#original path from the beginning

[fumbles-mcstupid]

It’s not that I’m not a fan of Babylon 5, it’s more that I’m MORE of a fan of what the show could have been if it had not diverged from the way the story was being set up through Season 1. I’m a fan of what the path not taken was trying to be.

[mewtwo24]

I finally finished reading the fourth volume of svsss in full, and thing is--the first time through I only read the bingqiu content because I was ravenous for more of their happy ending.

Turns out that was a perilous mistake.

Because I started reading the airplane extras. And I swear to god. MXTX is trying to kill me

What do you MEAN demon lord Binghe was sitting on his big fucking throne. All stoic and forbidding. Surrounded by his demon generals who don't know shit about human courtship. Asking them what he should do, fully demoralized by constant rejections from sqq, only to have airplane tell him to act more pathetic and needy. Which is already hysterically funny and insane, UNTIL LBH'S RESPONSE IS THIS, KILLING ME INSTANTLY:

LUO BINGHE. WHY DOES HE SAY IT LIKE: "I already tried that, didn't work--nothing works :/ not mean, not maidenly, not housewife, not spicy, not capable disciple. Is doubling down on clingy really all it will take? What's a born hater with only one love in his life to do????"

The dichotomy of him sitting there like 'how can I reach the unfathomable depths of shizun's heart?' A HEART HE'S ALREADY WON OVER, MIND and then in the Holy Mausoleum solving the puzzle without blinking and being like 'oh yeah you just have to hit the acupoints, no sweat.' Literally the comedy writes itself I'm so--

How am I supposed to be normal about this. MXTX understands the juicy quintessential queer joy of a person with the world's power at their fingertips wishing only for love. Willing to do anything to earn that love, when unbeknownst to them it's already been freely given. Totally not screaming and yelling and clawing at the walls

And that's not even touching airplane's uproarious account of events. The way he's like 'lol what's next, lbh and sqq are best friends now? smfh' only to see lbh TACKLE SQQ LOVINGLY. FOR SQQ TO BE BASHFUL ABOUT IT BUT SO SO FOND OF THE LITTLE SCAMP. This when we've been experiencing sqq's constant inner monologue of 'I'm so cool and so dignified about my role, truly the epitome of propriety and poser-level fortitude.' Meanwhile, in their universe:

Airplane constantly flaming???? Sqq and lbh in his observations????? His absolute bewilderment and confusion????? Legendary. No notes every single second of this shit was hilarious.

Airplane's comment that sqq + older adolescent lbh traveling together was just watching a couple in their honeymoon phase. OR the fact that lbh is exceedingly petty and refuses to share their food in the wake of airplane's interruption of their time together, until sqq relents sheepishly and insists airplane eat what's left (ONLY AFTER PLACATING LBH WITH MORE FOOD FROM HIS PLATE, SOBBING)

Watching airplane salivate over Mobei-Jun and acting like that's totally normal behavior. Finding out mbj and airplane got together first. Finding out sqq encouraged airplane. LIKE THIS. WHILE HE IS STILL IN DENIAL ABOUT HIS OWN FEELINGS:

Mobei-jun clearly thinking their arrangement is a forever thing, heartbroken his human abandoned him with all the hapless fury of a scorned wife swept away by false promises of fidelity. Airplane writing demons to be the type to beat up their crush lovingly and still unable to connect the dots about mbj's feelings. Mbj letting him go and respecting his wishes, only relenting when there's indication airplane was poorly processing his own feelings and didn't actually want to leave. Mbj caring for him and listening to him as soon as airplane voices what he needs directly and with clarity. None of these gays are functional and it's everything to me

Unrelated, but I physically can't hold this information in anymore:

I'm still reeling from younger lbh having his sexual awakening from the image of sqq wrapped in the immortal binding cables. Condemn me as you like he was so, so real for that.

And no I will not be taking any comments about how luo bingge couldn't bear to see luo binghe cherished in ways he never got to have and all the haunting implications of that. I will also not be taking any comments about luo binghe's instinct to look for sqq in that alternate universe, only to be shaken to the very core to be unable to find his shizun anywhere. The unspeakable and latent horror of his relentless mind likely piecing together what happened, but unable to say it; to suspect what is true, and live with the harrowing confusion of his double's actions. To blame himself, to assume that he had let his anger get the better of him in that world and result in unspeakable folly...

I also refuse to talk about how heartrending it is to hear Tianlang-jun weakly say "In the end, I really can't bring myself to hate humans." The implication that the foolishness of that hope and bright-eyed fondness--the very thing that put him through such unspeakable agony--couldn't be beaten out of him entirely. To discover that his faith in Su Xiyan hadn't been misplaced, to the contrary: his beloved hadn't scorned him at all, but rather fought to the miserable end to protect the fruition of their genuine feelings of love when she couldn't protect tlj or herself.

How MXTX has sqq deliberately draw parallels between their situation and that of ygy+sj and tlj+sx; desperately wishing it might not be too late for them. The concept of breaking cycles of abuse and harm pervasive throughout the newly devised story, how it evolves for the better only when love takes the place of power, pride, and domination. How the moment sqq chooses vulnerability instead of saving face, the genre shifts to the so-called "cringe" girly genre where most if not every character is more fulfilled, more true to themselves. How the "male-oriented" former genre was aimlessly sensationalized and sexualized, how it was a sustained performance of aspirational toxic masculinity. How men objectify other men without end. All of the unspoken gendered implications that come with that.

Anyways. Going to go put my head in a sandbox and try to process everything I just witnessed because even a second reading is not enough to find a modicum of closure.

[moonjxsung]

Lost in Translation

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

*

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

*

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

*

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

*

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I��m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

*

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

*

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

*

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

*

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

*

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

*

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

*

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

*

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

*

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

*

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

*

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

*

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

*

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

*

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

*

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

[blackjackkent]

More explorations through the parsed dialogue files. The nymph in Sharess's Caress (the one whose Fist client turns into a mind flayer) offers you a "moment of ecstasy" in return for saving her life - and apparently there are some character-specific dialog options for all of the origin characters (minus Lae'zel and plus Minsc) regarding their deepest desires. And I'm kinda having a lot of feelings about it.

Naoise Nallinto: The all-being. Here, there is no suffering. Here, you want for nothing. Here, you are anything. You have one word. Tell me: what will you be?

DARK_URGE: Sane. Naoise Nallinto: You are sane. Time dances on in sequence, the winding path of time evens, and becomes straight. With a quiet head, you can once again hear the song of the birds and the wind in the grass. You pluck a flower, and it does not bleed.

SHADOWHEART: Whole. Naoise Nallinto: You are whole. Within and without, free from expectation and the crushing burden of solitude.You are the entirety of you. Every path outward leads to adventures yet unknown. Every path inward leads to dreams eternally fulfilled.

ASTARION: Safe. Naoise Nallinto: You are safe. The winds of fate blow you to the warmest of hearths in the most cordial of inns. Your seething passions lead only to pleasure. The touch of the sun comforts your flesh, but never burns it.

KARLACH: Alive. Naoise Nallinto: You are alive. Your senses vibrate with sensation - smell, taste, touch, sound, sight. All alert to the beauty of now. The sound of your heart - your heart - beats a steady rhythm: Hello, hello, hello.

GALE: Wise. Naoise Nallinto: You are wise. The erudition of the ages flows through you and from you, illuminating the scholars who seek your counsel. You know yourself, for such is the beginning of all wisdom. When souls would drink the waters of learning, you are their font.

WYLL: Free. Naoise Nallinto: Then be free. You are an eagle, the most divine of messengers, soaring above the peak of Mount Sundabar. No man or woman, no devil or demon, no goddess or god dares confine you within one border or one creed.

MINSC: Minsc. Naoise Nallinto: Er - you are Minsc. You are the most Minsc. Wherever you go, there is only Minsc. Every step, every breath, every thought shall be - the Minsc-est. (DEVNOTE: Confused but making it work.)

[writers-potion]

Storyediting Questions to Ask

As You Read the First Draft:

Are there place that surprised you as you read your first draft? - Why do you suppose that is? - Is there material there you'd like to expand?

What are the character really doing in this story? - Might they have issues you haven't explored fully yet?

Look to the places that drag. - These might be scenes where you have avoided dealing with something deeper. - What are the characters really thinking in these places? - What are their passions, frustrations, and desires?

Imagine alternative plotlines. - How might your plot be different if ti headed off on another tangent from various points in the story? - You don't have to follow them, but they might suggest other streams that can flow into the main plot.

Think About Structure:

Does you story play out naturally in three acts?

Is there an immediate disturbance to the Lead's world?

Does the first doorway of no return occur before the one-fifth mark?

Are the stakes being raised sufficiently?

Does the second doorway of no return put the Lead on the path to the climax?

Does the rhythm of the sotyr match your intent? If this is an action novel, does the plot move relentlessly forward? If this is a character-driven novel, do the scenes delve deeply enough?

Are there strongly motivated characters?

Have coincidence been established?

Is something happeing immediately at the beginning? Did you establish a person in a setting with a problem, onfronted with change or threat?

Is the timeline logical?

Is the story too predictable in terms of sequence? Should it be rearranged?

About Your Lead Character:

Is the character memorable? Compelling? Enough to carry a reader all the way through the plot?

A lead character has to jump off the page. Does yours?

Does this character avoid cliches? Is he capable of surprising us?

What's unique about the character?

Is the character's objective strong enough?

How does the character grow over the course of the story?

How does the character demonstrate inner strength?

About Your Opposition:

Is your oppositing character interesting?

Is he fully realized, not just a cardboard cutout?

Is he justified (at least in his own mind) in his actions?

Is he believable?

Is he strong as or stronger than the Lead?

About Your Story's Adhesive Nature:

Is the conflcit between the Lead and opposition crucial for both?

Why can't they just walk away? What holds them together?

About Your Scene:

Are the big scenes big enough? Surprising enough? Can you make them more original, unanticipated, and draw them out for all they are worth?

Is there enough conflict in the scenes?

What is the least memorable scene? Cut it!

What else can be cut in order to move the story relentlessly forward?

Does the climactic scene come too fast (through a writer fatigue)? Can you make it more, write it for all it's worth?

Does we need a new minor subplot to build up a saggin midsection?

About Your Minor Characters:

What is their purpose in the plot?

Are they unique and colorful?

Polishing Questions:

Are you hooking the reader from the beginning?

Are suspenseful scenes drawn out for the ultimate tension?

Can any information be delayed? This creates tension in the reader, always a good thing.

Are there enough surprises?

Are character-reaction scenes deep and interesting?

Read chapter ending for read-on prompts

Are there places you can replace describing how a character feels with actions?

Do I use visual, sensory-laden words?

For a Dialogue Read-Through:

Dialogue is almost always strengthened by cutting words within the lines.

In dialogue, be fair to both sides. Don't give one character all the good lines.

Greate dialogue surprises the reader and creates tension. View it like a game, where the players are trying to outfox each other.

Can you get more conflict into dialogue, even emong allies?

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

[katszumi]

bakugou hated defeat. he was never one to forfeit anything. if he could challenge the ocean to a battle, he would and sincerely believe he’d win.

once, he admits defeat to the universe and chooses to let you slip through his fingers.

when he began to fall in love with your sweet manner, delicate touch, warm smile and witty behavior, he also began to hate himself.

he hated the way he was when it came to feelings. he knew he wasn’t able to express his emotions like a good boyfriend should. he was intolerable, insufferable. something that couldn’t have mixed with you.

love was a foreign concept to him, something he couldn’t grasp but something he desperately wished for deep down, no matter how many times he brushed it off or ridiculed the idea.

bakugou knew love wasn’t designed for him, and he wasn’t ever going to let his silly imagination deceive him otherwise.

but, he knows his heart never stands a chance. especially tonight when he finds you on the terrace of ua. the night-sky wrapped the area in its darkness, the crescent moon illuminating the brightest color it could, and the silent night bringing the greatest solitude it could.

bakugou attempts to leave you be, but your eyes find him faster than he originally thought, him being pulled into your magnetic, overwhelming aura.

