#it will take a while to really process everything

[smileysuh]

choices

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh & Lee Haechan & Jung Jaehyun x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. Everything feels so good- you don’t even know where to focus. Being touched by two of your best friends while the third watches is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. There’s something building inside of you, call it lust or love- regardless, it’s undeniable, and to make matters worse, it’s all-consuming too. 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, cam girl reader, mentions of alcohol/drugs/porn, masturbation, use of sex toys, multiple reader orgasms, oral (both m/f recieving), blow job, pussy eating, overstim, multiple sex positions, dirty talk, praise, size kink, choking, spanking, etc… I pet names: (hers) Squeak.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 9.7k 

🍭 aus. Uni au, non idol au, best friends to lovers, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This was originally a Pentagon fic from 2022, but that was three and half years ago so I revamped it for this month’s NCT fic :) I put a lot of effort into this fic when it came out, I always liked the story and the way the dynamic flowed, and the NCT fandom is so much larger than the Pentagon one, so I figured why not

“What are you thinking about?” Johnny asks as he takes a seat next to you. You make room for your large friend by lifting your legs off the couch, allowing him to slip under them.

His warm hands find your calves and he brings them to settle in his lap while you both get comfortable on the couch that Haechan has been hauling around since his last year of high school, when he’d won it during a drunken game of beer pong with Lee Taeyong, who was very flustered when he lost and had to actually cough up the couch.

You grin at the memory, pushing your body against the fuzzy blanket that covers the dark leather couch much of the time- Taeyong hadn’t bought the expensive sofa with the intention of it becoming a part-time bed for teenage boys, too lazy to get up after playing video games at all hours.

Haechan has made the stiff, leather couch comfortable with layers of blankets and pillows, and over the years, countless people have worn it down. 

“This couch,” you breathe, leaning your head to the side against the cushion. 

“How high are you?” Johnny laughs, his hand moving to find your foot, where he runs a finger along your heel. The brief contact causes you to jolt yourself away from the mischievous man, who had rolled into your life around the same time Haechan and Jaehyun had, in tenth grade.

The four of you had all been sent to some preppy teenager summer camp. Jaehyun, Haechan, and Johnny had all bonded immediately, and the three were easygoing enough to welcome you wholeheartedly into the festivities of newfound friendship.

What had started off as a ‘year abroad’ for the man from Chicago had turned into him moving to Korea full time, and the four of you have been inseparable ever since, even going to the same university now. 

“For real,” Johnny says gruffly, grabbing your foot to pull it back into his lap before running a ring-clad hand through his tousled locks. “What are you thinking about?”

“Something stupid,” you sigh, cocking your head and studying him. “You?”

Your friend shrugs, flashing you a grin that you’ve come to love so much. “Something stupid.”

“You two really need to work on your social skills,” Haechan sighs, having caught the tail end of your brief interaction.

He collapses on the couch, and you quickly pull your legs to your chest in an effort not to get crushed during Haechan’s process of forcing himself between you and Johnny.

The youngest of your three male friends has a red cup in each hand, and he holds them out expectantly.

“Who needs social skills when we have you and Jaehyun?” you smile, accepting one of the drinks and taking a sip- only to scrunch your face up in disgust. “What is in this?”

Haechan shrugs, leaning back against the couch with a lazy grin. “I confiscated it from Doyoung” 

“No wonder it tastes so bad-” You hold the cup out to Haechan, and he reluctantly accepts it. “Doyoung makes the most stupid yet strong drinks of all of us. Someone really needs to teach him how to actually make a cocktail.”

“He has to find the energy to deal with us crazies somehow,” Johnny chuckles, sniffing his own cup and swirling the contents inside before taking a test sip. 

“Speaking of crazies,” you stretch your arms over your head, looking out at the room, “where’s Jaehyun?”

“Haven’t seen him in a while,” Haechan says, arms finding the back of the couch while he looks around, the cup held by long fingers now resting just by your shoulder.

“Didn’t he go off with that pretty girl in the glitter shirt?” Johnny asks.

“Maybe.” Haechan cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “Was she his ‘go to’ tonight?”

“Must be,” Johnny responds quickly. “He didn’t invite the other one.”

You sigh, finding the whole thing to be a little crazy.

Being best friends with three dudes has a lot of positives- but listening to them detail their fuck schedules and fuck buddies is not one of them. 

“Stop being so grumpy.” Haechan shoves you, and you realize you’ve been wearing your feelings on your sleeve for everyone to see. 

“I’m not being grumpy,” you insist, but you can’t wipe the expression of distaste from your face.

“You are. You hate Jaehyun and his fuck buddies.”

“I just- I just don’t get why the three of you are so into hookup culture,” you sigh. “I mean- what's the point?”

“The point is getting your dick wet, Squeak,” Johnny chuckles, and the nickname makes your skin heat.

They’ve tried a number of pet names for you over the years, but Pip Squeak has been the only one that’s truly stuck- and it’s no wonder. It’s completely fitting. You stick out like a tiny little nugget next to your three male friends. 

“She doesn’t need to get her dick wet,” Haechan rolls his eyes, a mischievous grin breaking onto his face a moment later. “She’s already as wet as can be.”

“Haechan!” You and Johnny both react at the same time, your foot kicking at Haechan’s lap while Johnny shoves him, and the obviously tipsy man simply giggles, taking the physical onslaught with a shit eating smile. 

“Why are we fighting Haechan?” Comes a tired voice, and Jaehyun tosses his body onto the couch, landing half on top of all three of you with his head in your lap.

“Haechan’s being a bad boy,” you respond, fingers finding Jaehyun’s soft, dark hair immediately, a habit you’d picked up years ago.

“Am not!” Haechan insists. “Tell me I'm wrong.”

You sigh loudly, rolling your eyes while Johnny chuckles.

“I’m missing something,” Jaehyun says from your lap, looking up at you with those pretty eyes of his, “tell me?” 

“All I said was that Y/N doesn't need to look for fuck buddies to get her dick wet because she’s already wet as shit,” Haechan states factually, which, to be fair, is a complete recount of what he’d said.

“And you know this for a fact?” Jaehyun teases, looking at his friend with an expression of smug disbelief.

“Well-” Haechan visibly shrinks, his shoulders slumping, his skin brightening with pretty pinks. “I mean-”

“For a moment there, I thought I'd missed a massive milestone in you guys' friendship,” Jaehyun says, letting out a sigh of relief as he gets comfortable in your lap again. He turns onto his side so he can nuzzle his face against your thighs, which he’s declared countless times to be the best pillows in the whole universe. “If the two of you started hooking up, I think the world would have to end.”

“It wouldn’t be that crazy,” Haechan fires back immediately, and his ears turn an even brighter red.

“It would be crazy that out of the three of us, she’d choose you,” Johnny says smoothly.

Haechan holds up a hand as if he’s going to hit his friend, and Johnny stiffens in his seat, his carefree expression turning stern in an instant. “It’s my birthday we’re celebrating right now,” he reminds his younger friend. “Show some respect.”

Haechan groans but lets his hand fall to his lap again. 

You’ve never met a trio of guys so centered around their birthdays.

These three are constantly utilizing their positions, whether it’s by Johnny expecting respect as the ‘oldest’, or Haechan playing baby.

“I think she’d choose me,” Jaehyun says in an almost wistful manner from your lap, turning to look up at you so he can reach a hand to play with your hair.

You think it’s interesting to be talking about this, especially since this very question has been on your mind so frequently as of late. It had been on your mind when Johnny first sat down, and now here it is again.

“She’s not choosing you, Jaehyun,” Johnny scoffs. “She hates your hookup culture.”

“My hookup culture?” Jaehyun laughs, lifting his head so he’s able to look at Johnny by his feet. “Says you!”

“How did I ever become friends with three man sluts?” you sigh teasingly, shaking your head at your constant companions, who erupt into chaos. 

“You love us,” Johnny insists, while Jaehyun defends his behaviour, and Haechan pretends to look scandalized at the notion of being a ‘man slut’. 

The bickering subsides when Doyoung’s voice bellows “Haechan!” from somewhere else in the house, and your foursome dissipates quickly thereafter.

You find your way to Jungwoo, who is trying his best to be helpful in the kitchen as the festivities wind down.

It’s just the core group of friends left in the mock frat house now, and before you know it, everyone is in the kitchen. Conversation is easy, and another hour ticks by before Doyoung finally pushes off from where he’s standing by a wall to announce he’s heading home. 

There’s a brief discussion over cars and who is sober enough to drive, and once his friends are accounted for, Doyoung turns to you. “Do you need a ride home?”

“She’s staying here,” Haechan says before you can answer, his arms wrapping around you tightly. It’s not uncommon for you to sleep over at the ‘mojo dojo casa man house’, as Haechan had dubbed it when they moved in. In fact, last year, you’d spent pretty much the entire summer here before the university term had started up again.

“As always,” Doyoung sighs as he puts his shoes on by the door, eyes assessing you and your three best friends. “Be careful with her.”

It’s a lasting joke in the friend group that everyone is waiting for Haechan to accidentally sit on you and break you- or maybe for Johnny to hug you a little too hard one day- 

“No promises,” Haechan grins happily, tightening his embrace around you until it borders on being painful. 

You can’t stand him sometimes.

You love him so much.

“Call me if they’re too demanding and you need an escape,” Doyoung warns you, earning some irritated sounds from your friends, who are eager to have you to themselves.

“She’s ours,” Jaehyun insists, arms wrapping around you so you’re now sandwiched between him and Haechan. 

Doyoung rolls his eyes as the final person in your group slides up against your back, resting his chin on top of your head. “We’ll take care of her,” Johnny promises.

You’re truly trapped now. 

The moment the door is closed behind Doyoung, sealing you in with your best friends, Jaehyun and Haechan jump into action. The younger of the two grabs your arm, dragging you towards the living room, while Jaehyun mirrors the motion on your opposite side, in the direction of the kitchen. 

Johnny tightens his grip on your waist, making it clear he’s not intent on moving. 

“What’s the plan?” The man behind you asks.

“Movie,” Haechan states.

“More drinks first,” Jaehyun insists.

“What do you think, Squeak?” Johnny’s fingers press gently into the skin of your hips, and you can feel the warmth of him through your thin shirt, his heart beating steadily at your back. 

You hate it when he makes you choose between activities. Why do you always have to be the Haechan and Jaehyun tie breaker? 

“I don’t care.”

“Movies,” Haechan states again, pulling on your arm.

Jaehyun tugs your other side. “Drinks first.” 

Johnny sighs. “I’ll go choose a movie with Haechan, and you two can make us drinks. But make it something good, okay? I need to get the Doyoung mix taste out of my mouth.”

“No promises,” Jaehyun grins, pulling you away from Haechan successfully this time.

Johnny catches your eye, and you laugh, a silent agreement to do your best to keep Jaehyun under control in the booze department. 

“You,” Jaehyun grabs at your waist when you reach the kitchen, “go here.” He lifts you up and sets you onto the countertop. “And I’ll make the drinks.” He smiles up at you, and you laugh at how cute he gets when he’s tipsy.

“Did you really need me to come help you then?”

“It’s really helpful for you to sit there and tell me I'm the best bartender in the house.”

“Like that’s a hard title to win,” you roll your eyes.

Haechan can’t cook (or do anything of the sort) to save his life, and Johnny- well, Johnny has a taste for cheap beer, which disqualifies him immediately from the race. 

You have to admit, Jaehyun moves like a professional. He glides from cupboard to counter, grabbing glasses and setting them up next to you. You watch the way his body moves, muscles visible with each motion, and when he shakes one of the drinks, you have to tear your eyes from his biceps.

He might be the leanest of your three friends, but he’s still much taller than you, and most women, for that matter. 

You’re so busy watching Jaehyun’s back that you don’t realize he’s paused his fluid motions. He turns, and you see he’s put an apron on- the one that says ‘kiss the chef’. Jungwoo had bought it for Johnny for Secret Santa one year in an effort to get Johnny to agree to barbecue more often. 

You cock a brow at your best friend as he slips between your legs, hands finding the counter on either side of your hips. “So?” He grins. “You gonna kiss the chef or what?”

You laugh. “Not sure you even qualify as a chef when you just said you’re a bartender.” But you grab his chin all the same, forcing Jaehyun to the side so you can plant your lips on his cheek. 

Jaehyun’s smiling when you let him go, appearing satisfied, and he returns to his drink making.

Within minutes, he has all four orders ready to go, and he carries a tray to the living room with you in tow. 

As Jaehyun sets the tray down, Haechan quickly reads the apron, stands, and sighs. “Well, if you insist.” He grabs Jaehyun and presses his lips to his cheek, much like you had.

Jaehyun recoils with disgust, shoving Haechan, only to be attacked on the other side by Johnny, who manages to get a kiss placed right below Jaehyun’s ear that has him shivering and jumping back, hiding behind you. “Save me, Squeak!” 

“You wore the apron!” Haechan laughs, and you know he leaps at any opportunity to terrorize his friends. 

“Just drink your drinks,” Jaehyun groans, taking off the piece of fabric that had just cost him another 2 of his 9 Jaehyun Cat Lives- you’ve seen him receive a sneak attack kiss from at least Jungwoo, and you’re pretty sure Taeyong as well, so you wonder how many Jaehyun Cat Lives are even left. 

“Remember when I sat next to you earlier?” Johnny says in your ear, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you down onto the couch. “And asked you what you were thinking?”

“Something stupid.”

“Yeah.” Johnny lets you get seated next to him, but he keeps an arm around you, eyes briefly moving to Jaehyun and Haechan, who are bickering about the movie on the other side of the couch. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

You laugh.

The man from Chicago grins, but there’s something serious in his eyes. “I’ll go first if you want.” His voice is softer this time, and the tone of the discussion has shifted entirely. 

“Johnny-”

“I was thinking about how good you look tonight.”

“Johnny-” Your voice is something near a whimper. You���re shocked and left speechless at the turn of events that have just been orchestrated by your best friend. He’s told you how pretty you are before, but there’s something about the way he’s saying it now- it’s different.

“Your turn,” he says, one large hand finding your thigh, smoothing up and down the denim that covers you from him. “What were you thinking about?”

You can’t tell him that you were thinking about him, Haechan and Jaehyun- that you were trying, for the billionth time, to decide which of the three you prefer the most- because if you were going to potentially ruin things with the other two, you want to know you are doing it with the right one-

But no matter how many times you’ve run it through your brain, you’ve come up empty-handed. Unable to choose. 

How do you say that to him?

“What are you two talking about?” Jaehyun’s voice is your saving grace, and he puts the drink he’d made for you into your hands. “She looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

“I just told her what we were all thinking,” Johnny shrugs.

“Liar. I was not thinking,” Haechan states, turning to look at you as he takes a deep breath. “What wasn’t I thinking?”

“That she looks good tonight,” Johnny says. 

However, when Johnny says it, he says it in a tone that’s friendly. 

He doesn’t say it as he had a few seconds ago, with a voice that was low and seductive. 

You can’t believe him.

“It is a nice outfit,” Jaehyun agrees lightheartedly, leaning back against the couch and propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of you.

“Okay, but hear me out.” Haechan sits up in his seat, his hands hovering as if he’s going to say something profound- “I always thought-” a pause, taken to ponder, big eyes blinking, “outfits like that are meant to be ripped off in like, an hour? Two hours- tops. How are you still wearing that?”

You all groan, but Johnny’s grip around you tightens. “He does have a point,” Johnny says. “Do you want to change into a hoodie and some sweatpants?”

You roll your eyes. “Are we all going to ignore the fact that he practically said I look like-”

“A pretty little whore,” Jaehyun interrupts you with a grin, his dimples perky amidst his alcohol blushed cheeks. “It’s okay, you look like that a lot of the time.” 

You stare at Jaehyun with shock for a moment, and then you look at Johnny, confidence flooding through your body. If they’re going to call you a pretty little whore, and touch your thighs, and be like this- well, you can play too.

“The stupid thing I was thinking about earlier was who out of the three of you I want to fuck the most, or at least, who I’d risk it all for.”

Johnny meets your gaze with an intense look of his own, and he licks his lips. “Go on,” he prompts, voice hoarse and sexy. “Who’d you pick?”

“I wasn’t able to pick. I never am,” you respond, turning sideways in your corner section of the couch, facing your body towards the three insanely handsome men you call best friends. 

Haechan is looking at you with wide eyes, jaw dropped, and Jaehyun is sitting perfectly still, and Johnny is meeting your gaze straight on, with an intensity unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

You swallow thickly. “Do you guys want to hear a dirty little secret?”

Johnny’s hand squeezes your thigh, and it’s Haechan who mumbles a whiny, “Yes.”

“Since I’m never able to pick-” you reach out, tracing a finger across Johnny’s collarbone, still hidden by his shirt, “I usually just end up imagining all three of you, and end up even more confused than when I started.”

“Well,” Johnny grabs you by the waist and easily pulls you to be straddling his lap. Dark eyes gaze up into yours. “I think we can help you figure it out.”

He leans in, and just as he’s about to kiss you, you tilt your head, his lips making contact with your cheek.

Johnny groans, fingers digging into your hips, and you laugh. “Come on, you know I can’t just risk all our friendships like this-”

“Why not?” Jaehyun moves closer, a hand reaching up to grab the back of your head, forcing you to look at him.

“Because what if I like all three of you the same?” you ask, looking past Jaehyun’s shoulder at Haechan, who is seated farthest from you on the couch, and is now being all but blocked out. 

“Then you like all three of us,” Johnny says, his hands applying pressure to your hips, forcing you down so you can feel how hard he is against your core. Even with both your pants in the way, you can tell he’s turned on, and it only makes you wetter. You stop a groan just as it’s about to escape your lips.

“I told you,” you breathe as Jaehyun releases his hold on your neck so you can look at the man under you again, “I’m not into your hookup culture.”

“This isn’t just going to be a hookup, and we all know it,” Johnny tells you, leaning up to have access to you again, only for you to turn your cheek at the last moment, repeating your behaviour from before. 

“Have any of you even had a foursome?” you question, and you’re pretty sure the answer is no. If they had, you’re sure you would have heard about it. 

“No, but it won’t be much different from a threesome,” Jaehyun muses, his fingers dancing up and down your arm, eyes taking in your form with a glimmer of darkness that you identify as lust.

He’s never looked at you like this before... at least, not that you’ve noticed.

“Says the guy literally excluding dude number three,” you laugh, meeting Haechan’s dumbstruck gaze again. “What do you think, Hyuck?”

“I think-” the youngest man coughs, clearing his throat. “I think we should take this to the bedroom where there’s more space.”

“Good idea.” Johnny stands abruptly, and you grab his shoulders to steady yourself, his hands slipping down to your ass, effectively holding you up while you cling to his front like a koala bear. 

“Hey!” You turn to nip at Johnny’s ear gently with your teeth, the biggest scolding you can do in this position. “I haven’t even said yes yet.”

“Sure you haven't,” Johnny breathes, continuing through the house towards the bedrooms. 

Jaehyun and Haechan are following close behind, and they walk shoulder to shoulder. You let your eyes take in their differences. There’s Haechan with his mischievous expressions and all black aesthetic- then there’s Jaehyun, looking as ethereal and statuesque as always. 

“You guys really think this won’t ruin anything?” you ask, letting your anxieties truly show as Johnny steps over the threshold into his room.

“How could it ruin anything?” Johnny retorts, placing you onto his bed before straightening to look down at you.

“It could ruin everything,” you frown. “What if one of you gets jealous-”

“Jaehyun?” 

“Yes, Johnny?”

“Are you going to get jealous if I fuck her brains out?”

“No.” A pause, then; “Hey, Haechan, are you going to get jealous?”

“Nope.”

“See?” Johnny grins down at you, and you groan, grabbing one of his pillows and covering your face with it. 

“You’re not getting it-” you whine, removing the pillow after a moment. 

“Then explain why you’re so worried.” Johnny reaches down and grabs one of your socks, pulling it off your foot even as you try to kick him away- he’s always going after your ticklish spots and you are not interested in him being a freaking tickle sadist right now. 

“I’m worried, because you say it’s not going to be a hookup, but then you also say that you can all apparently promise not to catch feels and get jealous-”

“Who promised not to catch feels?” Now it’s Jaehyun snatching at your foot to remove your second sock, and you’re left kicking at the three men at the end of the bed with bare feet. 

“Our little Pip Squeak doesn’t get it,” Johnny tuts with a grin. “Haechan, explain things to her.”

Your gaze moves to the youngest man in the room. He’s off center, on Jaehyun’s right side, and he’s watching you with an oddly pure expression. 

Haechan rubs the back of his neck, cocking his head at you. “You’re not the only one who’s thought about all this stuff,” he says. “The three of us- we’ve talked about this sort of thing happening-”

“You have?” you ask in shock, this being the first time you’ve ever heard of this.

“Of course we have Squeak,” Jaehyun says, using your distracted state to grab at you, striking faster than a snake, and getting your ankle in a harsh grip that he uses to drag you down the bed towards them.

“And we all agreed,” Johnny explains, “that whoever you choose, the other two won't get upset.”

“And now that we know you want all of us-” Jaehyun has dragged you all the way to the foot of the bed, and he releases your ankle in favour of latching onto the rolled cuff of your jeans, tugging gently. “What’s there to be upset about?”

“Besides,” Johnny lets out a small chuckle, “Haechan’s already been telling girls who hit on him at bars that he’s dating you so they back off. He’s a little more committed to you than Jaehyun or I can afford to be without knowing you return the feelings.”

Your eyes shift to Haechan again, and you notice how the redness has returned to his ears. He’s looking down at the floor, and your heart swells with emotion.

You look between your best friends, “So you three-” 

“Have been hopelessly in love with you for years, Squeak.” Johnny finishes for you. “So let us take care of you. And don't be worried about the consequences. There are none.”

“Are you sure about that?” You cock a brow. “I think if Doyoung finds out about this, he might have a heart attack.”

“Like I said, only good outcomes,” Johnny chuckles, then he holds out a hand for you. “Come here.” You reach for him, and Johnny easily pulls you to your feet, bringing you close until you’re chest to chest. “Let us help you learn not to worry so much, hmm?”

One of his hands comes to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone lovingly. Johnny looks down at you with dark eyes that have stars in them, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. 

You trust Johnny, and you trust Jaehyun, and Haechan. 

With one final ‘please, Lord Jesus or whoever is up in the sky- please let this not end badly,’ you feel a surge of adrenaline run through you, and it gives you the courage to lurch onto your tiptoes, throw your arms around the back of Johnny’s neck. You press your lips to his for the very first time, and it’s as if a wave of electricity runs through your entire body.

Johnny’s hands immediately slip down to your waist, and he tugs you closer, kissing you back. He captures your lower lip between his own, suckling on it for a moment before letting his teeth drag against you, earning a small sound that rises out of your chest before you can even stop it.

Johnny grins against your lips briefly before kissing you harder, prompting you to open your mouth and allow his tongue to glide across your teeth. His hand slips down from your waist to your ass, giving you a delicious squeeze-

And then two new hands are grabbing your hips, forcibly making you turn, taking Johnny with you. Someone presses against your back, and it’s easy for you to guess who it is. 

Jaehyun’s fingers dig into your hips, pulling your lower body away from Johnny and back towards the new man behind you. Jaehyun grinds against you, his lips finding your neck and sending a shiver through your body at the new, unexpected contact. 

You find yourself reaching behind you, finding Jaehyun’s hair and lacing your fingers through it, tugging gently and earning a groan that reverberates against your throat. 

Jaehyun’s teeth graze your jugular and Johnny breaks your kiss in favour of going at the other side of your neck, one of his hands grabbing at your jaw and pushing up, giving both men more space as they suck little love bites into your skin. 

Now that your mouth isn’t covered with Johnny’s, your sounds slip out unhindered, little whimpers of delight that earn growls of interest from the men all but claiming your throat - your very breath - as theirs. 

Then you remember the youngest man missing from this equation, and his name tumbles from your lips. “Haechan-”

Johnny's knuckles darkly against your throat, and then he adjusts the grip, still pushing at your chin, so he can insert two fingers into your mouth. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Johnny asks, nipping at your earlobe. “Saying Haechan’s name while Jaehyun and I worship you like this.”

You moan around his fingers, blindly grabbing at Johnny’s belt to drag him closer. 

“You want him first, don’t you, Squeak?” Jaehyun hisses against your neck. “You always care about your baby boy first, isn’t that right?” He pulls his face away from your skin, and a moment later, his fingers are wrapping around your throat, squeezing. 

You moan around Johnny’s fingers, and he removes them from your mouth, both men giving you enough space to answer them.

“Yes,” you gasp, pushing your ass back against Jaehyun, “Haechan deserves it.”

Fingers squeeze your neck again, and Jaehyun’s lips brush by your ear when he asks, “And we don’t?”

You let out a groan when Johnny pushes his leg between your thighs, and it’s the first real contact on your core, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. “You two stole my socks.”

The men caging you in begin to laugh, and if you weren’t so distracted by their hands on you- their massive bodies locking you in between them- you might have laughed as well, but the most you can do is latch onto Johnny’s shoulders when he pushes his thigh up against you harder. 

