out of the kitchen. “I'm serious, Sylus,” you say as you walk out of the kitchen. You stayed in the hallway, obviously going to eavesdrop.

“I told you it wasn’t a good time to come here right now,�� Sylus says with a sigh.“What do you mean not a good time? Is it because she's here? You’re not involved with her, are you?” she says, her voice shaky and confused. There was a long and tense silence. “MC, right now is just not a good time. We can talk about this later. Just please leave,” his voice was desperate as he pleaded with her.

You hear a huff and then she comes storming out of the kitchen, not even noticing you as she walks toward the elevators and leaves. Sylus came out of the kitchen, rubbing his face. “Why didn't you tell her we're involved?” you ask.

“Please, just don't right now,” he says, rubbing his temples.“No! I'm just confused. You want me here but can't admit to her that you have feelings for me?” He grabs your arms and makes you face him. “It's more complicated than that. She... she's fate. You're—” he stops speaking and looks away.

“Say it, Sylus. Say what I am to you,” you ask desperately.

“You're a choice. My choice. Not one predestined for me. I want you, all of you,” he says softly.

You look at him and don’t see the put-together man that you usually do. You see one that was unraveling, struggling to come to terms with what he wanted and what he felt like he had to do. You don't know the extent of what he felt for her or how far back it went, but you knew those feelings would always be there.

“I know I'm selfish for wanting you... but I... I love you,” he finally says.

His ruby red eyes bore into yours with such intensity you felt like you were drowning in them. “Sylus, you make it sound like loving me is some kind of rebellion. You call her fate and me a choice, but you're hiding. I don't want to be loved privately like some kind of secret that will break the world. I want you to love me unashamedly, claim me, and show me off. And until she's out of your life, that will never happen.”

tags: @sillyfreakfanparty @crimsonmarabou @z3vl @96jnie @perqbeth @justpassingdontworry @malleus-draconias-rose @sleepykittyenergy @aboobie @syluslittlecrows @scrambledhuevos79 @madam8 @fandomenbylover@insidious-innocence @etherealsoul90 @xsammijoanneex @acasualattempt @sylusgirlie7 @jasperjokester @animegamerfox @jae48 @goldenbirdiee @zoezhive @rxelarailuj @huuvu @simphoursonly @athanasia-day @asakiyu @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @eolivy @caramelizedpopcirn @auraficial @dilf-destroyer-04 @hebreeee @noxus123 @satansdaughter123

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slasherflicks999 · 1 day ago

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guys i cant wait for artfight :3

#IM EXCITED THO FR #i love art fight it’s a lot of fun and i really wanted to do more than just 3 days this year LMAOOO #i only have like 2 actual ocs besides slasher anyway LMAOOO #i just HHHHAAAAAATTTEEEE doing ref sheets sometimes they take me excruciatingly long 💔💔#but its okay my bday is also in july so i can pretend all the attacks i get are bday presents :3 #anyways…… any of my moots doing artfight…….. *reaches into inner pocket for my apple pencil*#im gonna be team fossil 😈😈😈#<- edit: i lied im actually on crystal i changed my mind HAHAHAHA #artfight #artfight 2025 #rambles

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xylatox · 3 days ago

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lovesong(demo).wav || lhs

Finally reading my wife’s fic 🫶 I’m so excited this was released hehe. Anyways unto my thoughts!

I was so invested in the beginning because you can feel the tenseness in the air and this line literally just breaks it for me.

His face shifted into what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Always such a pleasure. That dress looks incredible on you. Quite the distraction for a Monday morning.”

Like dude, ew. Do not saw that lol. Also I think its pretty insane from a companies perspective that they have to revamp an entire comeback to prevent getting backlash for similarities. That’s a terrible thing for an entire team to go through honestly.

You were upset for your team. You were upset for Jiwon, the new hire, whose first comeback had become a minefield. You were upset for the idols, who would smile and say “it’s okay” even though it meant another reshoot, another delay, another storm of hate.

Do not blame anyone for being upset because that just sounds so overwhelming and stressful. I would hate everything.

“You should be careful about how late you stay here,” he said, voice low and oily, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not safe for women to be alone in the dark. Someone might take advantage.”

Ew. I think Mr. Kim might be the one who wants to take advantage istg.

“Though I suppose,” he chuckled, eyes dragging down your body like grease, “if you dress like that, you probably don’t mind the attention.”

Ewwwwww. I hate men so much. I love that the mc has a safe room when she gets overstimulated. I love her so much.

Her and Hee’s first interaction is actually so darn cute wtf Patty

“Sounds like you deserve to punch someone, who isn`t me, in the face.” He gave you a soft, lopsided smile.

Lmfao Heeseung

He grinned, eyes still on his screen. “Just hungry. Miserable was yesterday.”

Hes so annoyingly cute here

“No offense,” he said, pointing at the monitor like it had personally wronged him, “but if I see one more handwritten brush font today, I’m going to start biting people.”

This made me giggle omg, i love Jungwon

You turned your whole head toward Heeseung, expression somewhere between murderous disbelief and you absolute lunatic.

He had the gall to smile at you. Teeth and all.

This entire interaction is actually so cute

“You look pretty,” he said quietly.

The way I would immediately fold.

I love the way they bond over the fact that they didnt get to live their dreams :(

Also obsessed that theyre like 5 mins away from each other oh my god

He exhaled like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going. “It’s just–” He paused, then gave a crooked, slightly sheepish smile. “I make really good ramen. Like… really good ramen. And I figured since you fed me the best croissant I’ve ever had in my life, maybe I could return the favor?”

Im going to sob Heeseung is so cute

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound light and disbelieving. “Are you actually trying to seduce me with ramen?”

Heeseung’s ears turned pink. “Only a little?”

CRYING

Heeseung stepped into the kitchen with you, looking around like he was sizing up a mission. “Pot. Strainer. A spoon and a dream.”

You laughed quietly and opened a cabinet. “Okay, I can manage that.”

I cant do this. I love them so much

Also I love how we see the progression of their relationship like, she reacts to cutely to signing the NDA for the dinner to Hee and ugh </3 my heart

“Hold that,” Heeseung said, pressing his cup into your hand and wrapping one hand around your waist, steadying you. The other shot up to catch the overhead handle just in time. You froze.

I will pass out.

“Relax,” Heeseung murmured near your ear, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ve got you.”

I cannot do this actually

Man, I was enjoying myself so much until stinky Mr. Kim came, ew. Nasty guy

“You’re not going to ruin anything,” he said quietly. “You’re bringing tiramisu. You’ve already won everyone’s heart. Especially Sunghoons. I know he is your bias, so it’s a win, right?”

I’m so fucking soft ugh.

“Totally,” he said, too fast. “I mean–it’s not, like–you’re perfect. I mean–not like perfect-perfect, just–you look great. I mean good. Yes.”

Patty I swear the way you do conversations always gets me so happy

“Hyung, I swear to god. I am so freaking hungry if we dont order food immedietely I’ll die,” Jake’s voice rang out as he stepped inside, followed by Sunoo, who immediately toed off his shoes.

I already love how dramatic Jake is

“I think that’s sweet,” Sunghoon said, leaning back on the armrest. “Even if it’s a little embarrassing.”

Also love Sunghoon in his natural teasing way

“You got this, babe.”

I will pass out and die Patty dont do this to me

Eventually, you picked a movie and settled deeper into the couch cushions. You sat closer now, your thighs brushing once or twice, his knee occasionally bumping yours when he shifted.

I love them so much its actually insane

“It’s just you,” he added, voice lower now. “It’s always just you.”

PATTY YOURE GOING TO KILL ME I SWEAR TO GOD

You closed the book gently and set it aside, leaned over just enough to catch his attention, and when he looked up, eyes wide and questioning, you kissed him.

UEIBAFBARBGIAUA YES OMG YAY

You grinned, pulling him back in by the collar of his tank top. “Hypothetically, I think you should shut up and kiss me again.”

I really would pass out

Patty, Im so sorry for reading this so late and Im so happy i finally did oh my god. This was so darn sweet Im actually not okay. I really would always love your work I swear <3 I genuinely loved every minute of this and the progression of it just made me so happy :)

LOVESONG(demo).wav

⭑.ᐟ an office romance featuring marketing girly Y/N and producer Heeseung Who would’ve thought that stumbling into room 3B-47 crying your eyes out would lead to the best thing that ever happened to you in that cursed HYBE building.

⋆｡◛ ⊹ ⤳ requested ･:*:･｡☆

ᝰ genre. fluff!!!! just pure fluff .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warning. stress at work, drinking, sexual harassment at work? .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ word count. 19.6k .ᐟ₊ ⊹

The door to your office was closed, which was unusual. Your smile faltered a bit as you carefully nudged the door open with your elbow. The pastel cake box in your hands wobbled slightly as you moved inside. Today was the first day of the campaign for Enhypen’s newest comeback, and you had decided to bake a cake to celebrate your team's hard work finally paying off, knowing full well that you were already planning the next comeback.

Working at HYBE meant you were always working. It felt like the company moved in dog years, every week sprinting at the speed of a month.

Idols had it worse. Practicing, performing, filming, traveling, interacting with fans, and repeating it all again with barely a break. You didn’t understand how they did it. At least you went home. You could sleep. Cook. Watch trashy dramas and feel your brain melt in peace. With Enhypen having comeback after comeback after comeback, the team behind them was also working all the time. Designing concepts, thinking about inclusions and albums, getting all of that produced, and campaigns published. But today, you finally had the first publication of their concept trailer, which in your opinion should be celebrated.

The air in the office was already stuffy. It was almost silent. The fluorescents buzzed faintly overhead, but otherwise… nothing. No chatter, no gossiping. Just the frantic click-click-click of keyboard abuse and one person swearing under their breath near the copy machine. Your smile died right there on the threshold.

As you marched past your favourite colleague and the intern, no one turned around, not the usual “good morning”, no "oh, you brought cake." You carefully set down your box and opened the lid slightly to check if the meringue cream and the sprinkles survived your subway trip to the office. The sugary scent of the cream spilled out into the quiet.

The second you turned back around to announce to the office that you brought cake and everyone could take a piece, your phone vibrated.

[8:04 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, are you in the office? If yes, room RB_12. Asap.

You barely had time to pull your sleeves down and smooth your dress before you were hustling down the hallway, your heels thudding softly on the carpet. The door to RB_12 was cracked open, and even from the corridor, you could hear your manager’s voice. He sounded furious. Your manager was usually a very chill person. He was very pleasant to work with, so hearing him raise his voice was quite rare. And if he did, something went really wrong.

“We can’t just change everything now, because they decided to plagiarize us?!” You slipped inside quietly. Your manager stood at the head of the table, tense and indeed furious. Seated across from him was Mr. Kim from Legal. “I’m not saying change everything,” Mr. Kim replied with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Just enough so it doesn’t look too similar. That can't be too hard, Mr. Park.” Mr. Kim was short and stout with greasy hair and round glasses that constantly slid down his nose. You had had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Kim one time too often, and every time, you left feeling like you needed to shower. He was known for saying the most disgusting things to any woman around, constantly sexualizing them whenever he opened his mouth. You did really liked your job, so you never said anything back. “We didn’t copy anything. They published the video on Friday. We were already done on Friday!” your manager almost shouted. “Mr. Park, that is a problem you will have to work on. Management wants us to push the release two weeks, so adjust the timeline accordingly. Think of a valid reason why we have to push the release back, and see if you change enough to make it different.” The lawyer stood up, straightened his suit, and looked at you. The moment his eyes did find you, they flicked up from your calves to your chest with a slowness that made your skin crawl. His face shifted into what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Always such a pleasure. That dress looks incredible on you. Quite the distraction for a Monday morning.” You suppressed a shudder and forced a tight, practiced smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.” He made his way towards the door, and you stepped out of the way, praying he wouldn’t find a reason to touch you. His arm brushed too close to your waist as he passed. “Have a nice day, Mr. Park. Miss Y/L/N,” he called lightly, pausing by the door to flash you one last look, far too amused with himself. “Let’s do lunch sometime. I have suggestions for next quarter’s visuals.” You nodded once and closed the door behind him, the second you could. Your manager sat down heavily, scrubbing both hands over his face.

“They want us to change it,” he muttered. You blinked, trying to shift your focus. “Change what?” “The comeback.” His voice was flat now, tired. “Starboiz published their MV on Friday. Same font direction. Same color palette. Even similar choreography shots. Legal’s worried someone will say we copied. So they decided to delay the release, and we are supposed to redesign everything.” You felt your stomach sink. “The entire promo rollout?” “The entire thing,” he confirmed, eyes dark with exhaustion. “I’m going to talk to upper management about next steps. In the meantime, I need you to map out what we’ll have to shift. New deadlines. Meetings to reschedule. Reassignments. We’ll need a rough plan of the new look before the end of the week, and it should be done within the next two weeks.”

You made your way into your office again. Walking much slower this time, while you were drafting the first emails for meeting invites.

The office was still silent, and the air felt tense. The box of cake sat forgotten near the window, untouched. The meringue had started to collapse in the warmth. You watched it for a second, its shape sinking, before you steeled yourself and opened your laptop.

You cleared your throat. “Can I get everyone’s attention?”

You thought for a second how to tell everyone that they would have to essentially redo months of work within two weeks, and decided not to sugarcoat it.

“As you all probably noticed, Legal came down this morning,” you started, your voice low but steady. “There are… concerns about the similarities between our rollout and Starboiz’s new video. It wasn’t a direct accusation, but…”

You stopped for a second, taking a deep breath.

“…we’re pulling the current campaign. Management wants a full revision. The comeback date will be pushed, but not by much, only around two weeks. We need to rework the visual concept, reprint all materials, and update the promotional assets. Everything we had ready… it won’t go live.”

Someone cursed under their breath.

You continued. “I know this sucks. I know you put in so much work, and it was good. It is good. This isn’t because we failed. It’s politics and timing and bad luck.”

“Do we have to redo the teaser edits?” someone asked, voice brittle.

“Yes.”

“And the inclusion set designs?”

“Still being discussed,” you answered, “but yes, most likely.”

After answering every question that came up and running over a short task plan, you settled back down into your chair with a huff.

Jungwoo walked past you on the way to refill his mug and muttered low, “We kinda figured. Legal showed up first thing this morning and killed the entire vibe.”

You nodded slowly. “You think the manager already knew?”

“Probably. I did think there were many similarities when I watched the video on Friday as well, so he probably knew, yeah.” Jungwoo gave a sad smile. “Thanks for bringing cake. It looks very yummy.”

You smiled back weakly. “Thanks.”

You pulled up Starboiz’s new music video and watched it frame by frame. You listed every overlap. Font choice. Filter tone. Light leaks in the first chorus. A goddamn pink balloon in the dance break that looked exactly like one of your teaser shots.

You dissected it like a surgeon, fingers flying across the keyboard, notes, deadlines, names of designers, editors, and choreo consultants. You cross-referenced what needed to change with who had bandwidth to do it, calculating the most damage-limiting way to blow it all up.

And as the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest only grew.

You weren’t upset for yourself, not really. You were used to cleaning up. Used to picking up when people higher up made decisions and dropped the pieces on your desk like puzzle shards.

Almost ten hours later, you were still in that stupid dress.

It clung to your skin in all the wrong places, too tight at the waist, too breezy at the shoulders. You felt cold. Hungry. Tired in your bones.

The clock on your screen reads 21:56.

You shut the lid of your laptop with a resigned sigh. Your back ached, and your thighs prickled with pins and needles from sitting too long. Most of the team had left already, voices trailing off one by one as they said soft goodbyes.

The building was never dark, not even in the middle of the night, but it was dead silent in the hallway.

You padded down toward the elevators, your heels clicking dully against the tile. You hit the elevator button with the side of your fist. And then you heard it.

“Miss Y/L/N.”

The voice slithered in before the man did.

You looked up and felt your stomach tighten like a fist.

Mr. Kim.

You forced a polite, brittle smile. “Evening, Mr. Kim.”

“Working late?” he asked, stepping into the elevator with you.

“Yes,” you replied in a clipped but still polite tone, hoping he'd get the message.

You stared at the elevator doors. Just two more floors.

But he was apparently not done yet.

“Though I suppose,” he chuckled, eyes dragging down your body like grease, “if you dress like that, you probably don’t mind the attention.”

It was said with a grin, as if it were charming. You said nothing in response.

The doors opened on the fifth floor, and another person stepped in. You nodded a quick “Good evening, Sir,” and stepped out of the elevator.

He winked, “Good night, Miss Y/L/N.”

The second the doors closed behind you, you squeezed your eyes close to prevent your tears from falling. Your legs started moving on autopilot toward the far wing, past the B-studios and the practice rooms.

You were praying that room 3B-47, one of the vocal booths, was not being used right now. The air conditioning was broken, and it always ran too warm in the room, so the trainees and producers usually weren’t using this room during the summer months. You knew because you’d used it before to escape your office when everything got too loud.

You reached the room with trembling fingers. You just needed five minutes. Five minutes in the quiet. Five minutes to fall apart and then pull yourself back together.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, ready to finally breathe, and froze.

A guy was sitting at the desk in front of the mixing board, headphones around his neck and a can of soda next to him. He turned when he heard the door and froze, just as startled as you were.

“Oh,” he said softly.

You blinked at him, and despite not being alone, you felt the first few tears spill out of the edges of your eyes, and your lip wobbled.

For one long, mortifying second, you just stood there, half-in, half-out of the room, tears streaking down your cheeks, chest tightening in sheer panic.

“…Hi,” you croaked, your voice barely working. And then, because what else could you possibly do?, you laughed. A broken, awkward little sound that came out more like a hiccup. “Sorry. This room is usually empty.”

His eyes were wide with concern. “It usually is.”

You wiped your face quickly with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to salvage whatever dignity you had left. “I didn’t mean to – I can just – I’ll leave.”

You started to backpedal, face burning now on top of everything else.

But he stood up, alarmed. “No – wait, are you okay?”

You gave another watery laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admitted. Then immediately cringed. Why did you say that? To a stranger??

He stepped around the desk but didn’t come too close. His voice was gentle. “You, uh… do you want a tissue or something?”

You blinked again, and this time a fresh tear slipped out. You nodded helplessly.

He turned back to his backpack, rummaged, and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of tissues. “Here.”

You took one, murmuring a hoarse, “Thanks.”

You wiped your eyes and cheeks, sniffling. “This must be so weird.”

He cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually get cried at by strangers in my break room.”

You huffed a soft, wet laugh. “Break room?”

“Kind of. I use this place during lunch sometimes. One of the speakers buzzes, so no one really books it anymore.”

You nodded, still dabbing at your eyes. “Oh. I didn’t know that. I thought no one came in here because of the AC.”

He watched you carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he should say more or just let you sit.

“I’m Heeseung,” he said finally, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

Despite yourself, you smiled.

“I’m Y/N,” you said. “I swear I don’t usually cry on strangers.”

Heeseung smiled gently. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse introductions.”

You laughed again, or tried to, but your throat was still tight, and the sound came out small.

There was a beat of silence. You dabbed at your face with the tissue, eyes darting to the dusty corner of the booth, embarrassed all over again when you noticed the black streaks of mascara on it.

“Today was supposed to be a good day,” you said, and sniffled a bit.

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, staring down at the balled-up tissue in your hands. “I baked a cake this morning. With homemade meringue cream, sprinkles, sponge layers, the whole thing. I thought we’d finally get a little breather. One project done, celebrate a bit, move on to the next.”