“hey,” he begins, a slight waver in his voice from his nerves. “not enjoyin’ the party inside?”

you chuckle slightly, waving his question off. “just needed some air.”

bakugou nods in response. he folded his arms over the railing, taking in the scenery around them.

it was the last night for the third years at ua, everyone celebrating their triumphs, losses, friendships. it was the last time they’d be within this building all together, the last time bakugou could silently admire you from afar. he’d always think about his last day there, wondering if he’d be shouting from excitement. he wasn’t close to thinking that he’d feel like his whole world was coming down.

you were planning to travel to the united states to start your hero debut, receiving an offer there that you just couldn’t pass up. he remembered the moment when you told him so vividly. you wore a huge smile, basically jumping out of excitement. that was the first time bakugou came to the realization that he couldn’t have you.

truth be told, he was scared of breaking paths with you. anger, sorrow, fear. you shone a light on all of those emotions. it felt like his anchor was gone. breaking every stable piece off of him one by one.

“so, what’s next for you? don’t think you ever told me your plan.”

in his head, bakugou replies with, that was on purpose. he wanted to remove everything from his mind. go with the flow and live in the moment until it was officially time to get started on his new path of life. but, he figured there was no more time to put it off.

“stay in the city for a bit. kirishima talked about collaboratin’ on an agency, so been givin’ that some consideration.” he replies somberly. “i don’t know really, just gotta find something to keep me busy.”

you echoed bakugou’s action from earlier, nodding to his statement. a small sigh parted your lips, partly from exhaustion, but also from sadness.

“you scared?” it came out as a whisper, as if it was a taboo subject to never touch on, and frankly it was when it came to bakugou.

he waited to respond, pausing for as long as he could before the silence turned uncomfortable.

“yeah.” something so simple but spoke so much considering bakugou would never admit such a thing. “you’ll be okay though. you got an offer some of us wish we could have, and i heard the states has good job opportunities.”

“i don’t wanna go.” first it came out as a mumble, bakugou unsure if he just understood the words that came out of your mouth.

“what?”

“i don’t want to go.” this time, your voice was much more stern.

“the fuck you talkin’ about? you’ve been excited for this shit the day you got the letter, now you don’t wanna go? as if.” he was aware that he came off a little too defensive, mostly to shield his heart from catching a little bit of hope, he didn’t mean to come at you so harshly.

you peeled your eyes away from him, purposely avoiding his eye contact. looking at him seemed more like receiving a scolding from a parent more than anything right now.

“i mean, the united states? i’ll be there alone, no family, no friends. it’s not the money or opportunities i’m concerned about, bakugou. it’s about my happiness.” you explained. “isn’t that something you’re thinking about too?”

bakugou weighs his options. he thinks he has nothing else to lose, but he also considers the fact of you breaking his heart even more than it is. besides, you were smart, he knew you were going to take the offer anyway no matter how bad your nerves were eating you up.

“you can’t think with your heart about things like this, y/n.” he knows he’s an asshole. he knows you’re looking to him for the reassurance you want to hear but he just can’t give it.

“i’m not! i just want to be happy doing the things i love and that’s not possible in an environment i cant stand to be in.”

“you don’t know that yet.”

“i’m getting a pretty good feeling.”

“because you’re scared.”

you shrug, “so what? you don’t know how i feel. you’ll be here with your mom, dad, and all of your friends. i’ll have to start over from scratch in a country i know nothing about.”

he scoffed, his eyes darting away from your figure. “right because you know exactly how i feel.” his tone bled with sarcasm.

“you don’t tell me how you feel for anything, so sorry for taking an educated guess.” you retorted.

“you never ask to begin with.”

“as if you’d even tell me. you think i haven’t noticed you avoiding me these past couple of weeks? you don’t even talk to me anymore.”

now the roles reversed, you stared at him, bakugou not daring to look into your eye.

he shifted in his position, beginning to become uncomfortable. he replayed in his mind what he should’ve done moments ago instead of coming to speak to you.

“nothing to say?” you were playing with fire, not caring that you were poking the bear. “guess that’s not anything new. you just do whatever you want, say whatever you wish without thinking of the other person, because you’re ‘katsuki bakugou’. the man who cares about none other than the title of being the number one hero.”

“that’s not fuckin’ true and you know it.” he snaps his head towards you.

“do i?” your eyes searched his. “maybe a few months ago i would’ve, but you’ve been treating me like an outcast recently. i thought i mattered to you! i thought we were something!”

“what do you want me to say here?”

“i want you to be honest.”

bakugou clenched his teeth, his jaw sharpening from the action. of course he wanted to be with you, there was no other girl that he could imagine being with. but it just couldn’t work. you weren’t made to be with a monster, and he didn’t deserve to enjoy something so sweet as you.

so, bakugou opted to refuse the truth once again, brushing her off.

“you’re just too good for me.” he simply replies. “don’t waste your potential here. go to america.”

bakugou takes no more time to indulge in your erratic behavior, so he leaves you at the terrace, the noise of the party being heard the moment he opened the side door.

he wanted you more than anything. if the universe loved him a little more, then maybe things between you two would work out. but because of his shitty luck and vexatious attitude, you two just didn’t match.

he also knew there was just someone you were bound to fall in love with in america.

bakugou wasn’t going to lead you on to make a stupid decision. even if that meant destroying himself in the process.

the morning after, your name wasn’t to be found on any of his socials, and his messages to you turned green. if he didn’t know before, then he definitely knew now that he burned anything he had with you.

pt two

[rainydaydreamsideblog]

(The Maze Runner) Imagine: He Protects You

It can be dangerous, especially for the only girl in the Glade.

Warnings: Guys being creeps in the Glade (nothing graphic), bullying, the Maze, danger.

. . .Thomas. . .

It’s a beautiful evening in the Glade.  You’re walking straight along the treeline on your way to run a final errand for Alby at the end of the day.  The sun is no longer visible, as it already descended far enough to be blocked by the walls.

Suddenly, you get the creeps.  It was hard to explain, but you feel goosebumps bloom along your skin, and you get the distinct feeling that you’re not alone.  The lovely glow of the bonfire is in your field of vision, but it’s so far away. It’s where most of the guys are gathered.  You can hear their distant whoops and hollers, reminding you that help is far away too.

A twig snaps, and your suspicions are confirmed.  There’s a figure following several feet behind you, lurking in the shadows cast from the trees above.

So, you veer off your original path to draw closer to the homestead where there would hopefully be someone who hadn’t made it to the bonfire yet.  Whoever it was must have caught on to what you were doing because they instantly pick up their pace.  You begin to hurry, increasing your speed so that they can’t catch you before you make it to what you hope will be a haven of safety.

Your heart is pounding, and your chest heaving with panicked breaths as you finally make it to the homestead.  

“Hello?” you call frantically.  

Suddenly, Thomas appears.  He sees your nervous state immediately, his hand taking yours.  But then his eyes lock onto something behind you, and he moves right past you to intercept your pursuer, effectively blocking them from you.

“What’s going on?” he demands.  Your follower is frozen to the spot, stuttering, failing miserably to offer up some sort of explanation.  Thomas steps forward, towering over the guy.  It’s plain to see that he is furious.  His forearms flex and his jaw is clenched.  You can hear his angry breaths as he speaks again.  “That’s what I thought.  Now, get out of here.”

As soon as the guy is gone, Thomas turns around to face you.  His close presence eases your fearful state when he steps into your space, filling your nose with his scent. “You okay?” he asks gently.

You manage a nod.

“We’re going to tell Alby right away.  This isn’t going to happen to you again.  Come here…” He carefully pulls you into his arms for an embrace, as if you’ll break apart if he’s too sudden. You bury your face in his chest, breathing a sigh of relief.  His heartbeat is close to your ears, like a lullaby.

“Thank you…” you whispered.

. . . Newt . . .

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The teasing, the taunts… The inability of certain individuals to just leave you alone.  Ever since you’d rejected him, Allan had made it his life’s mission to make your existence in the Glade all the more difficult.

Most recently, he had purposely bumped into you at lunchtime so that your meal was spilled all over your clothes and onto the ground.  Resources were limited in the Glade.  It was understood that wastefulness wouldn’t be tolerated.  You couldn’t afford to lose food or have clothing ruined.  Fortunately, your clothes would be fine after a wash, but the discarded food was a different story.

You dab at your tank top with a washcloth and pause to look at your reflection in the mirror.  It was all too easy to recall how quickly you’d reached your limit after Allan’s ridiculous ploy.  Your face is still wet from crying, eyes puffy, and lips parted as you took deep breaths.

There’s no use crying over spilled milk, you thought. Or in my case, spilled lunch.

After composing yourself, you decide it’s time to go back out there and face the music. You toss the damp rag aside and march determinedly out of the empty washroom.  To your surprise, you smack right into another individual coming in.  You instantly recognize the blonde hair and grumbles of complaint as he reels from the collision.

“Oi, shank, watch where you’re going-”  Newt quickly realizes it’s you and clamps his mouth shut, extending his hands to each of your shoulders to steady you gently.  He takes in the sight of your tear-stained face with his eyes showing clear concern.  “Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, just… Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Newt looks far from convinced, and you lower your gaze.  He’s about to inquire further, but a familiar voice sounds from outside the washroom.

“Hey, _______!” Allan calls tauntingly, making you freeze up.  “How’s it going in there?”

Newt’s eyes instantly flash, and his face scrunches up anger.  You can hardly believe it when Allan continues.

“Sorry about my clumsiness earlier.  Maybe I can make it up to you.  Come on out before I go in there!”

Newt can’t contain himself anymore.  He turns on his heel and heads out of the washroom, and you follow behind just to see the look on Allan’s face when he realizes he’s been caught.

It is so worth it.  Allan’s stupid grin falls hard into a look of horror as the Second-in-Command approaches him furiously.  He doesn’t lay a hand on him, but he looks like he’s awfully close when he jabs a pointer finger in his direction.

“If I ever catch you bothering her, or even breathing in her general direction again, you’ll be a permanent Slopper for the rest of your time here in the Glade.  Do you understand, shank?”

Allan nods quickly, and doesn’t even wait to be dismissed.  He just hurries away, leaving you and Newt both standing there watching him flee.

“Coward,” he mumbles.  Then, Newt turns to you, resting a hand on your arm in a comforting gesture.  “I mean it, you know.  He’ll never bother you again.”

. . . Minho . . .

It’s hard not to panic when you glance up and can no longer see the sun above you. It’s the end of the day, and you’re nearly out of time.  The lightning pain that shoots through your ankle suddenly just becomes too much.  You lean against one of the ivy-covered walls and exhale.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” you say aloud, and the words weigh heavily on you.  You mentally scold yourself.  You can’t afford to think that way.  A Runner knows better.  With a wince, you continue limping on your way.  It’s not that the exit from the Maze isn’t close.  If memory serves you right (which it did), it wasn’t too far at all… but at your pace, it would take a lot of effort and some good luck to get you back in time.

Just when you are about to give up again, you hear footsteps rapidly approaching.  Your first thought is that perhaps your cowardly companion had a change of heart, but the footsteps didn’t match.

“Hello?” you call.

“_________!” Minho’s voice responds, and your heart swells with hope.  You aren’t out of the woods just yet, but your chances were much better with help. Minho nearly slides to a stop in front of you, instantly taking your arm and putting it around his broad shoulders to help you up.  There is no time to stop and compare notes, so you update him as he begins helping you back along the path.

“I sprained my ankle.” You hold onto Minho like he’s your lifeline as you push through the pain to keep up with his pace.  He’s right to go so fast.  Time is running out.