“Fine,” Johnny says, voice low. His hand comes to cup your face, and you open your eyes to look up at him. “You can have Haechan first. But if you were anyone else- I’d make him wait.”

“Let's make him wait,” Jaehyun suggests behind you, and a moment later, he’s latching his lips onto your neck again, finding your sweet spot and exploiting it for the pretty gasps that immediately leave you.

“So you’re going to say no to her?” Johnny laughs, rubbing his nose against yours gently before kissing you with the same softness.

Behind you, Jaehyun groans, and you know he’s been defeated.

“How are we going to do this?” Jaehyun asks, and you realize nearly immediately that he’s not talking to you.

Johnny stops kissing you to consider it for a moment, even turning to look at the bed. Then he says, “Haechan sitting against the headboard, Squeak on his lap, you can be behind.”

“And you?” You grab the front of Johnny’s shirt, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I’ll wait,” he assures you. “Someone has to tell these two which positions are going to work.”

“I know positions,” Jaehyun mutters behind you, making both you and Johnny laugh.

Jaehyun must not like being laughed at, because his hands grab your hips and he roughly turns you to face him, looking down at you with a dark gaze. “You think this is funny?” He grabs your face, nearly shaking with what looks to be repressed emotion, and all your laughter dies in your throat. “You have no idea how long we’ve-” he groans, unable to finish his sentence. 

“Then show me.”

He grabs your face with both hands, smashing his lips to yours.

If Johnny had been eager but collected, Jaehyun is the opposite side of the same coin, eager and extremely enthusiastic, his tongue clashing against yours immediately. His thumb presses against your cheekbone as he kisses you, and then his hands disappear for a moment, only for your shirt to be torn off your body.

Jaehyun’s lips move to your neck, and you let out a gasp, fingers threading in his hair while his mouth begins its descent.  His lips press sloppy kisses to your collarbones and then the swell of your breasts, one of his large hands splaying across the small of your back-

He grabs at the latch of your bra, and you whimper, body tingling with anticipation-

While Jaehyun undoes the clasp, a new set of hands finds your shoulders, pushing the straps of your bra down gently. Lips press butterfly kisses against the nape of your neck and your shoulders, a stark contrast to Jaehyun, who successfully gets your bra off and moves his attention to your breasts. 

“Fuck-” Jaehyun groans, cupping your left boob in his hand and kneading it while his tongue darts out to tease your other nipple- then he’s grabbing at your legs, lifting you up while the man behind you gets out of the way, allowing Jaehyun to toss you onto the bed, his body landing on top of yours. 

Jaehyun’s mouth continues its downward trajectory, and then his fingers are finding the waistband of your jeans, tugging roughly- only to allow the denim to fall back to your skin. Jaehyun looks up at you and you gnaw at your lower lip, your own hands moving to undo the button, then the zipper- and when you lift your hips, Jaehyun immediately follows through and helps you pull your jeans off. 

“You’re in for it now,” Johnny chuckles darkly, and your gaze shifts to the man from Chicago, who has moved to sit in his gaming chair and is facing the bed with an amused expression on his face. 

You don’t have to ask what Johnny is talking about.

It’s a running joke amongst your male friends that Jaehyun loves giving oral- it’s one of the things you’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing about, and now that he’s between your legs, he definitely delivers.

Jaehyun pushes your thighs up to your chest, letting out a soft groan when he brings his mouth to your panty-covered core. He places an open-mouthed kiss on your entrance, tongue pressing against the fabric of your underwear and making your legs twitch.

“Are you seriously going to tease her while we’re standing here waiting?” Haechan groans next to you, and you have to admit, you agree with his exasperated tone.

“I'm not forcing you to stand there and watch,” Jaehyun responds quickly, fingers hooking in your panties. When he pulls the fabric to the side, his breath fanning over your heated core. A shiver runs across your body, and your hands instinctively reach for his hair. 

“Jaehyun-” you whimper, voice betraying your need.

Your friend looks up at you with mischievous eyes and a grin, then he brings his face to your heat, dragging his tongue across your entrance teasingly. His hands adjust your legs, pushing them up against your chest harder, spreading you open as he places his entire mouth onto you, tongue pushing into your wet hole.

Your fingers tug at his hair, and you gasp, back arching. It feels like little shocks of happiness are scattering across your skin. 

The bed dips next to you, and then a familiar hand covers your breast, thumb brushing over your pebbled nipple, earning another sound of pleasure from deep within you. 

Haechan looks down at you, eyes full of focus, and your heart lurches in your chest. You grab your youngest lover boy, pulling him to your lips.

He’s surprised at first, but it only takes a moment for Haechan to start kissing you back, his body shifting as he shuffles closer, leaning half over you so he can kiss you harder while his fingers pinch at your nipple. 

Everything feels so good- you don’t even know where to focus. Being touched by two of your best friends while the third watches is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. There’s something building inside of you, call it lust or love- regardless, it’s undeniable, and to make matters worse, it’s all-consuming too. 

Jaehyun sucks at your clit, and you shiver, legs closing around his head as a sudden orgasm erupts through your body. You grab at Haechan’s shoulders, moaning desperately into his mouth while Jaehyun continues to lick and slurp at your entrance. Then, a moment later, two of his fingers push into you, and you think this must be the most wonderful feeling your body has ever felt.

Jaehyun’s digits curl up, and you can hear your pussy squelching even over the gasps and whimpers that are escaping you.

Haechan’s moved his kisses to your neck, and your noises of pleasure fill the space, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Jaehyun lets up when your legs truly begin to shake, and when he pulls away, your feet fall flat on the mattress, knees closing.

Haechan’s still working on your neck, one hand worshiping your breast, but after a moment, the hand begins to move downward. He drags his palm along the outside of your leg, up to your knee, then he applies a bit of pressure, prompting your thighs to open. 

Haechan adjusts above you, moving between your legs slowly. He gives you time to push him away, but the moment he’s pressing down against your core, your thighs tighten around his waist. 

“Haechan?” You blink up at him.

“Yeah?” His voice is shaky, as if he’s as confused about this turn of events as you are.

You push at his shoulders, and Haechan lets up, allowing you to roll, switching positions so you’re now on top of him. Your friend’s hands find your hips, and you grab at his shirt, prompting him to sit up so he can remove it easily. 

His lips find your breasts the moment he discards the fabric, and his fingers splay across your back, keeping you close while he moves his kisses up to your neck. He reaches your lips moments later, and you push on his shoulders, causing you both to fall back onto the bed, your hands pressed to his chest, which flexes beneath you. 

You roll your hips, and you can feel Haechan’s cock pressing up against his jeans. You avoid the obnoxious buckle on the belt that he’d found thrifting last December, you’d always known there was a reason you hated it, but have never been able to put your finger on it- now, you realize it’s because it makes Haechan’s crotch about as inviting as a chastity belt. 

“Off,” you mumble against your friend’s lips, reaching a hand between your bodies to tug at the belt buckle before releasing it. Haechan had the audacity to put the damned thing on, he can remove it too.

Large hands fumble, metal brushes your exposed abdomen and makes you shiver, Haechan kisses you deeper in response, managing to get the belt off with one hand while the other returns to cup your face. He’s pulling the leather band completely out of the rings of his pants and throwing it to the side a moment later, and as soon as it’s gone, your hands return to the waistband of his jeans. 

The two of you make quick work of undressing him, and before you know it, he’s bare in front of you, and you’re practically drooling at how big he is.

You lick your lips, kissing Haechan quickly, then begin your descent. He shivers when you kiss his abdomen, and your fingers wrap around his cock a moment later, earning another hiss, as well as a hand in your hair.

Haechan looks down at you and you meet his eyes, bringing your mouth to the head of his cock and kitten licking. The gorgeous man lets out a strangled gasp, throwing his head back into the pillows, hips lifting off the bed, and he releases his hold on your hair to grip the bed sheets. You humour the needy man, sinking your mouth onto his length, taking as much of him as you can.

A hand lands on your ass, surprising you and making you jolt, which sends Haechan into the back of your throat. You gag, pulling away from Haechan while your hand continues to pump him, and you look over your shoulder at Jaehyun. 

“I know you said you wanted him first.” The pretty man grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling you up and away from Haechan so your back is now to Jaehyun’s chest. He runs his tongue from your shoulder up to your ear, and you shiver at the cool stripe it leaves in its wake. “But what if I fuck you while you suck him off? There’s no reason you can’t take us both, hmm?”

You gnaw on your lower lip, nodding eagerly, and Jaehyun releases a deep chuckle of amusement. He lets you go, shoving your back down roughly, and you eagerly return to your task, mouth wrapping around Haechan once more.

You feel Jaehyun rip your panties at the waist, and you can’t bring yourself to care; taking them off completely would have required you to adjust positions, and it would have taken way too long. 

One of Jaehyun’s hands lands on the small of your back, and it glides down your spine while you feel him lining up with your entrance. He coats himself in your slick first, rutting against you but not pushing inside, and you groan around Haechan, toes curling with anticipation.

Jaehyun chuckles behind you, and then he thrusts into you all at once, both hands moving to grip your hips. “Try not to choke, sweetheart,” Jaehyun warns, and you just know he’s grinning like the complete asshole that he is-

His first thrust sends you forward suddenly, and you nearly gag, groaning at how quickly he’d almost made you fail his warning. You pull your mouth off of Haechan, fist pumping up and down his length while you suckle on the head, finding this less risky with Jaehyun behind you and at full energy. 

Haechan doesn’t seem to mind the change, and one of his hands comes down to cover yours, applying pressure that tells you to squeeze him harder. You follow through, and the man below you lets out a groan. 

The sound of praise goes straight to your core, and you feel yourself tighten around Jaehyun, who reacts with a laugh, then smacks you across your ass just enough to sting.

You whimper, a little shocked at just how much you’re enjoying Jaehyun being rough with you. An orgasm is building in the pit of your stomach, and you rest your head on Haechan’s thigh, eyes closing, allowing yourself to enjoy the feeling of Jaehyun fucking you silly with even more intensity. 

“She feels so good,” Jaehyun groans, and you whimper in response, adoring how he’s ignoring you and talking about you to the others like this.

“Don’t rub it in,” Johnny’s deep voice sends a tingle rushing through your entire being, you’d almost forgotten he was there.

Jaehyun simply laughs, and his hips rut into you faster and harder- you’d thought he’d be losing energy by now, not fucking you even better-

“Gonna cum for me, Squeak?” Jaehyun grabs your hair, and he hauls you up to his chest for the second time tonight. His hand moves to your throat to keep you where he wants you, and his strong forearm is like a security bar holding you up where it presses across your chest, allowing his other hand to grasp your breast roughly. 

You can’t respond, but you manage a nod, and Jaehyun’s amused laugh at the motion sends you over the edge. You throw your head back onto Jaehyun’s shoulder, pulse thumping loudly in your head from the way he’s cutting off your oxygen with the hand still on your throat.

You can feel him everywhere. 

Your fingers latch onto his wrist, not to pull him away, but to anchor yourself as waves of pleasure wash over your entire body. Jaehyun is steady behind you, and he works you through your orgasm with a pace that turns erratic as his own high becomes nearly too much for him to bear.

When he finally slows down, releasing your neck, you take a strangled breath. You feel a soft kiss to your shoulder, and then the roughness returns, with Jaehyun pushing you onto Haechan’s chest.

The maknae catches you, holding you close while you try to find your breath. But when you shift, and feel Haechan’s cock twitch with interest where it’s pressed between your bodies, you’re determined to pull yourself together and fuck all three of your friends. You can’t stop now.

Your hand forms a fist, and you push yourself up, looking down at Haechan. Then you lift your hips, grabbing your friend’s cock to guide him to your entrance. You sit down just as Haechan’s hands find your waist, a wide-eyed look on his face. 

He's big. Considering the fact that Haechan is the shortest of your three friends, you’re shocked at how thick he is. 

And with you sitting on top, he fills you completely

Your wet core flutters around the new intrusion, and you curse yourself for ever having thought prep with Jaehyun - who to be fair, had felt to be quite well endowed himself - would prepare you for Hyuck, who is spreading you open deliciously.

You press your palms flat to Haechan’s chest, and you lift yourself a few inches before sinking back onto his length, a whimper leaving your lips as your body adjusts. He feels so good splitting you open like this-

Haechan’s fingers press into your hips, lifting you slightly, only to slam you back down onto his cock, and you nearly wail from pleasure. He adjusts his feet on the bed behind you so he can thrust up into you better, and you find yourself becoming practically a rag doll for your friend below you, who manhandles you despite your top position. 

You don’t care that Haechan’s taken the power from you. Your mind goes blank, unable to think about anything other than how good he feels-

“Sit up and move to the headboard so you can lean against it.” Johnny’s voice interrupts your pleasure haze, and your eyes open when Haechan moves, following through with the instruction and dragging you with him. 

“Now you, Squeak,” a hand brushes by your shoulders, and you shiver, “turn around. Face away from Haechan for me.”

You do as you’re told, and two pairs of hands help you. They even ensure you sit back on Haechan’s cock, and he groans. You feel him press against your back, his hand snaking around your front to play with your clit, lips finding your shoulder.

Haechan’s legs are spread ever so slightly, and Johnny is kneeling there in front of you. 

In this position, it’s almost hard to look up at Johnny, and your hands press down into the bed, arms straight and holding you above Haechan’s knees while you grind back against him in something like reverse cowgirl.

The good thing is, you don’t have to look up at Johnny, and your eyes immediately lock on your target. Your hands move to undo Johnny’s pants- only for Haechan to push into you, making your balance falter, almost causing you to fall flat on your face- but you catch yourself at the last moment. 

Johnny laughs above you. “Our little chew toy,” he says fondly, beginning to undo his belt. “I'd love to hear you squeak, but I need your mouth for other things.”

He pushes his pants down, revealing the largest cock of all three of your friends. You’re practically drooling now, your core tightening around Haechan, who is still gently fucking up into you. 

Johnny guides himself to your lips, and you eagerly accept him, whimpering with delight when his hand finds your hair. He’s going to facefuck you while Haechan thrusts into you from behind in the reverse cowgirl Eiffel Tower hybrid position you’ve found yourself in, and you know it’s going to be absolutely delightful. 

You give yourself up completely to Johnny and Haechan, their little chew toy, and your whole body floods with pleasure from them using you. 

You hollow your cheeks around Johnny, and he fucks your mouth harder, cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck!” Haechan groans loudly behind you. “She gets to fucking tight when you do that-”

“Then I'll do it again,” Johnny says simply from above you, and he continues to fuck your face, making sure to press into your throat a second time. 

Haechan moans even louder, fingers digging into your waist, confirmation that choking onJohnny’s cock makes your pussy squeeze like a vice grip.

He continues to fuck your face and you get lost in the sensation. Usually sucking cock isnt your favourite thing in the world, but in this position, time seems to slip away from you. 

“Can you just cum already?!” Johnny says, and you know by his tone that he’s speaking to the man behind you.

“No, you cum! I’m not cumming in this position!” Haechan argues back.

“The fuck you aren't!”

“I’m not,” Haechan says, voice something near a growl.

Johnny groans a moment later. “Guess it’s my turn,” He mutters, pulling out of your mouth suddenly.

You look up at him with teary eyes as he pumps his cock-

“Don’t cum on her, or in her mouth!” Haechan commands from behind you.

Three “what!?”’s ring through the room, one coming from yourself, but with another massive groan, Johnny follows through with even this ridiculous command, and Jaehyun tosses him a shirt in record time to use in lieu of your body. You all look at the fabric, realizing it’s Haechan’s- and Johnny explodes into his friend’s shirt with a laugh.

Haechan groans loudly, lifting you off of his cock and tossing you onto the bed next to him. He’s between your legs an instant later, pushing back into you as he captures your mouth with his own.

He fucks you fluidly, with a rhythm that’s just the right speed, and he fills you so perfectly-

You dig your fingers into Haechan’s shoulders, your orgasm washing over you like waves of warm sunshine. You bury your face against Haechan’s neck, whimpering while Haechan echoes your sounds with groans of his own.

One of his hands is on your hip, and he squeezes you gently there, rhythm faltering, thrusts becoming slower but harder, more intimate. 

You find yourself lacing your fingers in his silky hair, dragging his face from your shoulder so you can kiss him, losing yourself in his lips as your orgasm subsides and Haechan slows down to a standstill. 

Neither of you moves for a few seconds, simply breathing together, feeling each other’s hearts racing through your compressed chests. Then Haechan takes a deep breath and pushes himself off of you. 

“I’m going to the shower,” he announces. 

Johnny groans, following the younger man a moment later, and you’re left with Jaehyun.

Jaehyun has his sweat pants on, and he comes to sit on the end of the bed, fingers brushing against your ankle. You pull your leg away, looking down at him suspiciously. You don’t want to be tickled right now, and you definitely can’t go another round-

“Relax,” Jaehyun says with a laugh, shifting closer. He shows you a wet cloth in his hand. “With Johnny in the shower, there’s no way you’d get any water, and something tells me Haechan’s going to monopolize on space too,” he muses, bringing the warm fabric to the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “Let me take care of you.”

You take a deep breath and rest against the pillows, closing your eyes and spreading your legs for Jaehyun. You let out a whimper when he brushes by your clit, and then his lips press a gentle kiss to your inner knee as if to say ‘sorry’, then he proceeds with more caution. 

“Jaehyun?” 

“Hmm?” He nuzzles his cheek against your knee, finishing his work.

“What you guys said earlier, about being in love with me-”

“You think we didn’t mean it?” He pulls away from you, hands closing your knees. 

You open your eyes, worried you’ve upset him, but then Jaehyun is lying down next to you, covering you both in a blanket and adjusting your body to turn you into his little spoon.

He curls around you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

Your heart melts for him, especially when his hand slips over your waist, sneaking down to the bed in search of your fingers, which he promptly finds and captures between his own.

“This just feels like a dream,” you sigh, closing your eyes, trying to enjoy being with Jaehyun in this way without overthinking it.

Jaehyun laughs against your shoulder, pressing more kisses onto your skin. “Well, I promise to be here in the morning when you wake up, and the morning after that, and the morning after that-”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at your friend, who nips at your earlobe. You shiver at the contact of his lips on the sensitive shell of your ear. “Where did you learn to be so rough?” you ask. “I knew you had a reputation in bed, but you’re usually a lot more gentle in real life, and that was-”

“Did you like it rough, Squeak?” He squeezes you tightly, lips trailing along your neck. 

“Yeah.” You let out a breathy sound, toes curling when he focuses on the sweet spot below your ear, and you can feel Jaehyun smiling against it a moment later.

“I’ve noticed you have a thing for pain,” Jaehyun says. “Sometimes, when I hug you too tight, you let out these little sounds-” You feel your skin heating, knowing exactly what he’s talking about, and Jaehyun chuckles, squeezing your hand. “And what can I say?” Jaehyun’s teeth graze your shoulder. “I'm nothing if not a giver in bed.” 

Your pussy throbs at his words, and you push your ass back against him.

Jaehyun lets go of your fingers, and then his hand finds your thigh, moving from the outside in, and gliding up to your core. “Let me give you another one?” he asks, kissing your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you two.” Johnny’s voice always seems to shock you, and you think you’ll have to get used to being intimate with one person while two others watch and can jump in at any moment- 

“How was your shower?” Jaehyun asks, his warm body leaving yours in favour of sitting up to stare at the man standing in the doorway. You mirror the motion, pulling Jaehyun’s blanket with you.

“Haechan’s been in there the whole time. He just finished.” Johnny’s eyes move to you. “Come on, Squeak.” 

“I’ll come when you and Johnny are done,” Jaehyun tells you, turning and grabbing your jaw to keep you still while he presses a kiss to your lips. He’s gone much too fast for your liking, letting you go with a grin before collapsing back into the pillows. “Oh-” He says as you crawl from the bed, his hand grabbing the fabric that’s still wrapped around you, “and leave the blanket.”

Johnny laughs, grabbing your hands and pulling you to your feet. The air is cold against your exposed skin, but Johnny is quick to pull you to his warm chest. He turns you so you’re facing away from the door, and then he steps forward, forcing you to move back, step by step, all the way to the bathroom. He does this sort of thing with you frequently, usually when you’re clothed, so you’re used to this wordless behaviour.

You bump into Haechan, literally, as he’s exiting the bathroom, and suddenly it’s two warm bodies pressed against your own. 

Haechan is still wet from the shower, and droplets of cold water land on you, making you squeal.

Both men chuckle, and you begin to giggle, pressing up to Johnny in an effort to escape Haechan from dripping onto you. Your best friend, like the dog he is, deliberately shakes his head out to coat you even more. 

Johnny shoves Haechan before he can get too much splattered on the two of you, and pushes past the younger man. He helps you to the shower first, then kicks off his sweatpants, joining you under the warm water. 

Neither of you says anything, but you’ve been at this comfort level in your friendship for years now, and have often shared pleasant silences in each other’s company. 

Jaehyun keeps his promise and shows up when Johnny leaves. He holds you close to his chest, sharing the warm water with you.

When you exit the shower, Jaehyun hands you a shirt and some boxers, an outfit you’ve worn during many impromptu sleepovers here.

“My bed is biggest,” Jaehyun says as you exit the bathroom, and you laugh, knowing full well that all three men have queen mattresses because they’d gotten them in some weird three-for-one closing sale in your first year of university-

“Jaehyun-” You turn to argue, but your best friend bends down, lifts you up by your thighs, and tosses you over his shoulder. When you say his name this time, it’s a scream, and it makes him laugh. 

It also earns a groan from Johnny’s room, and a moment later, he appears, following the thief. 

Jaehyun tosses you onto his bed, getting under the covers with you and regaining his spot as the big spoon. He tucks you close to his chest, letting out a contented sigh.  

Johnny claims your other side soon after, lying on his back, allowing you to tangle your legs with one of his.

Haechan is last in the room.

He takes one look at you, sees you’re all but monopolized on either side, and in one motion, he flops his body over all three of your tired, and completely unsuspecting forms. 

There’s an immediate commotion and struggle, and you’re too tired to do anything but laugh, closing your eyes and knowing that you’re safe with your three best friends in the entire world.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Blast from the past, revamped and newly edited

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🔮 preview.  You may have bitten off a little more than you can chew by being in a four-person coupling with you at the center of it, but you’re not stupid. You’re never going to forgo ultimate pleasures for the sake of other people’s moral leanings.

cw/ tw.  Unprotected sex, threesome, foursome, eiffel tower, blow job oral, vouyerism, masturbation, cum kink, bukkake, dirty talk, praise, man handling, Johnny once again has the monster cock syndrom, etc…   I petnames. (hers) Squeak.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 140

🌙 starring. Johnny & Jaehyun & Haechan x afab!Reader

bonus

“I still don’t like it,” Doyoung sighs, watching you chat with Mark Lee while Haechan and Johnny block you in.

Jungwoo simply shrugs. “I guess it’s not about you liking it or not. They seem happy.”

“Too happy,” Doyoung notes, eyes narrowing in on the way Johnny’s hand has slipped down to your ass.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Jungwoo scoffs. “I think you’re just jealous.”

“Me? Jealous?” Doyoung shakes his head and forces a laugh. “What’s there to be jealous about?”

“The fact that you’re in pre-med, so you’re super busy, and you have zero game and haven’t kissed a girl in like, months,” Jungwoo points out. 

Doyoung’s glare shifts to the younger man, and with a final scoff, he turns to leave.

Jungwoo doesn’t mind, in fact, the energy in the room immediately brightens with Doyoung’s departure.

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[katsufiles]

thinking about puppy-boyfriend-phainon who, on his days off from his duties, can not seem to be able to stay away from you for more than five minutes.

when you go to the kitchen because you need to start making dinner for the both of you, he'll be behind your back immediately.

sometimes, he tries to help you by doing the only thing he knows how to do perfectly: peeling and cutting vegetables. other times, he prefers to sit on the counter to stare at your pretty face, happy to be able to spend his life with you.

the times you're in the living room, with your legs dangling from the couch and with an interesting book in your hands, he always finds a way to end up taking a nap on your chest. with slow and calculated movements, he drops his entire weight on top of you, partially because he's a menace who loves to mess with you at random times, but mostly because he wants your attention.

he sighs contently when he feels you adjusting your position so the both of you can lay comfortably in the reduced space of the couch, and with his hands around your waist and yours tracing hearts on his bare back, he goes to sleep, using the sound of your heartbeats as his own personal lullaby.

and at night, when the table is finally clean and your book is back at the library where it belongs, he asks to take a bath together.

he likes to wait patiently for you to get undressed, scanning every inch of your body with his pretty blue eyes, and he's a man of habit, after all, so his hand is the first to make contact with the water—not because he thinks he has to be the one to step into the bathtub first, but because his habit is to try to make you as happy as he can, so when he's 100% sure that everything is set perfectly to your liking, only then, he offers you his dry hand to help you get into the water.

he always let you sit first, even though he's a lot bigger than you and he needs more space, and while you're too busy playing with some bubbles, he's carefully washing your hair, fighting with some wild strands in the process.

he likes to wash your hair first and leave it on a messy (and wet) bun so he can turn his full attention to your body after that, and even if you tell him a million times not to do it, he always ends up with some soap in his mouth, because he's just a man in love and his favorite thing to do is to trace a map of sloppy kisses all over your body.

he doesn't really care if his mouth tastes gross after tasting some of your strawberry soap by accident, the only thing that matters to him is how you look so pretty while giggling on his arms.

he knows that, if he dies right at this moment, he would die a happy man, because all he needs is right there in his arms.