You laughed, but it cracked partway out of your chest.

“And then legal comes in and suddenly everything we’ve worked on for the past three months is ruined. A different group released something similar, and now it looks like we copied them, which we didn’t, but my manager got chewed out, and now we have to redo all of it. Like, start from scratch. In a week.” You looked up, eyes tired. “Have you ever tried to rearrange three months of work for a seven-member idol group and their entire comeback rollout in a week?”

Heeseung looked stunned. “No. God, no.”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah. Everyone’s stressed, my team’s exhausted, I’m exhausted, and then Mr. Kim from legal–” Your face twisted at the name, voice going sharper. “–tells me my dress is ‘lovely’ while staring directly at my boobs in the elevator. And I couldn’t even yell at him because of power imbalance and corporate hierarchy and all that fun stuff.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.

“And now I’m crying in a broken practice booth in front of someone I’ve never met.”, you sniffled again. “I promise I’m not usually like this.”

There was a small pause. Heeseung took a small step closer.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”

You blinked up at him.

“Sounds like you deserve to punch someone, who isn`t me, in the face.” He gave you a soft, lopsided smile.

You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob, and dropped your shoulders.

Heeseung looked toward the little stool near the desk. “Want to sit for a bit? I mean, unless you want to go home. I won’t judge.”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. You really didn’t feel like walking through the whole building while crying like a baby. “Yeah… I’ll sit.”

You sat down with a quiet sigh, letting your shoulders sag, the tissue still clenched loosely in your hand. The booth was warm, slightly stuffy from the broken AC.

Heeseung leaned against the edge of the desk. He was quiet for a moment, studying you like he wasn’t sure if he should ask something. You beat him to it.

“What about you?” you asked, voice still hoarse from crying. “What’re you doing here at ten p.m.? Do you always let people cry in your booth?”

His mouth tugged into a surprised smile. “Maybe. I guess that depends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “On?”

“If you’re someone who’ll report me for sneaking in to work on personal projects.”

You blinked. “Wait. You’re not even supposed to be here?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “No, no. I work here. I’m not trespassing, I promise.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Doing what? Are you… like, a trainee?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

You waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “I mean. You're good-looking enough. You do look like you had a few HYBE-funded plastic surgeries.”

He choked on a laugh, genuinely startled. “HYBE funded plastic surgeries?”

You shrugged, cheeks warming despite yourself. “Dude, your nose is so pretty. Maybe I’m also just going crazy. I’ve been crying for twenty minutes. Just take the compliment.”

He grinned, tilting his head. “I used to be a trainee, actually. Years ago. But no, I’m a vocal instructor now. Well, technically… assistant instructor. I help run some of the trainee vocal sessions, and I do warm-ups with some of the newer groups before recordings and help with the recordings. ”

You blinked. “Oh. So you work with the idols?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to get into producing, though. That’s why I am in here, just trying out some stuff. This is one of the only rooms where no one bugs you.”

You tilted your head. “Doesn’t it bother you? The AC being broken?”

“Honestly?” He glanced around. “Not really. If I am really locked in, i don’t even notice how warm it gets. I haven’t been in here during the summer, tho.”

You leaned back against the wall, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think I get that.”

Another moment of quiet settled between you. This time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.

“I really didn’t want to cry in a toilet again.”, you said after a while.

He chuckled. “I’m honored to be chosen over one of the toilets here.”

You smiled faintly in response.

It was almost nine thirty p.m. when you slipped into the booth again a day later.

Your bag was heavy, overstuffed with a tumbler for water and one for coffee, sticky tabs, two notebooks, a Tupperware box with the rest of your lunch, and a laptop that had maybe one percent battery left. Your shoulders ached from stress, and your phone was still buzzing.

The small studio was dimly lit, with only one lamp in the corner casting a warm pool of light. The faint scent of instant ramen hung in the air, and Heeseung sat by the mixing desk, hunched forward slightly, headphones covering his ears.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was lost in whatever he was working on, eyes on the screen, a pen tapping slowly against his thigh in rhythm with something you couldn’t hear.

You paused, the door quietly clicking shut behind you. “Hey,” you said softly, barely louder than a whisper.

He startled slightly, looked up, and then relaxed when he saw you.

His lips curved into a small smile. “Hey. Back again?”

You nodded, already pulling your things out of your bag. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I needed somewhere that is not my office to finish up some things.”

He pulled one side of his headphones off his ear. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. You set your laptop down, pulled out your folder, and exhaled like it physically hurt. “I have to redo everything,” you murmured. “And I don’t even know where to start. I mean. I do. We already did a lot today and yesterday, but I still feel kinda lost. It’s so much work.”

He just nodded slowly and gestured to the table beside him.

“Sit. Do your thing. I’ll be quiet.”

You offered him a tired, grateful smile and slid into the chair, spreading out your chaos across the desk.

For a while, you both worked in parallel silence. Heeseung occasionally nodded his head to the beat in his headphones and, once in a while, scribbled down something in a well-loved notebook. You muttered under your breath, highlighted something in angry pink, and crossed it out again.

At some point, he slid a half-eaten protein bar toward you.

You stared at it, then glanced at him.

“Do I look that miserable?”

He grinned, eyes still on his screen. “Just hungry. Miserable was yesterday.”

You let out a laugh that surprised even you.

And then, quietly, you returned to your mess of unfinished tasks, and he returned to his music.

The silence stretched comfortably for a while. You had managed to sort the campaign into vaguely manageable buckets, and your brain was finally slowing down enough to process other things.

Like the quiet hum of bass through Heeseung’s headphones.

Or how he tapped out beats on the desk.

Or the soft smile he had when something on his screen clicked into place.

You glanced over, curious.

“What are you working on?” you asked, voice soft. “Is it… for work, or just something you’re playing with?”

He looked up and pushed his headphones down around his neck. “A bit of both, I guess. It’s something I’ve been producing for a while. A side project.”

You tilted your head, still watching him. “Do you produce for the company? Not just teach vocals?”

He blinked, seemingly a little surprised at the question. “Yeah. I mean, officially, I’m with the vocal team, mostly coaching and arranging. But I co-produce tracks when I can. Some of the groups I work with let me sneak stuff in.”

You smiled, intrigued now. “Anything I might know?”

He gave a small, sheepish laugh. “I mean… probably.”

“Oh?” You leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

He hesitated, then reached for his phone and scrolled through something. After a moment, he turned the screen toward you. A familiar Spotify page, listing tracks from Enhypen’s last two albums.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You helped produce these?”

He nodded. “Yeah. ‘Bite Me,’ ‘One in a Million,’ and a couple of B-sides. Some vocal arrangements, too.”

You stared at him, genuinely stunned. “I was so obnoxiously annoying about ‘Bite me’ last year.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well. That’s a compliment, right?”

You nodded, still reeling. “You’re telling me I’ve been slowly dying under three separate campaign deadlines for Enhypen… and the guy whom I met in a random recording booth while crying my eyes out wrote my favorite songs?”

He grinned, looking down. “I didn’t know you were on their team.”

“I didn’t know you were a genius,” you shot back, smiling now.

He laughed, warm and genuine, and your stomach flipped slightly.

You looked back down at your notes, flustered. “Okay, well. No pressure. I’m just rebuilding your next concept rollout from scratch.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Then I guess I should start sneaking you some coffee, because what you gave us for the new changes is hard to do in such a short time frame.”

You barked out a laugh. “Tell me about it, Heeseung, tell me about it.”

The subway platform smelled faintly of coffee and the sweet smell of the forsythias that were blooming all over Seoul at the moment.

You stood half-asleep in Line 2, wrapped in a cardigan you’d pulled off the back of your chair in a daze. Five hours of sleep, a slice of leftover toast, and a double-shot latte from Megacoffee were all that kept you vertical.

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped out, the early morning crowd moving with a surprising speed, making you adjust your footsteps to keep up with the crowd.

While you were waiting to check out your t-money cards, you spotted a familiar figure. Heeseung was wearing a hoodie half-zipped and had a big bag slung over his left shoulder. He looked as exhausted as you felt. Considering you left at almost 11 pm and he said he would stay a bit longer, and it was 7:06 am right now, you weren’t surprised.

“Heeseung!” you said when you were close enough to where he was standing in the crowd.

He blinked once when he saw you, like it took a moment for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing.

You gave a little wave. “Morning.”

He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, falling into step beside you as you both headed toward the exit of the subway station. “Good morning, Y/N.”

“You look like you slept worse than I,” you said, offering him a sideways glance.

He rubbed his face. “I have a meeting slot at seven thirty. Am. Seven thirty a.m.”

You grimaced. “That’s illegal. Call HR.”

He snorted. “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”

You shuffled across the final crosswalk toward the HYBE building, warm summer wind tussling the yellow flowers slightly.

“It’s so stupid pretty today,” you mumbled.

Heeseung nodded. “It does look really pretty.”

You chuckled. “I love this season. In between summer and spring.”

“I like the quiet in the morning,” he said. “Before the heat kicks in. Or the fans start screaming in front of the building.”

And right on cue, as you turned the corner toward the entrance, you both slowed, spotting the small cluster of fans already hovering by the doors, phones out, whispering, some filming.

You shared a glance, silently commiserating.

“Looks like someone interesting walked by,” Heeseung muttered.

You gave them a wide berth, eyes down. “I’ll never understand how they do this every day.”

“Neither do some of the idols,” he said under his breath.

Once inside the cool glass doors, you both paused in the lobby.

Heeseung gave you a small nod. “Good luck with your soul-crushing deadlines.”

You smiled tiredly. “You too. Have fun with your 7 a.m. meeting.”

That made him chuckle as he stepped into the elevator, lifting a hand in lazy farewell.

You stood there a moment longer, watching the doors close before you moved to your part of the building.

You and Jungwon were staring at your screens for about two hours now, picking and matching fonts together, when he groaned and let his head fall back against his chair.

“No offense,” he said, pointing at the monitor like it had personally wronged him, “but if I see one more handwritten brush font today, I’m going to start biting people.”

You hummed sympathetically. “We just need something clean. And no serifs. Nothing like the old one but kind of like the old one.”

He huffed. “Great, so… Helvetica?”

You snorted, adjusting the saturation levels on a font. The new concept was sleek, a little icy, almost sterile. It was going to be gorgeous. Sometimes, having to do something completely from scratch again results in perfection. But it also meant your eyeballs were bleeding from staring at high-gloss gradients for six hours straight.

Your screen pinged with a message.

[15:16] Lee Heeseung Hi Y/N, could you please come to Room 3C (production suite) when available? We had a couple of questions about the new concept visuals.

You blinked.

Then turned to Jungwon. “Did we miss a sync-up with A&R?”

Jungwon frowned, reading over your shoulder. “I thought the notes weren’t even finalized yet.”

You shrugged and started typing back.

[15:18] Y/N L/N Hi Heeseung, thank you for reaching out. Is this a time-sensitive matter, or would it be possible to align closer to noon? Currently finalizing teaser assets.

His reply came back thirty seconds later.

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You blinked at it.

Then looked at Jungwon, who was sipping from his oversized iced Americano.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s… weirdly formal.”

“Right?” you said, clicking Accept with a sigh.

Jungwon squinted at the meeting invite, then at you. “Who’s Heeseung again?”

You blinked. “He works in A&R. He’s one of the vocal producers on the current cycle. Well, technically, he’s helping with the changes to the title track. They’re rerecording with some of the members today? Wait, let me pull up his profile picture.”

“Oh,” Jungwon said, sitting back, looking at the picture. “That guy. I think I’ve seen him around the elevators. He is quite tall, right?”

You nodded and turned back to your screen. “Yeah. Anyway, A&R and the members were already briefed on the concept changes?”

“Maybe they hate the new font,” he offered dryly.

You let out a quiet laugh, but the thought itched in the back of your mind. Heeseung didn’t seem like the type to waste time. And a meeting this formal? For a few design clarifications, while he works in sound design?

You checked the time.

15:24.

You stood up, smoothing down your skirt.

“Text me if you hear screaming,” you muttered, grabbing your laptop and notebook.

Jungwon gave a dramatic salute. “Godspeed.”

You gave him a weak smile, headed toward the elevators.

The production hallway was dimmer than the main office floors. You’ve never really been here. This part of the building wasn’t really for administrative employees, so you had to search for the room for a couple of minutes.

When you finally found the room, you paused in front of it, double-checking the invite on your phone:

[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C] Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction From: Heeseung, Lee

You inhaled slowly, knocked, and slowly opened the door.

And then… your brain short-circuited.

There, in front of you, standing right there in the recording booth, were Jay and Jake. Jay and Jake from ENHYPEN.

Jake, who was standing behind the glass panel wearing headphones, noticed you the fastes, grinning at you. “Hi! You must be Y/N?”

“Uh,” you said, eyes flicking between him and Jay, who was sitting on a sofa behind Heeseung, outside the recording booth. “I–Hi.”

Your voice cracked.

Cool. Really cool. You didn’t even know if Jake could hear you.

Jay smiled and stood up, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

You took it numbly. “I… know. I mean– Yes. Same. I mean… you.”

Heeseung was sitting in a chair behind the producer’s desk, a few meters behind them, smiling smugly.

“Oh,” he said, as if this were no big deal. “Y/N, you’re here. Come in.”

You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. What was happening?

Heeseung gestured lazily. “Uh– this is Jake. Jay.”

You may have stopped breathing. You may have also forgotten how to stand.

“What… what is happening?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stepped just inside.

Jay chuckled. “We wanted a bit of outside perspective on the new version. Heeseung said you would be able to give lots of insights into the new concept after the changes.”

You turned your whole head toward Heeseung, expression somewhere between murderous disbelief and you absolute lunatic. He had the gall to smile at you. Teeth and all.

“She’s a genius with designs,” he explained to the guys, tapping at his tablet. “So she should definitely know if the vibe fits. You should have seen her post-it wall, she noted down everything so meticulously, dude.”

You opened your mouth to protest and defend your Post-it wall in the booth.

“That’s fantastic! We are almost done, Jake and I are going to record a few extra lines, and maybe you could listen to the track to give some feedback?” Jay said, smiling softly. You were talking to Jay Park. What was happening?

“I–um–I can try?”, you said, tilting your head a bit, and Jay just laughed in response, nodded, and entered the booth.

Which meant it was just you and Heeseung now.

You turned on him, whispering fiercely: “Heeseung. What. The. Hell.”

He raised a brow, unfazed. “What?”

“What do you mean what?! What am I doing here? What are they doing here?!”

“I told you we needed input.”

“You said concept adjustments. Concept. Like… design. You didn’t say ENHYPEN would be here in the flesh.”

Heeseung looked far too pleased with himself. “I thought you might like to meet them.”

Your mouth dropped open. “You–Are you–You did not just casually drop me into a room with two-fifths of ENHYPEN like it’s the most normal thing.”

He lifted his tablet innocently. “I mean. Is it a normal thing for me? I am still friends with them.”

You groaned into your hands. “Heeseung. I’m in a wrinkled shirt. I’ve had, like, one coffee. My hair is greasy, and I smudged my eyeliner.”

“You look pretty,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “You look fine. You were normal. You also were calmer than I thought you would be. I thought you would freak out more.”

You hesitated. “I didn’t freak out–”

He gave you a look.

“…Okay, I freaked out a little.”

He grinned. “But only a little.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You crossed your arms. “This is unfair.”

Heeseung walked to the soundboard, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s not. You like their music, right? Having a fan’s insight could help us tremendously.”

You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop galloping in your chest as you made your way to the chair beside him.

“Fine,” you muttered, cheeks still hot. “But if I say something dumb and they think I am cringe, you’re responsible.”

Heeseung laughed, handing you the headphones. “They won’t. I promise.”

You watched as Heeseung leaned forward, elbow propped on the soundboard, tapping out the beat with two fingers before adjusting the mic that was on the table.

“Okay,” he said into the mic, his voice calm but precise, “Jay, keep your tone tight here. Don’t overproject. I want more air, less bite. Jake, I know the ad-libs aren’t final, but throw some texture into the bridge. Go off-beat if you want, I’ll clean it up in post.”

Jay nodded, while Jake just gave a lazy thumbs-up. The music started, and both idols started singing.

You turned slowly to look at Heeseung, who was listening intently, eyes flicking from the control board to the monitor to the waveform display. Your brow furrowed deeper with every note.

“Wait,” you whispered, afraid it might interrupt them, “how do they know how to do that? He just–you just gave them, like, five words of instruction and they just…did it?”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, low and soft, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s instinct and training,” he said. “We work off reference tracks and sometimes demo vocals from overseas. Jay and Jake have good ears; they know how to adjust for tone and mood without needing a full breakdown. It’s kind of like… designing, I guess?”

You blinked. “How?”

“Well,” he said, settling back in his chair, “you don’t always tell your team, ‘make the logo 12% smaller and 4.5 degrees to the left,’ right? Sometimes you just say, ‘This doesn’t feel right.’ And they get it. Same thing here at one point, you just hear what you want to do.”

You sat back slowly, watching Jake and Jay take a sip of their waters and readjusting in the small booth. “Okay, that’s actually… cool as hell.”

Heeseung shot you a glance, smug but warm. “Glad you’re impressed.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you muttered, but the grin tugging at your mouth betrayed you.

The session continued, and slowly, your confusion melted into fascination.

Honestly, it was kind of mesmerizing. Heeseung sat beside you and gave comments, directing his friends and adjusting when necessary. He really must love producing. Somehow, seeing him here instead of in front of the mic with Jake and Jay felt wrong. You have been thinking a lot about how he told you he was a trainee. Him not debuting was weird. He was pretty and talented, and you were sure he had a lot of potential.

You didn’t realize how much time had passed until Heeseung leaned toward the mic again and said, “Let’s take five.”

The booth door opened, and the two boys stepped out, both grinning and slightly sweaty.

“You good, Y/N?” Jake asked as he passed, tossing you a water bottle he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge.

“I–yeah,” you managed, catching it. “No, I’m good. You guys are just… really talented.”

Jay gave you a warm laugh as he walked past. “Thank you so much.”

Jesus Christ, Park Jongseong was breathing the same air as you.

Heeseung stood up, stretching lightly. “Be right back, gotta tweak something in the vocal room.”

You nodded, watching as he disappeared down the hall. Being left alone with two of your favorite idols. Jesus.

Your recording booth was a lot smaller, dimly lit, and far quieter than the one you were in earlier today. After about an hour of watching the boys recording one of the B-sides, you had to leave to join a meeting. You were still in disbelief that you had met Jake and Jay today. They were so …nice, and normal. They joked around with you and asked questions about you whenever they were not singing, seemingly being interested in your measly life. Their lives were so exciting, while yours was almost boring, so you didn’t really understand why they wanted to get to know you better.

You leaned back in your chair. It had been almost a full week since the other group released their video, and the mountain of work your team had to redo was still looming. You had managed to finish about a third of it, but the rest was still open, waiting for the reshoots. And no matter how many times you tried to sit down and focus, it felt like you were just drowning in endless revisions and emails.

Frustration was simmering in your chest, and you needed a break.

You closed your laptop with a soft snap and leaned back, crossing your arms.

Heeseung, absorbed in his music, kept adjusting the sound levels on his tablet, occasionally glancing at the screen in front of him with a furrowed brow. The speakers in the booth weren’t great, but they did the job, playing the track he was working on with a slightly muffled quality.