“Where’s Derek?” he asks with a grunt.

“He…he left me,” you gasp in pain.  “I think he was worried he wouldn’t make it out in time if he helped me.”

Minho goes quiet for a moment, and you can practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves.  His eyes are focused straight ahead at the path, and he huffs.  Finally, he bites out a sarcastic comment. “I think it’s safe to say that he’s getting demoted from being a Runner.”

You keep talking, trying to distract the both of you from the familiar groan of the Maze walls shifting.  “Why did you come out here?”

“Because it was getting late in the day, and no one had seen you,” he pants.  “Usually, you check in with me right away.  I knew something had to be wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

You continue limping with all your might toward the gate, feeling your heart jump, as the walls on either side begin their agonizingly slow crawl to a close.  There’s a small group standing on the other side, ushering you both out anxiously.  It was mostly Keepers, a select few who had been informed of the problem by Minho.

The two of you fell onto the green grass, gasping for breath, while the others surrounded you.  Alby knelt down beside you, resting a hand on your shoulder.  You just let yourself breathe, tears welling up in your eyes from relief.

“So it’s true?” Gally questioned, brows raised.  “Derek left her in there.” “Yes,” Minho replied, sitting up.  “And he will face the consequences.”  He looked over at you, finally catching his breath.  “You’re safe now.”

. . . Gally . . .

James had been haunting your steps for far too long.  He was always there, always hanging around, and sometimes showing up at the most alarming of instances.  What could be done about it?  It wasn’t as if he’d taken severe enough action to warrant disciplinary measures, you thought.  He was only ever seen staring at you, smirking, and just being an all-around jerk at times.

This time, he’d snatched your tools away from your working station while your back was turned. After uncovering a particularly tough old root, you turned around to get a spade to chop it up, only to see that your things were gone.

A few laughs caught your attention, and you glanced over to see James and one of his shadows standing there, staring at you from several feet away.  You couldn’t say for certain, but it seemed like they had something to do with your missing tools.

So, now you’re debating with yourself on the best course of action.  Do you ignore him and try to rustle up some extra tools from Newt or Zart?  Or do you bother to give this shank the attention he’s so desperately seeking to get your stuff back?

You don’t really like the latter option.  Frankly, James gives you the creeps. The last thing you want is to play his little game… But every minute that you spend deliberating is wasted time that could be put towards helping the Glade.

As much as you despise indulging him, you find yourself marching right over to his work area.  Both James and his minion are laughing in amusement, shoving each other at the sight of you approaching.

“Do you know where my tools went?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“I might,” James replies cryptically.  “And I might be willing to strike up a bargain for that information.”

You fold your arms across your chest.  “What could you possibly want?”

“Ohh, I don’t know…Perhaps a kiss will do.”

You make a face as the disgust hits you.  “Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a ‘no’ for me.”  You wave off the concept, turning around.  You decided that your best bet is to find some spare tools.  This just wasn’t worth all the trouble.  Just as you start to leave, James comes running around to block you.

“Hey now, I didn’t say you could go.”

“Yeah, you might want to think about his offer,” James’ lackey said from behind you.  The two of them close in, and you clench your fists in preparation to fight.  If you make enough commotion, you’re sure that someone will notice and come to your aid.

You give him one last chance.  “Let me pass.”

“Come on, just one kiss.  Unless you want more than one after that-” to your relief, James is cut off by a new voice interjecting.

“What’s going on here?” The three of you turn to see Gally standing there, sweating from whatever project he was working on,with dirt and wood shavings on his clothes.  His expression looks expectant as he waits for an explanation, though his tall and bulky form makes him appear positively dangerous as he stares the two guys down with his hands resting on his hips.

“I, uh.. We…”  They break off in stutters and fumbled words.

“I’m fairly certain they have my tools,” you say, and Gally’s famous arched brows raise at the two guys in disbelief.

“Is that so?” As Gally walks forward, he plants his palms harshly on James’ shoulder, shoving him clear out of the way. James stumbles unceremoniously, almost falling straight into the grass.  Gally walks over to the bench and pauses.  He picks up a bundle of leather and tosses it to you, the tools rattling inside.  “Are those yours?”

You recognize it immediately.  “Yes, these are the ones.”

“You shanks had better never even speak to her again.  Understand?” He stares at each of them pointedly with all the authority of a Keeper, and they both nod.  With that, Gally walks up to you and ushers you away with a warm, gentle hand on your back protectively.

“Your timing was impeccable,” you say quietly.  “Thank you.”

“They won’t bother you again.  I’ll make sure of it.”

“I think you already have,” you chuckle.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Plot Method

The Save the Cat! Beat Sheet was originally developed by Blake Snyder to help screenwriters plot movies, but it works just as well with novels.

It breaks down the 3-act structure into small, specific sections (sometimes just one scene long).

Each section pushes your story forward in its own way.

The exact word count/page count of each section depends on how long your novel is and what type of story you’re telling, but you can use the colored chart below and the percentages in the instructions as a guide. 

Context Note: This method is based on the concept of the Three Act Structure, which is an inherently Western approach to plot. It can be a useful way to tell a story, but it is by no means the only one.

ACT 1

Opening Image (0-1%)

Show a “before” snapshot of your protagonist and their world.

What is life like before the adventure begins?

It represents the struggle & tone of the story.

Set-up (1-10%)

Expand on the “before” snapshot.

Explore your protagonist’s life, including the internal flaws and external challenges they’ll have to overcome in order to change for the better by the end of the story.

Present the main character’s world as it is, and what is missing in their life.

Also introduce important supporting characters.

Theme Stated (happens during the Set-up)

What your story is about; the message, the truth.

Usually, it is spoken to the main character or in their presence, but they don’t understand the truth/lesson…not until later, when they have some personal experience and context to support it.

Thus, include a scene where a character says something that hints at what the protagonist’s big life lesson will be - how they’ll have to change and grow by the end of the story.

Catalyst (10%)

The moment where life as it is changes.

Examples: It is the telegram, the act of catching your loved-one cheating, allowing a monster onboard the ship, meeting the true love of your life, etc.

There’s no going back to the “before” world from here… What is the inciting incident that pushes the protagonist into the next phase of the story?

Debate (11-20%)

But change is scary and for a moment, or a brief number of moments, the main character doubts the journey they must take.

Show the protagonist questioning themselves and resisting the path ahead - wondering whether they have what it takes, or whether or they should just run home and hide under the bed.

“Should I just…?” “I really shouldn’t because…” “But what about…” Can I face this challenge? Do I have what it takes? Should I go at all?

It is the last chance for the hero to chicken out.

ACT 2

Break Into 2 (20%; Choosing Act Two)

The main character makes a choice and the journey begins.

We leave the “Thesis” world and enter the upside-down, opposite world of Act 2.

They make the choice to begin their adventure/transformation/journey/new thing.

Show your protagonist deciding to plunge into Act 2.

The Promise of the Premise (21-50%)

This is when the reader thinks “Ah, now we’re getting to the good stuff they hinted at on the back cover of this book!”

It’s also one of the longest sections in your book.

Show your protagonist getting used to their new world - loving it, hating it, making mistakes or doing well, meeting new people (see more below) and keeping the reader entertained.

This is when the main character explores the new world and the audience is entertained by the premise they have been promised.

B Story (happens during The Promise of the Premise)

This is when there’s a discussion about the Theme – the nugget of truth.

Usually, this discussion is between the main character and the love interest.

So, the B Story is usually called the “love story”.

Introduce a new character or characters who will eventually help the protagonist learn their life lesson.

Friends? Mentors? Love interests? Nemeses (nemesi?)? Who are they? How will they help?

Midpoint (50%)

This moment is when everything seems “great” or everything seems “awful,” depending on your story.

The main character either gets everything they think they want (“great”) or doesn’t get what they think they want at all (“awful”).

Either the Fun and Games section has lead to a false victory for your protagonist (they think they’ve been doing great so far) or a false defeat (they’ve been having a hard time so far).

What happens in this moment, halfway between beginning and end?

But not everything we think we want is what we actually need in the end.

Bad Guys Close In (51-75%)

Get ready for a bumpy ride. If your Midpoint was a false victory, now things start to go wrong for your protagonist.

If the Midpoint was a false defeat, well, things seem to be looking up, but the bad guys are getting closer and will have something to say.

Note: Bad guys can be actual physical enemies, but they can also be emotional enemies, like doubt or jealousy or fear.

Doubt, jealousy, fear, foes both physical and emotional regroup to defeat the main character’s goal, and the main character’s “great”/“awful” situation disintegrates.

Show the protagonist’s newly-built world beginning to unravel.

This will also be one of the longer sections in your novel.

All is Lost (75%)

This is when something happens to make your character hit rock bottom.

It’s the absolute lowest part of your novel.

Maybe someone or something dies (either literally or figuratively).

The initial goal now looks even more impossible than before. And here, something or someone dies.

It can be physical or emotional, but the death of something old makes way for something new to be born.

What does this moment look like for your protagonist?

Dark Night of the Soul (76-80%)

Your protagonist now has time to react to their “All is lost” moment, to mourn what they lost and wallow in hopelessness.

They’re worse off than they were at the beginning of the novel.

Show how low things have gotten.

Mourning the loss of what has “died” – the dream, the goal, the mentor character, the love of your life, etc.

But, you must fall completely before you can pick yourself back up and try again.

ACT 3

Break Into 3 (80%; Choosing Act Three)

The “aha!” moment; the “lift yourself up and try again” moment.

Show the protagonist realizing what they need to do in order to tackle their problems, both external and internal.

Thanks to a fresh idea, new inspiration, or last-minute Thematic advice from the B Story (usually the love interest), the main character chooses to try again.

Finale (81-99%)

The protagonist does what they decided to do in the Break Intro 3 beat, and (because of all the learning/growing they’ve done and the support or insight from the B Story), their plan works.

This time around, the main character incorporates the Theme – the nugget of truth that now makes sense to them – into their fight for the goal because they have experience from the A Story and context from the B Story.

The Bad Guys are defeated, the world is changed for the better.

What are the battles? How will the protagonist triumph (or not)?

This is another longer section, so you’ve got the space to make things dramatic and intense.

Act Three is about Synthesis.

Final Image (99-100%)

This is the opposite of the Opening Image, the “after” snapshot instead of the “before.”

Show the reader how the protagonist and their world have changed.