[bintheredreamedthat]

𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 | 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 : ̗̀➛

summary: when global idol Choi Soobin returns to his quiet hometown for an unexpected hiatus, the last thing you expect is to run into him—the boy you once shared everything with...until you cut him off without a word.

you swore you’d never let yourself want him again. he swore he’d stop waiting for you to look back. but this time, neither of you is quite ready to walk away.

cw: sub!soobin, dom!reader, idol!au, angsty!!, fluff, slow and i mean slowburn, friends to lovers, mentions of death, implied depression, mental health issues (pls take care of urselves), unprotected sex, smut, reader just can't process emotions well

wc: ~30k... forgive me...or love me idk....

i was really inspired by netflix's new kdrama called "our unwritten seoul" and their friendship to lovers dynamic but was also gobsmacked at txt's new tour dates announcement after writing this so...PERFECT :DDDD. this is basically both of those things. you can tell because of the humidifier mention. like bro it's so random.

part one | part two

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the space as sunlight filters through half-open blinds, casting a warm glow on the cluttered desk. You, dressed in a cozy sweater and gingham pajama pants, sit up right on your bed, losing track of time as you doom scroll on reels. Your cat, Peanut, curls up beside you, purring contentedly.

You pause, glancing at the clock—8:45 AM. With a sigh, you set your phone down and begin your morning routine which basically just consisted of just washing your face. As you make your way to your living room, you begin to tidy up last night’s dirty dishes that sat on top of the coffee table.

Your house is modest but filled with personal touches: framed illustrations, a collection of obscure game discs, and a bookshelf overflowing with novels.

After you get yourself dressed, you step outside for a walk, your sneakers hitting the pavement in rhythmic thuds. You pass by the local café, where the barista waves at you, and the bookstore, where you stop to browse the new arrivals of manga. Afterwards you take the bus to the nearby hospital. 

This had become your routine every Wednesday—a bit repetitive, perhaps, but it was what you enjoyed. The endless stretch of countryside outside your window had never been the life you envisioned in your twenties.

You had imagined a high-rise apartment in the city, a high-paying job, and a life surrounded by people who didn't know your name—all amidst the buzz of urban life. But circumstances have kept you here, in your hometown.

At first, the monotony felt suffocating. The same roads, the same faces, the same small-town rhythm. Yet, over time, you began to find comfort in the predictability.

The quiet mornings, the familiar greetings, the slower pace—it all started to feel like home. You had traded the city's chaos for the calm of rural life, and while it wasn't the life you had planned, it was a life you were learning to appreciate. In the simplicity of the countryside, you discovered a deeper connection to yourself and the world around you.

You hated it from time to time, sometimes cursing and beating yourself up for staying with what feels familiar, but what could you do? 

—

As you stepped into the sterile hospital corridor, the faint scent of antiseptic mingled with the soft hum of distant conversations. With a sigh, you adjusted the strap of your bag and made your way to room 307. As you approached the door, you noticed it slightly ajar. 

Pushing the door open, you see your mother first, who seemingly is having a conversation with another person in the room. Upon opening it further, you found that it was your mother’s best friend, Mrs. Choi, sitting beside the bed and chatting animatedly, that was keeping your mother entertained. Mrs. Choi looked up, her face lighting up with recognition. 

“There you are!” she exclaimed, rising from her seat to lead you to your mother’s bed. Her eyes flicked to the bags of home-cooked food hanging from your elbow and the two iced Americanos wrapped around your hands. “Looks like your mom will be eating for two all week!” she teased, taking the bags from you and placing them alongside her own on the bedside table. 

You let out a soft laugh, extending your arm toward Mrs. Choi. "This is for you, Mrs. Choi. You must've gotten up early this morning." You bowed slightly, politely offering her the other coffee in your hands.

“Oh dear, it looks like I’ll be having a caffeine rush today!” She joked, which made your mother let out a laugh as well. You look at both of them confused, yet still wearing a smile on your face.

You see her lift up an almost empty cup of coffee, one that was exactly from the same place where you got yours. “Ahh~, I see…” Your murmur. Mrs. Choi already bought coffee for herself. 

You set the other coffee down by the bedside table and turned to your mother, who was propped up on the bed, flipping through a magazine you had gifted her last week. "How are you feeling, Mom?"

Your mother looked up, offering a reassuring smile. "Better now that you're here." You smiled, sliding your hand down her cheek, your heart melting at the tender moment you were sharing.

Just then, the door swung open, and a nurse entered for your mother's morning check-up. You stepped aside to let her pass and shared a glance with the two ladies inside the room before making your way out to the hallway.

You always left the room during these times, finding that you became queasy when you saw the numerous needles they attached to your mom and the way they conducted diagnostics as if she were a machine.

Sitting down on one of the seats outside your mom’s room, you pulled out your phone to respond to some emails and refresh your news feed. A new headline caught your eye: “TXT’s Soobin to Temporarily Halt Activities Due to Health Reasons.” Your stomach sank as you skimmed the preview.

Curious and concerned, you clicked the link and quickly scanned the article, completely unprepared for what you might read. The piece confirmed that he had recently visited the hospital after showing signs of being unwell. Medical staff had advised him to take time to rest and recover.

As a result, Soobin would be absent from several upcoming events, including big awards and fan events. You scrolled down, hoping for more news, more updates. And then you saw it. A handwritten letter from Soobin himself.

Reading his words, you felt a mix of emotions—concern for his well-being, admiration for his dedication, and a deep sense of connection to someone who had been a part of your childhood for so long, despite losing contact several years ago. 

The article had been published just two hours ago, but you knew that Mrs. Choi (and assuming your mother), was already aware of the news. Why they had kept it from you, you had some inkling.

The last time someone took a break for health reasons was your mom. The doctors had said she just needed some time to rest, that she was overworked and needed a break from physical labor.

The very next morning, she had gotten a fever, and her sickness never went away—just slowly eating her up from the inside out. You had been so young then, too young to understand the gravity of it all. Now, as an adult, you couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. 

Soobin, your childhood friend—the person who had unknowingly been your anchor during the darkest times, was now facing his own battle. And you were left here, unable to support him or ask how he was even doing. 

You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and letting out a deep sigh. As you relished the silence of the sterile hallways, the occasional sound of footsteps and doors opening and closing punctuated the stillness. 

Then, you felt it—the unmistakable presence of someone standing before you. Without lowering your head, you slowly opened one eye, cautiously scanning your surroundings.

What you never expected was the very man whose face you had seen on your phone less than five minutes ago—standing there, staring down at you.

You jolted upright, your phone nearly slipping from your lap. Rubbing your eyes, you looked up at the man standing before you, his presence both unexpected and surreal. You shook your head, trying to dismiss the impossibility of it. But why would he be here? What reason could he have? The stress of the past week—no, the past months—had taken its toll. You wondered if this was just another symptom of your exhaustion, a moment of derealization. 

But this felt different. This felt real.

—

TWELVE YEARS AGO

It was a hot summer afternoon, the kind where the sun sat high up on the horizon, casting its hot rays over the neighborhood. The summer fair was in full swing, with the distinct smell of water from popped balloons hitting the pavement and street foods wafting through the air. Children darted between booths, their laughter mingling with the distant hum of pop music.

You and Soobin, inseparable since you were both knee-high and full of dreams, strolled leisurely through the fairgrounds. Your hands brushed now and then—not quite holding, but never far apart. Every few steps, you pointed excitedly at something: a glittering ring toss booth, a caricature artist drawing wide-eyed portraits, a balloon animal vendor with a long line of sticky-handed kids. The scent of nostalgia hung thick in the air, and the moment felt impossibly alive.

Then you saw it: the talent show sign-up booth, marked by a colorful hand-painted sign fluttering in the breeze. A flyer, curling at the edges. "Are you sure?" he hesitated, his usual confidence "Absolutely!" you insisted, grabbing the pen and signing both your names.

The day of the talent show arrived, and nerves set in. You and Soobin had decided to perform a duet—his favorite song at the time, "Twinkle," by Girls' Generation. You had practiced tirelessly, but now, standing backstage, doubt crept in.

"I can't do this," Soobin whispered, his usual smile replaced by a nervous frown.

“I’ll buy you endless Kara merch if you do,” You placed your hands on his shoulders, shaking him like a soda can. “Seriously. Light sticks. Albums. Posters. Even that ridiculous towel.” A beat passed—and then, like magic, his eyes lit up. “Really?”

You watched as Soobin sat up straighter at the mention of the girl group and you couldn't help but let out a huff at how easily he was convinced. “Wow...” You shook your head, exasperated. “Remind me to never call you if I get kidnapped.”

Soobin looked up at you with furrowed brows, as if genuinely puzzled. “Why not?”

“They’d probably ask for your merch in exchange for me. Knowing you, you'd choose the merch.” He smirked, shrugging nonchalantly. “Of course.”

His nonchalance only fueled your annoyance. Without missing a beat, you grabbed him in a playful headlock, ruffling his hair. “Idiot,” you muttered, though a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself.

When your names were called, you stepped onto the stage, the bright lights blinding you momentarily. The audience's murmurs faded into a distant hum as the music began. Soobin's voice filled the air, and your nerves melted away. You sang your heart out, treating the talent show as if it were just a playful karaoke session. Soobin, however, seemed to belong on that stage. When the final note faded, the crowd erupted into applause—parents, teens, kids, strangers all clapping like they’d just watched something special.

You turned to Soobin.

He stood there, beaming, the mic still clutched in both hands like a prized possession. Then, without a trace of shyness, he bowed. A real bow. You stared for a moment—because in that instant, he wasn’t just your goofy best friend. He looked like someone born to be on that stage.

You stepped back, letting him shine.

That performance became a cherished memory, a testament to your friendship and Soobin's budding talent. Little did you know, that day planted the seed for his future in music.

–

“You're back.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, more a whisper to yourself than a question to him.

Soobin stood in front of you, barely resembling the old version of him that you always saw him as. Just his outfit alone–meticulously chosen, each piece exuding a quiet luxury. It wasn’t something you thought you’d see him in in a million years. You were accustomed to seeing him in school uniforms, always looking youthful despite being six months older than you. But the Soobin now before you was undeniably an adult.

His gaze swept over you, lingering just a moment too long. "You look..." He paused, as if searching for the right words. "Different."

The simplicity of his statement stung more than you expected. You had changed, hadn't you? But had it been for the better? You met his gaze, a playful smirk tugging at your lips despite the fluttering in your chest. "You look horrible yourself, too," you teased, trying to mask the unease creeping in.

Soobin chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, yet distant. "Fair enough," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. You wanted to ask him everything—about his life, his experiences, the years that had passed—but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you stood there, two people who once shared everything, now separated by time and circumstance. Soobin shifted, his hands slipping into his pockets, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been a while," he said softly.

"Yeah," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "A while."

The soft click-clack of the nurse’s cart rolling outside your mom’s room broke the comfortable silence between you and Soobin. Only then did you notice the small electronic device in his hands—so tiny it looked almost out of place in his grasp.

“Humidifier?” you asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He shifted uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s a gift... for your mom. I went and filled it up with some water” he said shyly, as if embarrassed to be seen with such a thoughtful gesture. You couldn't help but smile at his bashfulness. “She’ll love it,” you reassured him, nudging him gently toward the door.

As you both entered the room, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the soft beeping of medical equipment filled the air. Your mom looked up, her face lighting up at the sight of you and Soobin together, briefly exchanging glances with Mrs. Choi. 

“Look who’s here,” you said, your voice filled with warmth. 

“I already saw him, honey,” she said with a playful smile, her voice tinged with that familiar teasing warmth, then gestured toward the table beside her, where several bags were neatly stacked. “He helped bring those in earlier,” she added, nodding toward the tall figure behind you. 

You looked behind at Soobin, who was already crouched near the wall, carefully plugging the humidifier into the outlet. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, the soft fabric of his sweater bunching at the elbows as he adjusted the cord, making sure it didn’t tangle with the IV stand nearby. He handled everything with the kind of quiet precision you’d come to associate with him—gentle, but steady. 

The little device gave a soft mechanical hum as it came to life, a faint mist beginning to rise from the spout. Soobin straightened up, brushing his hands together as if completing a sacred task, then glanced at your mom with a nervous half-smile.

"I set it to low," he murmured. "So it won't be too much, just enough to keep the air from feeling dry."

Your mom tilted her head toward the thin ribbon of vapor swirling in the air, a flicker of surprise and gratitude crossing her face. "Thank you, Soobin," she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’ve been feeling like my throat’s been made of sandpaper.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks turning a little pink again. "It’s nothing, really. I just… thought it might help." You watched the way your mom looked at him, her gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual—gentle, assessing, as if seeing him act like this reminded her of the old times and that made her quietly glad. 

Your mom’s eyes softened as she glanced at Soobin, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’re very thoughtful,” she said gently, reaching out to adjust the humidifier’s mist.

Soobin shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “I just wanted to help.”

You caught the faintest shadow across your mom’s face—a quiet mix of pride and something else, something like a wish she could say aloud. But instead, she chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Well, you’re doing a good job at it.” As if hinting at more than just showing gratitude for the gesture.  The mist from the humidifier caught the light, casting soft shadows on the white hospital sheets, and for a moment the sterile room felt just a little more like home. 

–

Before you knew it, time had slipped by, the way it always does when you're avoiding looking at the clock. The room had grown quiet again, the only sounds were the soft whir of machines and your mom’s slow, steady breathing. You stood, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from your clothes, more out of habit than anything else. Soobin followed suit just like always, moving a half-step behind you, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to leave yet.

Outside, the corridor was still and cold under the harsh fluorescent lights. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and something else—something tired. You walked side by side, just close enough to feel his presence but not enough to brush shoulders. The silence sat between you, not uncomfortable, but not easy either. 

“So,” you said, voice catching slightly in your throat. “When did you get back?”

He glanced over, offering you a small, almost sheepish smile. “I assume you know?”

Right—the headlines. You’d seen them without even trying to. His name had been everywhere for days. It was hard to avoid when your past suddenly became the world’s news. You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I saw.”

He let out a short breath of laughter. Not a real laugh—one of those quiet ones that feels more like a sigh. “They really don’t let you disappear quietly, do they?”

You wanted to say something reassuring, but nothing came. What could you even say? That sucks? I’m sorry? I read every article twice, looking for signs you were okay? Instead, you settled on, “Looks like you’ll be around for a while.”

His shoulders lifted in a shrug, but it wasn’t light or offhand. There was a drag to it, something unspoken anchoring the gesture. “Yeah. Forced break.” 

You raised an eyebrow, hoping a little teasing might soften the edges. “Forced break? Sounds like a long vacation.”

He gave you a half-smile, one side of his mouth curling up. “If only.”

The silence crept back in as you continued walking, your shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor. It should’ve felt comfortable—you’d walked like this before, years ago, without needing to say much. But now? Now it felt like stepping around the edges of something you both weren’t ready to touch. You stole a glance at him. The curve of his jaw was more defined now, his hair a little longer than you remembered. He still walked with that same quiet presence, like he was trying not to take up too much space. But there was something else, too—something a little more closed off.

You swallowed. “So... what now?”

He looked over at you, not stopping, just watching. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “I’ve never had this much free time before.”

You let out a soft huff of air, unsure if it was a laugh or just a release of tension. “Weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, then after a beat, added, “kind of uncomfortable, honestly.”

You nodded, because you got it—maybe not in the same way, but close enough. You understood what it was like to be stuck between chapters, unsure what comes next or who you're supposed to be without the thing that defined you. For a moment, you considered saying something real. Something like, I missed you or you don’t have to pretend around me, but your throat tightened. You hadn’t earned that kind of closeness anymore.

So instead you said, “Guess it’s a new kind of challenge.”

He gave you a look—mild, but maybe grateful. “Yeah. But... maybe not the worst kind.”

You nodded again, lips pressing into a thin line. And still, the things you wanted to say hovered behind your teeth. You wanted to ask how he was really doing. If it felt like everything had stopped too suddenly. If he was scared of what came next. But none of that would come out right, not with all this space between you.

The silence settled again as you both neared the elevator, the hum of lights overhead a constant backdrop.

“So,” you said, trying to sound casual but failing, “where are you staying?”

He shifted his weight slightly, glancing over at you with a small smile. “Uh... just down the street, actually. Back in my parents’ place for a bit.”

You blinked. “Wait. Seriously?”

“Yeah.” He let out a short breath. “Kind of surreal.”

You scoffed, the sound too sharp but real. “So... we’re neighbors again.”

He laughed, a real one this time. “Guess so.”

You nodded, trying not to smile too much. “Weird.”

“Definitely weird.”

Another pause. Another silence. But this one wasn’t so stiff. It settled more naturally between you, like maybe it didn’t need to be filled.

You both stood there, not really moving, not really sure what to do next. Just... hovering in that space where familiarity and distance existed at the same time. Where you wanted to say remember how easy this used to be? but knew neither of you quite had the words.

Maybe it would take time. Maybe it would stay awkward like this for a while.

But still, there was something in the quiet that felt like a beginning.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, but neither of you moved.

You thought that was it—that this was the part where you’d say goodbye with a tight smile and an awkward promise to “catch up later.” But instead, Soobin turned, leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the elevator, and said, “Want to walk for a bit?”

You blinked. “Around the hospital?”

His mouth tugged up slightly. “We’ve had weirder hangouts.”

That was true. Once upon a time, your “hangouts” included hiding in stairwells during school festivals and playing cards in the back of the library while pretending to study. So maybe walking quiet halls and dodging nurses wasn’t that strange after all.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I better go, lots of things to do today.” 

He nodded. Then, with one last glance at you—long enough to hold, short enough not to ask too much—he turned and walked down the hallway, his steps slow, like he wasn’t in a rush to leave.

You stayed where you were, hands in your pockets, the echo of his words still lingering in the air.

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. And you'd be lying if you said you hadn’t looked him up that very same night you saw him again. After that day, it was like something broke loose inside you—some quiet restraint you’d kept for years.

You found yourself scrolling endlessly through his performance videos, one after another, chasing something you couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was your way of making up for all the time you’d forbidden yourself from watching them.

It wasn’t because you resented him. Not really. But it had always been easier to pretend you weren’t curious than to admit the truth: watching him chase his dream made something twist in your chest. Not bitterness, exactly—just jealousy.

A quiet, aching sort of envy that you never wanted to confront. He had gone out there and done what he said he would. He lived it. All while keeping you completely in the dark. Not a message, not a word—not even a hint of what his life had become.

And maybe that’s what stung the most—not that he left, but knowing it was your fault he never reached out. 

You remembered the night he left. You didn’t know it was the last time you’d see him, not then. He said something vague about having a “big audition” coming up the previous week, and you, always the loyal friend, had smiled and wished him luck, unaware that he would succeed to the point where he was at now. You hadn’t known that "audition" would become the beginning of a chapter that didn’t include you.

At first, you hesitated. You told yourself he'd text first. Call. Drop by. But days turned into weeks, then months, and eventually, you stopped refreshing your messages, stopped checking your phone late at night like a fool and stuck your nose into your studies. 

The only person who stayed by your side, from your father passing, through your mother getting sick, was now gone. And you couldn’t bring yourself to be the one who reached out first, fearing that you would only receive the silence you thought you deserved. 

So you buried it. Packed it into the same mental box where you kept all the “what ifs” you never wanted to admit you had. You stopped watching his interviews, muted hashtags, scrolled past his face without letting your eyes linger. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That people grow up, they move on. That it was nothing personal.

But seeing him again, in that hallway outside your mom’s hospital room, had cracked something open.

You hadn’t realized how much you still carried. How much weight was tied to his name, his voice, his smile. And now, after that one encounter, you were spiraling—late into the night, alone in your room, your screen glowing softly in the dark as you watched him perform with the same boyish intensity he’d always had, only now refined, polished. A professional.

There were moments when he’d show a dimpled smile between lyrics, or toss his hair a certain way, and you’d see glimpses of the boy you once knew. The one who used to walk you home after school. Who used to text you dumb memes and write notes on the edges of your notebooks when the teacher wasn’t looking. The boy who once promised he’d tell you everything.

But he didn’t.

And maybe that was the cruelest part—he had become someone the whole world knew, but not you. Not anymore. You didn’t deserve that chance. 

You set your phone down eventually, the videos still looping on autoplay, the sound dim. You stared at the ceiling, trying to reconcile the person on the screen with the quiet boy who used to sit beside you at lunch. Trying to figure out where the thread had snapped—and if there was any way to pick it back up again.

You weren’t sure. But part of you hoped—achingly, stubbornly—that he came back not just to rest… but to remember.

To remember you.

—

The next time you saw Soobin, it was raining on a Wednesday. 

Not the cinematic kind of rain that comes with thunder and dramatic declarations. Just a light drizzle that blurred the edges of the world and left your jacket damp where it clung to your shoulders.

You’d just finished your shift at the café near the hospital. You weren’t technically supposed to be working while your mom was still admitted, but she’d insisted—said the distraction was good for you. And truthfully, it was. It gave you something else to focus on besides white walls and the sound of machines beeping in the night.

You had your headphones in, your hood up, eyes on the sidewalk—when someone stepped into your path, blocking your way.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

Soobin.

He was holding a paper bag in one hand, a bottle of something green poking out the top. His hoodie was damp, darkened around the seams, but he looked almost amused by it. Like the rain wasn’t a bother. Like maybe it reminded him of something.

Your headphones hung limply around your neck now. “You stalking me?” you asked, only half joking.

“I swear I’m not,” he said, lifting the bag. “I was headed to the hospital. Thought your mom might like these.”

You glanced at the label on the bottle. Herbal tonic. Your lips curved upward despite yourself. “She’ll roll her eyes when she sees this. But this is good, she needs these.”

He grinned. “Good. Then mission accomplished.”

You hesitated. You should’ve said goodbye, should’ve kept walking—but you didn’t. Something in the way he was standing, not quite stepping forward but not walking away either, mirrored exactly how you felt. Stuck in the middle. 

“Want to come up with me?” you asked finally. “She’s been asking about you.”

His expression softened. “Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

You walked side by side again, like no time had passed—but with every footstep echoing on the hospital floor, you felt the gap between who you were and who you’d become. And still, he matched your pace without question.

Upstairs, your mom greeted him with a tired but genuine smile. You watched her lit up face switch over to a disgusted one in an instant as he handed her the tonic, made her laugh with something dumb, and you realized how easily he still fit into the spaces you thought time had sealed off.

Later, when she fell asleep and the lights dimmed around her bed, you and Soobin slipped out into the hallway again. It was quieter now. The storm outside had tapered into silence, and the air smelled faintly of rain on concrete.

He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets. You stood a few feet away, arms crossed loosely over your chest, the distance between you filled with everything unsaid.

“She still makes that face when she doesn’t want to take medicine,” he said, glancing at the door behind you.

You smiled faintly. “Some things never change.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “You did.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s what happens when you’re not around for eight years.”

His mouth tugged to the side in something between a grimace and a smile. “Fair.”

There was another beat of silence, but this one felt warmer. You glanced down the hallway, watching a nurse wheel a cart past the far end, the soft rattle of it fading into the hum of fluorescent lights.

“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter now, “your mom was always really kind to me.”

“She likes people with manners,” you replied, then added, “and people who eat her leftovers without complaining.”

“She used to pack extra, just for me,” he said, eyes distant now. “Even when she said she didn’t have time.”

“She did that with people she loved.” The words left your mouth before you could decide whether or not to say them.

Soobin looked at you, and for a second, you almost couldn’t hold his gaze. It was too much. Too real.

The hallway buzzed faintly—the dull drone of fluorescent lights, distant intercom announcements, the occasional footsteps echoing down the corridor. Somewhere, a nurse’s soft laughter floated through the air.

The moment settled like dust, thick and heavy.

“I missed this,” he said finally, voice rough but steady. “Not just your mom. Not just the neighborhood. You.”

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers picked at a loose thread on your sleeve, twisting it between your fingertips like a lifeline. He turned his head slightly toward you but didn’t push you for a response.

Instead, he said, “Can I show you something?”

You glanced over, curious despite yourself. “Now?”

He nodded, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket with a slow, deliberate motion. He flipped through his gallery, swiping a few times, then handed it to you. A video.

Not one of the polished concert clips uploaded for fans, but a raw, shaky recording from a recent show. The camera was angled toward the crowd, thousands of tiny lights flickering like stars. Then it shifted to the stage—him, standing at the microphone, eyes closed, singing a slow, acoustic song. Your breath caught, chest tightening. He must’ve seen it on your face because he said softly, “Wrote it the week I moved to the city. Never released it.”