"Can you explain what you’re working on?" you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion. Heeseung glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “Sure.” He pulled up a few sliders on his tablet and gestured for you to sit closer to the desk. “I’ve been tweaking some harmonies here and there. You wanna try playing around a bit?”

You moved closer, peering over his shoulder at the glowing screen. He let you try adjusting a few settings on the software, the knobs and dials responding to your fingers in a way that felt oddly satisfying. The sound in the booth changed, layering and shifting as you worked through the track.

After a few minutes of fiddling, you paused, a thought popping into your head. The voice that came through the speakers sounded familiar.

“Wait...” You blinked, your fingers hovering over the tablet. “Is that you?”

Heeseung, who had been watching you experiment with the sound, gave a slight nod, his smirk widening. “Yeah, that’s me. I’ve been adding in some of my vocals to fill the track out.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking rapidly, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “You... You’re singing in the song?”

Heeseung shrugged, his grin never faltering. “I mean, someone had to do it. The producers and the idols are all tied up with other things, so I thought I’d help out.”

You looked at him, wide-eyed. “That’s... amazing. I mean, I didn't expect you to... you know, sing. Like in the songs. I knew you could, like you know, you were a trainee. But-.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “I’m full of surprises.”

You laughed, but it came out a little breathless, more from the shock than anything else. "I— Wow. You really know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?"

His grin widened. “It’s all part of the job.”

You shook your head with a small chuckle.

You sat in silence for a few beats, listening to the faint loop of the track playing through the speakers. Then, quietly, you glanced over at him again.

“You told me you were a trainee, right?”

Heeseung didn’t look up at first, just nodded once, his eyes still on the screen. “Yeah.”

You hesitated, then asked, softer this time, “Why didn’t you debut?”

That made him pause. His fingers stilled on the tablet. For a moment, he looked like he might brush it off with one of his usual casual shrugs, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back a little in his chair, letting out a slow breath.

“I trained for almost three years,” he said finally. “Made it pretty far in the process. Thought I was gonna be part of the debut team. We were already learning choreo, recording demos... I was so close.”

You watched him carefully, the change in his tone impossible to miss. It wasn’t bitterness exactly, more like quiet disappointment.

“But they cut me before the final lineup,” he continued. “Said it was a tight call, but that I didn’t quite fit the concept. One day I was in the practice room with the guys, next day I was… out.”

Your chest tightened. “That’s–” You stopped, unsure what words would even help. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”

He nodded slightly, but didn’t look at you. “I mean, it’s just how it goes. That’s the industry, right? You always know it might happen. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell when it does.”

You didn’t say anything, letting him have the silence.

After a moment, he glanced at you and added, quieter, “I didn’t want to just hang around, waiting for a maybe. So I left. Enrolled in uni. Got into A&R later. I still wanted to be around the music. Just… not in front of the camera.”

You swallowed, the lump in your throat catching you off guard. “For what it’s worth, you’re good at what you do.”

He gave a small smile. “Thanks. Took me a while to believe that again.”

You sat back again, letting the track loop one more time.

“You really can sing,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Like… really.”

Heeseung gave you a lopsided smile, like he appreciated it but didn’t quite know how to take the compliment. “Thanks.”

You tilted your head, watching him fiddle with the EQ levels. “Who did you train with? Back then?”

He glanced over, like the question surprised him. “Uh… I started around the same time as the TXT guys, actually. We were all in the same batch for a while.”

“Seriously?” Your eyes widened.

He nodded. “Yeah. I am still close with Beomguy. We tend to play lol together if he does get the time to do so.“ He chuckled a little, a mix of fondness and something more wistful. “Later, I trained with Jay and Sunghoon too, for a bit. But I didn’t go to I-LAND with them.”

You frowned slightly. “Why not?”

Heeseung paused, then shrugged lightly. “I’d just gotten into Yonsei. I figured if I wasn’t debuting with that team, I should at least do something with all the time I’d spent studying on the side. It felt like a sign or whatever.”

You nodded, trying to picture a younger version of him, in practice rooms, on stages, performing.. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you did go?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes. Yeah. But I also don’t know if I’d still love music the way I do now if I’d pushed through it back then.” His eyes flicked to yours. “Don’t get me wrong. I respect the hell out of the idols who make it. But… I think I wanted music more than I wanted the spotlight.”

You didn’t know how to respond, so you just reached out for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. Being so close but still so far away from achieving your dreams while your friends did must be horrible. Your heart was breaking for Heeseung.

He didn’t look up when he asked, “So how’d you end up in marketing?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Marketing?”

He glanced at you, then back at the screen. “Yeah. HYBE. This whole world.”

You leaned back in your chair, letting your gaze drift across the scattered post-its and empty coffee cups. “Honestly?” You paused, debating how much to share. “I wanted to be a baker.”

Heeseung’s fingers stilled over the controls. “A baker?”

“Mm-hmm.” You smiled a little. “Like, own-a-little-café-and-make-pretty-cakes kind of baker. I used to bake all the time. Still do, sometimes, birthdays, project launches, stress-induced insomnia...”

“That explains the cake last week.”

You nodded. “Guilty.”

“So… what happened?”

“My parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea,” you said, your smile flattening a bit. “Not a real job, too unstable, that whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I still love it. But I also liked graphic design. I spent way too much time messing around in Photoshop in high school, and that seemed like a more reasonable job. Something in graphic design.”

Heeseung hummed softly.

“Soongsil had a program that combined marketing and design,” you continued. “I applied on a whim. Somehow got in. And now I’m here. At HYBE. Running on five hours of sleep and three iced Americanos a day.”

He chuckled. “Living the dream.”

“Right?” you muttered, smiling despite yourself. “I still haven’t even met half the artists I used to lose my mind over in high school.”

He shot you a look. “You met me.”

You snorted. “I did. But you’re technically not famous. No offense.”

“Wow.”

You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

Heeseung grinned, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you want to?”

You blinked. “Want to what?”

“Meet more of them. The guys. Or, I don’t know, come with us sometime. When we go out to eat or something.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He gave a half-shrug. “Obviously, you’d have to sign NDAs, and it wouldn’t be anything wild. But… Jay and Jake said you were cool to hang with.”

You just stared at him.

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re joking.”

He shook his head, completely serious. “Not really. I can ask.”

You blinked once. Twice. “I mean. Yeah. Yes? I’d love that? But are you sure?”

“Absolutely.“

Monday, you were the first one in the booth.

The room was still dim and cold when you flicked on the overhead lights. You set your bag down with a soft thud, pulled your laptop from its sleeve, and stared at the wall you’d unofficially claimed for the past week.

Post-its in every color, screenshots printed out and pinned up, concept sketches taped beside side-by-side comparisons of the old and new rollout plans. The teaser stills were up now, too, and one corner held an evolving palette reference that had been mercilessly fine-tuned since Saturday.

Honestly, it looked like the inside of your brain.

Jungwon had helped you most of the weekend, poring over typefaces and tweaking spacing pixel by pixel while eating almost half of the batch of croissants you made for the team as a cheer-up on his own. Neither of you had gotten much sleep, but you were proud of what had come together.

Now it was Monday, and the final design sprint was on.

You pulled out your laptop and your notebook and then and then, with a flick of hesitation, took a small Tupperware box containing two croissants, a strawberry, and one witch pistachio creme and placed it right in front of the screens on the mixing table.

You sat back on the sofa and stared at your screen, continuing to adjust the promo banner’s line weight.

You heard the door open ten minutes later.

Heeseung walked in, yawning audibly, one hand ruffling through his hair as he padded across the room. He didn’t notice you at first and made a beeline for his chair, eyes fixed on the floor.

Then he stopped short.

You watched him inspect the box.

“…What the hell?”

You set down your stylus, trying not to smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lee.”

He jumped slightly, then squinted at you. “Did you bring this for me?”

You blinked innocently. “Bring what?”

He picked up the box. “This says my name on it. In your very neat handwriting.”

You shrugged, going back to your laptop. “Figured you deserved something sweet. You’ve been working nonstop too.”

He looked at you back at the croissant and back at you, then opened the lid, picked out the strawberry one, and took a bite. He moaned. Actually moaned.

You glanced over, cheeks growing warm. “Is it okay?”

“You made this?” he said through a mouthful. “Like. You made this?”

“Mhm.”

He took another bite and threw his head back, making another pleased sound.

“Okay,” he said after swallowing, “I want ten more.”

You laughed. “You’ll have to get in line. Jungwon already stole four yesterday. He ate almost all the matcha ones, I almost had to fight him to save you one.”

Heeseung set the box down with care. “Y/N. I would quit my job and follow you to a bakery handing out these things all day long if that means I could eat one once a day.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You would work the counter?”

He leaned against the edge of the table, grinning. “Only if I get paid in croissants.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m a visionary,” he said, still chewing. “And this visionary says we’re keeping you busy and stressed if you bake like this on no sleep.”

You smirked and turned back to your screen. “Then get me coffee and I won’t sleep today.”

He saluted dramatically. “On it.”

By 8 PM, the booth had gone quiet again, not from lack of activity, but from pure, unfiltered exhaustion.

The once-crisp brainstorm wall now looked ragged around the edges, corners curling from the humidity. Your Tupperware sat empty beside a growing sea of coffee cups, and your cursor blinked mockingly on the fifth draft of a teaser caption. You didn’t even register that Heeseung had stopped working until you felt a gentle tug on your hair as he walked past the sofa to peer into your laptop.

“Okay,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s enough. Hands off.”

You blinked, disoriented. “Wait, just let me–”

“Nope.” He was already reaching across to shut your laptop lid. “You’re two eye twitches away from collapsing. I’m not risking a death on my watch.”

You groaned, slumping back in your chair. “I still have so much to–”

“You’ll be useless if you drop dead tonight. Sleep is part of productivity, Y/N.”

“Is that a direct quote from Bang PD?”

“Me,” he said smugly, gathering his things. “Bang PD wishes he were this wise.”

You finally caved and packed up your bag, groaning softly as you stretched. Your limbs felt like jelly. “God. I might fall asleep standing.”

“Then let’s get you on a subway before that happens.”

The subway hummed beneath your feet, rocking gently as the car pulled into your station. You and Heeseung stood side by side, swaying slightly.

“This is my stop,” you mumbled, turning towards the door.

“Oh really?” he blinked. “You live here?”

“Yeah. Near that 24-hour tteokbokki place,” you said, turning to him. “Why?”

He smiled, a bit stunned. “I’m like five minutes from there.”

“What?”, you asked, your eyebrows scrunching together.

“We've probably missed each other by seconds.”, he said and walked towards the door, waiting for you to follow, before continuing. “I go to that tteokbokki place at least twice a week.”

“Oh really?” you shook your head, smiling.

“I swear they make a lot of profit thanks to me.”

“So where is your apartment?”, you asked, tapping your T-money card against the sensor to open the gate for you to walk out.

“Across from that tiny laundromat with the blue sign just down the street,” he said, as the two of you made your way upstairs and outside the subway station.

You were greeted by pouring rain. “Oh. That’s really close to me, then.”

You used one of your hands as a makeshift umbrella, pressing your workbag closer to you.

“Do you not have an umbrella?” Heeseung asked, unfolding his and stepping closer so you were hurdled under his together.

“No. I forgot mine at home this morning”, you mumble, adjusting your bag again so it was protected from the rain.

“I’ll walk you home then”, Heeseung said and nodded.

You blinked. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he said, simply.

You both fell into step, feet dragging just slightly on the quiet sidewalk. You walked in comfortable silence for a block or two, the street dim and hushed.

And then, just before your building came into view, you slowed slightly and turned toward him.

“Well,” you said, offering a small smile, “this is me.”

Heeseung nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Right.”

You opened your mouth to say goodbye when he suddenly spoke again, fast.

“Wait–uh, have you eaten?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He shifted, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. “Dinner,” he clarified, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to yours. “I mean. Did you eat anything yet?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not really. Why?”

You stared at him for a second, thrown off.

“You… want to make me ramen?”

“I mean, you don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly, suddenly sounding adorably embarrassed. “But I promise they are going to be the best instant ramen you have ever eaten.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound light and disbelieving. “Are you actually trying to seduce me with ramen?”

Heeseung’s ears turned pink. “Only a little?”

You bit back your grin. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

You nodded. “Let’s see if your ramen lives up to the hype, Lee.”

He grinned, eyes lighting up like a kid getting away with something. “You won’t regret this.”

You unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open with the other, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes with a sigh.

He crouched to undo his own laces, then straightened, glancing around the small space. “You weren’t kidding. We really do live close.”

“Five-minute radius,” you said, dropping your bag onto your sofa. “Honestly, I’ve never run into you before. Weird.”

He stepped further in, still looking around. “Nice place.”

You let out a small, awkward laugh. “It’s a bit of a mess. I didn’t think I’d get any guests today.”

He turned toward you, one brow raised. “This is a mess?”

You looked around—jacket half-draped over a chair, two mugs in the sink, and a few design books scattered on the desk.

“Kind of,” you said, self-conscious.

“No,” Heeseung said gently. “You should see my apartment. Yours looks like an Airbnb listing.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you realized he wasn’t teasing. His voice was soft, eyes still lingering on the wall of pictures next to the sofa with something like curiosity.

“Right,” you said, clearing your throat. “Okay. So, um, what do you need to make the ramen happen?”

Heeseung stepped into the kitchen with you, looking around like he was sizing up a mission. “Pot. Strainer. A spoon and a dream.”

You laughed quietly and opened a cabinet. “Okay, I can manage that.”

While you pulled out everything he needed, Heeseung started unpacking the convenience store bag: two packets of noodles, tofu, scallions, two eggs, and a packet of cheese he insisted on buying.

He glanced at you. “Would you like to play some music?”

You grabbed your phone and shrugged. “Sure. What do you wanna hear?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

You picked one of your most listened R&B playlists. The speakers on your counter buzzed faintly as the music kicked in, and Heeseung was already filling the pot with water, sleeves rolled up, head bowed in focus.

You found yourself watching him for a beat too long.

Then you turned to the drawer, pulled out two sets of chopsticks, and set the small two-seater table without thinking, putting everything down meticulously.

“Sorry for the lack of options with drinks,” you said eventually, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. “I didn’t really plan for dinner company.”

Heeseung looked up from where he was slicing green onions with the dullest knife you owned. “You’re kidding? This is better than most of my actual dinner plans.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are what, exactly?”

“Usually just me and a microwaved rice bowl.”

You laughed again, softer this time. “Tragic.”

He shot you a grin. “Hence the ramen upgrade.”

The kitchen filled with the scent of boiling broth and spice. It was quiet, save for the clatter of utensils and the low hum of the playlist. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him stir the noodles in smooth, practiced motions.

“This feels weird,” you said, after a moment.

He glanced at you, brows raised. “Weird?”

“Not in a bad way,” you clarified. “Just… we barely know each other. And now you’re making ramen in my kitchen.”

Heeseung looked down at the pot, then back at you. His expression shifted, something between amusement and bashfulness.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it is kind of weird.”

A beat passed.

“But not, like… bad weird,” he added.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Not bad.”

You were halfway through reviewing the teaser layouts when a message pinged your phone.

[10:12 AM] Manager-nim Y/N, please come to Meeting Room 5A. Someone’s waiting for you.

Curious and a little nervous, you made your way upstairs, dodging a couple of rushed interns in the hallway. The second you stepped into 5A, your eyes widened.

Sitting calmly at the head of the small table was Enhypen’s manager.

“Y/N-ssi,” he greeted, standing and offering a small bow. “Thanks for coming. Please, have a seat.”

Your brain scrambled. Why the hell was Enhypen’s manager here? Had something gone wrong with the concept rollout? Was there another delay?

But instead of pulling up the campaign materials, he slid a neat stack of documents across the table. A thick set of papers clipped together. On top, in bold print:

CONFIDENTIALITY & CONDUCT AGREEMENT (NDA)

You blinked. “I–sorry, what is this?”

The manager smiled faintly. “Jay mentioned he’d invited you to join the team for dinner next week.”

You stared. “Jay?”

Why would Jay invite you for dinner?

“The boys are very serious about privacy,” he said, flipping the first page over. “So we have to be as well.”

For the next fifteen minutes, you were walked through every clause of the NDA, contact policies, social media limitations, media interaction clauses, and personal conduct guidelines. You nodded numbly, half in shock, half in awe, as you signed your name at the bottom.

The second you were released, you didn’t even make it back to your desk. You opened your messages and texted Heeseung instead:

[10:52 AM] You: Where are you. [10:52 AM] Heeseung: Vocal Room 3. Just wrapped a lesson.

When you pushed open the door to Vocal Room 3, Heeseung was setting down a water bottle. “Wow, that was fast.”

“Dude–” you blurted, slapping the door shut behind you. “Are you actually insane?”

He blinked. “...No?”

“You told me I’d have to sign an NDA. You didn’t tell me it was real! I thought you were joking?!”

“I wasn’t.” He grinned, thoroughly enjoying your fluster. “Do you not wanna come?”

You launched yourself at him before you could stop yourself, arms looping around his neck. “Are you kidding?! Of course I want to come! I can’t believe– thank you, seriously–”

You hadn’t even fully realized you were hugging him until you felt that split-second freeze in his posture. His hands hovered in midair like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Oh–,” he muttered under his breath.

You pulled back immediately. “Oh my god–sorry–”

“No, no,” he said quickly, shaking off whatever momentary glitch he just had. His arms settled loosely around your waist. “I just didn’t think you’d be this excited about an NDA.”

“You literally handed me a legally binding document that says Enhypen wants to hang out with me.”

He snorted. “Technically, it just says they won’t sue you if you talk about anything that might happen or will be said.”

You smacked his arm lightly.

He grinned. “We’re going for Italian on Thursday.”

You blinked. “Thursday? Crap–I have the rollout presentation Friday morning.”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Okay… so come over instead.”

“…What?”

“I’ll host. My place. We’ll do pizza or pasta or whatever. Super chill. I’ll tell the guys.”

You stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Absolutely.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip a little. You tried to pretend your ears weren’t burning as you nodded slowly.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a bit higher than intended. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“You’d better,” he shrugged. “If not, you’re getting uninvited.”

You laughed under your breath as you followed him out into the hallway, heart thudding somewhere between this is so surreal and how is he so nonchalant about this.

He laughed softly, arms coming up to steady you as you practically bounced on your heels. “Okay, okay, calm down. It’s just dinner.”

“It’s not just dinner,” you huffed into his shoulder. “It’s Enhypen dinner. I didn’t even think you liked me that much–”

“I don’t,” he teased. “I just want more croissants.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly but didn’t let go. You were still grinning way too hard to care.

The morning crowd on the subway was… less than forgiving.

You regretted everything the moment you stepped onto the packed train, clutching your bag and a coffee cup against your chest like a shield. Heeseung had met you at your usual stop with a lazy smile and two iced Americanos, one of which you almost spilled when the train lurched forward.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-tripping.

“Hold that,” Heeseung said, pressing his cup into your hand and wrapping one hand around your waist, steadying you. The other shot up to catch the overhead handle just in time. You froze.

Not a single muscle moved.

His arm stayed firmly around you, low and warm and annoyingly natural.

“I was doing fine,” you protested, after a few seconds.

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing down at you with a raised brow, “you look thriving.”

You shot him a look, but the next jolt of the train had you wobbling forward again.

And suddenly your entire spine was pressed against Heeseung’s chest, shoulder to ribs.

You were perilously aware of everything: how warm he was, how steady his breathing felt against your back, how he smelled faintly like cologne and coffee. And most of all, how he didn’t move.