THE END

Sources: 1 2

[spirits-having-flown]

“matthew, it is with heavy heart i say goodbye. the times we had together are honestly among the favorite times of my life. it was an honor to share the stage with you and to call you my friend. i will always smile when i think of you and i’ll never forget you. never. spread your wings and fly brother, you’re finally free. much love. and i guess you’re keeping the 20 bucks you owe me.” - matt leblanc

“i am so grateful for every moment i had with you matty and i miss you every day. when you work with someone as closely as i did with matthew, there are thousands of moments i wish i could share. for now here's one of my favorites. to give a little backstory, chandler and monica were supposed to have a one night fling in london. but because of the audience's reaction, it became the beginning of their love story. in this scene, before we started rolling, he whispered a funny line for me to say. he often did things like that. he was funny and he was kind. 🤍🕊️" - courteney cox

“oh boy this one has cut deep... having to say goodbye to our matty has been an insane wave of emotions that i've never experienced before. we all experience loss at some point in our lives. loss of life or loss of love. being able to really sit in this grief allows you to feel the moments of joy and gratitude for having loved someone that deep. and we loved him deeply. he was such a part of our dna. we were always the 6 of us. this was a chosen family that forever changed the course of who we were and what our path was going to be. for matty, he knew he loved to make people laugh. as he said himself, if he didn't hear the 'laugh' he thought he was going to die. his life literally depended on it. and boy did he succeed in doing just that. he made all of us laugh. and laugh hard. in the last couple weeks, i've been pouring over our texts to one another. laughing and crying then laughing again. i'll keep them forever and ever. i found one text that he sent me out of nowhere one day. it says it all. matty, i love you so much and i know you are now completely at peace and out of any pain. i talk to you every day... sometimes i can almost hear you saying "could you BE any crazier?" rest little brother. you always made my day... ❤️🕊️” - jennifer aniston

“matty, thank you for ten incredible years of laughter and creativity. i will never forget your impeccable comic timing and delivery. you could take a straight line of dialogue and bend it to your will, resulting in something so entirely original and unexpectedly funny it still astonishes. and you had heart. which you were generous with, and shared with us, so we could create a family out of six strangers. this photo is from one of my favorite moments with you. now it makes me smile and grieve at the same time. i imagine you up there, somewhere, in the same white suit, hands in your pockets, looking around— "Could there BE any more clouds?” “ - david schwimmer

“shot the pilot, friends like us, got picked up then immediately, we were at the nbc upfronts. then... you suggested we play poker and made it so much fun while we initially bonded. thank you for that. thank you for making me laugh so hard at something you said, that my muscles ached, and tears poured down my face every day. thank you for your open heart in a six way relationship that required compromise. and a lot of "talking." thank you for showing up at work when you weren't well and then, being completely brilliant. thank you for the best 10 years a person gets to have. thank you for trusting me. thank you for all I learned about grace and love through knowing you. thank you for the time i got to have with you, matthew.” - lisa kudrow

friends cast remembers matthew perry 🤍🕊️

[voidsentprinces]

Reminder: A Realm Reborn wasn't particularly about us. It was about the Eorzean Factions, it was about the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and their interactions with and thwarting Gaius and the XIVth Legion. We were just a useful champion slowly growing to fame but not truly a Warrior of Light until literally the prelude to the Castrum raiding mission.

The Parting of Glass wasn't about us either. It was, once again, about the world. And how it had begun changing after Gaius's fall and the brief period of peace away from Garlemald's Shadow. About Alphinaud beginning his arc of growth with hubris and the creation the Crystal Braves and what it might of looked like IF the Scion's good nature was lent to anyone and everyone. And thus opening itself up to the very corruption Minfilia feared to move away from the Waking Sands and to the Rising Stones in the first place.

Heavensward isn't about us. It is about Alphinaud's continue growth, learning of Ishgard's past and history. Hubris, arrogance and narrow viewing lead Alphinaud to steps of the Foundation, it has lead Estinien astray and made Ysayle believe she is a messiah incarnate. And through the journey, each of them grow as they learn the terrible truth about the Dragonsong War. Estinien in particular has his eyes opened and no longer simply seeks revenge on Nidhogg but to get to the bottom of it all. So no other shepherd's son has to live as he has. Ysayle learns she is a shade and a faux Shiva not truly Hraesvelgr's beloved or even in the same category as her. She learns swallow such delusions and embrace what Saint Shiva stood for in its entirety. Which means leaning to lay the road for peace between Ishgard and the Dragons and opening a path to this by sacrificing herself for those she loved so dearly. Alphinaud learns from all of this and more and is humbled by the duty of a knight, the fervor of a dragoon, the sacrifice of a saint, and the courage of his companions and of Sharlayan's arrogance from Master Matoya. To put others before himself and allow others to support him when he falls.

The Far Edge of Fate isn't about us. It was about how Ishgard carries on after Thordan and the Heavens Ward are shown to be the monsters they are. How the remnants of the church, the knights of Ishgard, and the civilian population react to the realization with rejection. How facing off against Nidhogg possessing Estinien, the Warriors of Darkness, and the machinations of Ilberd force Eorzea and Ishgard to look inward and know truly where they should go from there. To ignore the easier road and take the higher path no matter the strife and hardship it provides them. Because when they reach the otherside they would be better for it. Finding that courage, after five years of procrastinating and hemming and hawing, the Eorzean Alliance finally begin to mobilize to free Ala Mhigo from Garlemald and perhaps take on the Empire itself.

Stormblood isn't about us. It is about Doma and Ala Mhigo fighting for the survival of their people and cultures. Facing the parts of their society that were spurned and used as tools of hatred against their principles. That provided the necessary cracks required for Garlemald to break them down and oppress them in the first place. And how reforging under those values and those long histories of violence can make a new path and come to terms to over throw the tyrants who fed on their weakened states and make a strong unity still.

A Requiem of Heroes wasn't about us, it was about the world facing down the barrel of war with Garlemald. And uncovering its origins, its founding father was an Ascian. How Varis is forced to face down the lie as Elidibus wears the skin of his son and the great grandfather he and other Garleans were taught was a walking god in all but name was a sham and a daemon bent on causing more pain and suffering than mankind ever deserved. How the effigies of hate and pain choose to use their fervor to help their people instead of turning against them once more. How every person can change and be given a second chance. How that second chance is what that person requires or if they are pushed the wrong direction, can caused tragedy to unfold. And lastly, it is about our companions, slowly. One by one. Being dragged to the unknown. The story slowly taking away the players on the stage until finally...

Shadowbringers was about us. It was about how we were instrumental to the world so much that it lost nearly all hope in another timeline. How a group of your fondest friends began and how your comrade's furthest decendents acting on the hope of your legend and stories. To provide a plan of action and lead to happier world. How even when everything seems lost and gone and your purpose seems to turned everything around you into twisted monstrosities. That you can bring the night and wait in comfort for a dawn to bring better days. And the tenacity of your aid providing a world on the brink, the love, the compassion, the understanding, the strength, and the will to stand up to a flood of destruction and spit fate in the eye. Even it costs them everything, they keep fighting until they can see a brighter tomorrow.

Death unto Dawn was about what the tomorrow brings. How it could be another fight but to find what is WORTH fighting for. The memories of those you fight and lived amongst, old studies and things of the past being made to provide the answer to the future, making right wrongs even against those you had wronged unfairly, and to gather together and keep each other safe. You are not alone out here. There are those who will help you along to a brighter future.

Endwalker was about you and yours. About how everyone reacts to an uncertain future in different manners. How some would make ready to flee at the approaching storm, while others would fight, and others might even push you further to the edge. But even when all is lost, call upon the memory of happier times to light the way with hearts aligned shining brilliantly against despair and finding your place amongst those memories.

Growing Light was about us teaching another to hear, feel, and think and experience the world seemingly gone. That everything needn't be give or take. It can be a charitable, warmer place if we make it. It can be kinder and even in the face of unrelenting and undying destruction. Hope will spit out a tooth and stand up once more.

I say all of this because, I've seen people mad that Dawntrail is leaning hard about being about Wuk Lamat and others. To which I say so what if Dawntrail is about Wuk Lamat and Koana? So what if its not about us? We've had four story lines about us. Now we must impart what we've learned to the future as they face similar and sometimes overwhelming odds. To stand tall against the onslaught and make their own choices, their own way to bring a smile to all they hold dear. How family needn't be blood related, they can just be a group who sit down at the table at the end of the day. And speak, laugh, cry, and love. Unto this trail to dawn we shall light way for the future of our world and everything this new dawn brings is worth it.

[eroselless]

───────────────────somebody else // 3

series summary: you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other? [3.1k]

[lando norris x reader]

masterlist | previously

warnings: angst, insecure reader, unprotected smut (don’t be silly, wrap that willy!)

note: Magui is mentioned in this chapter and will be mentioned going forward and I know there’s lots of conversations on the internet about her. I honestly just used her in this story to avoid having to come with an original character. I don’t like to comment or get into driver’s actual personal lives so please if there’s any comments y’all want to make of her that doesn’t have to do with this story, please take it elsewhere. 

The morning inevitably comes, the early light filtering through the blinds, gently pulling you from your slumber. You blink slowly, discarding sleep from your eyes. Taking a deep breath, you suddenly remember where you are. Lando's arm tightens around your waist, and his face burrows deeper into your back, still deeply asleep. Carefully, you try to slip out from under his arm without disturbing him. His hold loosens reluctantly as you rise, and you begin gathering your things in silence. 

You catch a glance of yourself in the full length mirror he has sitting in the corner of the room. What you see is almost something pulled straight from a dream. Your hair is disheveled but in a way that only shows how deeply you had slept the night before. Lando’s shirt clings to your body, falling to the tops of your thighs. As you stand there, you can see him breathing deeply behind you. His arm is outstretched, reaching over your now empty spot on the bed. He’s almost lost in the clouds that are the blankets of his bed. 

You swell with emotion, the domestically of this moment proving to weigh too much on your chest. You swiftly pull the shirt off, fold it and leave it on a chair before putting on your clothes from last night. Moving towards the door, you feel your foot nudge something hard on the floor. Your eyes flicker down, seeing what you only assume is Lando’s phone resting there, almost dead. Picking it up, instinctively, you plug it into the charger by the bedside table, eyes catching a 12 hour's old message illuminating the screen. 

Your stomach twists when you see the name on the message. Magui. You’d see her linked to him, seeing him around Monaco with her things, driving her around in his cars. You peer over the phone, eyes reading over the words on the phone. 

The knot in your chest tightens as you read the text:

already missing you, when are you coming over again? last night was fun ;)

Every letter seems to twist in your chest like a knife. The implication was clear-–whatever happened last night, before your tryst under the dancefloor lights, was anything but friendly. Your breath hitches, and you set the phone down carefully, it feels too hot in your hand now. It's almost as if it’s trying to mock you with the memory of last night’s events. It was too good to be true, you think, the thrill of last night fading into the cruel light of reality. Maybe you happened to just be in the right place at the right time, a convenient substitute for something he had been craving. 

Your footsteps are light as you make your way out, taking one last glance at Lando’s sleeping form before closing the door behind you.

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The sun is already high in the sky by the time you arrive at the track. The same excited buzz that lingers in the air feels different today, it causes your stomach to turn and every step you take feels heavier the further in you go. Your heart pounds as you step into the paddock, nerves running high as you anticipate Lando’s visit, a pavlovian reaction you’ve developed. But you’re assigned to the Ferrari garage for today, something about the overwhelming influx of guests and reporters.  

You’re grateful for the distractions, being away from the McLaren suite is a welcome relief–-you don’t think you could handle facing Lando just yet. You keep reminding yourself that it was a drunken kiss, a mess of touches that happened in the heat of the moment, a memory Lando might not even remember. The glow of the text message on his phone only reinforces that idea. It might as well be left off as a memory, you think. After all, it seemed to imply that he already had someone to occupy his time. You were just … there. 

You’re pouring a drink when you hear a familiar voice greet you from behind. Turning, you find Carlos leaning casually against a table, an easy smile hanging from his lips as you hand him a bottle of water.

“Looks like you’ve been promoted, working for the red team today,” he teased lightly.

You chuckled, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess they needed someone with my impressive drink-carting skills,” you joked, catching his eye.

Carlos grins, taking a long sip before lowering the bottle. “Well, at least you’re making this garage look better,” he adds, giving you a playful once-over.

You laugh again, this time a little more naturally, but as your eyes meet his, you see something shift in Carlos’s expression—his gaze briefly darting past you.

You turn just in time to see Lando making his way over, his strides purposeful. Carlos straightens, the easygoing look still on his face but a hint of something else lurking beneath it. The tension between the three of you is almost palpable. There’s that twist in your gut, the face you’d been dreading to see again. There was that voice that lingers in the back of your mind, once again reminding you that it told you so. 

“Hey, you,” Lando greets casually, his voice steady but lower than usual. He doesn’t hesitate pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you in a way that feels almost possessive. His lips brush your cheek in a fleeting kiss, the scent of his cologne enveloping you. It’s warm, familiar, but it only makes the tension inside you grow. It makes your head spin. 