You watched the video again, seeing a side of him you hadn’t seen in years—vulnerable and unpolished. The words carried little references, tiny fragments of shared memories—a phrase you’d said once, a place you’d both known, a worn bench you’d sat on together.

“It was about you,” he said quietly. “Still is.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the phone, heart pounding in your ears louder than the soft hospital hum. You handed it back, not because you wanted to stop watching, but because it felt too much to hold all at once.

Another silence bloomed. But this one felt different, like the air between you had shifted, charged with something fragile and new.

He stood slowly. “I should go. Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You didn’t try to stop him, but as he turned, you called out softly, “Hey.”

He paused, looking back over his shoulder.

You gave him a small, tired smile, the kind that held hope and history all at once.

“Next time… don’t bring tonic. Bring peaches. She actually likes those.”

He laughed—a sound that was still boyish, warm, and real.

“Got it. Peaches.”

He walked down the hallway, the soft squeak of his shoes echoing behind him.

You stayed seated, staring at the empty space beside you, wondering how many more times you’d find the courage to let yourself take one step closer. 

—

It had been a long week.

You’d spent most of it moving between home and the hospital, the lines between day and night beginning to blur. Your mom’s condition hadn’t worsened, but it hadn’t improved either—and somehow, that was its own kind of exhausting. Hopeful. Heavy. Endless.

So when the knock came on your door that Saturday afternoon—three quick taps and a pause—you almost didn’t answer.

But then you remembered the way he knocked.

You opened the door.

“Delivery,” Soobin said, holding up a brown paper bag like it was a peace offering. “One bottle of overpriced juice, and…” He pulled out a small carton with a mock ceremony. “Peaches. Fresh. Not those disgusting canned stuff.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really took the note.”

“I aim to please.” He grinned, wide and shameless. “Also, the guy at the fruit stand said these were ‘kissing sweet,’ which made me deeply uncomfortable. So I had to buy them.”

You snorted, stepping aside to let him in. “That’s the dumbest reason I’ve ever heard for buying fruit.”

He walked in casually, already toeing off his shoes like second nature–- like he’d done it a hundred times. “What can I say? I missed your mom’s high standards. And your judgment.”

“Both still going strong,” you said, accepting the bag. “You want coffee or are you planning to make a dramatic exit again?”

He shot you a look. “That exit was graceful and respectful.”

“That exit was weird and full of emotional tension.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “So… par for the course?”

You tried not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.

He sat on the edge of your couch, glancing around like he was taking inventory. You watched the way his eyes lingered on the bookshelf, the stack of hospital visitors passes on the table, the blanket still folded from when you'd last crashed there after a long night.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “Very... ‘haunted by fatigue but still trying.’”

You grinned. “That’s actually the theme of the whole apartment. You should see the bathroom.”

He laughed again—an easy, warm sound that made your ribs feel too tight.

You went to the kitchen, opened the bag, and found not just the peaches and juice, but a pack of sweet rice crackers tucked at the bottom.

“Are these for me or for her?” you called.

A beat.

“...Yes,” he replied.

“She’s going to eat all of these and then yell at me for letting you spend money on her.”

“Let her yell at me instead,” he said, already settling onto your couch like he owned the place. “I can take it. I survived our high school math teacher. Your mom has nothing on that woman.”

You smirked. “That teacher made you cry.”

He gasped. “I teared up. Once. And it was allergy season.”

“Sure it was.” It had been a strange comfort, having him around again—even if it was awkward most of the time.

“Thanks,” you said, shrugging and avoiding his eyes. “for not bringing tonic this time.”

He chuckled. “Hey, I learned my lesson. Peaches or bust.”

A silence passed. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It sat lightly between you, like an old friend resting its elbows on the table.

“So…” he said slowly. “You going to the hospital later?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just after dinner. They changed some meds, so they want someone to watch her overnight.”

He nodded, fingers curling around the mug. “Mind if I come with you?”

You looked up. Not because he hadn’t offered before. But because this time, he said it differently. Gently. Not just wanting to visit—but to be there. 

“…She’ll be happy to see you,” you said. “And if you bring those crackers, she might even be nice.”

He smiled, setting his mug down.

“Oh, and by the way,” you added, pretending to inspect a peach like it was under review. “She only likes the white ones. If you brought yellow—”

“Don’t insult me,” he said, already pulling a peach from the bag and rolling it across the table toward you. “Do I look like someone who would buy the wrong kind?”

You caught it mid-roll, lips twitching. “I don’t know. You’ve been gone a while. You could’ve turned into someone completely unreliable.”

He leaned back on the couch, arms stretched along the top cushion, looking maddeningly smug. “I’m still me.”

You turned the peach over in your hand, pretending not to notice how warm your cheeks felt.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.” 

—

NINE YEARS AGO

The living room was a mess. A good kind of mess—snack wrappers littered across the coffee table, cushions scattered like casualties, your shared laughter still lingering in the air like static. It was the Friday before the weekend, Soobin had waited for you to finish your badminton practice to walk you home to spend the rest of the afternoon with you. 

Soobin was on the floor, one leg stretched out and the other tucked underneath him, controller in hand, glaring at the TV screen with the same intensity he used when talking about stage lighting or choreography.

“You’re cheating,” he said flatly. You didn’t look away from the screen. “I’m not.”

“You’re button-mashing,” he accused, pointing at your hands like he was building a legal case. “That’s not skill, that’s chaos.”

You grinned. “Chaos works.” A second later, his character flew off the edge of the map with a dramatic final explosion. KO. Soobin dropped his controller and flopped backward onto the floor like he’d just been shot. “Unbelievable. I come here in good faith and get demolished.”

You leaned over your knees, stretching out your arms with a satisfied sigh. “Maybe you just suck.”

He peeked at you through narrowed eyes. “I’m rethinking our friendship.”

“Because I’m better at Smash?”

“Because you’re a smug button-masher with no honor.”

You laughed, the kind that curled your shoulders inward and left a small warmth in your chest. This was easy. Ridiculously easy. Soobin had always been like this with you—quick to tease, slow to anger, all soft jabs and boyish huffs. Like a habit you never had to think about. He could go hours and hours just bantering with you about the most unimportant topics. 

You reached for the plastic bag sitting on the coffee table, rifling through until you found what you were really after. “You want the last peach?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Sat up like he’d been summoned from the dead. “I do. Really. Deeply.”

You held it just out of reach, twirling it by the stem. “Then admit I’m better than you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then no peach.”

“You’re evil.”

You were about to answer—probably with something smug, possibly with another insult—when he lunged forward.

It wasn’t even a real lunge. More like an exaggerated grab, like he was trying to be ridiculous on purpose. But you misjudged the distance—he was faster than he looked—and suddenly he was right there, fingers overlapping yours, and the peach tumbled from your grip, rolling a few inches before coming to a stop between you. 

You both reached for it at the same time.

And then you were touching.

Just barely—his knuckles brushing yours, the pad of his thumb catching the back of your hand. Your knees bumped, one of his legs tangled slightly with yours from the way he’d thrown himself forward. The closeness was sudden. Clumsy. And absolutely still.

The peach sat in both your palms now, soft and overripe, a little dented from the fall. But you weren’t looking at the peach anymore.

You were looking at him.

He was looking back.

For a second, neither of you spoke. You could feel your heartbeat shift—quicker, louder. Like your body realized something your brain didn’t want to name.

He was close. Too close. 

There was something different about the way he looked at you just then. Like he was searching for something—confirmation, maybe. Permission. Or maybe he wasn’t searching at all. Maybe he was just seeing you, for the first time in a way that wasn’t casual or safe or platonic. You told yourself to laugh. To say something to break it. But your mouth was dry and your fingers were still curled around the stupid peach.

God, you thought, this is just a moment. It doesn’t mean anything. Don’t make it mean something.

Because if you made it mean something, you’d have to face the fact that everything would change between you two, and you weren’t ready for that. 

And worst of all—you didn’t know if he wanted it too.

So you were the first to let go.

“Fine,” you said, easing the peach into his hands, forcing a smile. “You win. Peach privileges restored.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you for a second longer, then pulled back, sitting cross-legged again, the fruit cradled like a trophy.

“You’ll regret this,” he said, voice light again. Too light. “I’m going to crush you in the next round.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smirked. “Big talk from someone who just got obliterated.”

He took a bite of the peach—flesh soft, juice dripping slightly down his wrist.

You looked away.

Because watching him eat a peach had absolutely no right being that distracting.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a second.

“Just letting you enjoy your victory,” you replied, folding your arms.

“Mm.” He chewed, then added through a mouthful of fruit, “This is the taste of justice.”

You grabbed a pillow and lobbed it at his head.

He laughed, muffled but warm, like it lived somewhere behind his ribcage. Like it was meant just for you.

And later, after he’d gone, after the controller had been set aside and the cushions lazily put back, you sat on the couch and stared at the empty spot where his leg had touched yours.

It was nothing, you told yourself.

But your heart wasn’t convinced.

—

It had been three days since Soobin last came by to accompany you to the hospital. 

Not that you were counting.

Your mom was still in the hospital. Her condition was stable, but “stable” was the kind of word doctors used when they meant unchanged, when the machines still beeped and the days still blurred, and you didn’t know how to exhale without guilt.

So you kept your head down. Worked your shifts. Folded laundry. Refilled the humidifier in her room. Then, one quiet evening, your phone buzzed.

Unknown: You up?

You stared at it for a second too long, the number was foreign to your contact list. The number wasn’t saved. But the timing, the tone—it could only be one person.

Another message came in.

Unknown: This is Soobin, by the way.

Of course it was.

You: No. I’m sleep-texting. You

The three dots appeared. Vanished. Then came back again, like he was typing and deleting and thinking too much—just like always.

Soobin:

Maybe. Or just bored.

 Wanna walk?

You didn’t answer.

Fifteen minutes later, you were outside. Hoodie zipped to your chin, hands in your pockets. The air was cool, kissed with the hush that only lived in your neighborhood at night.

A faint breeze moved through the trees overhead, the streetlamp buzzed quietly, and the sidewalk stretched out ahead like a question you didn’t know how to ask.

He was waiting by the gate. Same hoodie from the other night. Same hands buried in the front pocket. His hair was a little messier now, falling into his eyes like he hadn’t bothered to push it back. He looked like someone trying not to look like he was waiting.

When he saw you, he straightened—not all the way, just enough to seem like he hadn’t been pacing.

“Hey,” he said, voice soft like he wasn’t sure if it would reach you.

“Hey,” you replied, tugging your sleeves over your hands. And then you walked. Not toward anything in particular. Just forward. Side by side. Close enough to hear the other breathe.

The silence wasn’t awkward. If anything, it felt… familiar. Like this was a rhythm you both used to know. Like your feet still remembered how to fall into step with his even if your hearts hadn’t caught up yet.

After a while, he spoke.

“I’ve been writing again,” he said, just above a whisper.

You glanced at him. His eyes stayed on the sidewalk. “Yeah?”

“Mostly bad stuff,” he added with a breath of a laugh. “But… some of it feels honest.”

You nodded. “That’s the hard part.”

There was a pause.

“I used to write when I missed home,” he said.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. But he kept going anyway, his voice quieter now. Like if he said it too loud, it would sound like a confession.

“I stopped for a long time. Everything started to sound the same. Even the stuff I wrote just for me—it didn’t sound like me. It sounded like someone trying to remember what real felt like.”

Your chest pinched. Because you recognized that feeling, even if it wore a different face.

“You mean the industry?” you asked, your voice gentler than you meant it to be. He nodded, hands tightening in his sleeves. “The schedules, the shoots, the interviews where they ask you how you’re doing and expect you to say you’re grateful.”

You looked over. His face was still turned ahead, but his jaw was set—like he was fighting back something that had been building for years.

“It looks big,” he said. “To other people. All the lights and cameras and screaming fans. But most of the time, it felt… small. Like I was inside this beautiful box I couldn’t leave. Like I was shrinking in a place everyone said I was meant to grow.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Not at first. Because it was Soobin—your Soobin. The one who used to doodle lyrics on his wrists during exams. The one who used to talk about Seoul like it was a promise.

And now he was here. Telling you the promise didn’t keep.

“I used to envy you,” you murmured.

He turned his head slightly, startled. “What?”

“You had direction. Purpose. You left. While the rest of us stayed behind wondering what we were doing. You knew.”

“I didn’t,” he said quickly. “I pretended I did.”

You exhaled, eyes on the path ahead.

He slowed, enough that you had to slow too.

“I didn’t reach out,” he began to answer your life’s biggest question, “because I was afraid if I told you how bad it was, you’d tell me to come home.”

You stopped. Right there on the path.

“And that would’ve been so awful?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even. “Me wanting you to come home?”

He looked down.

“It would’ve made it real,” he said. “Made me feel like I failed.”

The ache that had been sitting under your ribs stretched, deep and familiar.

The wind stirred again, carrying the sound of distant cars and rustling trees. Then, your voice dropped. “You know, Soobin… you did a good job.”

His eyes shot up to meet yours. Cautious. Almost confused. You let the words settle before continuing.

“I mean it. You chased something you believed in. You worked hard. You got somewhere people only dream about.” You swallowed. “You just… never took a second to see how far you’d gone. You kept running like someone was going to take it away from you.”

His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out.

“You should let yourself rest,” you said. “You deserve to breathe.”

He looked at you like no one had ever said that to him before. Not in the way that mattered.

And maybe no one had. A silence fell again, but it was different now. Thick with emotion, weighted with years of distance and grief and care that had nowhere to go.

Soobin stepped forward—not enough to cross the space between you, but enough that you felt the warmth of him again.

“I’m trying to be better,” he said quietly. 

Your throat tightened.

You didn’t know what to say. Not yet. So instead, you reached for the edge of your hoodie sleeve and twisted it around your fingers, grounding yourself in the way you used to back when emotions felt too big to hold.

And beside you, Soobin just stood there.

Not asking to be forgiven, not like he had to. 

Just… asking to stay a little longer.

–

The hospital room was quieter than usual.

Your mom was asleep, or at least pretending to be. Her breaths came soft and even, her fingers curled loosely around the edge of the blanket. The late afternoon light filtered through the slats in the blinds, painting thin gold bars across the white walls. Outside, the city buzzed softly beneath the window, too far away to touch.

You sat by the bed, elbow propped on the armrest, chin resting in your hand. The chair creaked when you shifted. You’d meant to read. Meant to answer that message from work. But your mind kept drifting—backward, sideways, toward things that hadn’t happened yet but already pressed too heavy on your chest.

Soobin hadn’t texted since the walk.

Three days wasn’t long. Not really.

But you found yourself reaching for your phone more than usual. Pausing at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Imagining him leaning on the doorframe again, holding some half-thought-out excuse to stop by. You hated how easily hope made a home out of silence.

Your mom stirred, just slightly, eyes fluttering open. “You’re still here?”

You smiled faintly. “Where else would I be?”

She looked at you for a beat longer than usual. “You’ve been coming earlier,” she said, voice scratchy from sleep. “Staying longer, too.”

You shrugged. “There’s not much else to do.”

“Mm.” She turned her head to the side, watching you now. Not like she was accusing—more like she was waiting. “He’s been coming around again.”

You didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the window, at the sky that had turned that in-between color of fading blue and soft orange.

“Yeah,” you said eventually.

“He’s been good to you,” she added, gently. “I see it.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, heart doing that stupid thing again—like it couldn’t decide whether to clench or melt.

“He’s not staying,” you said. Your mom didn’t answer right away. That kind of silence said more than any reply.

You leaned back in the chair, eyes flicking up to the ceiling. “I don’t know why it matters. It’s not like we’re… anything.”

“But you want to be?” she asked softly.

You didn’t look at her. “It wouldn’t make a difference.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You exhaled, long and slow. “It doesn’t matter what I want. He came back because of his health. Because he needed space from all that. He’s not… this isn’t forever.”

And if you let yourself want something more like last time—if you gave it a name—what would happen when he left again?

She was quiet for a long time. Then, just as you were about to change the subject, her voice returned. “You know,” she said, “I think the hardest kind of love is the kind that feels temporary.”

You blinked. “This isn’t–this isn’t love.” You protested.

She didn’t argue. Just gave you a look that said she’d been your mother long enough to know when you were lying—to her or to yourself.

You shook your head, staring down at your hands. “It’s not like I’m holding onto something that could actually last.”

“But you’re still holding it,” she murmured.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because yeah. You were.

You were holding the way his voice sounded in quiet places. The way he never pushed when you went silent, just waited with that kind of patience that only people who’d known you for years could manage. You were holding the way he remembered the things you forgot you ever told him. The way he looked at you like he didn’t know how to stop.

And it scared the hell out of you.

Because people leave. Sometimes they come back. But rarely do they stay.

Your mom reached out, her fingers brushing yours. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said gently. “It’s not okay to pretend you don’t feel anything.”

You didn’t respond.

You just stared at the sunlight crawling across the linoleum floor, and wondered how long you could keep pretending that what you felt was nothing.

–

The engine made a low, confused noise as Soobin turned the key. You braced your hand against the dashboard. Soobin sat up straighter, lips pursed like he was preparing for war. You couldn’t help watching the way his knuckles tensed on the wheel, the way he kept muttering to himself like this was more of a concert performance than a suburban test run.

"Okay," you said cautiously. "Brake. Check your mirrors. Put it in drive—no, that’s reverse. Reverse is—Soobin—!"

The car lurched backward, an alarming jolt that made your seatbelt dig into your collarbone.

“Okay! Okay! Got it!” Soobin slammed the brake, and the car shuddered to a halt. Your heart was somewhere near your throat.

“You almost ran over a mailbox,” you hissed, hands clutched tightly on your seat. “My mailbox!” 

He winced. “It’s still standing.”

“Barely.” He shot you a look. “I told you I didn’t finish my license! You didn’t have to volunteer your car for this.”

“I didn’t think this was what we’d be doing when you said you wanted to ‘catch up.’

“Out,” you ordered. “Switch seats.” He didn’t argue.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you grumbled, turning the key and reversing smoothly out of the lot.

“Aw,” he said, smirking. “You like me.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

You looked at him. He looked back.

There was a beat of silence.

You circled back around the block, only to end up parked in front of your house once again. Soobin spotted the shed that sat behind your house, most importantly, what’s next to it. 

“No way,” he said, rushing ahead.

Sure enough, there they were. Your old bikes. Rusted at the chains, tires flat, but still recognizable.

“I can’t believe you kept mine,” he said, brushing off a handlebar like it was a relic.

“My mom was too sentimental to throw it away. She thought you’d come back.”

He paused.

The air shifted.

“Guess she was right,” he said softly.

You didn’t respond.

–

A few minutes later, you were riding through town—laughing, breathless, avoiding potholes and startled pigeons. Soobin’s bike creaked horribly, but he insisted on pedaling like he was racing someone only he could see.

You took the long route, past the bookstore where you used to loiter, the convenience store where he once bought you a yogurt drink with his last few coins, the bus stop where you used to sit until the streetlights flicked on.

Then he slowed. You turned to look—and watched, helpless, as his front tire clipped a curb and sent him flying.

“Soobin!” He landed with a thud, half in the grass, half on the sidewalk.

You dropped your bike and ran to him.

“Oh my God—are you okay? Why weren’t you paying atten–”

He blinked up at you, dazed. “That bus stop looks exactly the same.”

“You fell off your bike because of nostalgia?!”

He groaned. “I got caught off guard.”

“By a memory?”

“You looked back at me…,” he mumbled.

You stopped. The world stilled for half a second. Then you shoved that away. 

"You're bleeding," you said, kneeling next to him, choosing yet again to overlook the deeper weight hidden in his seemingly innocent words.

It wasn’t bad—just a scrape at his temple, but the sight still made something twist low in your stomach. You pulled a tissue that you luckily had in your pocket and dabbed at the cut. 

“You’re so dramatic,” you murmured, dabbing at the cut with soft fingers. “What if you end up with a scar? Your fans might actually riot.”

He winced, sucking in a breath.

“You’re enjoying this,” he said, eyeing you suspiciously.

“I’m not,” you said, lips twitching.

“You’re not even trying to be gentle.”

“I am,” you lied—though your touch grew just a little softer.

But your hands had slowed. And now that you were this close, you couldn’t help but really look at him. His hair was a little damp, curling slightly at the edges. There was a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek, and the cut on his brow was still fresh—but none of it dulled him. If anything, it made him feel more real. Not the polished idol with perfect lighting and stage smiles, but Soobin—your Soobin. 

The boy who used to race you home on bikes, who got grass stains on his knees and laughed until he fell over. And maybe that’s why your breath caught, just a little, because his eyes weren’t darting away this time. He wasn’t teasing or laughing. Just looking. Steady. Unafraid.

It felt like the earth was tilting under you.

He reached up, fingers brushing your wrist—soft, tentative. But you stood up before the silence could grow teeth.

“C’mon, head injury or not, we’re riding back. You can’t die dramatically knowing that it was a curb that took you out”

He laughed, clutching his ribs. “You’re such a comfort.”

You didn’t tell him that if he’d looked at you for one more second like that, you would’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Because your pulse still hadn’t returned to normal. And your heart didn’t know if it was from the fall…

…or from him.

—-

The rain started halfway through the ride home. Not a drizzle, not a soft mist. No, the sky decided to absolutely open up on you.

“Seriously?!” you shouted up at the clouds as you and Soobin coasted to a slow, skidding stop under a half-dead tree. Soobin was already laughing, clothes plastered to his skin, hair dripping into his eyes. “This is kind of perfect, though. Right? Very K-drama of us.”

You glared. “I’m going to get sick. You’re going to get sick.”

“I already feel stronger. This is character-building.”

You groaned and dropped your head back. “I hate you.”

“You keep saying that,” he said, wheeling his bike alongside yours, “but I’m starting to think you just like having an excuse to say my name angrily.”

You opened your mouth, ready to shoot something back—but a particularly angry clap of thunder cut through the air. You both jumped.

“Let’s just go home...” You muttered.

By the time you made it back to your house, you were soaked through—shoes squelching, hair matted to your cheeks, laughter still catching in your throats between shivers. You tossed your bike on the porch without care, unlocking the door as quickly as your frozen fingers would let you.

“Leave your shoes by the door,” you told him, kicking yours off with a squelch. “And try not to drip everywhere.”

Soobin peeled his hoodie over his head with a groan. “That’s an impossible task. I’m basically a human sponge.”

You grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at his face. “Here. Dry off, Mr. Sponge.”

“I’ll need a medal for surviving this ride.”

“You’ll get a warm meal and some dry clothes, and you’ll like it.”

He grinned, following you into the hallway. “Wait. Dry clothes?”

"Yeah. I think I still have one of your old sweatshirts lying around" you said over your shoulder, stopping just outside your room. You glanced back at him, standing awkwardly in the hallway, damp hair dripping and clothes clinging to him like a soggy afterthought. He looked like a miserable, oversized puppy.

"If it even fits..." you mumbled under your breath.

Because looking at him now, you weren’t so sure. He’d always been tall, but somewhere between the boy who used to sprawl across your couch and the man standing there now, he'd filled out—broad shoulders, long limbs, that quiet weight people carry when they've grown into themselves. It was weird. Familiar. 

“You still have that?”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink the warmth crawling up your neck. “It’s a good sweatshirt.”

“Can I have it back?”

“No.”

He laughed, and you disappeared into your room, pulling out the hoodie in question—still soft and oversized—and a pair of sweatpants you knew would be way too short on him, but it’d have to do.

You handed him the clothes and pointed him toward the bathroom. “Go. Change. And hang your stuff up unless you want it smelling like mildew forever.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, mock saluting.

When he disappeared behind the door, you exhaled. Why did this feel like something?

You pushed your wet hair back and padded into the kitchen to grab some water, heart still annoyingly thudding. Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers, and somewhere in the background, the bathroom door creaked as he rummaged through a drawer for a comb, a towel, who knew.

After changing into dry clothes, you settled onto the couch, towel in hand as you ran it through your damp hair. Without thinking, you reached into your pocket for your phone and opened reels—more out of muscle memory than intention.

You scrolled for a good minute before pausing.

There it was.

A video of Soobin. Blonde Soobin. All black suit, legs spread like he owned gravity, eating some sort of sour candy in that dazed, effortless idol way that did things to people.

The sound was some kind of slowed-down R&B  track. The caption read: “what do you mean he’s not my boyfriend??”

You snorted and shook your head, tapping the screen like you meant to scroll past it.

“You watching fan edits of me?”

You jumped, your heart skipping a beat.

Soobin was standing just behind the couch, freshly changed, a towel draped loosely around his neck as he rubbed at his damp hair. His cheeks were flushed pink—not from embarrassment, but from the lingering warmth of the shower. The faint scent of your soap clung to him, familiar and comforting.

You scrambled for words, panic rising in your chest. “N-no.”

He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, the hint of a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your voice. “It just popped up on my For You page!” you insisted, your tone shooting up an octave in protest.

“That’s not how the algorithm works,” he teased, eyes sparkling as he leaned in a little. “I can literally see you liked it.”

You huffed, flinging your phone onto the couch as if it had personally betrayed you. “I didn’t save it or anything.”