If anything, he just adjusted his grip slightly.

You wanted to say something. Instead, you just blinked at your own reflection in the window and tried not to melt.

“Relax,” Heeseung murmured near your ear, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ve got you.”

You made a tiny, strangled noise, trying not to squeeze the two cups in your hand, while panicking.

And then, mercifully, the next stop came.

By the time you spilled out of the subway car onto the platform, your legs were jelly and your face was on fire.

“You okay?” he asked, amused when you handed him his cup.

“Totally,” you wheezed. “Normal. Very normal train ride. Love commuting. Big fan.”

“Good,” he said, sipping his coffee, grinning at you.

The train finally began to slow near your stop, the pressure of the crowd shifting as people prepared to shuffle out. Heeseung’s arm loosened from around you, and you stepped forward as space allowed, finally able to breathe without your heart doing parkour in your chest.

At the platform, the two of you walked in step toward the station exit, letting the rhythm of the morning crowd carry you along.

Outside, the morning air was already stuffy. You reached the entrance of the building.

You turned to Heeseung. He was already watching you with that unreadable expression of his, coffee cradled in one hand.

“See you later,” you said, a little quieter than usual.

He nodded, mouth tilting up just a bit. “Yeah. Later.”

By 6:40 p.m. on Thursday, you were this close to crying.

Your desk was a mess of draft decks, color-correction notes, and flagged emails you hadn’t yet answered. Your hands were cold from stress, your jaw ached from clenching, and your chest felt tight.

You were just about finished for the evening when you noticed him standing in the doorway of your booth. His shoes clicked against the polished floor, his movements far too deliberate, too slow, as he made his way toward you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice so sickly sweet you could almost taste the insincerity. “Looking absolutely stunning tonight.”

You blinked, trying to refocus on your screen.

“Is that a new dress?” He leaned closer, his smile stretching too wide for comfort. “You know, I do enjoy when someone can dress for the occasion... So much more appealing to the eyes.”

You barely suppressed a grimace, resisting the urge to curl your lip. You'd chosen the dress that morning because it was a simple yet professional choice. You didn’t think much of it until Mr. Kim made it clear that it had caught his attention in a way that had nothing to do with your work.

His eyes lingered, scanning you too intently for your liking, and the comment that followed only made your stomach churn.

“Quite the distraction, though,” he added smoothly. “Makes it hard for a man like me to focus, Miss Y/L/N.”

You hated how his gaze felt like it was crawling over you, how it lingered a little too long on the way your dress fit and the way you sat at your desk.

He lowered his voice slightly, the words coated with layers of suggestion. “You know, I could always help you with getting your mind off work... if you needed a break from all this stress.”

Your jaw clenched. A small part of you wanted to retort, tell him exactly what you thought of his “help,” but you knew better. You didn’t want to make a scene. You smiled tightly instead, forcing the words out with as much professionalism as you could muster.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. But I have everything under control.”

He leaned back, satisfied with your answer, or rather, the fact that you hadn’t rejected his offer outright. You tried to shove the creeping feeling of disgust down. He made a final comment before leaving, "Don't work too hard, Miss Y/L/N. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get too tired in that lovely dress."

You almost threw your stylus at him.

Now you sat slumped in your chair, elbows on your desk.

You wanted to cancel. You really, really wanted to.

But you couldn’t.

Because Heeseung invited you. Because he was excited. Because you were excited. Because you made tiramisu. Because this was your chance to meet some of the Enhypen members as actual people, not headline acts.

A knock on the outer glass startled you.

Heeseung.

He walked in smiling, but his expression shifted the second he saw you. You didn’t even have time to straighten up before he crossed the room.

“Hey…” His voice was gentle. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer and ended up just blinking fast.

“Oh. Okay, come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you before you could say anything else. One hand rubbed gently between your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

You sniffed, trying not to fall apart completely. “Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know, I’m just really tired and that asshole came by and–”

“I hate that guy,” Heeseung muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.

His hands came up to frame your face, gentle thumbs brushing at your temples, moving a few strands of hair away with soft care. “You’re doing amazing, okay? Don’t let him make you think differently.”

Your breath shuddered out. “I just… I don’t wanna show up all weird and stressed and ruin the vibe.”

That got the smallest laugh out of you. He himself asked you if you could make tiramisu.

He smiled. “Let me carry your stuff, okay? We’ll head to mine, eat too much, and if you want to dip early, I’ll make something up. Deal?”

You nodded slowly. “Deal.”

“And,” he added, lowering his hands but still watching you carefully, “if he ever comes near your booth again, let me know. I’m not management, but I know how to be annoying.”

You laughed again, for real this time. “You? Annoying? Never.”

The subway car was packed.

Not just crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder, strangers-breathing-down-your-neck kind of packed. You squeezed in just behind Heeseung as the doors hissed shut, the jolt of movement almost sending you stumbling. He caught your elbow instinctively, his hand steadying you for just a second before he let go.

“Seat,” he said quietly, nodding toward the only one available, just a few feet to your right.

You hesitated. “You should take it.”

Heeseung looked at you like you’d suggested jumping onto the tracks. “You’re wearing a dress and heels.”

You blinked. “What does that–”

“Just sit.”

You didn’t argue again. You just slid into the seat, your bag clutched tight in your lap.

He stood directly to your right, one hand braced on the bar above, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The car lurched forward.

Your knees bumped his leg when the train turned.

He didn’t move.

You shifted, trying to give him space, but there wasn’t any. He was close enough that you could smell the laundry detergent on his hoodie.

Another stop. More people pushed in. He adjusted his stance slightly, his shin brushing against your ankle now, the line of his thigh against yours.

His eyes flicked down.

Then up again.

Then away.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t have to. The contact was small, but your whole body was aware of it.

You stared at the blinking subway map above the door.

One stop. Then two. Almost home.

You tried not to think too hard about how nice it felt, this quiet little moment of being taken care of in the most casual, quiet, unspoken way.

By the time you reached your building, it started raining and you and Heeseung were huddled under his umbrella again. You buzzed yourself in, holding the door with your foot until Heeseung followed.

Once inside, you took off your shoes, motioning toward the living room. “Give me two minutes. Gotta grab the tiramisu and maybe… change?”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Yeah….actually, if you want to, that might be… good?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Just figured you might wanna get out of your work stuff, to be…more comfortable. It’s super casual, I mean.”

You nodded slowly. “Got it. Two seconds.”

You disappeared down the hallway, your heart doing something slightly irrational as you pulled open your wardrobe.

Comfortable. Casual. Not… too casual.

You settled on high-waisted jeans and a soft black tank with scalloped straps. Simple. You undid your hair too, shaking it out with your fingers until it settled loosely over your shoulders. You checked the mirror, lips twitching.

And then, without overthinking it, you padded barefoot back into the living room.

“Okay,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. “This okay?”

Heeseung looked up from where he’d been sitting on your sofa, flipping through one of the design magazines you bunkered under the table, and froze.

His eyes scanned you quickly and then darted immediately to the floor like the entire act of looking had caught him off guard.

“Uh–yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. That’s–uh. That’s perfect.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

“Totally,” he said, too fast. “I mean–it’s not, like–you’re perfect. I mean–not like perfect-perfect, just–you look great. I mean good. Yes.”

You smiled slowly, watching the tips of his ears turn pink. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He coughed once, avoiding your eyes. “Let’s… let’s go before I eat the tiramisu myself.”

You grabbed your bag again, heart fluttering just enough to make your grin feel dangerous. “Lead the way.”

Heeseung’s apartment was bigger than yours.

He dropped his keys in the bowl near the door, turning to offer you a small smile. “They said they’d be here around seven-thirty, so we’ve got a few minutes.”

You nodded, clutching the tiramisu like it was a shield. Your heart thudded faster now, not in fear exactly, but in nerves. The idea of sitting down and casually having dinner with ENHYPEN suddenly felt very… real.

Heeseung watched you for a moment, eyes soft. “You okay?”

“Just… mentally preparing,” you said, exhaling. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Just casually meeting five people who were on my Spotify Wrapped last year.”

He grinned. “If it helps, Sunghoon still burns toast.”

You laughed under your breath and were about to respond when the shrill sound of Heeseungs doorbell interrupted you.

Heeseung raised a brow. “They are early.”

You instinctively stepped half behind him as he opened the door.

“Hyung, I swear to god. I am so freaking hungry if we dont order food immedietely I’ll die,” Jake’s voice rang out as he stepped inside, followed by Sunoo, who immediately toed off his shoes.

“We literally just came back ourselves,” Heeseung replied, letting them all in. “We haven’t ordered anything yet.”

“Man, thats dissapointing,” Jake said, already peeking toward the kitchen where you were standing, next to the tiramisu.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt.

Behind him came Niki and Sunghoon, who both had wet hair. All of them were bare faced.

“We’re minus one,” Sunghoon said as he dropped onto the couch. “Jay’s not coming.”

Heeseung blinked. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “His girlfriend started her period today and he went over to her place.”

“That’s… actually sweet,” you blurted.

Heeseung gave a small laugh and motioned toward you. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She works in creative.”

You gave a small wave, not quite trusting your voice again yet.

Sunoo smiled at you, “Nice to meet you Y/N.”

You slightly cleared your throat. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”

Jake stepped into the kitchen. “Wait. Is that the tiramisu?”

“Mhm,” Heeseung said walking over and, setting it in the fridge.

“Dude I thought you ordered some,” Sunghoon said sitting down on Heeseungs sofa.

“Yeah. Well, not exactly order, I asked Y/N if she wanted to make some,” Heeseung shrugged. “It’s Sunghoon’s favorite.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You asked for it.”

Heeseung’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Yeah. For Sunghoon.”

You turned to him, deadpan. “Dude. What the fuck. I wanted to make cookies for you cause you said u said they looked yummy and now i made tiramisu for an international super star?”

Sunoo laughed immediately. “Wait, you’re the croissant girl?”

You blinked. “The crossiant girl?”

“But Heeseung didn’t shut up about the croissants for days.”, Jake said plopping down next to Sunghoon.

You looked at Heeseung, arms crossed. “You told them about the crossints?”

Heeseung, who was now pretending to scroll through the pizza delivery app, said nothing.

“I think that’s sweet,” Sunghoon said, leaning back on the armrest. “Even if it’s a little embarrassing.”

“For him or me?” you asked.

“Yes,” Sunghoon replied with a faint smile.

You shook your head, still suppressing a grin. “Okay. You guys want pizza or not?”

“Absolutely,” Niki said. “Half bulgogi, half pepperoni. No pineapple.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jake muttered.

“Do not start a war in my apartment,” Heeseung warned.

While they argued about toppings, you helped Heeseung finish the order.

Sunoo plopped down next to Sunghoon and patted the seat beside him. “Come on. We don’t bite.”

You hesitated, then sat, keeping your posture neutral, your legs tucked neatly under you.

“Okay,” Jake said, lounging across the arm of the couch. “So what made you want to work at HYBE?”

You blinked at the directness, then laughed nervously. “Wow. Uhm I'm there more or less on accident?”

You glanced at Heeseung, who offered a small nod of encouragement from the kitchen.

“I… actually wanted to be a baker,” you said. “I studied design because my parents wanted me to have something ‘practical’ to fall back on. Turns out I liked it enough to keep doing it. And then one internship led to another, and somehow I ended up designing teaser graphics for idol groups.”

“Do you still bake often, or was it a one time thing for hyung?” Niki asked.

“Mostly for stress,” you admitted. “Or when someone makes a really annoying request for tiramisu.” You shot a glance at Heeseung, who just smiled and opened a cabinet.

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “That was a great decision.”

The next morning was already chaos.

You had a stack of revised mood boards tucked under your arm, three poster mock-ups clipped to your tote, and a USB drive clenched between your teeth while you tried not to spill your lukewarm coffee. The team had pulled off near-miracles, reworking concepts, rebuilding a cohesive storyline, and salvaging designs under impossible pressure. And now it was time to present.

Your nerves were frayed and your blouse was wrinkled and of course, of course, the elevator was packed when you stepped inside.

Just as the doors started to close, a hand slipped between them.

Heeseung, headphones around his neck and hair still slightly damp like he’d showered five minutes ago made his way into the packed elevator. He offered you a sleepy smile, eyes darting to the mess in your hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked, leaning slightly against the side of the elevator.

“I am not sure,” you muttered, clutching your things. “Everything breaks if one person blinks wrong.”

“Sounds relaxing,” he said, with a small smirk.

You gave him a half-hearted eye roll, but you were grateful for the few seconds of levity. His presence was oddly grounding. Then the elevator dinged.

And in stepped Mr. Kim.

The air changed immediately.

You froze as the man’s eyes raked across the small elevator car, lingering far too long when they landed on you. Your stomach twisted.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his tone smug. “Always working so hard.”

You tried to smile without actually smiling, eyes darting to Heeseung, who glanced between you and Mr. Kim.

You gave him a look.

And without missing a beat, Heeseung shifted closer to you, casually, but firmly placing himself between you and Mr. Kim. His hand came up to gently rest on your back, warm through the fabric of your shirt.

Your breath caught.

As the elevator slowed to your floor, Heeseung looked down at you and gave a quiet, encouraging murmur.

“You got this, babe.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You barely registered the surprised look on Mr. Kim’s face as he blinked at Heeseung, then back at you, as you stepped off the elevator.

“Oh?” he said, clearly trying to mask his annoyance. “You and Mr. Lee are… close?”

Heeseung didn’t even blink. He just smiled.

“Yes. We’ve been going out for a while now.”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a small nod, like the internal math he was doing didn’t quite add up but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort to challenge it, at least not now.

The rest of the meeting passed in strange, almost blessed peace. Mr. Kim didn’t interrupt you once. Didn’t cut off your points, didn’t make snide remarks. He just… sat there. Quiet.

The applause at the end of your presentation felt like a drug. Even Legal had nodded in approval, which was practically a standing ovation. When your manager turned to you with a small, rare smile and said, “Great work. We’re green lit to post. Let’s get this live by Monday,” your knees almost buckled.

You had survived.

You should have felt on top of the world.

Except…

Heeseung had been red on Teams since 10:14 a.m.

You checked. Rechecked. Closed and reopened the app. Still red.

[12:47 PM] y/n: We did it. Greenlight.

No reply.

[2:05 PM] y/n: I brought the fancy draft mockups for you to roast but you’re ghosting me instead, rude

Still red.

You tried to be mature about it. He was busy. Probably.

Except it stung a little. Okay, a lot. Especially when your manager swung by at 4:30 with a tired grin and a generous offer.

“You’ve earned a break. Go home, everyone. Rest. Sleep. Don’t even look at your inbox until Monday morning.”

And like that, the office emptied.

You took the train back in silence. When you got home, you peeled off your work clothes, cleansed your face, and climbed into your pink kitty pajamas. You slapped on your favorite aloe sheet mask and sank into your couch like a deflated balloon.

You glanced at your phone once more, just in case.

Still red.

At 9:17 p.m., just when you were deciding whether you wanted to start a new drama or rewatch a old one your phone vibrated.

[9:17 PM] Heeseung: Are you still in the building?

You blinked, stared, then scrambled to type back.

[9:18 PM] y/n: Nope. Left hours ago. Home now.

Three little dots appeared immediately.

[9:18 PM] Heeseung: ...Can I come over? Actually. I’ll be at your place in 5 min.

You froze and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your TV.

You barely had time to rip off your sheet mask and throw on a hoodie before the doorbell rang.

When you opened the door, Heeseung stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a bottle of red wine and a guilty expression.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “I forgot how fast I walk when I’m anxious.”

You blinked. “You’re anxious?”

“...Yes.”

He stood there for another second, then stepped inside when you moved back. He hovered awkwardly near the entrance, hands in his pockets now, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant to come by after the elevator. I really did. But the studio called me into something last minute and then I had to stay in the editing room and–”

You blinked, confused for a second. “Wait. You were coming to find me?”

He nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. I wanted to come after you texted me you got greenlit. To congratulate…and to see how you were doing, if he did something again.”

Oh. You thought back to the elevator, Mr. Kim’s eyes on you, his words oily and smug, and then Heeseung’s hand on your back. The quiet “you got this, babe” still echoed in your head like a song lyric you didn’t know how to stop humming.

“I was fine,” you murmured.

He gave you a look.

You sighed. “Okay. I was… about to punch him but holding it together. Professionally of course.”

“I was so mad,” he admitted, voice lower now. “At him. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I should’ve texted.”

“You were red on Teams all day.”

“I was sitting on the floor with a laptop trying to fix three vocal tracks while my phone was dead in my bag,” he said, smiling weakly. “It was not my most functional day.”

You stared at him, this boy who offered you a tissue when you crashed into his, now your, booth when you were crying, who casually invited you to meet your idols, who fought off your sleazy coworker with just four words and a hand on your back, and felt something soft start to uncurl in your chest.

“Want wine?” you asked, voice gentler now.

He looked up like you’d just told him the world was ending and he had five minutes to enjoy it.

“Yes. So much.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were curled up on your couch in your oversized tshirt and mismatched socks, and Heeseung was beside you, barefoot now, as he poured you both generous glasses of red wine.

Your cat-themed pajama pants were definitely not glamorous, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression had softened the second you shuffled back into the room with your hair damp from a quick rinse and your face washed clean of mask residue.

“You really are glowing when you’re out of that office,” he said, handing you a glass.

You wrinkled your nose. “I think that’s just the very expensive and excessive amount of skincare on my face right now.”

He smiled into his glass as you both sipped.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low flicker of your floor lamp the only light in the room. The Netflix menu looped quietly on your TV, still waiting for a decision you didn’t feel like making.

Heeseung broke the silence first.

“I kept thinking about it.”

You turned your head to him. “About what?”

“The way he looked at you.” His jaw tightened.

You said nothing. Just reached for your wine again.

Heeseung glanced sideways, then spoke again, softer. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just… wanted you to know I saw it. And it wasn’t okay.”

You nodded slowly. “It happens. More than it should. To more girls than just me.”

He looked at you, brows drawn slightly. “Still not okay.”

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat passed.

“I didn’t expect you to say it like that,” you said finally.

Heeseung blinked. “Say what?”

“‘Babe.’”

“Oh,” he said, the tips of his ears instantly going red. “Yeah. That was… I didn’t plan that.”

You smiled into your wine glass. “It worked.”

He looked over, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “He didn’t say a single word to me during the meeting.”

“I’ll call you that again if it keeps him quiet.”

“Don’t push your luck, Romeo.”

That made him laugh, the sound low and honest, and you smiled against your glass again.

Eventually, you picked a movie and settled deeper into the couch cushions. You sat closer now, your thighs brushing once or twice, his knee occasionally bumping yours when he shifted.

By the time the movie was halfway through, the first bottle of wine was nearly gone.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. Neither had he.

But you kept topping off each other’s glasses in lazy silence, the bottle tipping between you like a slow conversation neither of you wanted to end. The couch had become a sort of middle ground, with two pillows behind your backs and one blanket draped loosely over both your legs. You weren’t sure when that had happened either.

The film flickered quietly in the background, something about a bakery in Paris and a romance that neither of you were really following. Heeseung made a dramatic noise when the lead actress confessed her feelings to the wrong guy, slumping his head against your shoulder.

“Justice for the hot violinist,” he mumbled into your hoodie.

You burst out laughing, setting your glass down before you spilled.

“You’re so annoying,” you said between giggles.