“Hi,” you manage to say, feeling breathless as you return the hug. Your voice feels quiet, fragile. Almost like if you spoke too loudly, it would shatter in your voicebox. You try your best to keep up the smile that had been painted on your face just a minute later. You can feel Carlos’s eyes still on you, watching the interaction closely. You can’t place Lando’s expression, unsure of what could be going on in his head. 

As you step back from Lando’s embrace, you give Carlos an apologetic smile before excusing yourself to attend to the guests nearby. With a quick smile, you excuse yourself, leaving Lando standing there, watching as you disappear into the crowd. The moment you’re out of earshot, the air between the two drivers shifts. 

Carlos arches an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Lando narrows his eyes slightly. “Just making sure everything’s in check.”

Carlos smirks, clearly picking up on the unspoken tension. “Yeah? Everything in check, huh?” He pauses, and then with a more pointed tone, he adds, “Including Magui?”

Lando stiffens slightly, but doesn’t take the bait. “That’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Hasn’t it?” Carlos tilts his head. “You know, mate, maybe it’s time you figure out what you actually want before someone else makes that decision for you.”

Lando frowns, not answering immediately. His gaze flickers to where you’re standing, deep in conversation with a group of guests. There’s a carefree look on your face as you interact with them, a genuine smile he can’t help but adore. Carlos, seeing the hesitation, claps a hand on Lando’s shoulder.

“Look, if you’re serious, don’t just sit around waiting for it to blow over,” Carlos says, his tone shifting from teasing to genuine. “Otherwise, someone else might step in. And who knows,” he adds with a smirk, “maybe I will.”

Lando gives him a look, but Carlos just laughs it off, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, man. You’ve got enough to deal with, but you’re playing with fire.”

Before Lando can respond, a team member calls him away, and with a final look between them, Carlos steps back, watching Lando go with a knowing smile.

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The day passes in a haze, the roar of the engines filling the air and drowning the chatter in your head. You do your best to focus on your duties in the Ferrari garage, but the weight of Lando’s gaze bears heavy on you whenever you catch a glimpse of his car zooming past you on the track. It's like a tether—one that pulls tighter and tighter with every passing moment. 

The race finally comes to a close, the sun having fallen through the sky, dipping below the horizon. The energy in the paddock becomes electric as he comes in second, right on Carlos’s tail. The cheers and celebrations blur around you as the drivers finish their interviews, spraying champagne and basking in the excitement. You can feel Lando’s eyes on you, even as he stands among the flashing cameras and jubilant crowds of journalists. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as move around the paddock, eventually returning to the equally bustling McLaren suite. 

As the crowd thins, you don’t get far before you feel a hand wrap around your wrist that tugs you away from the crowd. It weaves you through the paddock, past the media, past the throngs of people, until you find yourselves alone in the privacy of his driver’s room. 

The door clicks behind you, the noise now muffled by the walls around you. The tension between you hangs heavy in the air as you stand nervously at the door, it's thick and suffocating. 

“Lando–”

He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, he pulls you against him, mouth encapsulating yours with a fervor that catches you off guard. It's not unlike how he kissed you at the club but this time you have the reassurance that you’re both stone cold sober.

His kiss is heated, desperate, as if he’s trying to pour every ounce of feeling into that moment. The taste of champagne lingers on his lips, and you feel the raw energy coursing through him, a mixture of adrenaline and something deeper—something possessive.

Your body betrays you as you respond to his kiss, the want, the need of him too strong to resist. His hands roam your body, pulling a whine from your lips as he presses his hips to yours. He anchors you to him but it’s more than just a physical desire now. There’s something else in the way he touches you, as though he’s afraid to let go. 

It's dizzying, the way he holds you, his fingers digging into your skin. You respond just as eagerly, hands tangling in his curls, feeling the way his hair slips through your fingers, unruly and messy after being trapped under his helmet. He deeps the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. Just like he did in the dimly lit bathroom, he seems to take your breath away, setting a fire in your chest.

You feel his body against yours, solid and warm, heat radiating from him like a furnace. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your hips firmly as he walks you backward toward the small bed. Your legs hit the edge, and you stumble slightly, but Lando doesn’t break the kiss, his mouth still moving with fervor against yours as he lowers you onto the bed.

He hovers over you, not yet ready to press his full body weight on top of yours. You whimper as his lips trail down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. It makes you arch your back into him, hands taking purchase of the thick muscle of his back. 

“Lando…” you breathe, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart. He responds with a low, guttural hum, his lips moving lower, his teeth grazing along your collarbone before his hands begin to tug at the hem of your shirt. You help him, lifting your arms as he pulls it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you exposed beneath him.

His eyes darken as he looks down at you, his breathing heavy. There’s something primal in the way he stares, as if he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. His hands find your skin again, exploring, caressing, his touch both gentle and possessive as his fingers trace patterns across your stomach, your sides, your breasts.

You feel your pulse quickening with every sleight of his hand, every kiss he places along your exposed chest. He takes his time moving over the vast plains of your skin, counting every freckle, every mole. He’s savoring you, trying engrave in his mind the way you taste, the way you feel against him, the way your whines echo through the room. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as his lips wrap around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, sending shivers down your spine.

His hands are everywhere, stroking teasing, setting your skin aflame as he worships every inch of you. His lips trail lower, leaving a hot trail behind them as he moves closer to waistband.

Your lustful trans in interupted as you see his phone light up silently where it's thrown carelessly on the table nearby. He doesn’t notice it as he moves to unbutton your pants. You want to pull away, tell him to stop. Tell him you don’t want this, that you don’t crave this—the closeness, the intensity of his touch. But you don’t. 

It’s the same part that wanted him back in the club, under those neon lights. But now, even with him so close, the doubt lingers in the back of your mind. Magui’s name feels like a ghost between you, hovering in the room, even though you don’t dare utter it aloud.

You reach for him again, the feeling of his lips on the tops of your thighs bringing you back. You pull him up, pressing your lips to his once again. You tug at his fireproofs, pulling it over his head, revealing the toned lines of his body, muscles softly rippling beneath his skin. The rush of the moment stills for a second and now it's your turn to try to memorize what he looks like. 

Your fingers dance delicately over the taut skin, dragging them down his sternum, counting every mole and feeling each valley you come across. Your eyes flicker up briefly, catching a glint in his eyes you hadn’t quite seen before. But before you can mull over it too much, his lips find yours in a kiss that’s just as intense as before. 

His hands slide into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down, leaving you bare beneath him. The cool air hits your skin and you suck in a breath, the coolness being replaced by his warmth. His body is pressed against yours and hard as you might try, you can’t bring yourself to stop the sinking feeling you begin to feel in your chest. 

His kisses grow more frantic, more needy, and you can feel his desire for you in every movement, every touch. You respond in kind, your own need for him matching his as your hands roam his back, his chest, pulling him closer. The world outside the room fades away, and for a brief moment, it’s just you and him, tangled together in a mess of limbs, breathless kisses, and heated skin.

When he finally moves between your legs, you gasp, your body arching into him, craving the contact, the connection. His eyes lock with yours, and there’s a moment of stillness as he hovers over you, the weight of everything unspoken between you pressing down on your chest.

Each touch, each breath shared between you only makes that nagging voice in the back of your mind grow louder. Does he feel this way with her too? Is this just another moment, another temporary high, easily forgotten once the race weekend is over? Will he be quick to forget you as he’s forgetting her—quickly falling into her embrace as he is falling into yours?

The questions fail to reach your lips, dissolving on your tongue as he licks into your mouth. He pushes into you with a groan, his forehead resting against yours, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the sensation overwhelms you.

The rhythm between starts off slow, tender, as if he’s trying to say a million words with every thrust, every kiss, every movement. But it’s not enough. Doubt still lingers in the forefront of your mind and even though your body responds to his ministrations, your heart remains guarded, wary. 

His pace quickens, his breathing ragged as he moves faster, deeper, and you cling to him, your own breath coming in short gasps as the pleasure builds. He cries your name, lips finding yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. It’s overwhelming, the feeling of him inside you, the way his hands grip your hips, the way he looms over you. 

Your body reaches its peak, but as the waves of pleasure crash over you, the doubt remains. You can almost imagine her in this same position, writhing beneath him as he gives himself to you. Her face haunts you, the image of them together, his hands over her, holding her just as tight. 

But you don't bring it up, you don’t ask the questions that repeat over and over in your mind. You're afraid of what the answer will be. Afraid that this moment will merely be a chapter in the novel of time, lost in the frayed pages of a book long hidden away. 

When it's over, he lies on your chest. It's terribly domestic as he draws circles on your exposed belly and chest, lips tracing over the skin tenderly. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. The words are there, waiting to be spoken—questions, doubts, confessions—but neither of you has the courage to break the silence. Maybe it’s easier this way, not confronting whatever this is. Maybe it’s safer to pretend it’s just the high from his victory, that this moment will pass, leaving no lasting trace.

His phone lights up again and you see his eyes flicker to it briefly before you both begin to rise from your temporary bliss. That's when you realize it. You don’t have the heart to keep doing this. The uncertainty, the doubt, that cry in the back of your mind. It’s all too much. You can’t be part of something where the lines are so blurred, where neither of you is willing to admit the truth.

So, you walk away.

tags: @sltwins @sarx164 @f1fantasys @obxstiles @moonvr @spideylovin @lipstickstateofmind

a/n: hi everyone, thank you much if you've gotten to this point! i was honestly so excited and surprisingly had lots of fun while writing this rather emotional chapter. let me know what you guys think of it, i always love to see what you guys have to say!

[heartshpedfx]

ffvii hurts so much more to play now like you’re right the planet IS dying

[ozzgin]

Pyramid Head x Reader

Featuring Pyramid Head and a reader with amnesia lost in Silent Hill. This is Pyramid Head as originally intended for Silent Hill 2, so expect a lot of game-based immersion. Warning: NSFW, dubious/non-consent, violence, gore

[Horror Masterlist]

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"

You grunt and slap the wheel, hoping your defiant act of violence will somehow convince the car engine to start again. It remains quiet. You run a hand through your hair and sigh. The palm is mildly sticky with moisture and you realize you've been sweating a fair amount. No wonder, you're stuck in this shithole. You couldn't see a damn thing ahead with all this fog. The only discernible object was a rusty, run-down sign showing "Silent Hill". You've never heard the name before, but reading the letters and allowing the words to escape your lips has brought you an unexpected wave of panic. You quickly began hyperventilating and your arms involuntarily twitched and twisted, pulling the wheel of the car along with them and causing the car to swerve into a street barrier. And now it refuses to turn back on. Fantastic. 

You hesitantly grab the door handle. After a deep breath in, you open the door and step out. Given the car crashed sideways, you can no longer tell which way is back and which way is forward. You can only see the first few inches of the barrier in both directions, but everything else vanishes under the thick clouds of mist. You rub your temples, becoming increasingly upset with yourself.  What were you even doing, driving all the way to-

Wait. Where were you going in the first place? You recall leaving from...home? But where is that supposed to be? No, don't do this. Not now. You walk back to the car and open the glove compartment, angrily pulling out a thick stack of documents and spreading them out onto the chair. You scan over them, growing more impatient. You don't recognize anything. The names and words and addresses don't hold any meaning. You glance up to the rear-view mirror in an attempt to detect some trail of blood seeping from your scalp, as a concussion might explain your sudden memory loss, but your appearance is fresh. Almost as if you didn't just crash your car in a strange place in utter confusion. 

You check your phone. Even if you can't remember, there has to be someone in your contacts that will come to your aid. The screen glitches briefly when you unlock it and the menu is empty. No contacts, no messages, no apps. No matter, emergency will do. You type in the digits and lift the phone to your head, but quickly remove it when loud static assaults your eardrums. Why is nothing working properly? You're tempted to just slam the junk into the pavement, but find enough composure to stuff it back in the pocket for now. 