“I’m flattered,” he said, grinning as he walked slowly around the couch and flopped down beside you. The heat radiating from his body made the space between you feel smaller, cozier.

“I didn’t know you were into the blonde era,” he added with mock surprise.

You tried not to look at him, but it was impossible. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way that made your chest ache with something tender and unfamiliar. He smelled like your soap—clean, soft, and utterly real.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, crossing your arms defensively, “you looked ridiculous.”

He laughed—a low, easy sound that made your heart flutter. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You risked a glance at him—and made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

Something electric passed between you, and it wasn’t from the static of the hoodie. It was heavier. Warmer. Your breath stuttered. You could say this, right? You were friends, right?

“You know,” you started, voice quieter, “it’s kinda unfair.”

He tilted his head. “What is?”

You picked at a loose thread on the couch cushion, pretending not to notice the way his thigh was pressed against yours.

“You look like that, even if you’re just eating.”

He blinked.

The teasing fell out of his expression like someone had pulled a thread loose. You looked at him—really looked.

And there it was again. That thing that hung between you like a held breath. That invisible thread that pulled tighter and tighter every time you got close enough to see each other clearly.

His hand caught your wrist just as you were about to step away.

You froze, startled by the gentle hold, your heart skipping a beat.

His hand closed around your wrist—gentle, hesitant. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to touch you but couldn’t let the moment slip away without trying.

You froze.

Not because it was dramatic or shocking, but because your body had trained itself to notice every tiny shift around Soobin. The way his fingers were warm against your skin. The way his thumb hovered just slightly, like he thought about brushing it across your wrist but didn’t.

When you looked at him, really looked, he was already looking away—blushing.

His ears were a little pink at the tips, and the expression on his face was… shy. Maybe even a little self-conscious, like he was trying to laugh it off before you said anything that would make it worse.

“That clip you saw…” he said, clearing his throat, his voice softer than usual. “It’s not really me looking good or anything.”

You blinked. “What?”

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, still not letting go of you. “That livestream—the one with the blonde hair and the… uh, the sitting posture.” He made a vague motion, embarrassed. “We were just coming off a performance. Everyone was still in stage makeup, and the stylists kind of go all out when there’s press watching. It’s not really how I… look. Normally.”

He wasn’t even making eye contact now, suddenly fascinated with a dent in the hardwood floor.

“I mean, they style us a certain way. The lighting’s good. The outfits are picked for us.” He glanced up, almost sheepish. “It’s not real-real.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were too busy staring.

Because here was Soobin—not the idol, not the polished version beamed out to millions—but your Soobin. The one who got defensive about reverse parking and couldn’t cook instant noodles without supervision. The one whose hoodie sleeves still hung past his wrists, whose hair was a little damp from the rain, whose voice always got smaller when he was trying to be honest.

And he didn’t know. He didn’t know that the moment he tried to downplay it, you somehow liked him even more. Your heart was doing something dangerous. Something stupid and fluttery. And warm. You smiled, just a little. “So what you’re saying is… the Soobin in that clip is false advertising?”

He huffed a laugh—still nervous, still a bit pink. “Exactly.”

“Well,” you said, pretending to think it over, “I guess I’ll just have to get used to this version of you, then.”

He tilted his head, eyes meeting yours at last. “This version?”

You nodded, trying to act nonchalant even though your pulse was kicking wildly in your throat. “The version that wears wrinkled sweats and drips water on my floor and thinks too much about livestreams from six months ago.”

He smiled, small and real. “That version’s not very cool.”

“Good. I like him better.” You shrugged. “He reminds me of an old friend.”

There was a pause—just long enough to feel like a held breath. His hand was still on your wrist, warmer now. Closer. And even though neither of you said it, something shifted.

He lingered a second longer, still holding your wrist, his thumb brushing your skin in a barely-there touch. Neither of you moved, as if breaking the stillness might shatter something fragile between you.

And then, almost offhandedly—like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would stick with you for days—he said, “You look good too, you know. Even after all these years.”

Simple. Uncomplicated. But it cracked something open in you all the same.

You turned away first.

“I’m gonna go make dinner,” you said quickly, already halfway to standing. “Before I say something else embarrassing.”

He let go, fingers slipping away from yours slowly, reluctantly.

And you walked to the kitchen with your heart in your throat.

Dinner was on the stove.

But it wasn’t the only thing simmering now.

—

You stood in front of the pot, stirring with more intensity than necessary, trying very hard not to think about the compliment Soobin had just casually lobbed at your entire existence. His words still clung to your skin more stubborn than the rain had.

"You look good too."

What did that even mean? You were in an old hoodie, hair still damp, socks mismatched. You looked like a soggy couch cushion with a pulse.

Still. He’d said it. Earnestly. Like he meant it.

You stirred the pot a little too aggressively.

Behind you, Soobin leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching you like he had nowhere else to be—and no desire to be anywhere else. He looked so at ease there, like he belonged in this space, in your space. The hoodie he wore—the one you’d cut around the collar back in high school during a brief “DIY fashion” phase—hung slightly off one of his shoulders now, exposing a sliver of collarbone. Your brain short-circuited every time your eyes drifted that way, completely unprepared for how something so small, so casual, could feel so intimate.

His eyes drifted toward the stove, then to you—quiet, lingering. He wasn’t staring exactly, but it was close. Like he was watching something he couldn’t quite name. Something small and domestic and too warm to look at directly. And when you caught it, just barely from the corner of your eye, it sent a shiver straight down your spine.

He dropped his gaze instantly, toeing at the rug with the tip of his sock like it had personally offended him.

“What… uh, what are you making?” he asked, voice soft. Like raising it too loud might break something fragile.

You tossed chopped onions into the pan with a hiss. “Soup,” you said. “It’s quick. It’s easy. And you probably won’t die eating it.”

Soobin gave a little laugh—short and breathy. “That’s a really strong endorsement.”

“I’ve seen your cooking, Choi. This is already an upgrade.”

He gasped, hand clutching his chest like you’d mortally wounded him. “You don’t forget anything, do you?”

“Three different instant noodles. All undercooked. All aggressively beige.”

“That was years ago!” he protested, a smile tugging at his lips. You nudged him with your hip as you passed behind him. “Just don’t set anything on fire, and we’ll call it a win.”

“I can be helpful,” he mumbled, already reaching for the cutting board. “You just… never let me.”

You glanced at him, amused. “You’re the one who told me not to let you near knives.”

“Right, but like…” He shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. “That was before.”

You handed him a block of tofu and the world’s dullest knife. “Okay, Chef of the Year. Tiny cubes. No bleeding.” He took it with an exaggerated sigh. “No faith in me at all.”

You turned back to the stove, only to hear the distinct sound of tofu being… destroyed.

You looked. “That’s a massacre.”

“I panicked,” he muttered, eyebrows drawn together like he was concentrating on defusing a bomb. You stepped beside him without thinking. “Here,” you said, adjusting his grip. “Like this.” Your fingers curled gently around his hand, repositioning his hold on the knife. Your chest brushed his arm. He stilled.

The silence bloomed wide. You felt his breath catch—just barely. Like a sound he wasn’t sure he should let out. When he turned his head, your faces were closer than they’d meant to be. Too close.

“I think I’m messing up on purpose,” he said, voice so low it barely reached you.

You blinked. “Why?” He hesitated. His eyes flicked to your lips, then away again, like he didn’t mean to. “Because, uh… getting corrected isn’t so bad?”

Your heart stuttered.

And for one wild second, you thought he might actually mean it. Not in a joke way. Not in a “we’re just friends messing around” way. But in the kind of way that stayed with you, long after it passed. You pulled back quickly, your voice higher than it needed to be. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he mumbled, looking weirdly pleased with himself. You turned back to the soup before your face could fully betray you. “Dinner’s almost done.”

“Smells good.” The way he said it—it wasn’t loud or performative. Just warm. Quiet. Like he meant it and didn’t know how to say much else.

“I can, um… I can set the table,” he offered after a beat, fiddling with the towel draped over the chair. “If that helps.”

“It’s just two plates.”

“Still,” he said, moving toward the cupboard. “Feels like the least I can do.”

You watched him open drawers like he didn’t remember where anything was—even though he’d been to your kitchen more than once. Even though this version of Soobin—the soft one, the one who tiptoed through domestic spaces like they were breakable—was getting harder and harder to pretend didn’t feel different.

By the time you both sat down, your pulse still hadn’t settled.

He waited until you took your first bite before speaking again.

“This feels nice,” he said, toying with his chopsticks. “Like… familiar.”

You looked up. “Familiar how?”

He hesitated. “Like, I don’t know. Like we used to do this all the time. Even if we didn’t.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.” There was a pause. He tapped his chopsticks together gently, then added, “Not like this, though.”

Your stomach tightened. Because you knew what he meant. Not with the late rain tapping at the windows. Not with the soft glow of the kitchen light, the quiet between bites. Not with the way his leg brushed yours under the table like it didn’t mean anything… except it kind of did.

He looked down at his bowl, then back at you, cheeks faintly pink. “It’s probably dumb. Sorry.”

“No,” you said quickly. “It’s not dumb.” You both sat in the quiet that followed, tension settling like steam in the air between you. Soft. Warm. Unspoken.

And still—he glanced at you again, eyes lingering a little longer this time.

“This,” he murmured, almost to himself, “is the part I think I missed the most.”

You didn’t trust yourself to ask what he meant. So you took another bite instead. But your fingers itched where they’d touched his. And you could feel the weight of the moment, real and quiet and waiting for someone to name it.

So neither of you did.

You just stayed like that—two bowls between you, hearts too full for your mouths to keep up.

—

It had been a while since you last saw Soobin. A month, at least.

His mom had mentioned he was out of town visiting family—some cousin’s wedding, maybe. You didn’t ask too many questions. Just nodded, said “ah,” and tried to pretend your chest didn’t ache a little every time you passed his house, reminding you of how alone you felt the first time he had disappeared. 

In his absence, the days blurred. You slipped too easily back into your old routine—working, grocery store runs, folding laundry half-awake, hospital visits that drained more than they gave. You didn’t have time to miss him. You barely had time to be anything other than tired.

But that night… that night was different.

The doctor had been gentle, but that didn’t soften the words. Your mom’s condition wasn’t worsening—but it also wasn’t improving. They’d be moving her into a more intensive unit, “just to keep a closer eye.” That was what they always said. A closer eye. As if that made it better.

You left the hospital numb, your body moving through the motions—bus ride, walking home, dropping your keys in the dish like muscle memory. You kicked off your shoes and sat on the edge of your bed without meaning to.

And before you knew it, you were opening your laptop. Not the mindless doomscrolling of nights past. Not some clip appearing on your for you page by accident.

You typed it out yourself this time.

Soobin. Variety show. “Faves Fave.”

Intentional.

The screen filled with thumbnails—bright, curated images of him laughing, grinning, clutching his stomach as he teased his guests. You clicked one. Then another. Then another. It was like oxygen after two weeks of holding your breath.

He looked… the same. Familiar and not. Confident, magnetic, a little shy around the edges if you knew where to look—which, of course, you did.

And then you found that episode.

The one with the “dating coach” guest.  Just a cute concept—flowers, mukbang, the whole club presentation skit . You watched with your chin in your hand, blinking slowly as he fiddled with his sleeves and answered questions with his soft, hesitant smile.

Until the girl leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and asked with a teasing lilt, “Soobin-ssi, what’s your type?”

He laughed first. Ducking his head, already shaking it. “You’re gonna make me get in trouble…” The staff cackled. The guest encouraged him.

“Someone who… leads?” he finally said, face pink and gaze darting away. “I’m more… I think I’m usually… the follower type.” The camera zoomed in. He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking utterly sheepish.

You sat frozen, mouse hovering over the pause button. Your stomach did something ridiculous.

It was the way he said it—like it wasn’t meant to be scandalous. Just honest. Earnest. And yet your brain short-circuited.

He wasn’t lying.

Over the next few days, you found yourself spiraling. Not in a dangerous way. Just… quietly. Internally. You kept replaying his words—the shy, almost whispered confession that he liked being led. That he was the follower, not the leader. It was a simple thing, but it hit you in a way you didn’t expect.

You found yourself wondering what that really meant—how it would feel to be the one guiding him, to be the person he trusted enough to follow. It was strange how just thinking about it made your chest tighten, your skin buzz with something like electricity. You tried to tell yourself it was just the stress, the exhaustion, the endless waiting for your mom to get better. But you knew better.

When you saw him again, it was like the air between you had shifted, though nothing had really changed. You were hanging out like usual—talking, laughing, stealing quick glances at each other—but now every look carried weight. Every casual brush of your hands or accidental touch sent your heart racing.

Soobin was the same—soft-spoken, a little awkward, but somehow more open, more vulnerable. He wasn’t joking when he said he liked being led. You could see it in how he deferred to you on small things, how he hesitated before making decisions, like he was waiting for your cue. And you? You were barely holding yourself together inside.

The doorbell rang just as you were finishing up dinner—your hands still a little flour-dusted, the kitchen smelling faintly of garlic and rosemary. You wiped them on your apron, heart skipping in a way that was maybe more than just nerves about having company. 

When you opened the door, Soobin was there, standing with that familiar, slightly sheepish smile that always made your chest tighten. His hair was a bit tousled from the wind, and his eyes held that soft, tentative look you’d come to know so well.

 “Hey,” he said quietly, voice low like he was trying not to disturb the calm. 

“Hey,” you replied, stepping aside to let him in. 

He kicked off his shoes like he always did—neatly, side by side by the door, like a good guest. Like someone who belonged.

You didn’t say anything, just followed him with your gaze as he wandered into the kitchen, peering into the pot on the stove.

“Ooh,” he said, drawing out the sound, his voice lilting with approval. “It smells like… actual food. I thought you were just gonna microwave ramen.”

You rolled your eyes, your heartbeat thudding annoyingly fast. “Excuse you. I am a cooking god.”

He was joking. You knew that. Just Soobin being Soobin—soft and playful and a little smug without realizing it. But the way he leaned against your counter, arms crossed, sleeves pushed up, collar loose…

Yeah. This was going to kill you. Because he had no idea.

No idea that you’d spent two nights watching him on screen—smiling, laughing, stupidly talking about his ideal type like it was just another throwaway question. Like it hadn’t rearranged something inside you.

“I’m usually the follower type,” he’d said.

And maybe it was stupid, the way your brain latched onto that. The way your body responded like it had been waiting for an excuse. You turned away quickly, grabbing bowls from the cabinet with more force than necessary. Focus.

“So,” he said behind you, “what’s the occasion?”

“What?”

“You cooked. For me. Without bribery or threats involved.” He leaned over your shoulder, just barely, just enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. “Should I be worried?”

You forced a laugh. “Maybe I missed having someone around who bugs me while I’m chopping onions.”

“Ah,” he said with mock solemnity. “So I am but a tool for your entertainment.”

You could feel the heat of him behind you—just barely there, just enough to make it impossible to think straight.

Tool for your entertainment, he’d said.

You nearly dropped the ladle.

God, he had no idea what that did to you.

Your brain, already frayed from too many late nights watching his interviews on loop—watching him smile at someone else, laugh at someone else's joke—now seized on that one line, innocent and offhand, like your nervous system needed a final push toward collapse.

"I’m the follower type."

Most people would’ve let it pass. A throwaway comment. But not you. Not after hearing the way he’d said it—voice low, almost shy, like it had slipped out by accident. Like it meant something.

And now here he was. In your kitchen. Wearing your hoodie. Joking about being your “tool,” like the universe had a twisted sense of humor and was testing your ability to not spontaneously combust.

“Sure,” you managed, ladling soup into a bowl with what you hoped was a steady hand. “An incredibly useful tool.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Wow. I’ve been demoted to household equipment. I used to be someone.”

You bit your lip.

Don’t laugh. Don’t think about what he said. Definitely don’t think about what that would look like.

You turned to hand him the bowl—and instantly regretted it.

He was close. Too close. Close enough that you could see the faint sprinkle of freckles near his collarbone, the soft curve of his throat. Close enough to feel the warmth of him. And worse—close enough to see his smile up close, the one that crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that felt entirely, devastatingly sincere; his dimples on full display. 

You passed him the bowl with a shallow breath, eyes on anything but his face. He took it gently. But didn’t step away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now. Too soft. The kind of softness that pried things loose.

You looked up. Mistake number two. His brows were slightly furrowed, gaze searching—not teasing this time, not even curious. Just… concerned. Like he could feel the ripple of something under the surface but didn’t know where it led.

“I’m fine,” you said too fast, too light. “Just tired.”

He didn’t argue, but the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t buying it completely. Still, he nodded, letting the moment settle.

You grabbed your own bowl and sat down quickly, needing the table between you. Needing space. Needing something solid to keep you from doing something stupid like saying the actual thoughts screaming in your head.

He sat across from you, legs tucked up like always, like your living room wasn’t any different from his. Like no time had passed at all. Like he hadn’t just accidentally unraveled you with a single joke and a borrowed hoodie.

Like he belonged here.

And you let him. Of course you did. Even now, even with your pulse skipping and your thoughts stuck on that clip. The one where he’d smiled, soft and unguarded, and said “I don’t mind being told what to do,” and the room had laughed, but you hadn’t.

Because it hadn’t felt like a joke to you.

It had felt like a truth. One he hadn’t meant to share. One you couldn’t unhear.

And now it sat in your chest like a secret too big to hold. A glowing ember you couldn’t stamp out.

He slurped a spoonful of soup and let out a satisfied hum. “So what’s in this? Other than the tears you shed while I was gone”

You swallowed hard, fighting for focus. “Garlic. Herbs. A careful measure of what’s left of my sanity.”

He snorted. “Well, it’s seasoned perfectly.”

You gave him a weak smile, cheeks already warm, though it had nothing to do with the stove.

Because this wasn’t just banter anymore. This wasn’t normal. It was familiar, yes—but in a way that felt dangerous now. Because the more he settled back into your life, into your house, into the clothes you used to sleep in—the harder it became to separate who he used to be from what he was starting to mean now.

He had no idea. None. He didn’t know that every casual smile, every soft laugh, every offhanded comment was completely undoing you. You glanced up—and found him already watching you.

You froze.

“What?”

He blinked like he hadn’t meant to get caught. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “You’re just… quiet tonight.”

You looked down at your bowl.

“Yeah,” you said again. “Just tired.”

He didn’t press, but his gaze lingered, and in the stretch of silence that followed, you wondered—just for a second—if he saw it. The shift. The crack in your composure. The storm is blooming just beneath your skin.

But then he took another bite. Casual. Comfortable.

And you sat there, across from the boy who was quietly ruining your life, wondering how much longer you could pretend it wasn’t happening.

—-

EIGHT YEARS AGO

It had been the class field trip to the mountains—the last big outing before graduation.

Everyone had been buzzing about it for weeks: a whole day out of school. You hadn’t planned on going at first—too many people, too much noise—but your friends insisted. And somewhere deep down, beneath your careful excuses, you knew Soobin would be there.

And yeah. Maybe that was the real reason you said yes.

The day itself was easy. Light. The sun shimmered across the water, laughter bounced off the docks. Soobin had helped pass out life jackets, sleeves rolled up, hair pushed back by the wind, that easygoing smile on his face. He was joking with everyone, relaxed—but his eyes kept finding you. When he thought you weren’t looking.

You caught him once. Watching.

He smiled. You looked away.

It should’ve felt warm. Comforting. Safe.

But then, later—when everyone was crowded around a picnic table, eating soggy sandwiches and swatting mosquitoes—you overheard it.

Two classmates, sitting a few feet behind you. One of them is his friend. The other a notorious gossip.

“I’m telling you,” one said, tearing into a juice pouch. “Soobin was gonna ask her to the lake.”

“Her? Seriously?”

“Yeah. Said he’d do it if she said yes to coming. But then he got all weird. Said she shuts down whenever he gets close. But, like, you can tell. He does everything she says. It’s kind of sad.”

You froze, a sandwich half-bitten in your hand.

He was going to ask you. You hadn’t imagined it. The quiet tension, the soft attention—it had meant something. And maybe, just maybe, it still would have meant something.

But then came the second realization. The one that burrowed deeper.

He would’ve done it just because you came. 

Because you said yes.

Because he always listened.

Because he always followed your lead.

And you couldn’t breathe.

Because if he liked you like that—really liked you—then that meant being wanted. Being chosen. Again. And what had that ever brought anyone?

Everyone you loved either left or got sick. That wasn't a coincidence. That was you.

You had started to believe, somewhere in the quiet dark, that maybe you were the problem. That maybe there was something inside you—ruinous and invisible—that made people go. Like you carried a sickness only the people closest to you ever caught.

And Soobin? Soobin was the kind of boy who would’ve followed you straight into the storm, no questions asked.

He didn’t deserve that.

So you shut down.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. You avoided his gaze. Didn’t laugh at his jokes. When the canoes got pulled out, you volunteered for the group on the other end of the lake. You didn’t even sit near him on the bus ride back.

And the texts, later that night? Left unread.

When he approached you in the hallway the next week, worry in his eyes, asking if something was wrong—you shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said. And then walked away.

You never told him why. Never told him that your silence wasn’t about him. It was about you. What you believed you did to the people who loved you.

He didn’t chase after you. Not out loud. But you saw him watching you in class a few times after that. Quiet. Like he was waiting for a sign that never came. The last time you saw him was three days after the hike. He was standing by the bike racks after school, bag slung over one shoulder, kicking gravel. He looked up when you walked out with your friends.

You paused.

He straightened. Took a half step forward. “Hey.”

You stopped. Barely. “Hey.”

“I just wanted to ask if I… said something wrong?”

He looked so unsure, so open, so soft. All you wanted was to walk back toward him. Say something. Say everything.

But you didn’t.

You gave him a weak smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

“Don’t worry about it.” Then you left.

No final goodbye. No explanation. Just silence.

And that was the last time you saw Soobin. Before the auditions, the debut, the lights and cameras and screams and fame turned him into someone the whole world watched. You’d think about that moment by the fence. About how he would’ve done anything for you, if you’d only let him.

But you hadn’t.  Because somewhere deep down, you still believed you were the thing that made people sick. And you couldn’t let him catch it too.

So instead, you let him go. Quiet. Clean. Cowardly.

And the worst part?

You were never sure if he even hated you for it.

—

The soup was gone. The dishes were rinsed, half-drying on the rack.

The living room was dim now, only the lamp in the corner still on, casting long golden light over everything. The night had settled in soft around you—quiet, still, deceptively calm. Soobin was sprawled out on your couch, legs long and socked feet hanging off the edge like he forgot how tall he was. You sat on the floor with your back against the coffee table, scrolling through a playlist on your phone, pretending like you weren’t hyper-aware of his presence. Of the warmth of his thigh brushing the cushion where your elbow rested. Of the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You were looking.

“Wanna watch something?” you offered, keeping your voice casual. “You haven’t seen the new season of that show you liked, right?”

“Hmm,” he hummed, quiet for a second. “I kinda just wanna sit like this.”

You didn’t say anything. Couldn’t, really. Your mouth had gone dry. Because the way he said it wasn’t teasing. It was simple. Earnest.

Like this.

With you. In your space. With your things and your scent on the throw blanket and the memory of your hand on his guiding a knife hours ago. He turned his head a little, resting his cheek on the back of the couch.

“You’re really quiet tonight,” he said again. “Not just tired, quiet… It’s like…you’re thinking too much.”

You stared ahead at the wall, the grain in the wood, the dust in the lamp’s halo of light.

“I’m always thinking too much.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But this feels different.”

You drew your knees up to your chest, arms wrapping around them.

“I just…” You hesitated. “I think I’ve forgotten how to be around you.”

He blinked. Sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you said, trying to laugh, trying to swallow the tension, “we hang out like this and it’s supposed to feel easy, but it doesn’t anymore.”

He looked at you carefully. Slowly.

And then, softer than before: “Why doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He let the silence stretch a beat longer, then got up.

You thought maybe he was going to leave. But instead, he walked over and sat beside you on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder. Close. Warm.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured.

You turned your head. “You just did.”

He gave you a look, but there was no bite to it. Only hesitation.

“Did I do something?” he asked.

Your heart thudded.

“No,” you said quickly. “No, it’s not—” You exhaled hard. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what is it?”

You turned your face toward your knees, hiding your expression. But his voice followed, low and careful.

“You didn’t do anything,” I say again, quieter this time—almost a whisper, like if I say it soft enough, maybe it’ll unravel the knot tightening in my chest.

Soobin stays still. Not a word. No response. He just waits.

And somehow, that silence makes everything harder to bear.

I press my cheek against my knee, voice muffled and uneven. “It just got me thinking… back in high school. That field trip to the mountains.” You don’t know why you’re bringing this up now. 

I feel the faintest tilt of his head, a subtle sign he’s listening, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

“After that trip…” I trail off, twisting the sleeve of my shirt around my fingers, the fabric rough beneath my skin. “I don’t know why—” The words catch in my throat, and the room feels heavy with unspoken things. I swallow hard. “I don’t know why I stopped talking to you.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. Because I know the truth, but it’s too fragile, too raw to say out loud.

Finally, I steal a glance at him—just for a moment.