“Am not,” he replied, lifting his head just enough to smirk at you.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away.

Heeseung grabbed the second bottle from where it had been sitting patiently by the TV and held it up like a question.

You raised your brows. “You really want more?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Absolutely.”

You got the cork halfway out before it popped with a little pop that made you both jump and then start laughing all over again. Heeseung nearly dropped his glass trying to pour, his other hand bracing against your thigh for balance, and you swatted at him gently.

“God, you’re clumsy,” you muttered, amused.

“Blame the grapes,” he said, eyes dancing.

You sipped your wine and sank deeper into the couch, your legs half-tangled with his now, your knees bumping, your feet tucked under the blanket. The buzz in your head was warm and a little dizzying.

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked after a while, your voice soft and hazy. “Stay late at the office? Show up at coworkers’ apartments with wine?”

Heeseung shook his head slowly, resting his head back against the couch. “No. Not really.”

You turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

“It’s just you,” he added, voice lower now. “It’s always just you.”

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Then, to cover it up you reached for your glass. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Lee.”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “Dangerously?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And if I said I meant it?”

You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Then I’d probably say… don’t stop.”

Both of you were silent for a second, watching each other until Heeseung turned his head towards the TV again.

By the time the second movie started your feet were in his lap, his hand resting lightly against your calf. You were curled up sideways, your cheek brushing his shoulder. At some point, his fingers started tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your knee.

You felt them even through the blanket.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

You made a soft sound. “You’re heavy.”

“Lies.”

“Truth.“

Your wine glass was empty and forgotten on the coffee table, your head tilted slightly toward Heeseung as the credits rolled over yet another cheesy, completely ignorable romantic subplot. The soft buzz in your limbs made you slower, warmer, and more tangled up in the present than you usually allowed yourself to be.

He hadn’t made a joke in a while.

Which, honestly, was weird.

You shifted slightly, cheek brushing the edge of his shirt where your head had been half-leaning for the last–what, twenty? thirty?–minutes. His shoulder was warm and steady beneath you, but quiet.

Too quiet.

You turned your head slowly.

He was out cold.

His head had slumped just slightly to the side, lips parted the tiniest bit, one hand still loosely holding the stem of his wine glass, though it had dipped into his lap. His other hand was still half-tucked under the blanket near your leg.

You blinked.

“You traitor,” you whispered, grinning.

He didn’t move.

You leaned closer, squinting at his face in the low light. His cheeks were flushed, not just wine-warm, but rosy now, all the way to the tips of his ears.

You couldn’t help it.

You let out the softest, breathiest laugh and murmured, “You’re so red, oh my god.”

You carefully reached out and plucked the glass from his hand before he could spill anything, setting it on the coffee table. Then you curled back into the couch, closer this time, and let your head rest against the curve of his shoulder.

“You laughed through an entire subplot about a pastry chef and her ghost boyfriend,” you whispered into the quiet. “And this is what knocks you out?”

Still nothing.

But his breathing stayed slow and even.

You looked at him again, your smile softening.

He looked peaceful. Not polished or poised or the version of him you usually saw pacing around the studio, just… Heeseung. Slightly flushed, his shirt wrinkeled, wine-drowsy, and entirely asleep in your living room.

And somehow, that made your chest ache in the nicest possible way.

“Guess I’m not the only lightweight,” you whispered, barely audible.

You shifted carefully, moving one arm, then another, easing yourself up from the sofa to go sleep in your bed.

You didn’t even get the chance to move mor ethan a few centimeters when Heeseungs hand tightened at your waist followed by a quiet, groggy voice.

“…What?”

You froze mid-sit-up and looked down.

Heeseung’s eyes were barely open, squinting in the low light, his lashes heavy against his cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep. But he was awake. Or halfway there.

You smiled, soft. “Go back to sleep.”

He blinked slowly. “Where are you going?”

“My beed,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his wrist, trying to gently pry his hand off your hoodie. “I was just gonna–”

“No,” he mumbled, arm tightening just slightly, his voice all thick and low and whiny. “Stay.”

You blinked. “What?”

He made a small, disgruntled sound and shifted, trying to pull you back down the way someone hugs a pillow in their sleep.

“Stay,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he knew he was already asking for too much.

You were about to argue. Say something rational. Like you’d be more comfortable in your bed or he might need space or this is unprofessional, right? But then he made that soft noise again and his fingers caught the hem of your shirt.

And your chest did that dumb, twisty ache again.

So you sighed and gave in.

“Okay,” you murmured, lowering yourself back down. “Fine. Whatever.”

You felt him relax instantly, his arm slipping easily around your waist again, pulling you against his chest with a quiet breath of relief.

His forehead bumped gently against your temple as you both settled back into the blanket.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered.

He let out a small, satisfied mmph, already melting back into the couch. And just before sleep pulled you under too, you thought you felt him murmur something else, a quiet, hazy little thank you, into the space where your shoulder met his chest.

Heeseung didn’t stir. Just exhaled softly, mouth twitching. You watched him for a second. The way his hair was a mess, flattened on one side. The way his mouth hung open just a little. The way his shirt had slid up to reveal a sliver of his waist where your hand had been curled all night. You shook your head and padded into the bathroom before your brain could linger on that detail too long. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and pulled your hair into a low bun. By the time you stepped back into the kitchen, the soft blue light of morning had begun to filter through the curtains. You opened the freezer, reached in, and smiled. You still had a tray of frozen croissants. You’d rolled and shaped them last week and froze them, just in case you needed some for an emergency. This counted as an emergency. “Perfect,” you murmured. You set the oven to preheat, arranged four pastries on a tray, and grabbed a knife to slice up some strawberries and green grapes you’d had tucked in the fridge. As the fruit hit the plate, a soft creak sounded behind you. You turned, just in time to see a very groggy Heeseung shuffle into the kitchen. His hair was sticking up in three directions, and he looked like he wasn’t really awake yet. He blinked at you. “Why are you vertical?”

You grinned, holding up a strawberry slice. “Because I have a healthy sleeping rhythm and can’t sleep longer than 8 am.” He made a soft, confused noise and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his head dropping forward onto the table with a dramatic thud. You laughed quietly, setting the fruit down in front of him. “Sleep well?” He mumbled something into the wood that might have been yes or kill me, you weren’t sure. You turned back to the oven just as it pinged. The smell of the croissants was already filling the apartment. Behind you, Heeseung groaned. “Are you baking?” You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the one who told me you’d work the counter at my imaginary bakery if I paid you in croissants.” He squinted up at you, one eye barely open. “You’re baking. At 8 am on a Saturday morning.” You slid the tray into the oven with a smile. “I am. Just for you.” You sat on the small bench by the wall, a mug of coffee wrapped in both hands, your bare legs curled up beneath you. Your shorts were riding up slightly, and your oversized t-shirt hung comfortably off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep.

Heeseung sat next to you, his long legs stretched lazily under the table. One of them bumped against yours. His knee slid alongside your thigh, skin against skin. Neither of you moved. You felt it in your stomach, low and sudden. Heeseung, half-slouched in the chair, blinked once. Then again. His gaze dropped briefly to where your knees touched, then back up to your face. You pretended not to notice. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a quiet hum and slumped his cheek into his hand, eyes only half-open. “I’m trying to remember if I said anything stupid last night.” You sipped your coffee, lips twitching. “Define stupid.” “Like… did I call you ‘babe’ again?” You smiled into your cup. “No.” He exhaled, relieved. “Just whined like a child until I stayed on the couch.” His head snapped up. “What?!” You grinned. “You literally said, ‘Don’t go yet, just stay.’ And then clung to me like a koala.” Heeseung covered his face with both hands. “Oh my god.” “I did stay,” you added, smug. “So technically it worked.”

“Please erase that entire interaction from your brain.” You let your thigh lean just slightly more into his. “Nope. Gonna treasure it forever.” He peeked through his fingers, groaning. “Why are you like this?” “Because you slept with your mouth open and drooled a little on my shoulder.” He gasped. “That’s a lie.” You shrugged innocently. “You’ll never know.” He squinted at you, then glanced down at your coffee. “Is that the good blend?” You nodded. “Vanilla roast.” He reached for your mug without asking and took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “I forgive you.” “For what?” “Mocking my emotional vulnerability.” You laughed softly, the sound curling between you like steam. When the oven pinged, neither of you moved for a moment. Your legs were still touching. His knee was still pressed lightly against your bare skin, and your arm was now brushing his where it rested on the bench. It was nothing. And also very much something. Then Heeseung stood up slowly, stretching with a yawn that revealed the tiniest sliver of skin under his t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder at you. “You’re burning our breakfast.” Breakfast didn’t last long, but neither of you moved afterward. You stayed exactly where you were: side by side on the bench, your knees brushing, your thighs pressed together, your bare leg warm against his. The soft cotton of his t-shirt clung to his side, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath every time he shifted. Heeseung sat with one elbow on the table, chin in his hand, half-turned toward you. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the second cup of coffee, his hair still tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. You leaned back against the wall beside him, foot nudging his under the table.

“This is weird,” you said. He blinked. “Weird how?” You tilted your head. “I don’t know. I feel like I should be freaking out. You slept over. We’re… close.” He looked down at where your legs were still touching. “Yeah.” “But I’m not freaking out,” you added. He smiled slowly. “Me neither.” You were both quiet for a moment. Then he said, voice barely above a whisper, “It’s nice.” You nodded, looking down at your empty plate. “Yeah.” His hand moved slightly under the table. His pinky nudged yours. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved your hand and intertwined your fingers with his long ones. And when you turned your head to glance at him again, he was already looking at you, something soft and unspoken flickering behind his eyes. “I could stay like this all day,” he murmured. You smiled. “Then stay.” Heeseung didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t move either. And neither did you.

The booth was quiet except for the occasional soft click of Heeseung’s mouse. It was already late, past golden hour, and the air outside had cooled from its blistering midday heat into something softer. Muggier, still sticky, but breathable. You sat on the couch with your legs tucked under you. A bottle of cold green tea sat between your knees. You’d finished your last rollout file before dinner. Technically, you could’ve gone home. But instead, you waited. You liked waiting. Because it meant walking home with Heeseung. That had become your favorite part of the day over the last weeks. He pulled off his dress shirt and was only wearing the white tank top he always wore underneath. His hair curled a little at the edges when he got too warm, and he kept pushing it back with one hand, blinking hard at the screen. You checked the time. “Almost done?” you asked, voice low, lazy. He didn’t look up. “You don’t have to wait.”

“I know.” His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He continued working for a few more seconds, and then he sat back in his chair and let out a dramatic exhale. “Okay. I think I’m done for today.” You grinned. “Took you long enough.” He finally turned to look at you. And then didn’t look away. His gaze dropped to your bare legs curled on the couch, to the faint line of sweat at your collarbone, to the gentle flush on your cheeks. He blinked once. Twice. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but forgot what. You just raised an eyebrow. “Ready to go?” He stood, grabbing his dress shirt, putting it on again, and held the door open for you with that same crooked, tired smile he always had at the end of a long day. The hallway was empty, the whole building humming quietly. Your footsteps echoed softly as you made your way toward the elevator. Outside, the streetlights were just flickering on. A warm wind blew past, thick with summer and stillness. Heeseung walked beside you, your shoulders occasionally brushing, your hands swinging just close enough to touch.

The hum of the AC buzzed low through the apartment, doing its best against the weight of the summer heat a few days later. The heat seemed to get worse every day, clinging to your skin and making it impossible to breathe. Your AC had sputtered and died two nights ago, and since then, you’d been semi-permanently relocated to Heeseung’s place. Today, after work, you kicked off your socks and curled up on his couch, legs bare, feet tucked under a throw pillow. The oversized t-shirt you wore hung down past your hips. You stole it from him after he spilled tomato juice on your at-home T-shirt the day before. It still faintly smelled like his cologne. Your shorts were barely visible beneath the hem. Heeseung stood in the small kitchen, barefoot in a black tank top and old sweatshirts, elbows braced against the counter while he adjusted something in the blender. You’d watched him add frozen banana, ice, peanut butter, a protein scoop, and almond milk. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed the button. You flipped a page in the book resting across your thighs. And then didn’t read a single word of it. You were too busy ogling Heeseung in a very professional, not inappropriate way, colleagues? Friends? His muscles were taut from leaning over the counter, jaw set, skin glowing slightly from the walk home, strands of now red hair curling over his forehead from the heat. The edge of his tank had dipped low, revealing the clean cut of his shoulder and the line of his collarbone. His arms flexed slightly as he twisted the lid back on. You licked your lips and quickly looked back at your book. He wiped his hands on a towel, completely unaware of the crisis you were currently having ten feet away. Or maybe not, unaware he’d caught you staring once already when he was adjusting the fan, and you swore he smirked. You turned to another page you hadn’t read.

“Still good over there?” he asked, his voice teasing, lazy. “Barely,” you called back. “I'm still melting. I don't even wanna imagine how warm my apartment is right now.” He grabbed two glasses from the shelf. “I expect your eternal loyalty and gratitude for granting you shelter from the heat .” You gave a dramatic sigh. “You get two compliments and one baked good per week. That’s the cap.” “I already get that,” he called back. You smiled to yourself. “Then I’ll consider bringing you lunch to work sometimes.” He froze just long enough for you to see it out of the corner of your eye. Then he laughed, soft and breathless. “Noted.” You peeked up again as he walked over, two glasses in hand. He handed you one, fingers brushing yours, and settled onto the floor, leaning back onto the couch. You stared down at him, still flushed from the heat, or maybe not only the heat. “Comfortable?” you asked, sipping your smoothie. “Very.” He tilted his head back lazily until it rested against your knee. “Book good?” You stared at the unread page. “Incredible.” He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “You haven’t flipped it in five minutes.” You pressed the book gently to his forehead. “Shut up.” He grinned, eyes crinkling. The two of you went silent again, and after a while, your hair slipped into his hair, playing with the dry strands and grazing your nails along his scalp while you actually started reading your book again. Heeseung let out a long, contented breath. “I like having you here.” You paused. Then said, just as softly, “I like being here.”

Half an hour later, the smoothie was half-melted in your glass. Your book sat open in your lap, though you had to re-read the same paragraph three times thanks to the way Heeseung’s arm kept brushing against your side. He was still on the floor, and at one point, you joined him there, the sofa’s velvet texture feeling too warm against your skin. Your whole body was leaning against his, your head resting softly on his shoulder, and your legs draped loosely to the side. From Heeseung’s laptop, which was propped up on his thighs, came the steady pulse of a new track, layered synth, subtle guitar… and a voice. You blinked, looking up. “Wait. Is that Jay?” “Mhm.” Heeseung didn’t turn around, just scrolled through something on his screen. “He dropped by to do a scratch vocal for one of the demos. I haven’t layered the harmony yet, but his tone worked weirdly well.” You stared at the screen. Jay’s voice.

On his song. In this apartment. While you were wearing Heeseung’s shirt and drinking smoothies with your legs tangled against his, and a half-read book in your lap. You let out a quiet laugh and muttered, “My life is so weird.” Heeseung looked over his shoulder. “Good weird?” You met his eyes. And immediately regretted it. Because he was already looking at you the way he always did when you caught him off guard, soft, curious, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but knew he didn’t want to stop. His face was close now, your head still on his shoulder, your fingers curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt right above where your thigh still pressed against his. “Very good, weird,” you said quietly. Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Just for a second. Your heart thudded. But he just moved his head back towards the laptop. The soft sounds of Jay’s vocals looped again from Heeseung’s laptop. You could see it in his profile, that sharp little line between his brows. The tension in his jaw. He was thinking again.

Which meant he wasn’t going to do it. You waited another second. Two. Gave him a chance. He didn’t take it. So you did. You closed the book gently and set it aside, leaned over just enough to catch his attention, and when he looked up, eyes wide and questioning, you kissed him. Pressing your lips to his. You didn't even really think about it; it just felt right. He froze for half a second, just enough for you to second-guess it. But then his hand slid to your thigh, fingers tightening. His other reached for your waist, softly grazing against the fabric of the shirt. You pulled back first, just barely, your nose brushing his. He stared at you. His eyes were glazed, and his mouth parted slightly. You smiled and breathlessly muttered. “You took too long.” He blinked. “You–” His voice cracked. “I was trying to be respectful.” “You were being a coward.” “I was waiting for a sign!” “Heeseung, I gave you so many signs.” “I’m not a mind reader!”

You laughed into his neck, warm and breathless and giddy. His arms slipped around your waist properly now, hugging you close, face buried in your collarbone. He mumbled something into your skin. You stilled. “What?” He stiffened. “Nothing.” You leaned back just enough to look at him. “What did you say, Heeseung?” Heeseung stared, wide-eyed. Then blinked once. “Hypothetically. I really want to kiss you again.” You grinned, pulling him back in by the collar of his tank top. “Hypothetically, I think you should shut up and kiss me again.” So he did. His lips moved slowly and steadily against yours, and you moved your head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss for a second before he pulled away first this time, breathing heavier than before, his forehead resting against yours.

You could feel how warm his skin was. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smiled. “Yeah. I noticed.” He gave a soft, helpless laugh and bumped his nose gently against yours. “So… now what?” You looked at him, all flushed cheeks and messy hair and wide brown eyes, and knew you never wanted someone else to see him like this ever again. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But I like this.” “Yeah?” he asked, eyes searching yours. You nodded. “Yeah. I like you.” He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. Then, with that lazy, crooked half-smile you were quickly learning was dangerous, he said, “Can I kiss you again?” You raised a brow. “You’re asking now?” “I’m being respectful.” You leaned in. “Then yes.” Your hand slid into his hair, thumb brushing the curve of his cheek when his lips were on yours again. His lips were on yours again before the word even left your mouth. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, palm splayed wide over the soft fabric of your shorts, fingers flexing slightly. You shifted into his lap without thinking, tilting your head, knees brushing his thighs. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and it made you smile against his mouth. “Stop laughing,” he murmured. “You make weird noises.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Y/N.” You laughed, soft and breathless, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, not sorry.” He kissed your collarbone next, just a warm brush of lips against skin. Then another, lower this time. Your breath caught.

He pulled back instantly. “Okay?” You nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Just… yeah.” His hands found your waist again, more certain now, thumbs brushing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your thighs tightened around his lap just slightly. He inhaled sharply. “Y/N,” he said, like it was a question and an answer and a prayer all at once. You kissed him again. This time, you were the one deepening it. Your fingers curled in the collar of his tank top, pulling him in closer, angling your hips until your bodies fit together just a little too well. You could feel the shift in him, the way his hands stilled, the way his breath hitched when your thighs pressed around his. But he didn’t push. He didn’t even pull you closer. He just let you kiss him, his lips soft and slow, like he’d waited long enough that he didn’t want to ruin it by rushing. Eventually, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, lips kiss-dumb and smiling. “You good?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Really good.” “I swear,” he muttered, breathless, a little dazed, “I had this whole thing planned out.” You tilted your head. “What thing?”

He gave a weak huff of a laugh and shook his head, cheeks flushed. “To tell you. To ask you out. I didn’t think I’d just..get kissed out of nowhere and completely forget how to speak like a normal person.” You smiled, fingers brushing his wrist. “Heeseung.” “I’m serious,” he said, laughing softly, reaching up to caress your face. “I had it all laid out. I wrote you a song.” Your brows lifted. “A song?” He hesitated. Then nodded and reached for his laptop that was lying forgotten next to the two of you and tapped at the keyboard with one hand, the other never leaving your waist.