All that's left to do now is to find another human. You begin walking. The road has to lead somewhere, that's for certain. And soon enough the barrier is replaced with a different kind of fencing that you use as guidance. It seems to be a small bridge. Just a few steps further and you discover the first signs of modern, populated world: a bus stop. Behind the waiting bench is a brief map of the area and you trace the plaque with your fingers, mumbling the path to yourself. "Now let's see...This is Nathan Avenue...Rosewater Park ahead...Ah, the Silent Hill Fire Station should be very close."

You can't wait to be done with this mess. They'll call for a tow truck and get you out of here. You almost sprint to the next block, expectantly. In fact, you can already spot someone right outside the building. 

"Thank God! Listen, my car broke down before the bridge. My stupid phone is also...huh." 

Just as you mention it, the same static as previously erupts from the speaker. You're startled and fumble for your phone. You're about to apologize to the person in front of you, but upon lifting your gaze you instantly stop in your tracks. 

'Person' is a strong word for it. It resembles one, or maybe it was one long ago. What's crawling towards you, however, is not how you'd define it. The arms are melted into the torso, mimicking a straight jacket of skin. The bony, crooked legs are dragging themselves in an unnatural, unnerving way. The creature has no face, save for a gaping hole, a bizarre cavity deforming what should be a head. Your mouth grimaces with disgust, followed by fear. Terror. You have the choice of returning to your damaged car, or attempting to find actual help deeper into the town. You run ahead, praying that someone's out there. The dissonant sound of a siren can be heard, diffused into the persistent fog.  

By the time you reach the next building, you're gasping for air. You didn't expect to run this far. You went all the way around Toluca lake, avoiding the side streets. The center was swarming with those abominations. Each turn and each corner would eventually reveal its revolting murmur, that pathetic shuffle of disfigured limbs. Thankfully they're not fast, nor smart. A little distance and they lose their interest to pursue you. You fall against the brick wall of this small house and read the poster. "Silent Hill Historical Society". Doesn't look too promising, but it's surprisingly devoid of any monstrous being. At this point you'd be more grateful for emptiness. It's safer. 

You tiptoe your way in, wary of potential attackers. There's a faint buzz echoing from afar, but other than that no immediate danger. You examine the lobby and notice the paintings and old photos hanging from the decaying wallpaper. It smells slightly rotten. One of the art pieces catches your attention and you stop in front of it. "Misty Day, Remains of Judgement". 

The abstract character depicted on canvas reminds you of an executioner. The more you stare, the clearer you can feel some kind of guilt knotting inside your stomach. Your shoulders are heavy and you're overwhelmed by the same anxiety of a child about to be punished. Awaiting the belt. The calloused hand of an unforgiving father. Your throat is dry.

Your musings are interrupted by the static that - as you've since learned - warns you of approaching creatures. The rooms are cramped and the walls are narrow and you dislike the idea of calculating your escape within this claustrophobic maze, but it's preferable to being dead. You jog along slithering paths, unsure of where they lead. The threatening turbulence of your phone goes up and down, like a sine wave, with each turn into uncharted territory. In your frantic efforts to flee you don't see the large hole blocking your way, or at least not fast enough. By the time you figure out the outlines of this pitch black well, you're flooded with the light sensation of gravitational force, stretching and compressing your innards as you fall. Is this how you end?

It's not so easy. 

As soon as you open your eyes, a burning pain metastasizes through the head, digging deep into your brain. You grab onto your scalp and press your fingers over the skin, hoping for a small relief. In your debilitating migraine you don't hear the agitated flutter of limbs. They're minuscule, but so many. Thousands of sclerotized joints frothing around your limp form. You lift yourself off the rusted ground and yelp voiceless at the sight. Cockroaches. The pile of vermin lets out a deafening, high pitched screech with every movement. You drag your elbows in an attempt to get away, but the creepers almost ignore your existence. They seem to be running away from something, retreating in masses.

You don't have to wait long in order to witness their source of fear. Heavy footsteps, muffled by the grating friction of metal against metal. A corroded stench invades your lungs and you cough. Whatever is coming has instilled the utmost dread in your very bones. You want to get up and run, until your legs give up and your body collapses of exhaustion, but your limbs are petrified in panic. Your chest constricts and throbs, as if your heart is trashing to escape this prison condemned to unknown doom. 

Finally, the fiend comes into view. A tall, large man wearing a leather apron layered with grime and encrusted blood. His skin is scarred and discolored, and a bulky, dense pyramid structure rests on his broad shoulders, concealing his face. He seems to be dragging along a great knife of sorts, although on closer inspection it looks like a halved pair of oversized scissors. The edge is dulled and has splattered visceral leftovers mattifying its surface. You remember the painting you've seen upstairs. Is this what it is? Your Retribution? 

You lower yourself until your forehead touches the rusty floor. Like an animal awaiting to receive the final blow from its hunter, like a prisoner resigning to his fate under the guillotine. If only matters could be dealt with so simply! Your neck is clawed into a tight hold by the large gloved hand and you're crudely pulled back up so that you can properly face your Punisher. There's a vague grunt coming from underneath his bizarre helmet. 

He carries you to the nearest wall and slams you against it. The great knife drops to the floor with a loud crash, and the other hand, now freed, begins to search your lower clothing. You can feel the seams of the garments tear and snap with no resistance. You want to vocalize a protest, but your throat is crushed under the forceful pressure of his clasp. At best, you can exhale in what sounds like a whispered wail. His apron is nonchalantly flipped to the side and your thigh lifted over his forearm, so that his hand can adjust itself securely under your bottom for support.

Abruptly, a prickling ache crosses your entire body as if you've just been split in two. Tears automatically begin forming in the corner of your eyes and spill down your cheeks and over the pyramid that's now pressing tightly against your quivering form. It's too big and you want to push away, but with each renewed plunge you grow weaker. The small tears and rips that blossom around your abused intimacy turn into bleeding wounds. You want to sleep. 

A creature of pure instinct, serving as a reminder of human perversions and immoral desires. Travesty, corruption, sin. And what about it? Before you know it, a small moan escapes your dried lips. You throw your arms around your captor's shoulders. The sharp edges of the helmet scratch your skin, waking you back into consciousness. Your lower muscles start to relax around the massive member and allow for a smoother glide in and out. The numbness is gradually replaced by pleasant sensations. The throbbing reverberates inside your abdomen and your other leg wraps around the creature's hips, asking for more contact. Once your compliance is confirmed, the hand pinning you by the neck wanders to other parts of your body in starved desperation. Your voice returns and more lewd whines roll out one after another. If only you had a mirror so you could look at yourself in this moment. What shameless expressions are you wearing on your face? You're clinging to your violator in feverish depravity. And in return, the creature responds to your cravings with increased intensity. He seems to resonate with your wishes and stiffens his hold on you with newfound obsession. His thrusts become almost feral, with a certain possessiveness to it. 

As you're about to reach your peaks, your mind once again travels to the painting. You wonder if you'd be hung and framed just like the prisoners behind their executioner. Pleasure mixed with guilt. 

What sin is eroding your entrails? 

[chuwenjie]

Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse comes out later today so I wanted to write a post reflecting on my journey and experience working on this movie. So many people have supported me through this and I am so thankful to each and every one of you!

Text version of this post under the cut:

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse comes out tonight. It feels really weird to be typing that out right now. I worked on the movie as a visdev artist for the last 2.5 years, from 2020 to 2023. Long post incoming.

There are a lot of reasons why I'd consider this film to be one of the most ambitious animated films to ever be made. As artists, we were asked to push ourselves far beyond our comfort zones and do things that had never been done before in animation.

Every time we reached a point where most people would say "this must possibly be as creative and weird as it gets," our entire team of artists and animators would smash right through the ceiling. The driving direction for the visuals of the film was to push the limits of every single frame; to challenge audience expectations and make something truly original.

The best thing about this film was that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie. The hardest thing about this film was also that there wasn't a single boring day working on this movie.

There were times while working on this where the imposter syndrome hit me hard. This was my first big movie, and what a hell of a first movie to get thrust into.

I came in only a few years out of school with absolutely no idea what the hell I was doing. I constantly feared that someone had made a mistake in bringing me onto this film, and I was going to let everyone down. There was a solid chunk of those 2.5 years where I wasn't sure if animation was the right path for me.

If there's anything I could tell my past self it would be this: there are so many people who love you and believe in you. There will be a time when you get to stand on the other side of it, look back on everything and see how far you came.

I'm still working on self-acceptance every day (it will be a lifelong struggle, I'm sure), but I'm glad I didn't give up on myself. I'm proud of myself and my contributions to this film, and I'm certain that this movie will continue to change and shape the animation landscape just as the first one did. That's truly a special feeling to have been a part of. I am so incredibly grateful to every single person who helped me along this journey.

Here come the thanks:

To the ENTIRE visdev & art crew- it's been an honor getting to work alongside each and every one of you. My jaw is literally still on the floor from seeing your incredible talent day after day.

I want to thank Tiffany and Felicia especially for being there for me through tough times- I admire and respect you both so much as artists, and even better than that, my life is greatly enriched for being able to call you my friends.

Thank you Patrick and Dean for taking chances on me, teaching me so much about art and what I'm capable of, and encouraging me along the way. To Aymeric, your art is one of the reasons I initially became interested in animation and you have been one of the kindest & most empathetic mentors I could ever have asked for.

I want to thank my wonderful parents for believing in me always and raising me into the person I am today: everything I do in life is to make you proud. To my brother Andrew who is perpetually awake at 3 AM when I need someone to talk to- thank you for always picking up the phone and making me laugh.

And finally to my partner Luke for making me grilled cheeses on all of the difficult days, for never getting sick of me even when all I would ever talk about was work, and for patiently and steadfastly loving me throughout this entire thing. I don't think I could've done it without you.

Starting tomorrow I will begin posting and sharing some of the art I made for this movie; I'm looking forward to sharing some of my personal favorites with you. I hope each and every one of you enjoys Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse when it hits theaters later today!

[kaleldobrev]

Aren’t You Forgetting Something?

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben, Hughie Campbell, MM & Nan (Reader’s Grandmother)

Original Prompt: Requested by anon | I gotta tell you that not only I love your writing but I love your series writing, specifically. When something new drops I’m always happy to read it before going to bed because I somehow feel connected to the characters, like I know them! I love to keep up with them and I love Ben’s and Y/N relationship so much. I’m in the mood for some angst between them tho, maybe Ben forgetting her birthday and receiving a silence treatment? I don’t know, but I trust you.

Summary: Ben forgets one of the most important days in yours and his relationship — your one year anniversary

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: Cursing (40x), Forgetful!Ben, Ben making fun of Hughie for the umpteenth time, Implied violence, Lots of angst, Fluff, Vulnerable!Ben & Implied Smut at the end

Authors Note: Takes place in the Hughie’s Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Universe | I changed it from birthday to anniversary, so I hope that's okay my anon friend! | Takes place after After Everything | I had a lot of fun looking up 1950s fashion for this | There will not be a second part to this but I will still be adding to this universe | This came out a lot longer than I expected it to, but I had a lot of fun with this | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ Hughe's Best Friend is Dating Soldier Boy Masterlist ⋆

You never thought that this day would ever come, but it was finally here: yours and Ben's one year anniversary. It was a milestone that you never thought would come, as the relationship between the two of you wasn't always easy. It was rocky, and sometimes very, very messy. But despite all of the messiness, you loved him unconditionally, and he loved you just the same, but showed it in his own unique ways.

Ben wasn't the kind of person to verbally say, "I love you," as his love language tended to be that of a physical nature. He would do chores around the house that you hated to do — despite him having it too. He would bring things back from missions that reminded him of you — often those objects being covered in someone else's blood; and he would kiss and smack your ass every time you were in his path, no matter what either one of you was doing.