His face softens. There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes, maybe something else too. Something like understanding. Or forgiveness.

And in that quiet exchange, it feels like a small crack opens in the wall between us—fragile, but real.

He shifts beside me, the couch groaning beneath his weight. Then, softly:

“I didn’t know,” he says.

His voice is different now. Not teasing. Not soft for the sake of comfort—but careful. Honest.

“I thought…” He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “I thought maybe you didn’t like me. That I was too much.”

My heart stutters.

“You weren’t,” You say quickly, instinctively. “You weren’t too much. You were just…”

You falter again. He looks at you now—really looks at you—and you feel like he’s seeing through every version of you you’ve built up over the years.

“I overheard some guys talking about you,” You keep going, twisting the sleeve of your shirt around your fingers. “They said you were going to ask me out, maybe confess something.”

So much silence. 

“And it just... freaked me out.” 

You don’t say it lightly. You say it like a confession, like a weight lifted from your shoulders but also like a wound reopened. Because it costs you something to admit.

“I didn’t know how to deal with it,” You admit, voice catching a little. “The idea that you might like me... that I might have to say it back.”

You finally glance at him—just for a second. His face softens. A flicker of surprise, maybe something else.

“So I did the worst thing,” You confess, taking a shaky breath. “I avoided you.”

You swallow hard. “I told myself it didn’t matter. That I’d forget. But I never did.”

He stays quiet longer than you  want. You think maybe You’ve ruined everything.

“You know,” he says after a long moment, “I used to think about that field trip a lot.”

You turn toward him.

“I kept wondering if I said something wrong. Maybe I embarrassed you.”

“You didn’t.”

He nods. “I know that now. But back then…”

His voice drifts. There’s a different kind of sadness in it. Not bitter. Just the kind that comes from remembering a version of yourself who didn’t know better.

“…I guess I needed you to say this more than I realized,” he finishes.

You both don’t say anything for a while after that. The silence between you isn’t empty—it’s full of things finally said, finally heard.

Then—like the Soobin you’ve always known—he cracks a crooked grin, glancing sideways at me.

“So…” he says, light but sincere, “now that we’ve established we were both emotionally constipated teenagers…”

You snort. “You’re the worst.”

He nudges your shoulder again, softer this time. “Just saying. We had a lot of potential for a coming-of-age drama. Tears, longing stares, tragic misunderstandings.”

“And a bad soundtrack,” you say, trying to keep your voice light, though something twists in your chest. “You would’ve done well with a sad ballad.”

“Oh, definitely,” he murmurs, looking forward now, like he’s watching a movie that only he can see. “Fade to black. Cue emotional credits.”

You smile faintly at that. Or maybe you try to. Because the warmth between you—the comfort, the quiet—it feels like something that could settle. Something that could stay.

But then the silence stretches again. Not like before. This one sharpens. Something shifts in the air, almost imperceptibly, and you feel it before you hear it. The way Soobin suddenly exhales, the weight in his shoulders changing.

You glance at him.

He’s not smiling anymore. His eyes darken with something unsaid—an emotion too raw to voice but too heavy to hide.

In that moment, the space between you changes. It’s no longer just a shared past. It’s a crossing point.

A line drawn. Between what was… and what could be.

And somehow, without words, you both know it.

This is the turning point.

The moment everything begins to change. His eyes darken, intense and searching, as they lock onto yours. The world narrows until it’s just the two of you—breath mingling, hearts hammering in sync.

guys...i reached the 1000 word block GO TO PAHT TWO

[mona-risms]

Rumi x Reader where Reader is a cursed deity that helps the hunters generations (through financially or become a manager once etc.) and finally meets Rumi after the defeat of the demon king. and Mira and Zoey are chaotic match makers

◆ MAIN COURSE: Rumi x cursed diety!gn!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: N/A

◆ NOTES: I LOVE RUMI SO BAD but also it's half 2 rn why did I stay awake to finish this bro........never letting anyone tell me I give up halfway in anything

Man. You musta done something to get cursed to be a manager for eternity 😭 joke but not actually joke. I can't replace Bobby man.......therefore INTRODUCING 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁 the A&R Manager role!!!!! This'll be one of the Only times my music diploma will Ever come in handy

For reference before getting into it (bare w me please let me ramble even though this'll never be mentioned about again), an A&R Manager kinda oversees a LOT of things. While a unit/artist manager like Bobby is mostly responsible for one/a few units at a time, an A&R manager's responsible for a HUGE range of things like scouting/signing/developing new talent, being a liaison for the artist and the label, overseeing the recording process, to even being aware of different trends and demographics so that they keep the popularity up with the label and its artists

Much as it is a role for them to be personally involved in basically everything, the fact that there's a lot to do most definitely makes it hard to really do so, which will explain why they wouldn't have really met each other this entire time until the defeat of the Gwi-Ma. Bc honestly let's be real there's no way HUNTR/X is the only unit in their label, just the most famous one........and the one trained to handle demon slaying lol

ANYWAY ONTO THE ACTUAL. THING

When Celine first came up to you about what the next generation of Hunters should be, you weren't necessarily surprised about her proposal that fully leaned into the flashfire that was K-Pop in the modern age. Once upon a time, it would've been more traditional forms of musical entertainment, but there's a reason why you were tasked to oversee 'trends' and such for the next generation to create the Golden Honmoon with.. and take on the world by storm, you supposed.

So seeing them for the first time?

..Yeah, this was definitely going to match up with the algorithm.

"Girls," you hear Celine introduce you as you bowed respectfully, "meet the A&R manager for DH Entertainment, several years your senior."

(An understatement, of course.)

Either way, you follow it up with a simple introduction at the same time as the trio bowed in reciprocation, "[L/N] [Y/N], a pleasure to meet the three of you. Former trainees now, yes?"

The one who piped up first was not only the shortest one, but was most likely the loudest one out of the three, "Yes!! We've been working so hard for this, so it feels like such a dream--"

"Right," you cut her off, though not unkindly, "though do remember that you're not just debuting as idols—you're debuting as Hunters, first and foremost. ..Though I doubt you three can debut without any names..?"

"Oh, oh!" The loud one piped up again with an endearingly playful energy, "So I'm Zoey, and the grumpy-looking one's Mira--"

"Really, Zoey--"

"Shh, it's okay, this is just, like, first-hand practice for when we have to MC on stage and--"

You couldn't help the chuckle that left your lips. "Thank you, Zoey. I.. assume you're the leader, then?"

"If I may," Celine interjects, a slight humorous look on her face from watching the entire exchange, "you assume incorrectly."

"Really? Then who..?"

You see Mira nudge her head to the same person that Zoe ends up glomping from behind, "This one! Her name's--"

"Rumi."

The purple-haired woman spoke—or rather, breathed out—her own name, though she doesn't seem all there, if her expression was any indication. Her brown eyes were wide, as if she was witnessing, beholding, some sort of majesty (which, really, wasn't that much far off, though it's not as if it mattered anymore after so long). She stood stock still, as if suddenly unsure of how to act.

And it seems like the other unit members noticed too.

"..Rumi? You okay?" Mira nudged Rumi's side, "you're acting weird all of a sudden—what happened to your freakish proactivity?"

That seemed to snap Rumi out of whatever reverie she was in, scrambling to form a response, "OH! Shoot, uh, sorry! For staring, I mean, I just--

"Hmm? What's this?"

"Shut up, Zoey, let them talk."

"Don't worry about it," you waved it off with a kind smile and ignored the other two and their whispering. "So you're the unlucky leader?"

Rumi lets out a small snort of laughter before nodding, forgetting her initial awkwardness, "Yeah. Though I'd feel bad if I left them to anyone else."

"Hey!"

"Ha. Good luck with that—I've only had the pleasure of exposure for a few minutes, yet I can already tell they'll be a handful. And so will you."

"Wha-- what's that supposed to mean?"

You simply give her a smile as you stepped back, hands raised in a surrendering position, "It means I can tell that the three of you are going to give me a very hard time, just like the other generations before you."

Now it was Celine's turn to sound offended, though in no part did it seem genuine, "May I remind you who was on field again?"

"Was, dear." It was probably a hypocritical push-back, considering how you haven't been on field at all since being cursed, but alas, life wasn't fair.

So you quickly follow it up by patting away imaginary lint off your clothes before taking out your phone, "Now, as much as I'd like to carry this on, I've got enough work to break a mortal's back." And you pat Rumi's shoulder, which her cheeks tint the slightest pink in response, "Good luck, HUNTR/X. I'll be seeing you around."

And you let your hand slide down and drop to your side as you walked off, though you can't help but catch snippets of remaining conversation:

"You've got the hots for the manager. No way."

"I do not!"

"You froze, Rumi. I have never seen you freeze in front of someone new before."

"Cut it out!"

Idk I felt like I had to write out their FIRST introduction, bc honestly I can't see them NOT meeting you if you're in a high-up role, considering their importance

This DOES set things up though, bc they know they exist. But let's be honest it's probably VERY rarely that you two would ever happen upon each other, and even then it's probably in passing, for a few seconds type shit

You might be cursed to roam the Earth instead of actually be the deity of whatever it is you were supposed to hold domain over, but again. You're STILL a deity. So maybe after sensing that something is ABSOLUTELY WRONG, you manage to find where everyone's gathered, where the Saja Boys were performing, where Gwi-Ma had waited to devour all these souls before Rumi showed up, her half-demon heritage VERY out in the open now. Perhaps you even help them fend the demons off, either by boosting the power these souls had or outright using whatever power you had

I think after Gwi-Ma's banished, ever since you've been cursed, you've been in charge of cleanup. Erasing enough memories and proof to make the entire event seem like a Mandela Effect (you loathe how technology advances every minute bc there's THAT fucking issue too), structure reparation, everything. And THIS would be when you and HUNTR/X start interacting more

You'd probably most likely already know about Rumi's half-demon thing; you kinda had to be told by Celine ages ago for the sake of any possible damage control if, say, someome who shouldn't be able to see the markings see it. So when she asks you why you don't look shocked at all, it's because you're not. You've known what she is the entire time, and you don't really gaf. You're a cursed deity, why tf would you?

After the adrenaline wears off, she'd be back to oscillating between being SLIGHTLY awkward—because Jesus CHRIST she thought you were absolutely gorgeous then and she STILL thinks you're gorgeous now—and genuinely enjoying your presence, especially now that she doesn't really have to hide anymore (no thanks to Celine lmfao). Plus I think her newfound freedom opens up the actual excitement of learning about another supernatural entity that ISN'T a demon

Naturally, Zoey and Mira add 2+2 together and decide to meddle. Because honestly beyond the two of them, they know for a FACT that Rumi deserves happiness and acceptance from someone she genuinely likes. And considering you're there.......looking at her with those eyes............likeeeeee 😜😜😜😜 it's just basic girl math!!!!!

So it starts with them pushing Rumi towards you EVERY chance they get. You need to find new talent? Let Rumi help!!! You're going through recording? Oh suddenly the both of them have a cold oh noooooo Rumi will have to go on her own to record her own parts!! You're filling in paperwork? Oh em gee I wonder why we walked all the way here oh I think we left the oven on okay byeeee

It gets less subtle for them lol. They start asking Rumi how she feeeeeeels in so many different ways ("So is age and experience a thing for you?" "Wh--" "Just asking~! Jinu was like a few hundred, and [Y/N]'s been watching over several Hunter generations, so-- mmf!" "Eat your fries or so help me--"), and they even blatantly go up to ask you about preferences and stuff, even going so far as to just flat-out describe Rumi herself ("Purple hair and glowing demon marks; a turn-on or a turn-off?" "..Why?" "Just answer the question.")

Does it get you all closer? Yes. Does it also get you and Rumi closer? Yes, actually, but not just because of their wingmanning—both of you bond over the sheer exasperation at the VERY obvious attempts of playing matchmaker

The two of you probably eventually give in when you get individual messages from the other person about asking to meet at some secluded spot where you can see the stars really clearly without obstruction. How do you two give in, you ask? By just honestly going for it when the two of you realise that no, neither of you texted each other about meeting here and yes, this was absolutely planned by Zoey and Mira. You sit there on the picnic blanket that was mysteriously set up and kitted out with a vintage lantern from a some local goth shop and a basket of food, and the two of you talk personally: about your days; about how Rumi was handling being a demon out in the 'open' (aka humans can't really see it but supernaturals and Hunters can); about how and why you're cursed; about anything and everything

I don't think the two of you would kiss here, not on the lips anyway maybe the cheek ir the knuckle at MOST but otherwise nah. But it's the opening of something more, and when the two of you just lean on each other as you watch the stars, you can just hear a very faint shriek that sounds SUSPICIOUSLY like Zoey. But rn that's not your concern go back to your date 🙏

[absurddino]

The Creature

The thing is. Steve already knew CC was as good as they came in a small town like Hawkins. Hell, he knows The Creature is right up there in the same category.

What he didn't know, though, is that CC could be playing headliner shows in Chicago, or New York with how fucking good they are.

If this is a rehearsal, Steve is terrified to see the real deal. All night he is glued to his chair, denying beers when offered (he can't drink in his mask) and staring wide eyed at the sheer musicality of the band.

It's everything combined. The process of songwriting (the lyrics get tweaked while they rehearse, something Steve has honestly never thought of himself because he doesn't even write his lyrics himself most of the time. That's what he's got Chris for, after all), the tuning of the instruments, the laughter, the fucking noise they make.

It's both gruesome and gorgeous at the same time. Steve might be addicted. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit in love.

"So?" Eddie asks, after they're done. They're sitting on a nearby bench outside while the other guys went to grab more beer, or something. Steve's brain is currently preoccupied with the incredible power of this band, making it impossible to think about frivolous things like that. "What did you think?"

"You're fucking amazing," Steve replies. "Like, just. Wow. I don't even know why you come to my shows at all."

Eddie turns to him with a grin that's nearly bigger than his face. "I like to support small artists," he jokes. "And you're not on Spotify, so..."

Steve laughs, really laughs. God, he can't remember the last time he has laughed at something he genuinely found funny. He can't really remember the last time he's ever wanted to be someone's friend, not since being introduced to The Creature anyway.

"You'll be famous in no time. At least I'll be able to listen to you on Spotify while you're touring the world, then."

Eddie slaps his thigh. "Dream on, big boy. We're staying underground forever, it's half the fun."

Steve hums. "Got that right. Could I, uh, come see you again?"

This time when Eddie looks to him, it's almost shy. "You want that?" Steve nods. "Yeah, uh, whenever, really. I'll stop by again too. At your shows. I mean, I kind of missed your voice- shit, that sounds stupid. Please don't take that in the weird stalker way. I just mean-."

"I know what you mean. Don't worry." Steve thinks he'll miss Eddie's voice too. At least until he gets to hear him again, singing like he did tonight.

(Previous part)

Tags: @yesdangerpls @chaosofmanyfandoms @ollyxar @themoonagainstmers @wheneverfeasible

[blueblossomrose]

I adore you! Your Twisted Parents series is amazing and never fails to cheer me up.

While I have you I would like your opinion on someone, Baul our favourite grumpy great-grandpa.

Do you think he mellowed out a bit after Sebek and Reader had kids? I like to think he would be similar to my great-grandpa, grumpy to everyone except me.

This is part of the Twisted Parents Series.

Content: Post-canon, fluffy, fem!afab!MC, family n children, MC is married to Sebek, mentions of war and other things (it's about Baul Zigvolt), maybe spoilers for book 7 (MAYBE).

Note(s): This request took as long as the others and trust me when I say it wasn't my intention for it to take so long 😔 thanks for the lovely words and the ask! 🥰😭❤️ <33

Comments and reblogs are very welcome ♡

At the beginning of Sebek and MC's relationship, he wasn't happy about it at all.

He was sure he had raised his grandson so that he would not repeat the mistake his daughter made, and in Sebek's childhood he had gone easy on him, but now he was an adult and still hadn't learned anything? Of course, this is all from Baul's point of view.

But this is nothing that Sebek hadn't anticipated before. Before the first family dinner where you would meet Baul (in the flesh and not in a dream), Sebek said everything he had to say and made it clear that no matter what his grandfather said, Sebek would never give up on being with you. Because he loves you.

So, you were already completely shielded. It didn't make the situation any less uncomfortable. At least Sebek's parents, siblings and Sebek himself did everything possible and impossible to intercept certain unfortunate speeches from Baul.

The years were tough, and I dare say that Baul only began to soften towards MC after the wedding. It finally dawned on him that Sebek was completely in love. And happy.

Give the old man some time. As soon as he realizes that Sebek is truly happy, he stops being rude, he realizes that there is no point in that.

About him mellowed to his great-grandchildren... that totally happens. No arguments.

The announcement of MC's pregnancy was enough to make the old fae awake and secretly (he thinks it's secretly but in reality you can see the joy on his face) happy.

He would love his great-grandchildren no matter what form they took, and that's how it happens.

Ivan was born with more fae DNA than Amelie, and does that influence the way Baul loves his grandchildren? NOT AT ALL. He absolutely loves them both.

Baul is a bit like Sebek in this regard. He really believes that no one notices how much he has softened. He thinks he is very discreet in how he shows his love for the new members of the Zigvolt family, but to anyone who looks at him, it is obvious.

As stated here, Baul has EXTENSIVE discussions with his son-in-law when it comes to holding the children. Even though Sebek's father insists that he has as much right as Baul because he IS THE grandfather, Baul will still complain.

Baul accompanies Sebek to most training sessions to make sure he is teaching Ivan well.

Just as Sebek lowered his voice around Amelie, it's jarring to hear Baul's whispery when he speaks to her.

In fact, to get to this point, Baul was forced to evolve a lot up a way before. With Sebek's years of courtship and marriage, it was a process of opening minds that he had refused to do with his daughter, for example. As if it was all very recent after the war, and he was absurdly furious with the idea that only frustration dominated his mind. He refused to try to think differently.

But as we saw in book 7, he had already softened a bit with the birth of Sebek. Then came Ivan and Amelie, and the man was completely laid up.

Sebek doesn't know who is worse at spoiling these children: Mr. Zigvolt or Baul.

Lilia finds it all very amusing when she hears it from [Name] or Mrs. Zigvolt's mouth. He totally teases Baul afterwards.

During Ivan's birth, he was busy at a council meeting for Briar Valley's ex-soldiers. But it only took a single message (probably sent by old-fashioned magical means) from Mrs. Zigvolt about the boy's birth for Baul to simply disappear from the meeting room. 7 minutes later he burst into the small clinic, asking where his grandson was.

Amelie's birth had been smoother so none of this was necessary, but he would do it again without a second thought.

Family activities with old Baul include: camping, mountain hiking, fencing lessons, and of course... barbecuing. Oh, and horseback riding, too.

At the end of all this, even if he doesn't open his mouth to verbalize it, he doesn't even need to, because all the family members know that deep down, Baul is very happy to have formed a big and loving family. Even with humans in the middle.

© blueblossomrose 2025 , I do not allow copying/plagiarism of any of my fanfics.

[feuillesss]

Pick a Pile - Words of Advice

Disclaimer: This is a general reading for the collective, not everything will be for you. Take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Take a deep breath, clear your mind and allow your intuition to choose the message for you.

Pile 1

Hello pile 1! Immediately I feel there's a blockage within you. My chest felt heavy and I became more aware of my breathing. For some of you, this is an external situation, for some it's internal. Maybe some of you could have been struggling with anxiety, depression and feel very lethargic. Your mental exhaustion could be affecting your physical health, you could be having restless sleep and not feeling at peace within your own body. You want to live and feel but it feels like you can't. Spirit is telling you to stop, and feel those emotions. Focus on your breathing, let yourself relax and just breathe. Feel the weight on your chest, on your soul and breathe through it. The long you keep running from your emotions, the harder it is to overcome them. I know it's easier said than done, especially for people with mental health issues. For some here, there's a feeling of anxiety or anticipation, bracing yourself for the worst, like you're always convinced something bad will happen. Maybe some of you reading this are starting a new job, or some kind of opportunity has come your way and you're feeling very anxious about it. You feel like there's no way out of your situation, that you'll be like this forever, but you won't. There's always away out. You're not really processing and feeling your emotions and it's causing you to perpetuate the same cycles that keep you stuck.

Advice for you:

You would greatly benefit from mediation and literally sitting outside in nature and just breathing. Take deep breaths and feel your chest expand. Write whatever you're feeling, let yourself sit there and dig into those repressed emotions. You need to feel to let go. You're at the base of the ladder now, hesitant to start the climb. But if you never start the climb, you'll never reach the top. Prioritise yourself, your emotions, and your rest, go to bed earlier, make yourself a cup of tea and try to breathe. Know that you will be okay pile 1. Thank you for reading, I wish you the absolute best and encourage you on your journey.

Signs: Snakes and ladders, number 3, november, scorpio, cheese, sprouts, adventure map, adventure time, explorer, mouse traps.

"I've been big and small and Big and small and Big and small again And still nobody wants me"

Pile 2

Hello pile 2, my control freaks. You have so many dreams and ambitions, while this is a good thing, you also have a lot of impatience. You know how you want your life to go, and when anything strays from the ideas you have, you're like 'No, this isn't how it's supposed to be!'. Sometimes you might feel like you're not as far along as you would like to be, whether this is in your family, your career, education, personal development or finances. There's this rigidity within your emotions, you have an expectation of how you should feel, like 'No I'm feeling this when I should be feeling that.' or convincing yourself you're being dramatic over something. You need to understand that your way of processing emotions may be different to people around you, but that doesn't make it wrong. However we feel and process emotions is unique to us. You got both the queen and the king of cups in reverse, there's this imbalance in your emotions, maybe you just pretend everything is fine and all cool, when you're really not fine with something. Maybe you're a bit of a people pleaser pile 2. You try to convince yourself that it's not that deep when someone disrespects you, but sometimes it is that deep, and you're allowed to feel that way. At this point in time, you may be trying to rush into something, or rush something along. You're trying to force the wheel to turn but you're not actually learning the lessons that come with the cycle.

Advice for you:

Allow yourself to really feel those emotions for what they are, not what you think they should be. Humans are very complex with complex emotions, you don't have to be perfect at analysing them and interpreting them, it's ok to just feel. Set stronger boundaries with people and yourself, don't allow other people to treat you in a disrespectful way just because you think you're being dramatic. Spirit is encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone and explore different things. Give up the control, trust in yourself and the fact that everything happens at the time it's supposed to. There's no rush. Let those balled up fists relax and have more patience. Thank you for reading pile 2!

Signs: Rain, dew on leaves, purple flowers, office jobs/corporate, vacation, mould, september, wheels

"I got that devilish flow, rock-and-roll, no halo We party-rock!, yeah, that's the crew that I'm reppin' On the rise to the top, no Led in our Zeppelin"

Pile 3

Hello pile 3. Why do you judge yourself so harshly? Whether that's in relation to your physical appearance, the way you talk, feel or act, you're not kind to yourself. For some reason I kept hearing pineapples, so that may be significant to someone reading. I see two situations here. One is a difficult situation with someone else, whether that's family, friends, or a work situation. You feel as though you're being judged and unfairly targeted. For some, it's a very controlling and demanding lover. The other situation I see is a mindset where you don't view yourself as worthy of being treated well. You're very harsh with your judgements towards yourself. For whichever situation resonated, you're at a very difficult and emotionally draining point in your life, struggling to cultivate positivity. You feel that whatever is going on in your life right now is unfair to you. For some reading this, you may feel like you have to stay in a relationship with this person, or at that job you hate, because your life will change completely if you leave. You've lost sight of yourself and what YOU want, because you're so busy prioritising other people's wants over your own. And a lot of the time, these people never prioritise you. Maybe whatever happened started out well, a very loving relationship, a great start to the job, but slowly turned into something else. Of course, if someone reading this is in an ab-sive relationship, please seek the help that you need. You're very confused about the next steps towards a better outcome.

Advice for you:

Really think about what you want, not what other people want or expect from you. You're more than other people, you are your own person, with your own desires, wants and needs. Maybe along the way, you've lost trust and hope in yourself, spirit is encouraging you to find yourself again. Sometimes leaving a situation behind is the bravest thing you can do. I wish you the best pile 3, thank you for reading.

"Sometimes, givin' up is the strong thing Sometimes, to run is the brave thing Sometimes, walkin' out is the one thing That will find you the right thing"

Thank you for reading!! Please let me know anything I can improve on, and if any of these messages resonated with you. :)

[interact-if]

Pride Month Feature #3: Under Our Skins

Game: Under Our Skins

Author: Rowan (@if-underourskins)

Tags: Urban fantasy, romance, action (kinda)

Being hunted isn't for the weak. You've been on the run for the majority of your life, though it seems to only get more and more frequent as you age. You're a shapeshifter, whose bones, muscles and skin twist and stretch to transform, and it's why you've been looking over your shoulder all this time. 

You’re forced to flee when Officers from the Agency of Public Safety and Threat Containment (PSTC) came knocking on your door. They're who you've been running from all this time, the reason why you're alone...That is, till you end up in the town of Arden Grove and meet other shapeshifters like yourself. Do you trust them? Will they stay? Or will you end up alone once again?

Tell me more about yourself!