“I wrote it like a month ago,” he said quietly. “Kind of… when I realized.” You rested your head on his chest, watching him type. “When you realized what?” you asked. He didn’t look at you. But you saw the corner of his mouth pull up just a little. “That I really like you too, Y/N.” And then he hit play. The track started low, just a few notes of piano, slow and thoughtful. It was… beautiful. You didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand slid down to his chest, your palm resting flat just over where his heart was pounding. Heeseung moved his head back slightly to look at you. You leaned in, brushed your lips against the edge of his jaw, and whispered, “I’m really glad I kissed you first.” He laughed, just once, softly and short, and pressed his forehead against yours. “I was so scared I’d mess it up,” he said into your lips. “I wanted it to be right.” You held him close, one hand carding gently through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up.” He tilted his head, eyes bright. “You think?” “I think,” you said softly, “this might be the best song anyone’s ever written for me.” He smiled and whispered, “That’s good. Because I’m not writing another one about anyone else.” You closed the distance between the two of you again, pressing your lips softly against his.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia @xylatox @firstclassjaylee

ᝰ an. ₊ ⊹ dear anon, I am so sorry I needed 3 months to write this and I hope you enjoyed reading, regardless of the wait! I also hate tumblr. I just spend one and a half hour formatting this. Also in case someone wants to request anything! Please do! Just know I'll probably do it inbetween my other projects and might need...like 3 months lmao

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skeletalheartattack · 12 hours ago

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Valve just published a blog post regarding plans for the first MVM update in twelve years for TF2 (to be released later this year, sometime after August), and it shaping up to be the first MVM update to involve community submissions (excluding Robotic Boogaloo).

#tf2 #im very excited to see what the community comes up with. and i'm excited to see what Valve has in store #regarding if they'll be doing any adjustments to MVM or it's upgrades. and how they plan on handling mann up missions #and what the possible rewards could be. if they're not just for fun anyway (through boot camp)#i'm kinda tempted to rework a layout i made a few years ago for a different tf2 project that didn't end up going as planned #but i feel like i'd need some help on it but wouldn't know who to ask (between folks i know already) and don't want to be a burden #it'd be nice to work on tf2 specific maps again. though this'd be the first time i ever touch anything MVM related #and i'd have to gut and rework parts of the existing layout for it to work better for MVM #like there are 3 main routes from the attackers side. all leading to one main focal point. so i'd love to try and rework it #it was originally created for a different gamemode that utilized Arena's logic. and the layout's fully functional #definitely not complete by the standards for what it was originally trying to achieve. and definitely not in it's current form for MVM #also with valve's mention of being up for the idea of halloween MVM maps.#that makes me wonder if they'll re-tool wave 666 to be part of halloween contracts or not #since it's an MVM map without any rewards and can't be played in Mann Up mode (acting as a free for fun mission)#which ive always found odd. so if they managed to create a contract for it and add some kind of reward. that'd be really fun to see #ofc just wishful thinking.

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unvrsoflyly · 8 hours ago

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Simple.

— content: 1.4k, fluf, gn reader, pre established relationship (can be seen as platonic ngl), modern!au, horribly bad at design choices phainon mentioned, HAPPY PHAINON BC HE DESERVES IT☹️☹️, miiight be ooc bc it was written on a whim and i really focused more on his silly little happy guy persona more for this one, eng is not my first language + NOT PROOF READ so be ready for errors😔

note: hi hiii!! omg posted two ff in a year, shockers! hope you like this one, i wish there was more phainon content with how brainrotted i am so i made smth, might not be super super good bc erm i always write when im tired, anyways hope you enjoy this little thing one week before his banner! (him and his lightcone WILL come home.)

! art creds to hoyoverse (honkai: star rail)

Moving in with Phainon felt oddly simple. So eager to share his space with someone he loves and excited to see parts of his partner’s mundane life under the same roof as his. It was only going to be three days since they moved in. There’s boxes half empty still scattered around the apartment. The furniture is all in its place, but it looks so stiff and out of place in the new environment.

Phainon makes the new domestic feelings of living with a significant other so easy. Waking up to a simple good morning in person, not by a simple string of words on a screen. Watching each other’s routine before heading out for their respective responsibility. Laughing because of how horrible the new recipe cooked together looks. Lazing around the house in a comfortable silence with no pressure to express unnecessary thoughts. They know they could get through the eventual challenges that will come their way together, no matter the difficulty.

So, it’s not a surprise to wake up to a happy boyfriend almost every morning, but today he seemed more enthusiastic (if it’s even possible…) “We’ve been working all these days to make it our home, but it’s missing one thing” is what he said before falling asleep, promising to organize an activity. A surprise. He won’t even slip one word. Is he planning to show his newly bought decorations? As much as Phainon is a sweetheart, his choices in aesthetics are really peculiar. It was endearing, yes, but who would want eventual visitors to be met with a blasting mess of colours.

Either way, today’s the day to find out his scheming. Nothing was out of the ordinary. He usually woke up first because he liked to do a little run around the block. He’s mostly doing this these past few days to look around the place. He seems to know a bunch of things now: restaurants, cafés, small shops, parks and even some people living close by. The sound of a door opening made you head to the entryway. Tuff of slightly damp hair from the exercise is the first thing you can see while he removes his shoes. There’s a small package beside him.

“And me who hoped you’ll finally join me on a small run today” he sighs. He won’t push more, he’s more on the active side but would never force it on anyone, though sometimes he wished you would move a bit more to keep a healthy body. “Keep dreaming, it might end up happening” you laughed, eyeing the package. “Did you eat something before leaving? I cut some fruits if you want” he looked at the plate in your hand, filled with the fruits he remembers picking for you, thinking it would be refreshing for the start of the summer season. He thanks you while taking a piece of apple and heads to the living room with his mysterious new purchase.

His voice gets you out of your questioning daze. “Yesterday, I ran into a small shop selling some arts and craft supplies. I thought it would be fun to create our own matching mugs!” You remember mentioning to him how silly it would be to do them once you move in together. He got a bit flustered knowing he would get teased over his design choices though his eyes showed how excited he was to the idea. He was always willing to do silly couple things if it meant passing more time together.

You head closer to where he was putting down the blank mugs and the variety of paints. You decide to go take a cup of water for the little paint brushes still in his hands and some worn out towels to clean them in between colours. He installed some of the decorative couch pillows on the floor to sit down on. You looked at the big amount of supplies for two people spread on an old towel with familiar cartoonish faces of an old childhood show (he insisted on keeping it.) Not like you were completely broke, but you were still figuring out the whole ‘depending on our own source of income for survival’ thing, so you wondered if he took it from his personal savings just to be safe.

You sat down and put the plate of fruits aside, waiting for some sort of instructions. All he did was let a little laugh escape while putting the mug in your hands, giving you the green light to let your creativity free. Only one rule: paint the mug he will be using.

You started painting simple forms with pastel colours, easier to make them fit with each other. While he was painting, he shared bits and pieces of what he encountered this morning. A young boy heading to school who looked at him the wrong way (maybe because he purposefully chose those horrendous flashy socks that he swears are practical and fashionable), an elderly woman who’s been praising him ever since he helped her with her groceries or the dog he saw at the park on his way back.

You wondered what he could be painting with such a focused expression on his face, his brow’s knitting lightly and you could swear he was close to sticking his tongue out. You knew arts wasn’t one of his strengths, but he was willing to try and learn. If it’s from his heart, it will hold more value then any piece you can buy. Over time, stains of multiple shades are all over the towel accompanied with the mess spread on the skin of your hands.

After a while, the sun was fully up in the sky and by that time the masterpieces were dried enough to do a reveal. Phainon insisted on seeing yours first. He sneaked a look every now and then, he couldn’t wait to see how it turned out!

You held his mug out. It was a simple field painted like a talented young child would do. There were flowers and trees covering the ground decorated with a beautiful sunny sky with bits of clouds. At the front, there was a dog with white fur and blue highlights leaning its head on a greyish cat sitting beside it. Your friends often compared him to a very loyal dog. In that case, you would be the cat. Calmer, more reserved, but still very affectionate to the people you cared for. You wanted to make a scenery reminiscent of his rural hometown. He told you many times how he cherishes this place and growing up there made him who he is today. It’s not much, but you hoped you gave him a bit of his home from the glimpse you saw the first time you visited.

The shine in his eyes tells you enough: he loves it. He hugs you exclaiming how cute this is! And how adorable the both of you would be as cats and dogs! He pulls away and puts his hand over your eyes. “It’s not as pretty as yours, but I hope you like it still.” He finally hands you his masterpiece and removes his hand obstructing your vision.

You are met with a wonky ‘I ♡ my bf’ with an equally awkward self portrait of himself as a stick figure inside the heart. He always teased that he would buy a set of personalized shirts like those, whether it’s going to be stay at home clothes is up to you, but you know he would wear that proudly. You were drawn right beside it, with some sort of pointy arrow to signify you are the one saying this loud and clear. You stifle a sweet laugh before looking up to meet clear blue eyes already fixated on you, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Soooooo.. do you like it?” You nodded before leaning in for a hug.

He did make the big step of living with a significant other for the first time easy, or at least he tries to. He’s always so eager to spice up the day and make it special, even if it’s one of those mundane repetitive days. He doesn’t expect you to necessarily do things the exact same way, but you are sure you’ll try to show your care in your own ways, in ways he will understand like you understand his.

Yeah, moving in with Phainon is simple.

#lyly writing #i want him to live happy #honkai star rail #hsr #phainon honkai star rail #hsr phainon #phainon x you #phainon x reader #phainon x yn #hsr phainon x reader #hsr phainon x you #hsr phainon x yn #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x yn #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr x yn

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call-me-strega · 1 day ago

Text

How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: Chapter 8, Step 3a: The Blessing

A new chapter for Pride Month! We are officially in the month this story begins in!

first, prev, next, lore, ao3

~~~

Step 3: Ask them out after receiving their child’s blessing

Sub-step A: Obtaining the blessing

Jason was a coward.

It had been about 5 months since he had met the Nightingales in June. It had been nearly 2 months since he realized he was in love with Danny in September. Now it was mid-November and Jason was still yet to make a move.

Over the past few months, Jason has had multiple conversations with Danny both in person and over the phone. He's played with and babysat Ellie a plenty of times. They have dinner together almost as frequently as Jason does with his own family. Hell, he's officially Ellie's secondary emergency contact! He has her drawings and spelling tests up on his fridge! Jason has undeniably become just as important to them as they are to him.

So why is he still hesitating?

Jason sighs into his files, catching Fern's attention.

"Hey Chief, everything okay? Is it 'bout the Thanksgiving dinner for the one soup kitchen? Did John and Irene forget to order something because I told them-"

"Calm down Power Puff, those two didn't do anything wrong."

"Not yet at least," Fern muttered under their breath, recalling the last time Irene and John had caused a mess. They missed a produce delivery because they were too busy arguing. Fern nearly had a conniption when they found them produce-less and made them go recover the delivery when the driver was halfway across Gotham, promising to skin them alive if they came back with so much as a single lettuce leaf wilted in the meantime.

And Jason only hired people who were reliable and made good on their words.

Jason doesn't remember if he'd ever seen the pair work together better in the entire time he'd known them.

Shaking his head, he reassured Fern. "Nah, Johnny reported a mishap in product quantity with the turkey suppliers but I've already worked it out. Also our tofu option supplier fell through but my baby brother is vegan and I had Irene get in contact with one of his recs so we should be fine. So don't go scarin' the daylights outa them again just yet, I still need 'em. 'Sides I'm sighin' for personal reasons and shit."

"Alright Chief, they live for now," the pastel punk relented.

They continued their work in silence for two whole blissful minutes before Fern piped up again.

"Right then, out with it Chief. What's got you sighin' if it ain't the terrible two-some?"

"Didn't I just say it was personal shit?"

Fern raised an eyebrow at him.

"Oh please, if yah didn't want me askin', yah wouldn't have said shit 'bout it in the first place. Yah want someone to ask yah so you can get it outa yer system. So spill Chief." Fern said, reading Jason like a book.

Jason sighs in defeat.

"Okay so do you remember Danny and Ellie?"

"Yer hot neighbor and his kid who came to the soup kitchen that one time? The one Irene's always ribbin' yah about?"

"Yes," Jason glared with no heat, "that's them."

"Whatta 'bout 'em?"

"Okay so you CANNOT tell Irene this," he began. "Buuuuuut, she wasn't exactly wrong about me liking Danny."

Fern's eyes glimmered in excitement. "Oh yeah?" they questioned eagerly.

"Yeah," a sappy expression began to grow on his face. "He's just- he's a really great guy. He's kind and sweet and thoughtful. He's smart and good with his hands- and did I tell you he's working for Leo now? He fixed up my bike a while back and it's running smoother than ever! Oh- and he's an amazing dad! He's always making time for El, playing with her, protecting her. One time I saw 'im clock a guy across the face to protect her! He's-"

An amused look on Fern's face caused him to trail off as he realized he'd begun ranting.

"He's just really great." He finished weakly.

"So you've mentioned," Fern chuckled sympathetically. "Sound like you've got the hots big time Chief. So what 'bout this has got yah all out of sorts?"

"I- I really love him, Fern. Both of them really," he confessed.

"And this is an issue because...?" Fern questioned, drawing their eyebrows together.

"Because I'm too scare to tell him. I just don't know what to do. We talk and see each other all the time. I spend time with Ellie too, but I just can't seem to say anything about it."

"Well why not?"

"Something about it just doesn't feel right?"

"Come on man, stop pussyfooting and be specific. Ya worried he won't like ya back? That he'll cut you off?"

"Wha- no! No. He wouldn't do that even if he didn't like me back. He and Ellie care about me nearly as much as I care about them. He wouldn't put her through a drastic change like that. At the very least he'd still try to be friends."

"Hmmm. Is that the issue?"

"Huh? Is what the issue?"

"Are you worried it'll be a drastic change for the kid?"

"I-" Jason stopped to consider Fern's words. "Yeah I guess so? I mean there is big big difference between being a family friend she calls uncle and being her dad's boyfriend. I guess I'm not sure she'd take it super well?"

"Look Chief, I think yer overcomplicatin' this. There's a simple solution if yer worried about what the kid will think."

Jason gave Fern an inquiring look.

"Just talk to the kid first." Fern said in an exasperated voice. As if they couldn't believe Jason hadn't thought of this sooner. "Ask her if she'd be okay with ya dating her pops or whatever. She sounds like she likes ya well enough, so ya might have a chance if she approves or whatever."

"Yeah. Yeah you're right. I think I will talk to Ellie first." A determined look grew on his face. "Thanks Fern, you're the best!"

"You know it!" Fern shoved Jason's shoulder. "Now get back to work Chief! Some of us refuse to take work home with us!"

Jason was packing his things up for the afternoon when his phone started beeping. He opened it up to see that the family had come to life group chat:

In "The Colony":

"Dad-Man: Alfred would like me to ask if we intend to do a Thanksgiving dinner this year. Dick, I already know that your going on an off-grid trip with Kori, Donna, Victor and the rest of your friends next week, but what about the rest of you?

CoachPretzelHead: Aww B! You do listen! 🥹"

Jason huffed, even though it was encrypted line, Bruce still insisted they talk in code. 'Hmm,' he thought. 'So Dickie-bird's going on a mission with the Titans'. He kept reading to see what the other's had sent.

"BossBaby: I won't be here

BossBaby: Connor invited Bernard and I to Kansas so we'll be spending the long weekend with the Kents.

Dad-man: 🤨

Dad-man: Alright son, but be safe

BossBaby: Ugh I hate it when he uses emojis

BossBaby: Its so cringe

BossBaby: @/PurplePain I blame you

AllSeeingEye: I'll be celebrating with my dad

CoachPretzelHead: Tell him I said hi!

AllSeeingEye gave this message a thumbs up

PurplePain: same hat

PurplePain: i am celebrating with my mom

PurplePain: also sorry not sorry tim

PurplePain: suscks to suck lmao

Dad-man: Alright that's fine you two. Barbara tell Jim I say hi and Steph give my best to Crystal

PurplePain: stay away from my mom 🤢

Dad-man: Stephanie...

PurplePain: okaaay jk jk

PurplePain: chill B

PurplePain: I'll tell her you said hi or whatever

VeeseChiking: Father, I see no point in partaking in this inane holiday celebrating colonialism

VeeseChiking: Which one of you heathens has change my display name once more

CoachPretzelHead: I'm pretty sure I saw Jon with your phone at your playdate yesterday"

Oooh this seemed like a good time to jump in before the gremlin went on another rant about how this treatment was "unbecoming" or whatever.

"(D)Re(a)dSon: I won't be able to make it. I've got a bunch of different soup kitchens to manage and prep for the holiday

(D)Re(a)dSon: I'll be volunteering that night too

(D)Re(a)dSon: But tell Alfie I'll stop by sometime for some tea or smth"

That was both code and an earnest plan. He'd be working in the Catherine Johnson Center soup kitchen before he went on patrol that night.

"Dad-man: Alright lad. Alfred would be happy to have you over. Glad to hear you'll be helping out the Foundation.

CoachPretzelHead: *cough* favoritism *cough*

(D)Re(a)dSon: What part of that interaction was favoritism Golden Boy

TechnicallyADemigod: I'll be home if Alfred needs help in the kitchen or anything

TechnicallyADemigod: Also Cass is with me rn and she says she to lazy to text so to tell you she won't be going back to Hong Kong until after thanksgiving so she'll stick around for dinner if she doesn't tag along with Steph

Dad-man: Okay Chum thanks for letting me know. Tell Cass we'd be happy to have her. I'll let Alfred know we don't plan to do a big dinner this year."

Deciding this is a safe place to drop out of the conversation, Jason turned off his phone and headed to the safe house that has gone up on his list of favorites, the one which he now comfortably calls home.

Once he got home he checked messages to see a new batch notifications from the both the family chat and another contact.

Danny🕊️

"Hey Jase how ya doing?

I wanted to ask if you're free the friday after thanksgiving

I kinda need a favor

Ellie has a long weekend coming up and I need someone to watch her on that Friday bc I have to go give an in-person exam bc my prof breaks exams into 4 instead of a midterm and final

But also who gives an exam the day after a federal holiday?

Like I know that Unis aren't required to give off but like still man

There should be laws against this type of thing"

Jason pause his reading to smile. He could practically hear Danny pout through his phone

"Anyways, I'd leave her with Jazz since we're going to her place for Thanksgiving on Thursday but she's got some internship thing to do

And I know your pretty busy and normally I'd ask Trina but she's traveling to Florida so Sasha can see her grandparents for the break

Pls lemme know if you'd be available"

Jason chuckled over his friend's plight as he typed out an affirmative. He knew he shouldn't have anything going on, and he'd have a chance to talk to Ellie.

"An opportunity to spend time with my favorite Nightingale?

Sign me up!"

He smiled at his phone as Danny typed back:

"Hey I thought I was your fav :(

lol jk jk

Ellie's my fav nightingale too

Thanks, Jase! <3"

'He sent you a little heart!' the definitely-not-the-pits voice cried in his head. Yeah, he really just needed to talk to Ellie soon.

Jason is totally not nervous about having Ellie over. Definitely not.

He'd look after her plenty of times and she'd always enjoyed herself! The kid loved him! There was absolutely no reason to stress! He just had to relax! Be cool. It's not like he's some romance novel protagonist trying to receive the blessing of his lover's family to marry despite the fact that he'd be marrying above his station or whatever! (Although, Danny probably was out of his league.) Nope! Not one bit!

He continued to mindlessly cut up strawberries that would be his bribe snack for her once Danny dropped her off. He carried out the repetitive motion almost mindlessly.

Two cuts diagonally at the top, removing the stem and leaves. One cut width-wise down the middle.

It wasn't until he reached for the next berry, only to be met with an empty carton that Jason snapped out of his head. He flushed realizing he now had a bowl overflowing with heart-shaped strawberry halves. He tried not to think about it too hard as he slid it into the fridge for later.

Instead, he wandered back into the living room to adjust and arrange his coffee table. He set the TV remote in the middle. In the top right corner a half-assembled puzzle of a biplane from the last time Ellie was here, and on the left edge a stack of books with another Boxcar Children book, 6th in the original series: The Blue Bay Mystery, on the top.

Ellie had loved the book Jason had given her. She had been ecstatic when he told her there were more. He started searching for some of the other books, getting them either from thrift stores or the GPL (Gotham Public Library). They would often read them together when she came over. It had become like their own little thing.

Jason felt some of the tension he was pretending not to have melt out of his body as he smiled, thinking about reading to her.

He could do this.

Jason checked his phone. Danny wouldn't bring her over for another hour or so. He really should relax in the meantime. Jason picked up a worn copy of The Princess Bride that Dick had gifted him years ago, and began to read.

"*Mm-ach*... -and then Uncle Tuck mimed throwing up behind Aunt Sammy's back so she took her tofurkey leg and slapped him with it! And auntie Val laughed at them until Auntie Jazz called to them from the kitchen and told them they better not be getting into another food fight and making a mess or else she wasn't gonna give them desert. And then they sat down really quick like... uh..- like ducks! Yeah they sat down like ducks b'cause Daddy and I made dessert and they know we make the best-est desserts!"

Jason sat on the couch with Ellie, chuckling as she recounted her Thanksgiving yesterday between bites of strawberry.

"Sounds eventful munchkin! What was your favorite part?"

"Mmm, when Val was trying to make auntie Jazz blush! Daddy got so surprised because he thought Val liked Sammy! He freaked out and Aunt Sammy laughed and he realized they were just making fun of him and while they were doing that I was able to get an extra slice of pie from Uncle Tuck!"

"Hahaha, that's great! Maybe I should call you my little Muncher intsted of Munchkin, huh?" he joked, playfully tickling her stomach.

She burst into a fit of giggles " Hehehehehe -eek! Uncle Jaaason stah-stooop!" She complained trying to push him back.

"Alright, alright!" he relented, "I'm glad you had fun." He finished earnestly glad she had so many good adults she could trust in her life, and by extension, that Danny had such good friends. Ellie nodded back at him clearly happy.

"Yeah, it was nice seeing everyone again. I know it made Daddy happy too. Plus I got to give everyone their invitations!"

"Invitations?" Jason questioned.

Ellie looked like she'd been stuck by lightening. She gasped and tossed herself off the couch rushing to her butterfly backpack. Out of it she pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. She scurried back over and shove it in his hands.

It read, "Youre Corgially invited to My Brithday!", written in messy blue crayon with a drawing of a red cake and yellow party Hat underneath.

"This one's for you," she told him gently. She was a bit more subdued than normally, looking off to the side and tugging at her sleeves. She was nervous, unsure how he'd react.

His grip tightened just the slightest bit, a big smile naturally grew on his face as he tried to make his emotions plain. He brought his large hand down, entirely covering the top of her head and ruffling her hair.

"I'd love to attend Munch, when's your birthday happening?"

"My birthday's on December 14th! It's halfway from Daddy's so its his half birthday too! He said we should tell people before so they have time to plan!"

Hmm okay, so Danny's birthday was June 14th and he's invited to Ellie's birthday party in a couple of weeks. One that her other aunts and uncle will likely be attending.

"I'll be sure to mark it down on my calendar," he replied. "Is there any gift you want in particular?"

"Hmmmm, oh! A rocket! Or a yeti! Or or or a spear! Or maybe a slingshot or a pair of wings! *Gasp* OR A PUPPY LIKE CUJO!"

Ah yes, machinery, animals and weaponry. All normal things for a little girl to want.

"Why a spear?"

"Spears are cool!"

"Fair enough," he conceded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Hey since its Daddy's half birthday you should get him something too! But something small since its not his real birthday." She told him, smiling yet subdued. "We were still moving during his real birthday so he didn't really get real presents, everyone just came over to help."

"Hmm any ideas what he'd want?"

"Daddy likes space a lot. And making things. He likes to you too. I think he'd like anything that made you think about him." she told him as if she wasn't dropping info that made Jason's heart leap.

He nodded a bit flustered, and rushed to reply. This was a good a chance as he'd get to bring it up. Something in him screamed "Now! Now's your chance to ask! you have to do it now!"

"I like him too. A lot, actually." he began, swallowing his pride and his nerves. "Ellie I wanted to ask you something."

"Hmm?" she tilted her head at him inquisitively. Jason crouched down and held her hand before continuing.

"Elle, I like your dad a lot. He makes me laugh and smile. He makes me feel warm and happy. I care about him. And I care about you too. Your both so.. incredibly important to me. And, well I- I wanna ask for you permission."

"My permission?" she questioned, her brows furrowing suspiciously.

"I-... Would it be alright with you if I asked your dad on a date?"

"A date?" she parroted back at him like she didn't quite understand what he meant.

"Yes. I'd like to take him out, to do something fun with him. I want a chance to make him as happy as he makes me." he tried to get his point across.

"Oh!" she gasped in realization, "you want to court Dad!"

Her voice seemed surprised but steady.

"Yes," Jason confirmed. "I would like to court him. But I'll only do it if you're okay with me spending so much time with your dad. I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

Ellie kept her body language surprisingly neutral for a 6 year old. She face was blank as she carefully stared deep into Jason's eyes. He could see the deep thoughts and mental calculations in her eyes. As if she as if trying to gauge his sincerity, to examining his soul for stains. Her silence was beginning to scare him. He wondered if perhaps he had too presumptuous.

Then, wordlessly, Ellie grabbed a heart-shaped strawberry from the bowl. Slowly, looking directly into his eyes, she crushed it in her tiny fist. Jason suppressed the urge to flinch. She maintained eye contact as she brought up the pink mush to her mouth, before she chewed and swallowed. She gave off such an intense aura it nearly made him shiver. It seemed to carry the implication in her actions.

That's what I'll do to you if you hurt him.

Jason gulped wordlessly but did not look away. He could understand the subtext of their interaction loud and clear, but it didn't matter. He loved Danny. And he loved Ellie too. He'd never want to hurt them. If Ellie didn't want him too, then he wouldn't. But until she said something he would keep meeting her head on.

Suddenly, her cold facade broke, giving way to a wide grin. She began to vibrate excitedly.

"Yes! You can have my permission to court Dad!" she declared.

Jason let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you, Princess," he said, grateful and relieved. His smile grew to match hers. He drew her into a hug and she returned it tightly.

Ellie tilted her head up and gleefully whispered in his ear. "I was gonna give you permission from the start, I just wanted to see you sweat a bit first."

Jason gasped before barking out a laugh. "You little menace!" he said fondly, tickling her stomach. "Where'd you learn to be so devious?"

"Hehe- nooooo, Haha. Uncle Jason, HAHAHA, stooop!" she shrieked.

"There is no more uncle Jason," he began gravely, "Only the TICKLE MONSTER!"

"Hahahaha- noooo! Hahaha!"

Danny came to pick up Ellie around five. Despite the blessing he obtained that afternoon, Jason decided not ask Danny out just yet. He wanted that moment to be special. So instead he just had another normal send off.

"Thanks again for watching her."

Danny stood in the doorway as Ellie gathered up her things.

"Like I said, its no problem," Jason waved him off, "Anything for my favorite neighbors." he teased.

Danny just smiled back fondly as Ellie rushed over with her bag.

"Alrighty then Ell, ready to go?"

"Yup! I just gotta say good by to Uncle Jason!" She turned and he crouched down to hug her. Similarly to what she had done earlier, Ellie placed her arms around his neck and brought her face close to his ear.

"Goodbye Uncle Jason!" she said at a normal volume before tilting her head to whisper in his ear. "Also, please try not to mess up with Dad. I like you and it would be a shame if you had to get knee surgery."

Jason really shouldn't have been as distracted as he was based on her prior behavior. She released him from her arms and in a flash she was bouncing down the hall as her dad trailed her.

Jason stood slowly, shaking his head. 'That precocious little spitfire had really threatened me. I should find it as cute as I do', he thought.