Although you love those physical actions, you hoped that maybe one day you would be able to hear him utter those three little words you had been yearning to hear — and maybe, just maybe, today was that day.

Since Ben was away on a secret mission that you weren’t apart of since you were sick at the beginning, you took this whole week that he was away in order to plan what you were going to do for him the day of. Initially, the two of you agreed that you really weren't going to do anything special to celebrate, but the more you thought about it, the more you realized how important this milestone truly was; not only for your relationship, but for the two of you individually.

Although it was only a year, your relationship with Ben was the longest you've ever been in. Not that you've had many previous relationships, but every single one you had previously never really lasted long (you were lucky if it lasted two months), as they either did not understand the whole vigilante justice objective of The Boys, Butcher somehow scared them off, or they were (funnily) threatened by Hughie.

But Ben was different in this way compared to your other relationships. He understood the vigilante justice, he understood your hatred for Vought, and he wasn't threatened by Hughie in the slightest (Hughie was actually threatened by him). Despite all of his flaws, he was perfect in his own way.

When it came to the Ben side of things, you were not his longest relationship by a long shot, but you were the first and only person to have genuine feelings for him. Those genuine feelings being something that no one had seen coming — not even you. But he was someone that gradually turned into becoming the person you had wanted to spend the rest of your life with, despite how strange that sounded to most people.

Your plan for the big day was simple, but felt like it would be special enough to really honor and celebrate the relationship. You had planned to make his favorite dinner: steak and mashed potatoes. For dessert, favorite pie: pecan. And dress in the style of a 1950s housewife, as that was a style he had never once seen you in before.

Even though you have made his favorite dinner and dessert hundreds of times before, dressing up as a housewife was something that was definitely beyond your comfort zone and expertise, so you went to the one person that knew could help you best: your Nan.

Despite the style of the housewife fashion basically being obsolete, it was a look that she adored, and dawned on even years after the style had become out of fashion. Her hair was always neat and never out of place, her lipstick always the deepest shade of red, and her dresses always the brightest of hues. You remembered seeing pictures of her back when she was your age and she was a knockout (Ben agreeing), so when you told her that you wanted to dress in the housewife style, she beamed and quickly went to her closest to pull out the nicest shade of red that perfectly matched your skin tone.

“Just don’t do anything sexual in this dress. I’ll never be able to get the stains out,” she told you with a wink. Her comment causing you to roll your eyes.

“You’re just as bad as Ben,” you told her.

Ben was eager to get back home to you, as this mission was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated. It was supposed to be a quick and easy assassination (something he had done alone hundreds of times before), but one thing after another kept going wrong, and he couldn’t help but blame “his team.” He felt himself getting more and more agitated by the second, and there was nothing he could do about it, especially because you weren’t here to help him take the edge off.

Even though rough sex with you right now would be the highlight of the mission, he wished that you were here to at least talk to him, because you were one of the only people he knew that he could have an actual conversation with that wouldn't end up with him being annoyed.

He paced back and forth, with shield in hand; the only sounds between him and the rest of the group were the occasional snicker and his heavy boots. “You’re making me nervous walking around like that,” MM said, behind his binoculars.

Ben rolled his eyes, stopping a few feet away from him. “Then what would you suggest I’d be doing right now? We’re just sitting around doing nothing.”

“Is there somewhere else you need to be? Cause we’re here to do a job,” MM replied, removing the binoculars from his eyes and turning in Ben’s direction. “And we’re going to be here as long as it takes to do this job.”

“I’d rather be in Y/N’s pussy or ass right now, but because you guys are all somehow getting worse at your jobs, I can’t fucking do that right now,” Ben said, grinning an annoyed grin.

His comment caused mixed reactions from the group; but mainly disgusted looks from MM and Hughie. Butcher and Frenchie on the other hand, looked indifferent about his comment. “I really wish you’d stop mentioning how much you like fucking my best friend. It’s getting…weird,” Hughie commented.

“Fucking pussy,” Ben mumbled to himself.

With the pie cooling on the counter, and with dinner almost ready, you felt your heart beating faster than normal. Was it normal to get this nervous about anniversaries? To you, it felt like another day with Ben, but that’s not the way your heart and stomach was making you feel.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you almost didn’t recognize yourself as you dawned red lipstick, and a matching shirtwaist dress you had borrowed from your Nan. But you couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction was going to be as this was something he’d never seen you in before. Yes, he’d seen you dress up a handful of times, but it was in a modern style of dress — sweetheart and plunging necklines with a slit riding up the thigh; not this style which was something he hadn’t seen in decades.

You smiled though, thrilled with your appearance despite the nerves you were feeling. Your hair perfectly styled similar to that of Rosie the Riveter and deep red lipstick that was in a similar shade to your dress. The last thing to complete the look were pearls — your mothers specifically.

Finally covered in a thin layer of blood, sweat, and ash, the mission was finally over, and a huge sigh of relief washed over Ben. In just a few short hours, he would finally be home to his girl. “Fucking finally,” he said, mainly to himself, as he placed his gun back into his holster.

He looked over to his left, and Hughie was standing there with ripped clothes, he too covered in a thin layer of sweat, blood, and ash, holding a gun with his usual slightly constipated look on his face.

As Ben was about to walk away, as he didn’t really want to wait up for Hughie, he sighed, knowing that you’d want him to ask how he was doing in this moment, although he couldn’t give two fucks. “Hey,” he said, and Hughie looked over at him. “You good?” He asked.

The look on Hughie’s face changed; it was no longer the look of constipation, but slight annoyance. “Am I good?” He asked, his hands falling to his sides; the gun slightly hitting him in the leg. “What part of — yeah. I’m fine. Just, just peachy.” His tone radiating sarcasm.

“Awesome,” Ben grinned, giving him a thumbs up as he started walking away; being careful not to trip over any debris. “You comin’ or what?” He called out, as soon as he left the room. “I ain’t gonna be late because of you.”

Hughie’s face changed again to that of a puzzled one. “Late for what?” He asked, but quickly shook his head. “Actually, don’t fucking answer that because you’ll probably say something disgusting.” A loud, booming laugh from Ben could be heard down the hall in response.

As you sat on the couch watching tv, your nerves were starting to get the best of you again, and you were beginning to second guess your decision in wearing this outfit. You thought that it would be a special surprise for him to see you dressed like this, since it was something you usually didn't wear, but at the same time, maybe he wouldn't even notice or care. You weren't entirely sure if it was because he was a guy, or because he's been around such a long time, that he'd seen and done everything, and there was nothing that remotely fazed him at this point in his life.

Staring at the door, you got startled suddenly from the sound of your phone ringing. There was a small part of you that hoped it was Ben, but it was your Nan. Taking a deep breath to collect yourself, you answered the phone. "Hi Nan, how are you?"

"Hi Sweetheart. Has Ben seen you yet? How'd he like the pie?" She asked, her voice sweet.

"Ben's not home yet, but he should be home soon," you told her.

"Okay dear. Well, can you tell him hi and give him a big kiss for me? I always thought he was so handsome back in the day. He still very much is. Aged like a fine wine," she chuckled to herself. "But don't tell your grandfather," she chuckled again.

"Yes, I'll tell him hi and kiss him for you," you said, quietly laughing to yourself. "You know he's always happy to hear from you," which was the truth. He was always happy to humor her and reminisce about the good old days, even if he had heard some of her stories numerous times before.

As you heard the door unlock, you smiled widely. "Nan, I have to go. Ben just walked in," you said.

"Okay Sweetheart. Happy Anniversary!" She said happily. "Don't do anything I wouldn't," she chuckled again, before the two of you hung up the phone. There's not a lot of things Ben wouldn’t do, you thought.

"Fuck it's good to be home," Ben said, walking into the house and placing his shield next to the door. "I swear, your friends are getting worse at their jobs somehow, cause I probably would have been home fucking sooner if — Fuck, look at you." He finally looked up now, and you were standing there in an outfit that he had never once seen on you. It was something that he hadn't seen in decades in fact; and the biggest grin appeared on his face.

You didn’t move a muscle toward him, but he heard your heart beating like a jackrabbit. The sounds of his heavy boots walked across the floor toward you. “Do you like?” You asked, and you gave him a small spin; the dress slightly flowing as you did so. “Thought I’d do something special. Different.” You smiled, practically beaming with excitement. He wondered what the occasion was.

“Haven’t seen one of these in fucking decades,” he said, slightly reminiscing with a grin. He looked you over, eyeing you up and down, one of his fingers hooking into the belt loop of the dress. “What’s the occasion?” Your once beaming smile slowly faded into a frown. “What?”

“You seriously don’t know?” You asked, your voice slightly irritated sounding. He hadn’t had the foggiest idea what made today so special, other than you dressing differently than you normally did.

He looked at your face, trying to obtain some kind of hint, but he had no clue. But your heart was racing faster now. You were pissed — and he didn’t fucking understand why. “No, I really fucking don’t,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me? I’m not a fucking mind reader Princess.”

You let out a huge huff, rolling your eyes at him. As much as he thought you were cute when you were pissed, he didn't like it when you pissed at him. "Un-fucking-believable," you said, pulling away from him.

"What?" He asked, still in utter disbelief.

"Your favorite fucking dinner is on the fucking table along with your favorite fucking pie. I'm going to bed," you said, your voice angry as you stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door. Two seconds later, the door opened again. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight," you told him, and slammed the door again, promptly locking it behind you.

You knew the lock wouldn't be able to keep Ben out, as he'd be able to bust open the door with barely any effort; but you knew he wouldn't remotely try to come into the room, as he knew not to come in when you locked it — thankfully, he was starting to understand boundaries.

You couldn’t help but be angry, upset, and frustrated. But at the same time, you weren’t remotely surprised that he didn’t remember. It was something that neither one of you initially wanted to make a big deal about, but between this being your longest relationship, and the last person he celebrated an anniversary with gave him up to the Russians, you figured why not make this day special after all?

It took everything you could to hold back the tears as you started to remove your makeup; feeling like it was an utter waste of time. It didn't take you that long to do this, but you went through some effort looking up tutorials online to try and be as 1950s authentic as possible, even asking your Nan for tips on how she used to do her own.

The mascara started running down your face, as you tried your best to scrub it off. But it was barely getting removed, which only frustrated you more. You pounded the dresser, and let out a muffled sounding scream.

A small knock came at the door a few seconds later. "Sweetheart, you okay?" Ben asked, and you scoffed.

"Fuck you," was the only response you could muster up in the moment.

"Ouch," you heard him mumble. "Can we...talk?" His voice hesitant.

"No. Just leave me alone Ben," you said, and you could hear sadness in your voice.

You heard him let out a frustrated sigh. "Alright," and the sound of his heavy boots walked away from the door. He sounded frustrated too.

As Ben ate his dinner that you had made for him (his favorite no less), he tried to figure out why you were so unbelievably pissed at him to the point that you refused to talk to him. Yes, he’d seen you pissed numerous times (either at him or about something else), but you’d never been so pissed to the point that you’d completely shut him out — and that terrified him.

Like usual, he started going down the list of things that he knew pissed you off: not taking his boots off in the house, tracking mud into the kitchen, getting blood on the furniture, doing coke on the kitchen table, crushing Bennie’s on the marble bathroom counter. Maybe it was the boot thing? Yeah, it had to be, he thought.

As you lied in bed staring up at the ceiling, you sighed heavily, wanting more than anything to unlock the door and invite Ben to come in and cuddle with you. It had been almost a week since you’d last saw him, and you just wanted to feel his skin against yours. But you didn’t want to give in — you earned the right to be pissed, even if it wasn’t particularly fair to be, since you agreed not to make it a big deal. Then again, he did forget your anniversary.

You heard a knock at the door again, and you sighed an annoyed sigh. “Go away,” you said.