I’ve mentioned this a couple of times, but I’m a huge fan of the Spiderverse franchise, and I am in a lot of different fandoms. My favourite colour is red, which is really funny because the colour scheme of Under Our Skins is blue and grey, and I’m ethnically Chinese, which is actually why Elexis (one of the ROs) is Chinese. 

I am also pansexual and genderqueer, and there are elements of that that can be seen in my characters, especially Elexis and Seraph.

2. Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction? What inspired the game/story you’re currently writing?

I am currently working on a shapeshifter IF, aka Under Our Skins! I started with visual novels first, back in my 2024 exam season, and quickly got hooked. The first IF I ever played was Wayfarer and that led to many ranting sessions about it (my poor friends were stuck with me raving about how much I loved the game for days) and from there, I scoured itch.io for more games like that, which is how I stumbled across interactive fiction! For the next few months, it was just me falling in love with multiple interactive fictions before deciding I wanted to try my hand at writing one. 

What inspired Under Our Skins was just a car on Pinterest, and with a lot of time on my hands and a writer’s brain, I daydreamed a scene with my first character (and said car). I liked the scene so much that I then proceeded to think about how it’d make sense and what sort of a world it’d be set in and boom, I had the (rough) settings and systems of Under Our Skins. 

Read on for the full interview!

3. How does your work feature aspects of your queer identity / experience? 

I think that my writing will be influenced by the things I experience and observe in real life no matter what, and though there aren’t direct correlations, there are parallels in the way shapeshifters are treated and the way they adapt to society with the way queer people adapt to “pass” and more. 

Not all of them are purposeful, but when writing about the oppression of shapeshifters, I do take “inspiration” from the oppression that queer people face. There’s also the fact that the way shapeshifters cope with it, whether hiding or just dampening it to be more “normal” (and the fact that there’s a “normal” at all, when so many of them are born shapeshifters) just reminds me of what queer people have to do irl. 

The whole IF is not meant to be a commentary on queer people but I’ve definitely taken inspiration or been influenced by queer experiences.

4. What does your writing process look like? Any rituals or habits? Any tips, tricks, philosophies or approaches that have worked very well for you? 

My writing process is a mess. Right now, I have a planning doc, a writing doc and a google sheet with many different sections split to help me juggle the work of writing everything while stimulating my brain enough to get to work on the IF. It’s honestly pretty scattered, but hey, if it ain’t broke, why fix it?

For the specifics however, it’s mostly just three phases that I constantly go back to. I use an outline to roughly plot out the chapter, which I then refer to when writing. Sometimes my writing veers off the path of my outline, sometimes parts of my outline doesn’t work with what I had written before, and I leave that to the editing part to polish everything up and just hope that it turns out alright. 

As for tips and tricks, there are two very important things that I try to keep in mind when writing: a. Your first draft is going to suck and b. Know what your other characters are doing and their motivations.

For the first, when writing, I often find myself hating whatever words I was typing – to me they all fall flat and miss their mark. This ends up with me hating writing and procrastinating continuing because if it sucks, why should I continue? But here’s the thing: it’s better that it exists and sucks, then to not exist at all. Your first draft is not supposed to be perfect, it’s job is to just exist, to pave a way for your next few drafts to improve on. If it doesn’t exist, there’s nothing to refine. So yeah, my first draft is going to suck, and I need to let it suck as long as I write it.

For the second, this just helps me more in the planning aspect. Knowing what the characters are doing helps me make sure that the timelines all line up, and to help me establish certain things even though the plot doesn’t require it just yet. It makes things feel real and more logical, and it can definitely come in handy when you cross-refer back to it.

5. How do you go about portraying queer characters, queer experiences, or queer storylines in your IF? 

I think the most important part for me is that the character’s queerness is a part of their identity, and is not their only, or most notable trait, while also acknowledging it and the way it has shaped their life.

With Under Our Skins, everyone is queer – 4 out of the 5 ROs are pansexual, one RO is trans and another is a lesbian. These are a part of their identity, and while sometimes it is just what it is, it has also impacted the way others treated them throughout their lives, and in the IF. 

I think the way I write – or will be writing, since the IF is still relatively new – is entirely linked to my queer experiences and the experiences I’ve observed. Parts of my characters I take from my own experience, others from my friends and people online, and there are also parts where I have to take creative liberties almost, like writing accepting parents and homo/transphobia.

6. Do you have favourite interactive fiction games, characters, scenes or authors that you’d like to recommend?

Here’s a list of IFs I love and adore (in no particular order):

(the famous) Infamous

Press Play

Children of Cain

Wayfarer

When Twilight Strikes

Apt 502

The six that thrive

Stygian Sun: Total Eclipse

Drink Your Villain Juice

Love After Death

The Advisor's Game

Disenchanted

and a lot more I can’t remember off the top of my head!!

7. If you were to say one thing to your readers, other authors, and/or the interactive fiction community: what would it be? 

To my readers, I’d say thank you <33 They’ve been so kind to me and the love that they’ve shown for the IF and characters is honestly so heartwarming and motivating!!

To other authors, y’all are honestly amazing and I hope that your projects work out and that you have nice lives (that sounds like a threat, help). I love so many of your works and it’s honestly an honor (?) to be an interactive fiction author when these are the people I’m standing with.

To the community, please, please be kind. Your comments, whether anonymous or not, are all directed to a person behind the screen – a person who is usually juggling their writing project alongside many, many irl responsibilities. There was a weird influx of hate recently and now that it’s mostly died down (that I’m aware of, anyway), let’s try to make it stay that way. Constructive criticism can be helpful but sending straight up hate is not and can oftentimes undermine an author’s motivation so, yeah, be kind.

[nakylvr]

Substance!Dani learning that reader is pregnant with her child… I have a vision 🙂‍↕️

ohhh 🤕 being absolutely scared shitless to tell her cause okay sure you're engaged yeah cool but this is a big step neither of you expected. you tell megan first, before you even confirm it because you're just terrified of dani freaking out in the wrong way. megan sits outside the bathroom while you take the test, and when you tell her to come in, your voice cracks and she has a feeling of what the result is. you have tears in your eyes when you show her the little two lines, and break down within the few seconds that it processes in your brain. megan just pulls you into her arms, telling you that everything will be okay, but that you have to figure out a way to tell dani. you don't know how to go about it, trying to figure out the best way to relay the news so she won't freak out. in the end, nothing ever comes out right between you two. you're at the house talking about it over the phone with megan, ranting on about how scared you are that she'll flip her shit, and dani walks into the house hearing you say "i don't know what to do, what if she doesn't want to even keep it?" and she freezes. she calls your name from the front doorway, and you immediately hang up the phone. she goes into the living room and sees you covered with a blanket, hoodie on over your head, eyes red and puffy like you had been crying, and she instantly thinks something is wrong. she's hesitant asking you if you're okay, walking up to the couch and sitting down beside you, and you just nod. she's hesitant asking then asks what you were talking on the phone about, jokingly asking if you got a dog without saying anything and worried if she wants to keep it, but you don't smile. you don't even look at her when the words spill from your mouth so quiet she could barely hear it, but she does, and her heart stops. "are you serious?" she asks you seriously, and you're already stumbling over your words about how you took the test and it came out positive and how you're scared of her reaction and everything but she manages to silence you when she grabs your hands, kissing your knuckles like she's always done so many times before. "this is amazing, mi vida." she says softly. and when your eyes finally meet hers, you can see the tears welling in her eyes threatening to spill. "i love you so much, i can't wait to start a family with you." and her voice cracks when she says it. and all the worry you had leaves your body, but you can't stop the "really?" from escaping your mouth. dani just nods, pulling you close to her onto her lap, pushing a strand of hair out of your face, telling you that she's beyond happy, and that she'll never be upset with you especially for this. she loves you too much to even think about leaving you because of this, and there's no way in hell she'd want to get rid of it. she just smiles at you as a few tears fall, telling you she's so happy, and that she promises that she'll be the best mom ever, and that you'll be even better before kissing you.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

So, i feel kind of like a screwup nowadays for god so many reasons that it’s ridiculous…and I wanted to know, how did you deal with feeling like that, if you ever did ofc. I know logically that my life is not over but I’m just so ashamed that it’s hard to remember that

You have to learn how to afford yourself grace, and that means not holding yourself to impossible standards. A lot of us are hypocrites over failings we'd forgive in a friend, but somehow never for ourselves.

But what really makes it easier, imo, is practicing being more vulnerable with other people. And that starts with reducing the sting of embarrassment.

Seek ways to confront your fear of embarrassment - for a lot of us, embarrassment is tied to being Perceived. So, start off by being comfortable with being Seen in safe situations -- eat in a restaurant by yourself, style yourself in a way that might draw a little attention, gush about a special interest, post a fan work with comments open.

You'll hopefully become more comfortable sharing parts of yourself to where you can then talk about some of your mistakes and fears. With a therapist, with friends, even Anon on tumblr dot com, wherever is comfortable.

Defang failure by turning it into a story, even if it needs to be a cautionary tale. Poke fun at your mistakes where you can (I have things I can laugh about wrt my hoarding and mental decline from being trans & closeted) and give past, naive/irresponsible you a bit of a ribbing where you can, but also a hug for surviving.

You don't have to share specifics if you don't want to. When I'm feeling shy, I use fanfic to both gently scold and *and* reward myself by proxy when it comes to processing my own trauma and celebrating my survival. And it helps, as silly as it can feel sometimes.

And while you're doing all this self-reflection, I find that simply being more earnest about *everything* helps so much. Tell people that you love/admire them. Be fast with compliments, especially out in the open. Practicing being unabashedly supportive and enthusiastic of others means you'll hopefully be able to turn that towards yourself.

There's a lot of roads you can take. Being willingly vulnerable in any way means your screwups start to lose power over you. You start to reevaluate your past and forgive yourself more -- so many of our mistakes are simply what we thought was the best (perhaps only) decision at the time.

Laughter and a hug do a world of good and sometimes both have to come from you, yourself. And like any other skill, this is something you can actually practice. ❤️

[anna-no-emma]

You know those Son of Batman, Batman vs, Robin animated movies? Like the ones that introduced Damian to the DC animated movies ecosystem?

Well, they really bothered me when they came out. It felt like everyone was being unfair towards Damian, borderline cruel. And I do understand these are extraordinary circumstances. Literal lives hang in the balance because your dealing with an 11 year old ninja-assassin. But let me lay out what got to me.

Firstly, I hated the way he was trapped in a house by people he did not trust. It's not the same as being grounded. With grounding, normally, the groundee understands the perimeters of the grounding. They know they are in no real danger, they know the grounding will end, and they are allowed to go to school and/or go out with a parent if it's weekend/holiday.

This is not the case for Damian. All he knows is he is not allowed to leave a house that belongs to a semi-stranger. He does not know when it will end, not really. And while he probably doesn't feel threatened by the bats, due to believing he is more dangerous than them, he is surrounded by grown-ups he doesn't really trust. Any person is going to feel uneasy under these circumstances.

And, this is my second point, the grown-ups aren't really explaining anything to him. They are laying the vague parameters of what they want out. But no-one is like checking in with his take on it all or his feelings.

They're also doing the equivalent of when someone tells you to get ready or you will be in trouble, but you don't know if that means showering, or just dressing, and what venue you should be dressing for. And they take you asking them as 'giving them attitude' because of course you know what they mean, it's so obvious, so they get cross instead of breaking the task down for you. Very long, very autistic-specific example but you get what I mean. You can't do something you don't know how to do.

And Damian is difficult and dangerous, don't get me wrong. And you need experience really talking to 'difficult' children who don't like explaining their feelings/thoughts to have any idea how to approach this.

And, yeah, the odds of Damian taking any of it on board are basically non-existent. But it's just unfair to dish out punishments without setting up clear guidelines, that you make sure the child understands, you know? And to assume certain things are obvious.

I guess I'm also looking at it from a culture shock perspective (obviously ninja-assassin mountain land doesn't really fit into the diaspora cannon but stay with me). Like when you come to a new country, you don't know what the norms are. You either learn through humiliation or through someone kind showing you.

And nobody bothered to show Damian. They just said some vague things to him that didn't even slightly fit into his framework of how the world works and then beat him up a whole lot and then just expected him to trust that they were right about everything.

They gave him no grace, not the way they would have given an immigrant or a tourist or a hot, red-headed alien that learns languages through sucking tongue (btw, said alien was defs murdering when she rocked up in the movies. It just wasn't people that she was killing so it was, apparently, all good).

And, yes, again this is a stabby-murder kid so the stakes are different. But for the love of god, explain things to him, properly, before you beat him up.

And Damian doesn't comes from a talking-about-your-feelings-and-tell-your-dad-your-feelng-rejected place. He also comes from a hurt-or-be-hurt place. And a place where criminals do get killed. That is due process. He doesn't necessarily have an understanding of why democratic due process is like that because he literally grew up under a dictator, you know?

And again, I'm not saying that he would have taken any of these things on board even if they had explained it. I'm just saying that they could have communicated better and laid out parameters better. And, yeah, if they had it wouldn't have been such a dramatic movie.

But I just don't like this idea that only Damian is to blame for this situation. Damian is just a kid having a somewhat valid, albeit deadly, crash-out given the circumstances.

[ludolka]

Nulls eyes malfunctioning but he is just colour blind

"Since when is Joel's green streak yellow? This the dye fade? "

"Wow blue hair looks good on Lizzy... Since when is it blue? "

"Wow the fish surely look strange today... Maybe they are sick..."

And like he ONLY notices something is wrong for a dumb reason like his LED being blue instead of purple lmao

Omg yes I love this so much

Just him malfunctioning in ways has so much potential. The color settings are off in his eyes, making him see everything in different colors. Maybe everything has a strong blue tint, maybe everything’s monochrome, maybe he can’t see red or any shade of it, maybe everything’s either overly saturated or very toned down. His language settings are off, he can suddenly only speak Japanese or German (or Hungarian, that’s the only language I fluently speak without fucking it up or having to use google translate if I draw a comic with this concept), or maybe his accent changes

Maybe he gets some software virus from the internet and gets all glitchy

Also I really like the whole concept of Null struggling with various sensory issues during his building process. Everything’s too bright, his eyes need readjusting and he wears sunglasses for a while. Everything’s too loud, his hearing needs readjusting and he wears noise cancelling headphones for a while. His balance is off, he can’t walk in a straight line or be on his feet for too long without falling over and he needs someone to help him walk. His peripheral vision is off, he keeps walking into desk corners and chairs and doorframes

Like everything’s trail and error, every setting can have massive consequences that take way too long to undo or fix

[beiyuanism]

fully inspired by this post. i was initially going to put this in the tags in a reblog, but no one deserves to be hit with this wall of text in their notifications. anyway - never give annabelle a gun is amanda wilson's favorite western.

so. hear me out. mr wilson is a huge fan of westerns, and amanda pretty much grows up on winnetou movies and shit, because that's all that plays on their tv at all times. one time, he gets this entire box of westerns on dvd on clearance, and he and amanda make it A Thing Of Theirs that they watch one of these movies maybe every day over the summer holidays, or at least as often as they can. and one of those movies is never give annabelle a gun. i can picture this pretty much straightbaiting dvd cover with annabelle and henry front and center, and butch just somewhere in the background, or maybe even not there at all, so they don't really know what they're in for. and i'm ngl, i think mr wilson is a little worried as he realises what relationship the movie is actually setting up, because he's not exactly feeling ready for the "what's a lesbian, dad?" talk, but amanda doesn't ask, so he doesn't offer, and the movie ends, and he's glad to move on.

except, amanda becomes fully obsessed with it for a while. like, she watches it over and over on the family tv every time her dad isn't home, she tries to dress like annabelle and butch, but she doesn't exactly have cowgirl-esque clothes in her closet, so it doesn't really work, etc etc. she keeps talking to clarissa about the movie so much that clarissa finally agrees to watch it with her, but she decides that it's boring halfway through and they never finish it. and after that amanda maybe stops watching it so much, and then maybe the dvd gets misplaced somewhere, and she slowly forgets about it.

until years later, as a teenager already, she's going through some boxes in the attic, and one of those boxes is full of her dad's old westerns that he now just watches on the internet. she looks through the dvds, trying to remember some of the titles she hasn't seen her dad watch in a while to remind him about, when she comes across never give annabelle a gun. she gets hit with this wave of nostalgia, she knows she used to love this movie, but she doesn't really remember anything about the plot itself, so she takes it downstairs to her room and puts it on, curious.

she sobs for a good half an hour after finishing it. and maybe she doesn't even know why, because she hasn't realised she's a lesbian yet, much less that she's in love with clarissa, but the movie stirs something in her, and she feels almost physically sick for the next few days. after that, she watches it every time she needs a good cry, and then, when she accepts that she's a lesbian, she watches it for the good kind of tears and the happy lesbian couple. and THEN, when she realises she's in love with clarissa, it becomes bittersweet again. especially after clarissa and mark start dating slash it starts to seem they're serious about each other. she sees herself in the way butch is obliviously pining for annabelle and the way annabelle keeps saying stupid things whenever she tries to confess (i mean, amanda proposed a threesome instead of telling clarissa not to marry mark. she could just as well ask her to rob a bank together when she wants to say she loves her), and, hell, she sees mark in henry, even though sometimes, when she's feeling less mean, she has to admit mark is nowhere near henry's levels of creepiness and most of it comes from her just not liking him.

(and then maybeeee after mark and clarissa inevitably get divorced - because i don't believe they're lasting more than a year - clarissa is in such a weird and apathetic mood that she hasn't even cried for weeks, and she's having trouble processing everything, so amanda, without really thinking about it, suggests that they watch this one movie that always makes her cry when she needs it. she's shaking the whole time they're watching it, because the second butch appears on the screen, she remembers why exactly she cries over this particular movie, and something about it seems dangerous. like clarissa is going to realise amanda is in love with her just because her favorite movie is a lesbian western. meanwhile, clarissa is a little confused, because by the time they get to the helium bit, it mostly seems like a stupid comedy. but then butch gets kidnapped, and clarissa is suddenly wiping tears away. she doesn't see the lesbian couple setup at all btw, but when annabelle and her dad are having that conversation about butch, she's full on sobbing, and when annabutch finally kiss, she literally stops breathing for a moment. she doesn't yet know why. but she will soon.)

[fushiglow]

Share the first lines of ten of your latest fanfics (or up to if you have fewer) and tag ten people.

Thank you for the tags, @detta-pica and @hollow-lime-green! I cheated by posting a whole new fic before having a go at this, but there we go. The first fic in this list marks my 34th upload to AO3 for the Jujutsu Kaisen fandom which... Fine. Yeah. Looking forward to celebrating number 40 sometime later this year, I guess.

Let's have a look then...

1. Five Days of Summer

Summer is an endless gasp for breath. It shudders past August and into September. It rattles damp and desperate around Suguru’s lungs. It persists without pause, leaving him aching for relief.

Turned that over in my brain for a whole day. Needed the opening of the fic to capture its essence immediately. It's fire for a reason.

2. Energy

It was a long way down. Long enough to survive the fall? Probably, for him, but was he really going to risk that? A fate splattered on the grimy streets in the bowels of the city for some bleeder to ransack whatever remained of his body? His best friend?

Star Wars AU, my beloved. I wanted to withhold the POV from the reader for a little while since part one, Balance, is told from Megumi's POV. The fic summary spoils it, but alas.

Part two and the currently unpublished part three were originally the other way around, but I decided I wanted to give part three (exclusive spoiler! It's called Warmth and it's a very fitting title) a bit more emotional oomph, so we went back in time a little further first. I'm enjoying the non-linear storytelling of Star Wars AU a lot.

3. Phantom Power

Looking back, Suguru had been stupid to believe everything would simply slot back into its rightful place the moment Satoru came home. Impressively stupid, even for him. It had been easier falling asleep with Satoru’s familiar weight in the bed next to him. It had been easier to drift off tangled in his too tight hold. But they must have rolled away from each other at some point during the night, because Suguru was cold when he awoke in the darkness.

This is kind of cheating since it's the opening to the most recent chapter of a multi-chapter fic, but all of the chapters are standalone shorts so I'm saying it counts. It's also very beautiful with gorgeous accompanying art by bean! This is (not) just a plug!

4. A Cappella 

I could do that. It was the errant thought that passed through Suguru’s mind as he watched Sugar from yet another angle. Childish, really. With his face pressed into his pillow, drawstrings of his hoodie (Satoru’s hoodie) pulled tight around his chin, Suguru dragged the scrubber back to the start and watched the video again.

I watched so many Tiktok dance challenges during the process of creating this oneshot, mostly this one by San from ATEEZ. So we've got Santoru, SaTENru and... Jackson Wang. Yeah, I can't find a way to merge their names, but they're the three main influences on threshold!Satoru at this point. Honourable mention to Taemin, too.

Anyway, make sex sad again!

5. Race You to the Bottom 

Satoru usually enjoyed holidaying with his friends. Usually. However, even putting aside the pandemonium that was the Swiss Alps in the middle of February, it was quickly becoming clear that a group ski trip was Utahime's worst idea yet.

Sigh, take me back to ski fic...

Kidding, I think. I definitely look back on this fic with rose-tinted glasses because it turned out so well and I had so much fun writing the first two chapters especially. However, the last one was hard work. Basically, turns out I enjoyed writing the actual extreme sport more than I enjoyed writing the, uh, extreme sport.

6. Taste Test 

‘Is it a knife?’ he blurted, excited both by the prospect of winning a point and the implications. ‘Is this your way of telling me you want to try knife play?’

The opening lines are just the summary of the fic, so here's Suguru being a horny kinky bastard instead.

7. erase me

Gojō sits in his car and cries. He’s so sick of winter. He can’t remember the last time the sun shone on this shitty little town. Thinks it was probably— Gojō doesn’t want to think about Suguru. Gojō always wants to think about Suguru.

Your honour, I slayed. Severance AU is peak (fan)fiction. And the opening makes it if you ask me. The whole thing reads (and looks) like a poem and I love that.

8. Summer's Last Cherry

Suguru wore his twenty seven years well.

Simply because this fic is tagged "canon compliant", oops.

9. Over the Threshold 

The beat dropped and Satoru went with it, falling to his hands and knees as though gravity had become irresistible. He began moving against the floor like it was his lover, gyrating his pelvis in effortless synchronisation with the gaggle of dancers surrounding him. His soaking wet tank top left little to the imagination, clinging to his torso in a way that was only somewhat offset by the baggy cargo pants that sat obscenely low on his hips. From the shaggy mop of waves atop his head to the chunky combat boots hugging his calves, Satoru was a vision in white, cast in a cerulean hue under the studio lights.

The actual opening is a definition of limiting (which I agonised over a lot, it's important!) but these are the opening lines of the actual fiction. I wrote this so long ago and it's one solid paragraph, which is interesting, because it's not often that I open a fic with a long paragraph like this. It makes sense here, because it's basically a description of the video Suguru is watching rather than any close internal monologue. It gets increasingly silly as Suguru forms an opinion and we drop into his POV, and although I had doubts about the opening to Over the Threshold in the past, I love it these days. I think it conveys the premise and also themes of the fic very quickly.

By the way, I make a direct reference to that last sentence in chapter 14, coming god knows when. Sooner rather than later, I hope.

10. A WIP?? A WIP???

It begins quietly. The instrumentalists arranged on the stage settle into stillness. A cellist at the back of the ensemble taps his bow along his D string on a pedal point played portato. The violins ease in with an eerie whine, playing a dissonant interval suspended over that single sustained tone. Still, the two performers positioned at the centre of the string orchestra remain motionless.

This will probably be the next fic I post (?) and, yeah, I'm sorry it's not Vocal Rest. It's that other music AU I know a few people have been waiting for instead. It's really just AO3 user greaterglow being a nerd about music but in a slightly different font. Who'd have thought?

I'm going to be so honest. The reason I delayed making this post is mostly because I wanted to avoid including ~certain works~ that make me a bit sad, so I waited until I'd posted Five Days of Summer and padded it out with a WIP of music AU number 5725 😭 However, because of this post, I literally pulled up a new doc to start writing the daddy!Satoru pairing for ~that fic~ so I can reclaim it for myself.

I hate that harassment has soured my feelings about a work that was made with so much love for someone who means very much to me. I still haven't replied to a single comment on it, I just pretend it doesn't exist. So, we're going to fix that with an equally emotional and, this time, extremely self indulgent "daddy" counterpart. Make of that what you will.

(If you've spent any amount of time reading my fics, it shouldn't be that hard to work out the angle I'm taking with this, honestly. It's going to be fantastic.)

—

I really don't know who to tag since I'm very late to this and don't know anyone with 10 fanfics who hasn't already done this challenge! However, it was fun looking back through various works! I love yapping about my writing and I'll always take any opportunity to do so!

[vampstarkey]

ֹ ִ ♱𝅼 Uncontrolled

-MASTERLIST-

♱ Summary: Rafe is your stepbrother, the typical boy who always gets into trouble, surrounded by bad influences and impulsive decisions. But everything got worse when you started dating your first boyfriend; that day, something in him simply snapped. From that moment on, Rafe became more explosive, possessive and aggressive, dominated by the irrational jealousy he felt for his sweet and untouchable little sister.