~~~

Group Chat Name Guide

I tried to make it obvious who was who but just in-case:

Dad-man: Bruce, play on Batman

CoachPretzelHead: Dick, he's a gymnastics coach in this au (not a cop) and it references his flexibility

AllSeeingEye: Babs, reference to Oracle

BossBaby: Tim, bc he's still currently CEO of Wayne enterprises

PurplePain: Steph, reference to Spoiler and the Prince song Purple Rain bc her mom likes the song even though she personally doesn't actually listen to his music

VeeseChiking: Damian, a play on his canonical love for the video game Cheese Vikings

(D)Re(a)dSon: Jason, play of words on "dread son", "red son", "read son",and "Jason"

TechnicallyADemigod: Duke, reference to how canonically his bio dad, Gnomon, is some immortal god dude

Also Not featured in this chapter but:

GrandBattementOfJustice: Cass, reference to the ballet move: grand battement (which is a high kick) and also to Black Bat, and the term "Hammer/Fist of Justice"

Mr.Bond: Alfred, its bc he's British and will use guns

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zombee04 · 4 hours ago

Text

The full description for those curious.

Unfortunately I was a fucking excited dumbass and bought the patreon yesterday before scrolling down to see her latest works.

I think one of the things that bugs me the MOST in all of this is the aged up design used is diffrent to the one she has made in the past, this uh 'aged up' design resembling more towards Aliza when she first fell but w b**bs (sorry idk tumblrs censoring system too well), than the adult design SAS posted in 2022. I do have access to the full pic bc again I was the idiot that bought the patreon thing before noticing the uh top posts but here's a comparison of the free to view thumbnail (again even tho I have access to the premium one I dont wanna download it or share it both for personal morals and also idk patrons tos that well and also PERSONAL MORALS)

Left is the.. mmm.... right is the adult design she posted on twitter in 2022. Again this is nit picky but just a personal uhm idk the word it hurts? Feels gross.

Again at this point in time I have no idea what to believe rn and ik I'm just being bias and uh parasocial to the media but I truly truly hope shes not a pdf and is just an idiot that drew it in poor taste as like a self insert type thing but again I DONT THINK SO?? I THINK IM JUST IN DENIAL??? IDK it's horrible it's a nightmare and thank you to those who came out abt it on my behalf, genuinely I don't know how to feel about this

Horrortale has meant so much to me, as it has for so so many other people. The fandom has been so wholesome and I want to send my love to the others that were really attached to this fandom too. It's been such a long going series with alot of original and interesting stuff I just hhhtkhdihskhshahananaaaaaa. I know its an escape for alot of people not just me. Both the cannon and fannon stuff

Althought personally I'm still ripped apart, i think it's fine to still read the comic as long as you don't interact with the material? Idk. It's up to you. I am still personally torn and just really wish this never happened

Anyways I'm still very new to posting on tumblr but if your able to comment under here without it bugging froggo (idk if tumblr let's you do that if you repost or if it goes straight to the original post??) But if if is just like a thing where it's only under my post then feel free to type out your own feelings qnd experiences with the fandom

I wanna thank my friends for being there for me the past 24 hours, it's genuinely meant alot being able to talk about this with others and their patience with my rants about this really really means more than I can say, so uh I wanna pay that fowards I guess, feel free to rant in the replies or anonymously in the asks if you want, I wont post them unless like I have something to add to it ig

Uhm yeah heart goes out to everyone and big thank you to my friends (idk if I should say here or not bc yk but yk who you are) uhm genuinely ik I haven't shown it much but after the irl shit that's happened before this and then discovering this, your support has meant everything to me

Ok I'm rambling bye

Horrortale’s creator caught proshipping

This just in folks, Horrortale’s creator Sour Apple Studios caught not only proshipping BUT making suggestive art of an original character WHO IS A MINOR

June 1st, the pride month before the fall, the patron unveiled this here post featuring not only Aliza’s rear end as front and center but said rear end being on Sans Horrortale’s lap. Thats right, the creator is stepping above and beyond in “what the fuck”age by not only inventing a minor character but making self-described mature art about them.

Using my newfound knowledge of how to DO a read more Ive even included the proof below the read more, it’s also publicly viewable on the website at this point in time and while the way back machine doesn’t seem to be loading the images you can at least confirm the text matches with these disgusting, distasteful screenshots

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fallen-w1ngs · 1 day ago

Note

I can't express how obsessed I am with your Bucky series omg they scratch the itch in my brain just right. And I know they're all gender neutral but I was wondering if maybe you'd make something with a post-op (recent or long healed) FTM reader? That might be... oddly specific, but I'm just tired of all trans reader content always being so sad :(. I want to see ftm!reader just living his life proud and comfortable :')

|| EEE im super glad you liked my series :)! and duuudee hell yeah ftm reader!! i, myself, am genderfluid and have gone thru a hell of a journey to find that out, idk why im saying this, im js really excited w this !!

'' PRETTY BOY ,,

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x ftm!husband!reader

|| warnings : pure fluff, a bit suggestive at the end but that's it

|| wc : 0.8k

The night was young as you wandered through the empty apartment, the one you and Bucky had bought once you both gotten married. It wasn't a big ceremony, not by any means. Only a close friends and family from your side, and some of the Wilsons and Isaiah Bradley from Bucky's invitations.

As the time went on after your wedding, you watched as Bucky grew into being a congressman... Something that did not last long, but you didn't mind. Now, he was a 'New Avenger.' Your stance on the idea wasn't something you wanted to think of right now. With all the craziness that's happened, it's no question why you put off getting top surgery. Money wasn't the biggest issue, Bucky, after being a congressman, offered to pay up the whole thing, though you fought to split it.

However, now him being on a new team and the fact there weren't as much world-ending calamaties in the past few months, you decided to go for it. You've been taking T a long time even before meeting Bucky, so it was no issue.

"Hun?" Bucky's voice cut through the silence as you walked through the halls of your apartment, going down memory lane just for the hell of it. "You still awake?"

"Yeah! I'm here!" You called out as you walked over to the front. Theres where your husband stood, his hair tied half-up half-down, his tactical gear already half off, only a black t shirt and a pair of jeans. His tire blue eyes softening as he sees you and a love-sick puppy dog smile tugged at his lips once he held you in his arms.

"Shouldn't you be laying down, babe?" He asked with a small grin before pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Doctor said you can't exert yourself."

"I'm fine, Buck," You grinned, putting your hands on his chest. "Plus, it's been long enough.. Doc said I could take my bandages off by now"

Bucky raised a brow at your words before grinning. "Wanna take them off now?"

"Why d'you think I stayed up waiting for you instead of sleeping?"

With a chuckle, Bucky led the both of you into your shared bedroom, your white, doe eyed cat Alpine following in suite. Peppering in a few kisses and small updates of how the New Avengers were doing, both you and your husband made it to your bedroom. Standing in front of the tall mirror, you stared at yourself.

"God, I look old." You muttered.

"If you look old, I look ancient."

You shot a playful glare at him. "You don't count, you're 110 yet don't look a day over 30."

"Shut up and just take your shirt off." Bucky grumbled and pushed a kiss against the crook of your neck from behind.

"Someone's eager." You quipped.

"Not like that- Jesus, baby, just lemme see my pretty boy's body?"

Okay, yup, that did it. You smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his head and tugged your shirt off. Hesitating as you reached for the bandages. Thoughts swirling in your head as you unwrapped yourself, what if it looked bad? What if you hated it? What if it didn't make you feel.. Like you?

But your worries dissipated as you looked to your chest, now flat. Faint scars underneath your pecs, ghosts of the surgery that took place just a few weeks ago. You heard Bucky let out a small exhale as he looked at you placing a soft kiss to your neck.

"There you are, my gorgeous boy." He whispered into your ear. "How do you feel?"

You grinned, your hands reaching up to trace lightly at the scars. It didn't hurt, no it felt.. Good. Your body finally felt like your own, finally something you can look at in the mirror, and instead of cringing and looking away, you can smile.

"Good, really really good."

"Yeah?" Your husband hugged your waist, the contrast of his warm human arm and his cold vibranium one sending a shiver up your back. "Good. 'Cause you look so handsome, baby. God, I love you so much, my pretty boy." You could feel his smile on your bare shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're so good-lookin' it feels like my hearts gonna stop, make me go into cardiac arrest or somethin'. How lucky am I to have such a handsome husband like you?" He said in a hushed tone, peppering kisses into your neck.

Unlike all those times from the past where he'd help you through body dysmorphia, those peppered kisses and the reassurances that you tried to believe.. This time was different. Because you finally felt what he'd been saying. You felt handsome, you felt good. You felt like.. You felt like you.

"Oh, Bucky," You whispered tilting your head ever so slightly to take his lips into yours. "Show me how much you love your husband?"

"With pleasure."

|| i indulged in this sm, ty anon for requesting this <3 i hope this was good enough TEEHEE

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orlaunderrated · 1 day ago

Text

The Edges of Us: Chapter 11

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 4.9k+

Note: OOOOh the morning after!! thank you to everyone who asked to be on the taglist!!! super cool and exciting!! im glad everyone likes it so far!!!

also ive toally given up doing the screenshots of text messages, they are so time consuming and i dont think add much. LMK if you disagree!!

also also, i think some of my links are cooked so if you find one can you pls tell me!!!! i think ive fixed them but eek!!!

xxx

The sun is up, but the room still feels like it’s drowning in a fog of half-sleep and regrets, the kind of haze that only comes from too much alcohol and not enough clarity.

I wake up first, my body tangled in sheets that feel too soft, too comforting, like a promise I can’t trust. The sun slips through the blinds in thin slivers, like it’s trying to sneak in without disturbing us. And for a moment, everything is still. The kind of still that settles over you, heavy, but almost peaceful. Will’s arm is draped across my waist, warm and solid, and I can feel the weight of his breath on the back of my neck. It's too familiar, but too foreign at the same time. His fingers twitch slightly against my skin, like he's still half-dreaming, lost somewhere between last night and the waking world.

The room smells faintly of him—of cologne, of sweat, of a little bit of coffee maybe? It’s a strange kind of softness. The kind that doesn’t make me want to run.

I try to shift, but his hold tightens. A murmur escapes his lips, but I can’t make it out. My chest tightens, and I shift again, careful this time, like I’m not sure where the lines blur between us. He’s still holding me like he needs me to stay close, even though I know neither of us knows what this is anymore.

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s not early, not really—but it feels too early to be awake with a hangover this heavy. Still, the weight of the morning settles over me, thick and insistent, dragging me out of sleep and back into whatever reality is waiting.

When I turn to face him, I half-expect him to be awake, to be looking at me with that same questioning, unreadable look he wore last night. But he’s asleep. His hair is a mess, his face peaceful, as if the night still has let go of him. He looks innocent in this moment, like none of the confusion or tension from last night matters. Like none of it ever happened.

I run my fingers along his arm, absent-minded, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He stirs slightly, mumbling something unintelligible. A few moments pass before his eyes flicker open. The light hits them wrong, and he blinks rapidly, squinting against it.