♱ Warning: noncon? drug use, incest, humiliation, degradation, unprotected sex, pussy slapping, head stomping, oral sex, ass slapping and cheating.

♱ note: I don't know what to say about this, but I put so much naughtiness in this fic that I think I'll meet all of you who liked it in hell LOL ( i love stepbrother rafe ) 🫣

The night was completely taken over by a storm, lightning cutting through the sky while heavy rain hammered the roof, filling the air with that constant, relentless sound. You had just gotten back from a date with your boyfriend, the smell of wet earth still clinging to your clothes, which were partially soaked despite the raincoat having spared you from the worst. Your damp boots left footprints on the floor as you walked to the small table by the door, dropping your keys with a hurried clink, not really caring.

You headed toward the living room, adjusting the collar of your coat, until your eyes widened at the utterly deplorable scene in front of you. Rafe was slouched on the couch, hunched over the coffee table, meticulously arranging white lines on a tray with an old card. Without wasting a second, he leaned over the powder and inhaled deeply, so focused on his addiction that he didn’t even notice your presence. “Fuck… this shit’s good,” he muttered to himself, throwing his body back, running a hand over his face, breathing heavily as if it were some kind of relief.

Your eyes rolled instantly in pure disapproval, and a knot of irritation tightened in your stomach. It didn’t take long for you to conclude that Ward and Rose were obviously not home. Only then would Rafe have the guts to pull something like this right in the middle of the living room, like it was no big deal, without caring who might show up.

With your hands resting on your hips, body stiff, your voice came out sharp, almost cutting “What the fuck, Rafe.” He jumped up from the couch, startled, staring at you with wide eyes and a flicker of nervousness in his voice. “Shit, girl, you scared the hell out of me.” In a hurry, he tried to cover the tray with a pillow, a pathetic and desperate attempt to hide what was already blatantly obvious.

“You really think I don’t know what you were doing, Rafe?” Your voice was firm, cutting, sharp as a razor. You weren’t stupid, you never had been. “That’s none of your business, Y/n,” he snapped back, now with that harsh, arrogant tone full of anger you knew all too well. That tone only came out when he was frustrated or pissed off about something.

I yanked the raincoat off my body and tossed it carelessly onto the couch, sighing loudly as I rolled my eyes. “Don’t pull that crap with me, Rafe. Dad would lose his mind if he caught you doing this shit here,” I shot back honestly, not even bothering to sugarcoat it because, frankly, it was the plain truth.

He let out a dry, mocking laugh, running a hand through his blond hair, completely unfazed. “Oh please… as if you cared. You don’t give a damn about anything… not even me,” he said in that careless tone, like he was just throwing words around. His words hit like a punch, and it took you a few seconds to process them, staring at him in disbelief.

As you got rid of the coat, Rafe, with that filthy, shameless look he never even tried to hide, finally noticed how your clothes clung to your body. The black t-shirt, now partly see-through from the rain, revealed way more than it should, and the tight, short white denim shorts seemed like pure provocation to his eyes even though you hadn’t intended it. But of course, being the complete bastard he was, he couldn’t just ignore it.

“You say that like it’s nothing, Rafe. I’m your sister, of course I care,” I snapped back, crossing my arms, feeling my face burn with anger and maybe with shame too, because of the way he was looking at me.

He let out a bitter laugh, looking away like it was nothing. “Yeah, right… spare me the act. You care so much that you were out there rubbing up on your little boyfriend, huh?” he spat, that sarcastic, venomous tone clearly meant to provoke me.

His audacity left me speechless for a few seconds, it was surreal how cynical he could be. “That has absolutely nothing to do with this,” I fired back, clenching my teeth, feeling my blood boil.

Rafe ran his tongue over his lips, his eyes blatantly trailing down to your legs, not even trying to hide it. “Doesn’t, huh?” he asked, his voice low, dragged, provocative, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world. “Funny… ‘cause those shorts are screaming something else.”

Your whole body tensed, a mix of anger, discomfort, and indignation boiling in your chest. “For God’s sake, Rafe… are you listening to yourself? Do you even hear me when I speak, or is your brain so clogged with coke that you can’t even grasp what decency is anymore?” you spat, crossing your arms tighter, trying to shield yourself from his gaze.

The boy laughed, shaking his head, running his hands through his hair again, like he was trying to keep control or maybe just holding back from saying something even worse. “Decency? You? Talking about decency, princess?” he scoffed, flashing that crooked, sarcastic smile, lightly biting his lower lip. “You walked outta here all dolled up to play the good girl with your boyfriend, and now you come back acting like a saint.”

“You’re pathetic,” I snapped, clenching my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms. “Seriously, pathetic. You think you’re so superior, so righteous, but look at yourself, Rafe… look at this scene. Look at what you’ve become.”

His jaw clenched, the smile disappearing for a moment. His eyes darkened, heavy, filled with something you couldn’t tell if it was anger, frustration… or something far more dangerous. “Careful with what you say, Y/n,” he growled, leaning forward.

The silence that followed was so heavy it felt like even the rain outside had quieted. You swallowed hard but didn’t back down. As much as that look scared you, you weren’t going to bow your head to him, not this time.

“Get the hell out of here,” he snapped, turning back to the couch and throwing himself onto it, crossing his legs like he wanted you erased from his sight. “You can’t tell me what to do,” I shot back, my voice steady, though it started trembling more from rage than fear.

Rafe let out a short, mocking laugh, shaking his head, clearly amused by your stubbornness. “Oh, you wanna stay? Fine. Then sit down and watch, princess.” His face hardened, the smile vanished, and he shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out another small bag of white powder. “Because I’m gonna snort all this shit right in front of you.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, blood boiling. You walked quickly up to him, stopping right in front of the couch, trying to keep your tone firm but controlled, knowing how unpredictable he could be. “Stop it, Rafe… You know you don’t need this. You know exactly where this is taking you…” you said, holding his gaze even though your palms were already sweating.

He lifted his head, locking eyes with yours, his gaze full of pain, rage, frustration, and pride. “I don’t want to stop,” he replied coldly, practically spitting the words. The second he opened the bag, you lunged forward on impulse and ripped it from his hands, gripping it tight like your life depended on it.

“Give it back. Cut the crap and give it back. Now,” he growled, standing up so fast it made you stumble a step back. He huffed, clenching his fists, visibly losing control. “I’m not giving it back,” you replied firmly, clutching the bag even tighter like it would disappear if you held it hard enough.

His gaze grew even darker. And without thinking twice, Rafe lunged at you, his large hands grabbing for the bag, pushing his body against yours forcefully. You fought back, tried to dodge, pushed him off, held on as much as you could, but he was stronger. In the middle of the struggle, he shoved you hard onto the couch. “I gave you a chance, little sister,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice low, threatening, his gaze burning with rage.

Even pinned against the couch, you resisted, struggling, holding the bag tightly against your chest, refusing to let go. “Get off me, Rafe! Let me go now!” you screamed, fighting back, feeling his hands gripping your arms tightly while his body practically pinned you down, trying to immobilize you at all costs. It was a battle of strength, of wills, and neither of you was willing to give in.

In the desperate attempt to keep the bag against your chest, your hand slipped in the middle of the fight. The tiny bag tore, and the white powder burst into the air before falling straight onto your thighs, staining your skin, the fabric of your denim shorts, and part of your shirt.

“What the fuck!” Rafe growled, narrowing his eyes in disbelief, staring at the scene like he was about to explode. His fists clenched, his jaw tightened so hard it seemed like his teeth would shatter. “You’re insane, Y/n! Completely insane!” he yelled, running a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, absolutely losing it.

You looked down, staring at the powder scattered across your legs, staining your skin, trailing almost up to the crease of your thighs. Your chest was heaving, breath quick and heavy, not believing that this had actually happened.

Rafe stopped abruptly, grabbed your chin with one hand, his blue eyes blazing like a dangerous idea had just sparked in his mind. His expression shifted almost instantly, from pure rage to something far worse. Something dangerous.

“Oh, you wanna play, huh?” he said, voice low, drawn out, with that crooked smile loaded with bad intentions. “Fine… now you’re gonna deal with the consequences, sis.”

He stepped closer, eyes fixed on your powder-stained thighs, lightly biting his lower lip, and added in a tone that made your whole body shiver, you didn’t even know if it was from fear, nerves… or both. “Since you wasted it… there’s only one way not to let it go to waste.”

He crouched in front of you, hands going straight for your thighs, and you froze. Your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would explode inside your chest. His expression was intense, full of tension, desire, and something else. Something you couldn’t even name, but it was definitely nothing safe.

Rafe slid his firm hands down your thighs, spreading the white powder further across your skin. His fingers squeezed your flesh tightly, as if he could no longer tell whether it was anger, lust, or just that damned addiction consuming every part of him.

Without a second thought, he leaned in, gripping your thighs firmly, and slowly dragged his nose along your skin, inhaling a line formed in the middle of the scattered powder. The sound of the snort was heavy and deep, and immediately after, he threw his head back, breathing deeply, eyes closing as the effect hit him.

“Fuck...” he murmured through clenched teeth, quickly returning, thirsty for more as if it wasn’t enough. With one hand, he pressed even harder on your thigh, leaning in again, dragging his nose along the inner part, inhaling another line, stronger, longer, as if he was inhaling you along with the drug.

His body trembled, his breath heavy and uneven. “You drive me crazy,” he whispered hoarsely, looking up at you with eyes filled with something indistinguishable whether it was just frustration or a completely twisted, insane desire.

His hands moved up and down your thighs, spreading the rest of the powder, and between snorts, he paused, lightly biting your skin, pressing his lips against it as if he needed more always more.

“Look what you do to me...” his voice came out low, hoarse, heavy, as he ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting the bitter powder mixed with your scent, your shivers, your tension.

Your cheeks burned instantly, your whole face on fire, as if the heat from your own body was trying to shield you from that surreal, unsettling, suffocating situation. “R-Rafe... s-stop it...” you stammered, your voice breaking, squeezing your legs together in a desperate attempt to protect yourself, to close off, but his hands kept you open, vulnerable, completely exposed to the madness he was feeding. “What's the matter? I think I need to get those jean shorts off you, babe..” he licked your thigh slowly.

“S-someone might come... you know that... that we can't...” your voice came out shaky, tight, trying to sound firm, trying to hold on to the little sanity you had left, but even you knew that your words were as fragile as your resistance at that moment.

Your eyes searched for any exit, any loophole, while your entire body trembled, not only from nerves, but from that absurd arousal that seemed to consume even the air you breathed. Your thighs were still stained with cocaine, your skin hot, sensitive, as if each of his touches left invisible marks burning on you.

“Shut up,” he growled lowly, tightening his grip on your chin, forcing you to keep your eyes on his, his gaze so deep, it seemed to pull you in, drown you. “Shut up,” he repeated, slower, more threatening, as if his voice could hold you there, immobile, unable to react.

“Then be a good little whoree and stay quiet.” Rafe pulled your shorts down, throwing them away without caring. He didn’t fail to notice the beautiful thin panties you were wearing, where a wet spot was already forming. Before removing them too, the blond left a hickey on the inside of your thighs, quickly turning them purple. “Shit..” you muttered amidst a guilty moan.

Rafe left trails of kisses all over your thigh, then finally ripped them off you abruptly. He pulled your legs, placing them one on each side of his shoulder and then before sucking you, he put his nose right in the middle of your pussy, smelling your scent. “So fucking good..” He said looking at you.

Without delay, he stuck his tongue in your already slippery folds. You couldn't say anything else at that point. All you could do was feel the sensation that your perverted brother was giving you. He had imagined this so many times that it was almost sickening. Rafe just wanted to have you completely for himself.

Your eyes closed and your body went completely limp, as if he no longer wanted to fight it. He sucked your pussy with desire, moving his tongue up and down while he looked at you like a pervert. Your pussy slid on his tongue. It was easy to turn you on, after all, you had only had sex a few times.

Your eyes rolled back for a moment. Your boyfriend had never sucked you as well as Rafe. "God, this feels so good," you said between moans that gradually became more and more desperate. Rafe stuck his tongue inside your little hole, playing with you.

His tongue sent shivers down your spine, he did it so fucking well that for a moment you forgot that the one sucking your pussy was your stepbrother. His tongue fucked you and you got wetter and wetter. “You like this, don’t you? Of course you do, I always knew what a slut you are” the words were turning you on more and more, you felt like you were going crazy.

“You’re a real whore, come on, tell me that” Rafe said, slapping your pussy hard, making you scream. “Say it now” the boy ordered once more. “I’m a whore… your whore…” You had never felt so humiliated and dirty for saying that and as disgusting as it was, you were enjoying it.

He laughed with satisfaction, moving his tongue to your clit. “Now I own this pussy, do you understand?” Rafe squeezed your thighs, smearing his face even more in your wetness. “Y-yes..” I said, rubbing myself almost automatically against his face.

The blond sucked you with such pleasure that it seemed like you were going to run away, it was as if he needed it, more than breathing, he was drowning in your pussy, as if he wanted to take everything from you until the last drop. You were sensitive, so sensitive that you would come undone at any moment.

Rafe slapped your clit again, making your body react with delicious spasms. “This is what you deserve, you little slut.” You writhed as you moaned in despair, more slaps were given to your pussy, you moved as he hit and hit more and more. “R-rafey, that hurts..” Your voice came out trembling with pain and at the same time with excitement.

“Poor little whoree, am I hurting you, babe?” He said in a mocking tone as if he was just being ironic and didn’t care at all if it hurt. “Yes, it hurts” Rafe laughed, giving another slap. “It’s a shame I don’t care” He went back to sucking you, taking you by surprise

Rafe sucked harder, sucking your clit. You grabbed his hair as your legs began to tremble around him “Fuck yes, just like that..” You said whimpering. “Daddy barely knows what a slut he has inside the house” Rafe said without caring, drowning his nose in your pussy.

You grabbed him tighter, cumming in his mouth.. Your hot liquid quickly slipped to the older man’s reddened lips, Rafe wasted no time and cleaned your entire pussy with his tongue. “Delicious” He said satisfied with your orgasm.

You quickly closed your legs and settled yourself on the couch. Your hair was stuck to your forehead because of the sweat. So Rafe went over to you, sitting next to you and brushing your hair out of your face. “I’m not done with you yet.” The boy came closer, pulling your black shirt up without asking for permission. You were braless, and your nipples were hard, as if they were begging Rafe to put them in his mouth.

And that’s exactly what he did. Rafe grabbed one of your breasts and put it in his mouth, playing with it. With his free hand, he played with the other. You lay down on the couch, making him lie on top of you while he sucked you. “Delicious breasts.” Rafe rubbed his face against them, like an insatiable pervert.

Rafe stopped paying attention to your breasts, turning you around roughly, leaving you with your back to him. Now, he had the view of your perky ass. It was a fucking temptation. Rafe slapped your soft ass, eliciting a scream from you. “I like hearing you scream..” You whimpered again, mumbling softly in pain.

With agility, Rafe pulled his polo shirt off, exposing his defined belly and his big juicy biceps. It was a shame you couldn't see it since your back was turned to him. Rafe unbuckled his pants belt, pulling it off and holding it in one of his hands. Then he forcefully brought the leather piece down to your fat ass, slapping it. "ghrr.. stop, it hurts." You buried your face in the couch to muffle the scream of pain.

Without mercy, he hit you once more, leaving you completely red. "You're a bad girl, a very bad girl." With each slap on your ass, you screamed. Tears began to run down your face and down your cheeks.

Your moans of pain were like music to his ears. He was enjoying watching you suffer, having you so surrendered to him, so vulnerable. You were getting scared and Rafe could see it, which only made him even more excited.

It was an unbearable burning sensation, your body was getting weaker and weaker, until he grabbed you firmly, keeping you upright on the couch. He hurriedly took off the pants he was wearing along with the underwear that was getting in his way and positioned himself behind you. Without warning, he pushed his cock inside your slippery pussy.

He didn't even bother to get a condom. He thrust so hard inside you that you gave a small spasm. "S-shit, why didn't you warn me?" you said between drawn-out moans. "Stay still." Rafe brought one of his hands in front of your face, covering your mouth, while with his other free hand, he grabbed your arms and placed them behind your back as he fucked you like a whore.

His cock went in and out without difficulty, you seemed well prepared for him. "What a greedy little pussy, I'm going to do some damage right here." His hips slammed against your ass as he thrust with desire and without mercy.

You could feel every inch inside your cervix, he was hitting you so good. The mascara in your eyes started to smudge, wetting your entire face, which mixed with the tears that were falling. His cock was so big and thick, you didn't know how you were holding it all, it was like ten times bigger than your boyfriend's.

Your moans were muffled by his hand that was still covering your mouth. Rafe started to moan, his moans were so desperate, as if he was loving fucking his little sister so much, it was hoarse and made you so horny. Your pussy was dripping, as if it was begging to be violated and fucked more and more.

Your body started to writhe, your legs went weak even lying on the couch. "Dirty slut, you're loving playing with your brother's cock, aren't you?" He laughed at you and your desperation below him. “Dirty sluts like you deserve to be fucked like real whores.” The way he humiliated you was deliciously sinful.

Rafe finally took his hand off your mouth, letting you moan. Your slutty moans were now loud and echoed throughout the house. Luckily, there was no one else there besides the two of you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching once again. You couldn’t believe that Rafe would make you cum again and as good as the last time. It was totally unbelievable. “Please…” You begged between sobs and more tears. Rafe took his hands off your arms that were positioned behind your back and put his foot on your head, stepping on you while still fucking you from behind.

You felt your head being pressed against the couch. For some reason that made you even wetter. Rafe felt like he was going to cum in your pussy at any moment and you needed it so much that you would humiliate yourself just to feel that cock cumming inside you.

You turned your head to the side, watching him thrust inside you, at that moment the blond could see your pretty face, exhausted and with the makeup coming off, so hot.. “Princess face with a whore’s attitude” He mocked as he thrust faster, your pussy was almost exhausted. “Fuck, I’m almost cumming…” Your voice came out low and tired, you were almost there, so close..

Rafe took one last breath, putting it more precisely, that thrust was enough and you came undone on that huge cock. You were so weak that you could barely move, Rafe pulled out of your slit, which was now completely destroyed by him. The boy lay down next to you, seeing you in that state and stood behind you. “My little girl is so tired.” He ran his hands through your sweat-damp hair.

You didn’t even look like the same person who was fucking you a few seconds ago. You couldn’t say anything else. He just watched you, completely exhausted, on the living room couch. “I’ll take care of you, princess.” Rafe kissed your neck from behind and caressed your waist lightly. The only thing you could think about was the fact that you had to get up before anyone came and saw that scene.

You didn’t know why, but you felt like that was just the beginning of everything that was about to come.

[mistleaneous-chaos]

Disclaimer: Halfway through when I was writing this post initially, I took a break for a while since I didn't really know what I wanted to do with all the information in it, since I didn't understand the egg rooms in Chapters 3 & 4 Properly. Then I did understand them.

Finally got around to doing the egg room for chapter 3 after missing it and only getting the others and I am so glad I did.

I have lots of thoughts and want to sum them up here, so pardon me if I rehash information, speculate, or just sound outright unintelligible. These won’t just be limited to the Egg Rooms but will involve a good amount of stuff related to them.

There will be many things I discuss, and in the end I will be discussing a theory that I think others have had, but it's been one that's stewing in my brain and I desperately need to get it out.

I feel like out of all the egg rooms, this one and chapter 4’s really gave us a lot to think about in terms of the eggs themselves and their surroundings.

Chapter 3’s being the first ones we’ve seen with other beings is really interesting to me for a number of reasons.

In this room, Kris starts out as if they were not in the Dark World. And it makes sense because they’re not in the Dark World, they’re “Nowhere”. It’s not a place where darkness is deeper than it can be, nor is it the normal world, it is just that, Nowhere. And I think it's possible that whenever it started to become a real, tangible place when Kris visited, that's when it started to creep in, whatever it is that was outside of Nowhere, which is why Kris became their Dark World Form again, because the outside was coming in, the Dark was let inside of a place it wasn't aware of before.

It’s a place for people who are forgotten and “Copies”, such as:

the Rudinn “cards”.

Before anything serious I just love Kris’ thought process of “I suck at cards so I’ll just make my own copies!” These glimpses into their character pre-Us is always so charming to see. But anyways, the Rudinns give us some insight into certain “Rules”, such as those of copies. It’s a slight thing, but they tell us that copies have no color, and the only reason they do is because Kris gave them their color. Now this leads us to something people already probably knew about

The Goners, the characters in Undertale that had no real “place” outside of random chance. The Goners, to me, always seemed as if they were some kind of parodies of certain NPCs such as Monster Kid and The Clam Neighbor. Some of them may not exist in the world people inhabit(depending on FUN value), and some actively replace people who do exist, such as the clam neighbor. I still have no clue what they are meant for, but I do think that Gaster had a hand in their creation, considering the Goner Maker in Chapter 1 and the followers consistently mentioning him.

Everything that's been said about "Copies" takes more of a form when you also look at the pipeline of The Prophecy turning into The Lord of The Hammer turning into Dragon Blazers. Now, there's an entire discussion to be had with Dragon Blazers and Undertale (not Deltarune) and the symbolism of it being a "simplified" and "altered" version of Deltarune the way Dragon Blazers could have been of Lord of The Hammer and so on. But that's for another day. All I want to say is that I think there is a difference being drawn between copies and things that truly had passion put into them, after all:

It makes me think that maybe Gaster's Followers/The Goners could have either been copies of existing people such as Goner Kid(If they even are a copy)

Or some could have been beings that had something drained from them that caused their "color to fade", such as the Clam Girl/"Suzy's" Neighbor

Now then, this brings me to my last point:

The Forgotten Man.

The Forgotten Man, The Man that was behind the tree, is something that's been in the back of my head for years now.

And I think with Chapter 4, it's at least possible to interpret what he means in the context of the Egg Rooms.

In Chapter 3, he talks about how "You"(We'll just assume it's Kris for the sake of this discussion but it could very well be the Player) forgot about him multiple times, and he discusses things such as his schedule (The last part of which I totally think foreshadows Chapter 5's egg room because of Chapter 5 having been intended to be released alongside 3 & 4)

And also, he talks about the Egg. We learn what it is he gives us the egg for.

It's so we remember him.

Which brings me to what I think he means to Kris.

Throughout Chapters 3 & 4 Toby brings to light so many things he'd been foreshadowing with Dess, her disappearance, and what it did to Kris. And that brings us to Chapter 4's Egg Room.

Therapy.

In Chapter 3, when you get the Shadow Mantle, there's an enemy in the dungeon that you don't kill. Kris kills them.

There is no added context in-game for what it is, but in the files, you can see the placeholder for it.

A black deer.

December's disappearance was something that clearly affected Kris a good deal, and it becomes more and more apparent when you think about the things that they've done for "The Knight". They work with the Knight to create the Dark Fountains, but also close them. They do everything in their power to not impede the Knight, but they still want to make Susie and Ralsei happy.

I think that Kris is beholden to something that they promised Dess long ago, maybe around the time she disappeared. I think Kris flinched when they saw the Shelter in the game because they know what's in there. I think the reason they didn't immediately throw the controller out when you got in is because they were relieved. Because they realized that whatever force made the game didn't put what was actually in the shelter in the game.

I think the reason why Kris didn't open the closet even though Susie was gone and they could throw us out, is because they were scared of what they would see in the real world.

I think that Kris killed, or at least indirectly caused Dess' death. Do I think it was intentional? No. I do not think for a second Kris ever would have purposefuly harmed her. I think Kris regrets it. I think they regret it every single second they're awake. And I think, that more than anything else, they try to Forget it.

The Forgotten Man, I think, either represents or parallels the way that Kris constantly represses everything about Dess' disappearance. I think that every time Kris remembers something, they immediately push it down. They keep forgetting...

But we just keep. pushing.

Every time we push to remember, they forget. And every time they forget, the path to reach those memories again gets more and more complex. We went from going into a random room over and over again(With the only thing to remind them of her being an enemy that throws STARS at us), to finding a random room hidden behind a stained glass window with one part of it that resembled an egg.

We just push. and push. and push. And every time we push, the dam gets leakier.

Because at first it was just an egg. Then it was still an egg. But then it was a conversation with a man they want to forget. And then it was a painting that they so desperately wanted to forget about. And next? If the clues are right? We're going to Asgore's Dark World.

And while Tenna only referenced Dess in a manner that implied her being alive? Asgore is heavily implied to have a very, very, personal stake in Dess' disappearance.

I think that the purpose of the eggs is not something tangible that'll be visible in-game or in stats. But rather, I think that they're a sign that we are on the path that leads to Kris finally having to confront whatever it is that they want so badly to forget. And I don't know if it'll have an effect on the game, but I think it'll have an effect on Kris. And whether or not they move on from it, from feeling indebted to a rotting corpse, from feeling like they owe Carol or whoever's manipulating them their service, I think that maybe, juuust maybe, it'll lead us down a path that, while not important to our progress, is important to Kris' progress as a person.