“Mornin',” he says, voice rough and thick with sleep.

“Morning,” I reply, unsure if I should pull away or sink into the softness of this moment.

His hand slides up to my face, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. It’s gentle, too gentle, and for some reason, that makes everything feel heavier.

“God, I feel absolutely shite,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes.

I chuckle quietly, dragging myself upright with a wince. My head is pounding, my body sore in places I didn’t even know could ache. The taste of last night still lingers on the back of my tongue—tequila and regret—and I press the heel of my hand to my forehead like it might stop the world from spinning.

I shift under the covers, suddenly hyperaware that I’m still naked. Instinctively, I pull the duvet up to my chest, as if modesty matters now. It feels a bit ridiculous. This man was in me last night. He’s already seen everything.

“Same,” I mutter, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The floor’s cold under my feet, and the air hits my bare skin a little too sharply.

Behind me, I hear the sheets rustle as he stretches with a groan, and it’s only then that I remember—he’s still naked too. We don’t acknowledge it. Don’t joke, don’t tease, don’t even glance at each other’s bodies. There’s a beat of quiet tension, not quite shame, not quite comfort. Just the awkwardness of two people trying to act normal after something that wasn’t.

He shifts again. I hear the mattress creak. “You still mad at me?”

I pause, the question hanging between us like steam on glass. For a second, I want to say yes. I want to hold onto the anger like a shield, because it’s easier than admitting I don’t know what any of this means. But I don’t. Instead, I glance back at him, my expression softening without permission.

“No,” I say, quietly. The word slips out before I can second-guess it.

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Just lets the silence stretch again, wrapping itself around us like the too-warm duvet I’m still clutching.

A moment later, he sits up, sheets pooling around his hips, and groans through another stretch. Still no mention of the fact that we’re both very, very naked.

“Coffee?” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. "There's a brilliant café like a block away."

“Hell yes,” I reply, finally forcing myself to stand. I keep the duvet wrapped around me for a moment longer before I start looking for clothes, still a little unsteady on my feet.

I open his drawer to find something to wear, and my hand immediately lands on a pair of basketball shorts. They’re way too big on me, but they’ll do. I slip them on, along with an oversized T-shirt I’m pretty sure he hasn’t worn in weeks, and tie my hair up out of my face.

Will, on the other hand, is pulling on the same jeans he wore last night, the ones still creased in places from the chaos of the club. He tugs at his wrinkled T-shirt like he’s trying to make it look presentable, but it’s a lost cause. There’s no fixing that level of disaster.

“Do you have any shoes I can borrow?” I ask, eyeing his worn-out sneakers that I know won’t fit. His room is also clean, but still scattered with some stuff, but nothing that’s remotely my size.

He looks around his room for a whole one second, and then at his own bare feet and then shrugs. “Nope. You’re rocking the Docs today, I guess.”

I look over at my boots. They're sturdy, still a little too aggressive for a hungover breakfast run, but they’ll have to do. I shrug, slipping them on with a sigh.

“You look like shit,” I say, adjusting my (well, his old) sunglasses, already knowing they’re the only thing holding me together right now. The light’s too bright, the world’s too loud, and I’m clinging to whatever scraps of cool I can find. The glasses help. So does insulting him.

He glances at me with a crooked grin, running a hand through his messy hair “Cheers, love,” he mutters, “You look like you crawled out of a bin behind the club.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re the one who dragged me in there in the first place,” I shoot back, but there’s no real heat behind it. Just the shared pain of two people trying to survive a Sunday morning with their dignity intact.

In the kitchen, I find my phone and check it. Its on 2% and I have a handful of texts, mostly from Ruth. One stands out:

Whered you sneak off to? George is looking for you.

And another makes me giggle:

Oh Will is gone too 👀👀

I click my phone off, noting ill need to charge it before I go home today. I can't be bothered to respond right now, my eyes hurt just opening them, let alone looking at a phone screen.

I watch Will toss back two paracetamol, chasing them with a long swig from a battered water bottle. Without saying anything, he shakes two more pills into his palm and holds them out to me, along with the bottle. I open my mouth to protest—something about how sharing a water bottle is kind of gross, but the words die on my tongue. Because when I actually think about it, really think about it, it’s laughable. After last night I’m going to draw the line at a sip of water?

Xxx

The walk to the café is quiet. And Sweet. The city feels different in the morning, everything’s softer, less frantic. People are moving at a slower pace, the streets littered with the remnants of last night’s parties. We cross the road together, walking side by side, both of us too hungover to even pretend we’re anything other than the messes we are right now.

Inside the café, the smell of fresh coffee and baking pastries hits me like a wave. The place is packed, full of people either nursing their own hangovers or have just finished a late-morning Pilates class. We sit down at a small table by the window, both of us still wearing our sunglasses like it’s some unspoken rule.

I order a cappuccino, Will goes for an iced latte, obviously, his hand already gripping the cup like it's the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

We sip our drinks in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier replaced with the quiet hum of the café around us. I’m still not sure where things stand between us, but for the first time this morning, I can breathe a little easier. The hangover feels a bit more manageable in the light of day, the sting of last night fading to something less sharp.

“So,” I say, looking over at him, trying to keep my tone casual but my lips curling into a small smile. “Last night... wasn’t exactly what I expected.”

He raises an eyebrow, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh? How so?”

I laugh, running a hand through my messy hair, still feeling the warmth of the tequila lingering in my veins. “I didn’t think you had such a… soft side. You know, considering we don’t get along.”

He leans back in his chair, eyes glinting mischievously. “Can’t make the first time of many too crazy,” he says, his tone playful but his gaze lingering a little longer than it should.

I roll my eyes, but it’s hard to hide the smile spreading across my face. “Right. Gotta ease me in before the wild side shows up.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he teases, looking at me over the rim of his coffee cup. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

I lean forward, intrigued but trying not to show too much interest. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a wink, the confidence in his voice somehow both ridiculous and endearing. “Gotta keep you guessing.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You really think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

He shrugs, a lazy grin still on his face. “I don’t know about all figured out. But I’m getting there.”

There’s a moment of silence between us again, but it’s lighter now, almost comfortable. I feel the teasing energy between us settle into something a little more real, a little more honest, and it’s not as terrifying as it was last night.

“Well, in that case,” I say, leaning back in my chair, my eyes still on him, “I’m curious to see what else you’ve got.”

The food arrives just as a lull settles between us—two greasy plates of whatever we decided could cure a hangover. We dig in without much ceremony, like eating gives us permission not to talk for a few minutes. I focus on the way the yolk spills over toast, how Will’s fork clinks too hard against the plate every time he moves.

Between bites, we let the conversation drift toward safer ground. The night out, the club, snippets from pre-drinks. Will tells me Arthur Hill gave him a look the second he slipped away from the group at pre's, like he knew exactly where he was going and who he was going after.

I raise an eyebrow, and he just shrugs, mouth full, like it’s not even worth denying.

“He said something like, ‘Go on then, you fucking idiot,’” Will mumbles, doing a terrible impression of Arthur’s voice. “Didn’t even bother being subtle.”

I laugh, the sound a little too loud for the quiet buzz of the café. “And you still went straight into my room?”

Will grins, lips shiny with butter. “Obviously.”

With our plates cleared, the conversation quiets, leaving only the soft clink of cutlery and the low murmur of the café around us. The food, the coffee, the paracetamol, they’re all doing their job. I feel a little bit shit now, instead of a lot a bit shit. Progress. I can see it in Will too, his grip on his coffee cup has relaxed, his shoulders not quite so tense. We’re both starting to feel human again. Still, the sunglasses stay firmly on, like if we take them off, the hangover might decide to stage a comeback.

A lull settles between us—not awkward, just weighted. Expectant. Like we’re both circling something we’re not quite ready to say out loud.

I push my fork around my plate, chasing crumbs. Will leans back in his chair, one hand resting on the lid of his coffee cup, the other tapping a quiet rhythm against the table. He hasn’t said anything in a while, not really, and I can see the thoughts stacking up behind his eyes like dominoes, just waiting for the first one to fall.

He’s looking at me again—really looking this time—and I can feel it before I see it. That slight crease between his brows. The way his mouth twitches like he’s holding something back, like he’s working through the last few hours in slow motion.

I think he's going to bring up our fight, my really harsh words, and the fact he doesn't deserve any of them.

He takes a slow breath, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “Hey, can I ask something?” His voice is a little quieter now, a shift in the air between us.

I glance up at him, a bit defensive. “What?”.

His gaze doesn’t waver, even though I’m doing my best to hide behind the comfort of my coffee cup. “Last night. The fight, and then the dancing. What changed? You went from attacking my job and character”—he gestures vaguely, referring to the tension and the harsh words—“to dancing on me like... you were trying to drive me crazy on purpose.” He lets out a little chuckle, but there’s a real question there, something he’s trying to get at.

That’s not what I expected. I thought he’d rip into me about all the things I said, the way I tore him down. I deserve that. I deserve worse.

I swallow the lump that suddenly forms in my throat, not because of the question, but because of what I know the answer is. I can’t help it. The thought of George, of seeing him with that girl, it hits me like a wave all over again. And now Will’s asking about it, and I want to lie, but it’s not even about lying. I don’t know how to explain it.

I meet his gaze, forcing myself to stay calm, to act like none of this is affecting me. “It worked, didn’t it?” I try to laugh it off, but his eyebrow lifts in that way he does when he’s not buying it. “I dunno,” I say, shrugging as if it’s no big deal. “Guess I was just... caught up in the moment. You know, the music, the drinks… everything kind of blends together.”

He studies me for a beat, his brows furrowing just slightly. I can see the wheels turning in his head, but he doesn’t get angry at me. Maybe he knows I’m hiding something. Maybe he doesn’t care enough to ask.

“You sure?” he presses, his voice lowering, like he’s giving me a chance to back out—but I hear the edge in it, the suspicion. “It wasn’t about George, was it?”

I force out a laugh—a little too quick, too high-pitched—like I’m trying to cover something raw. My chest tightens. “About George?”

I really wasn't expecting that. Not yet.

“Yeah, George.” His eyes lock on mine, steady and sharp, like he’s digging into my soul, trying to read between the lines. “He's told me everything. About back in uni, too.” He pauses, his jaw tightening, before adding with a bit of a knowing edge, “And I saw him hanging out with some girl last night. I just thought maybe you were trying to make him jealous or something.”

The mention of George stings, but it’s not just his name—it’s the fact that he’s been talking about me, spilling my business to anyone who’ll listen. It’s one thing to share mutual history, but this feels... wrong. I feel exposed.

“I didn’t even know that,” I say, too quick, too defensive. A lie. And I know he sees right through it.

But it’s true that it wasn’t about George. Not in the way he thinks. Yeah, sure, seeing him with that girl hits me in the gut, makes old feelings flare up like a damn wildfire, but that isn’t the driving force. Not at all. It’s not about getting him back or making him jealous. Hell, I’ve known for a while now that he doesn’t want me like that.

It’s about control—about grabbing back a little bit of power. About doing something for myself, for once, and not for anyone else.

But after last night—after how he touched me, the way it felt, how easy it was to get lost in it—I can’t help but wonder if there’s a part of me that wants it. Wants him. Not in the way I want George, not at all, but in the way that maybe... maybe it’d be nice to not be in control for once. In a good way. Just for a moment. A brief escape, a chance to feel desired without questioning it.

And as much as I try to push it down, a little voice keeps nagging at me, telling me I used Will. I used him to fill a hole I can’t name, to cover up something else that’s been eating at me. Something I still don’t know how to deal with.

I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to feel bad for enjoying what happened between us. But I do. Because I know this thing with Will—whatever it is, whatever it was—can’t just be another impulse I’ll regret later.

There's this part of me, that almost wants to see where this could go. Almost.

My stomach twists again at the thought of George, at the ghosts of old feelings, but I push them down. I try to act cool, to keep my composure. My heart pounds like it wants to break free, but I don’t let it show. My voice stays steady, but it’s a fight to make it sound unaffected.

“I’m not sure why you’re asking, but no. It wasn’t about him.”

I can’t tell him. Not when we’re sitting here, trying to figure out how to move forward without more confusion piling up. The last thing I need is to bring George into it. Not after what I saw last night.

Will doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he lets it slide for now. He takes a long sip of his coffee, leaning back in his chair, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Okay,” he mutters. “I just... I don’t get it, you know? It felt like one thing, and then it flipped, and suddenly we’re dancing like it’s all fine.”

I keep my face neutral, even though every part of me is screaming to tell him the truth. To explain why it felt like a release to dance with him. Why the anger, the hurt, the heat—it all melted into something else when I saw him there, and all of a sudden, the world felt a little more bearable.

But instead, I change the subject, keeping my tone light. “Are you complaining? ’Cause it looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

He gives me a tight smile, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m dodging the truth. Then his expression softens, and a real smile breaks through. “Yeah,” he says, “I did enjoy myself.”

We sit in silence for a moment, but it’s a softer kind of silence. The kind that comes after the storm. Neither of us presses the issue, and I can tell that—for now—Will’s willing to let it go.

The next stretch of conversation drifts into neutral waters. Safer topics. Familiar ground.

He brings up Becky—offhandedly at first, like he’s trying to clear something that’s been sitting between us without making a big deal of it. Says she’s a YouTuber too. Comedy stuff. She’s got a show where you just get drunk. The kind of content that doesn’t take itself too seriously, but still pulls in decent numbers.

He doesn’t linger on the details, but I can tell he’s doing it for my benefit, laying it out so I don’t have to wonder anymore. So I stop seeing her as a threat, or a ghost I was never supposed to notice.

He even says he reckons we’d get along. That she’s sharp, funny, good at reading people. Brilliant to hang out with on a night out. He mentions that they're not even close anymore, that she's become very good friends with his ex, Mia, and that last night was the first time had seen her in months.

I nod along, trying to keep my expression even, but there’s something strange about hearing him describe her. Not like he’s distancing himself—but like he’s placing her firmly in a different part of his life. A compartment I’m not supposed to worry about.

It should be comforting. It is, kind of. He's taking the time to explain something that clearly had my panties in a twist last night. I don't tell him why it affected me so much. I can't.

He doesn’t need to know how fast my mind spirals when he's not looking. Or how every kind word he says feels like it’s laced with pity, even when I know better. Even when it’s him. Especially when it’s him.

And it’s not just about Becky. Not really. She’s just another face in a crowd I don’t belong to. Another reminder that I still don’t know where I fit in this version of London I’ve landed in. I came here for a programming job, to see my closest uni friend. But George and everyone else has their people, their routines, their content calendars and inside jokes. I have a spare toothbrush in someone else’s bathroom and a half-unpacked suitcase and a preloved bedside table.

I thought moving back to the UK will fix things. I thought the ache I felt in Brisbane would ease the second my feet hit familiar pavement. I thought I'd come back and slot right into the old rhythm, like nothing has changed. But London isn't familiar, and I'll never be back at uni with George and our friends again.

I left for Australia thinking I needed space. Clarity. Nine months later, all I had was a tan, a dead grandma, and half a master's degree I'm too embarrassed to mention. Coming back in January left like surrender—like I was crawling back to something I don’t know how to live without.

And still, nothing was waiting for me here. Just echoes. Just everyone having moved on without me, like I pressed pause and the world didn't. Like the version of me that used to belong here has been replaced—and no one even noticed.

Now it’s June, and London still doesn’t feel like home. Not really. I’ve got a job, a hobby, a handful of close friends—things that should fill the space, should make it feel less empty. But even surrounded by people, I still feel like I’m on the outside looking in, like I’m passing through someone else’s life instead of living my own. The noise never quite reaches me, and the laughter feels distant, like echoes through a glass wall.

George’s flat still feels like a set I’m just squatting in. The bed is technically mine, but everything else—the silence, the chipped mugs, the unopened letters on the counter—makes me feel like a guest in my own life.

And maybe that’s why last night with Will hits harder than I expect. Why I let myself get drunk on softness and skin and attention. Why I let it matter.

Because for a second, it felt like someone saw me. And for the first time in months, I didn't feel like I’m on the outside of my own story.

Maybe that’s why I cling to Will like he’s solid ground in a city that doesn’t feel like mine. Why I kiss him like it can silence the voice in my head—the one that keeps whispering that no one’s really waiting for me, in London, Brisbane, or anywhere. Like I’m just passing through, a visitor in my own life.

“Y/N, you good?” His voice pulls me back, soft but steady, like an anchor I don’t realize I’m searching for.

I blink, shake off the weight of my thoughts, and force a half-smile. “Hm? Yeah, I’m good. Just… thinking about you.” I hesitate, then add with a nervous laugh, “Last night. Uh, naked.”

It’s a lie and not a lie. I’m lying because it's not what I'm only thinking about, and I want to keep things light, but I’m not lying about what flickers through my mind more than once—the thought that maybe it’d be a damn shame if we never get another chance like that again. Not because I trust him, or because I’m sure it means anything, but because in that moment, his touch is the only thing that makes me feel less invisible. Less lost.

Okay I'm lying to myself again. I think I do trust him.

And I don’t hate him anymore. Not really, but I am confused—why has he attached himself to me like this? I can’t shake the feeling that, to him, I’m still some kind of charity project. A puzzle to fix rather than a person to know. And maybe that’s why part of me keeps my distance, keeps my guard up. Maybe it's not about holding out for George at all.

But beneath the frustration, there’s something softer. Something dangerous. And I’m scared to admit how much I want to find out what this could be, even if only for a little while.

“Is that so?” he grins, slow and deliberate, I can see that look in his eyes through his sunglasses — like he’s already replaying what he’s about to do. Everything I was just thinking about dissolves in the air.

I feel it—the way his presence fills the space between us, thick and electric, pulling me in even before we leave this table. The second we get back to his flat, I know I’ll be pressed up against his kitchen counter, his hands tracing that familiar line from my waist to my hips, the heat between us rising fast.

The thought makes my cheeks burn—hot, spreading through me like wildfire. It’s the kind of heat that makes my breath catch, that sharp flutter in my stomach I try to pretend isn’t there. I want to play it cool, but inside, I’m already unravelling.

He’s teasing, sure. But beneath the grin and the playful words, there’s a weight—a promise, or maybe a challenge—that I can’t quite shake. And even if I’m tangled up in doubts about what this means, right now I’m hooked, caught in the pull of something dangerous and delicious.

He leans in, that familiar glint in his eye. “Keep lookin’ at me like that and they’ll be chuckin’ us out for indecency.”

I smirk, already warm in the face. “Oh yeah? And what’re you gonna do about it?”

He grins, wide and wicked. “Get us out before they do, won’t I?” He slides his hand into mine, fingers curling around with surprising firmness.

Before I can think twice, he’s pulling me up, tugging me toward the door. We stumble through the small space, laughing like fools, dodging curious looks and a near-spilled latte.

Outside, the arm air hits my skin, and I catch my breath. I almost can't believe I think it's warm. I know it’s summer, but the air is always cool here. He tightens his grip, voice low and teasing. “Race you back to my place?”

And before I can say another word he drops my hand and bolts.

“Oi! I’m in last night’s boots!” I shout, nearly tripping as I take off after him, laughter bursting out of me.

He glances over his shoulder, running backwards like a show-off. “Sounds like a you problem, love!” But he slows down and lets me catch up. He stretches out his hand and I take it.

We run down the street, breathless and grinning like idiots, our fingers still linked like neither of us wants to let go.

xxx

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