“I think I know why you’re pissed at me,” Ben said. Your eyes lit up, and you sat up straight in bed, eager for him to say Happy Anniversary. A smile formed on lips, waiting. “I forgot to take my boots off when I came into the house,” and then your smile faded.

“Fucking Christ,” you mumbled, falling into the bed again to stare up at the ceiling.

“Is that a no?” Ben questioned.

“That’s a no,” you responded, annoyed.

“Son of a Fuck,” you heard him mumble, as he walked away from the door again.

As Ben sat on the couch flipping through channels, he continued to think about what you could possibly be this pissed about if it wasn’t the boot thing. Women are so fucking complicated, he thought. Weren’t this fucking complicated back in my day.

He stared at the couch, sighing in annoyance as he didn’t want to be sleeping here tonight. He wanted to sleep in bed with you; something he had been looking forward to the entire week he had been away from you. He looked forward to holding you close, and making you feel safe, tracing patterns on your bare back like you did to him. He honestly didn’t know what he was going to do if he didn’t figure out why you were mad; because he loathed when you were mad at him. It was a time that made him feel the most unease and insecure, and he was rarely insecure and uneasy.

Ben hadn’t known you for long, but you had managed to somehow worm your way quickly into his heart. You were someone he felt a strange connection to the moment he laid his eyes on you; and you were the one person that made him feel safe and loved. You were the only one that he felt he could be his true self around.

He thought of ways in which maybe you could forgive him, and started working on those; one of them being washing the dishes from his dinner even though he preferred you to do it. But he hoped that maybe this small gesture would help in his favor. Maybe I can go down on you? He thought. You always forgive me after that. Then again, I don’t let you come until you do…

As he made his way back into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks, as he noticed something on the calendar that for some reason, he hadn’t noticed previously. Today’s date was circled with a single sentence written in your handwriting: 1 Year Anniversary.

“Fuck,” he said to himself. “I forgot our fucking anniversary.”

Ben stared at the circled date on the calendar, mentally cursing himself because he had forgotten it by accident. It was a day that he meant to remember, and even repeated over and over again while they were heading to the mission. But because it had taken so long to complete, it left his mind, because it had become entirely mission focused.

You’re never going to fucking forgive me, he thought. This was how he was going to lose you. Panic started to set in for him, realizing that he might have to live the rest of his miserable existence without you; and that was something he couldn’t bear the thought of. Ben didn’t need a lot of things, but he knew that he needed you.

Tossing and turning, you were having a hard time trying to fall asleep. You wanted Ben to be lying next to you right now, caressing your hair, and feeling his rapid heartbeat. It was simple moments like those that you enjoyed most with him; because sometimes you would forget all the awful and horrible things both of you had done in order to meet and to get to this point. If Grace hadn’t recruited you, you would have never met the love of your life.

The love of your life: now that was a sentence you never thought you’d ever equate to Soldier Boy. He was someone you grew up having a crush on since you and your father had watched his movies on repeat to the point you had to buy another VHS tape because you’d worn it out. He was someone you wished you could have met because he was always your favorite (partially because he was also your dad’s favorite).

But he was a Supe, and you had told yourself that you’d never end up with one after what had happened to your uncle, but here you were, dreaming of spending the rest of your life with one.

You sighed heavily, and ended up on your back again. A knock came at the door again, and you turned to face it. “I forgot our anniversary, and I’m sorry,” Ben said, and you cocked a brow. His words seemed genuine, and hurt at the same time. “I tried to remember; I really did but…the mission took full focus.” You heard him sigh, and you knew how hard this was for him, as apologizing was something he wasn’t particularly good at, since Vought basically taught him to never apologize for anything. “I don’t want to lose you over this. I….fuck,” he mumbled. “Can you please open the door so I can look at you?”

He heard you getting up out of the bed, slightly sighing. He could hear your heartbeat, and it was music to his ears despite the rapidness of it. He heard you unlocking it, his nerves starting to show as he tapped the wall next to the door.

You opened it up gently and stared at him through the crack of it. Your eyes slightly puffy from crying. He felt his heart drop, hating that he was the one that had made you cry — he never wanted to be the one responsible for that. “Sweetheart,” he began. “I know I fucked up.”

“Did you actually remember, or did you look at the calendar?” You asked him, your voice barely audible even to him.

“I looked at the calendar,” he admitted. “But to be fair, I really did try and fucking remember. You can ask your friend. I was saying the date on repeat, and then the mission got in the way 'cause they weren’t doing their fucking jobs properly.”

“Hughie can back that up?” You asked, and he nodded. He hoped that you wouldn’t ask him, because he wasn’t sure if he would actually corroborate his story or just fuck him over.

“He fucking hates me, I know he wouldn’t back me up,” Ben added. “I make fun of him too much. But it’s hard not to, I mean look at him.”

“I’m not going to break up with you if that’s what you’re worried about,” you said, hopefully reassuring him. Because even though he gave off the attitude that he didn’t need anyone or anything, you knew you were the only person he needed. You were the one person Ben could rely on no matter what; and you couldn’t bear the thought of what would happen if something bad had happened to you, or if your relationship ever ended.

“I don’t like it when you hate me,” he whispered. “You’re the one person I couldn’t bear to have hate me.”

“I don’t hate you Ben,” you said, reassuring him again. “I could never hate you.”

“Even if I killed Hughie?” He asked, slight teasing in his voice. But you gave him the look, and his teasing smile quickly faded. “Right. He’s off limits.” His hands finally went up in the air, as if he was surrendering. “I’d never kill him, don’t worry. I don’t actually mean it.”

“I wanted to do something special for you, even though we agreed not to make it a big deal because I figured this was a milestone for the both of us. You’re the longest relationship I’ve ever had, and the last person you celebrated an anniversary with gave you to the Russians.”

“I gave her a fucking diamond necklace too,” he mumbled.

“Ben,” you began.

“Sorry, sorry. Look, I want to make it up to you,” he said. “Let me start by —”

“Going down on me?” You questioned, cocking a brow.

“Well…yeah…I mean, don’t you like when I go down on you?” He asked.

“Yeah of course, but I was kind of hoping for something else than the usual way,” you confessed.

“Like what? Me saying I love you or something?” He asked.

“Don’t say it just because you think that’s what I want to hear. I want you to say it because you actually mean it.” It was three little words you had longed to hear for a while. And even though he had said it, he said it in a way of a question, because he thought it was words that would make this situation all better; almost like putting a band-aid on a huge gash.

“You know how I feel about you. I thought it was obvious when I first saw you,” he said. “When I first saw you, I thought you were a fucking knockout. I mean, I pictured you sucking and bouncing on my cock so many times before you actually did.”

“If that was supposed to sound romantic, it failed,” you said; barely humoring him in the moment.

He sighed, slightly rolling his eyes. “What I’m trying to say is, I may not be perfect, but there are five things that I know. Numbers one to three, I love your boobs, ass, and pussy. Number four, you’re the only person I ever fucking need in my life, and five, I love you. And I’m not just fucking saying that. I really fucking do. And you know how fucking hard that is for me to say cause the last person I said I love you to was a fucking bitch.”

Ben looked at your face, trying to find any hint of what you may be thinking. But he didn’t have the foggiest idea. All you did was stare at him with those big eyes of yours, looking at him like a lost puppy. “You said it,” you whispered, almost in disbelief. “You actually fucking said it…Ben…”

That’s when you wrapped his arms around him, finally feeling your small embrace. A grin formed on his face as he wrapped his arms around you in response. It felt nice to say it to you and say it to someone that he knew actually appreciated him. He let you see another side of him, a side that he would never let anyone besides you see. “Can I go down on you now?” He asked, speaking into your hair. You let out a small laugh, and felt you nod into his chest.

Without a second going by, he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, happily bringing you into the bedroom.

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[yesimwriting]

Understanding

Part 2:  Untethered  

A/n the reader in this is not the same reader as the one from my aemond fic, they just have a similar background for plot (and bc i love rhaenyra's child x alicent's child trope, it's so montagues and capulets)

Summary: After speaking to his mother and small council, Aegon begins to doubt the unspoken understanding between himself and Rhaenyra's intended heir, who agreed to be taken by the greens in exchange for her brother's life.

Warnings: there are some plot deviations (mainly the implication that aegon and helaena are not married), the whole ethical 'dating someone you're technically holding hostage' dilemma, and canon compliant incest

----

The groan of the floorboards takes its time floating through your apartments, the sound so soft you don't even stir.

Aegon sighs. You've been a ridiculously heavy sleeper since childhood. He can still recall the way you'd leave these very apartments for breakfast, hair unbrushed and eyes drowsy. He dismisses the thought as he takes another step forward. You're no longer a princess with the luxury of leisure. You're staying in what you consider 'enemy territory'. One would think you'd have the decency to struggle to find sleep. If nothing else, the decency to miss him.

He swallows. Thoughts of the corner of your mouth tugging itself into a smile you didn't mean to share, of your gentle whispers felt more than heard in the darkness, of the warmth of your fingertips dragging against his skin have plagued him since he left you this morning. Aegon has not been able to release you from his mind, and here you are, perfectly content without him in a room you are only allowed access to because of his favor.

If you continue to indulge her, she'll never feel like a prisoner. The echo of his mother's words feel sharper than they should, a needle piercing his chest. Aegon had originally dismissed the sentiment. Despite the complicated nature of your presence here, the two of you have found a sort of rhythm. An inconvenient understanding.

So what if he offers you privileges that none of his half-sister's children should be allotted? You dismiss your instincts in favor of being there for him in a way no one else is. You talk; and you listen; and you lay next to him in the dark, your fingers tracing patterns against his arm until you fall asleep.

Aegon had never felt affronted by the casualness of your unspoken arrangement until his mother brought him back to reality. As long as you allow her to exist in this in between without asking for anything in return, she will remain loyal to her mother. A mother who is desperate enough to marry her off to secure alliances.

The floor creeks as he takes another step forward, this time the sound less dismissible. You shift, body twisting as you move from your stomach onto your side.

A pinprick of something akin to guilt dulls the beginning of his spiral. You mumble a sound that feels like a question. Aegon studies your movements as you wipe at your eyes. You lift your head slightly, eyes squinting in the darkness.

"Aegon?" Your features seem to ease, a hint of a smile pulling at your lips as you lift your head. "I didn't think you had time for me tonight."

There's a gentleness to your voice that leaves his stomach in knots. He's lapped at your affection like a wounded dog finally stumbling onto water. Has it all been a ploy?

If his silence affects your disposition, you give no indication of it. Instead, you beam at him before allowing yourself to slump onto your back. You pull at the blankets in an attempt to create space for him.

Aegon keeps his back to you as he sits. He takes his time laying down, one of his arms resting in the space between the two of you. Still half asleep, you reach for him. The back of your palm brushes against his wrist. You turn your hand over, fingers beginning their familiar path up his arm.

His eyes remain open, his attention set on the ceiling. You've yet to finish outlining his forearm before Aegon's turning his arm. The shift is subtle, more of an implication than an actual attempt at dismissing you. The subtlety of the movement is not enough to prevent your reaction. Despite his jokes and teasing comments, Aegon knows better than to do anything that offers you an opportunity to overthink about your your time alone together. There's a moment of stillness, and then your hand leaves him.

You turn onto your side, the weight of your stare making it nearly impossible for Aegon to remain still. "Are you--are you alright?" The question is cautious, tinged by an uncertainty that makes you sound smaller than you ever have before.

Have you ever experienced any type of rejection before? You're Rhaenyra's first born, her intended heir. The beloved princess, doted on by your mother, cared for by your supposed father, spoiled by your grandsire. His father's illness was never enough to keep him from you, the only child he had the strength to get out of bed for. You don't know what it's like to long for anything.

"We had an arrangement--an agreement." Aegon pushes himself away from you as he sits. You prop your head up, staring at him. Aegon cannot bring himself to look into your eyes. "That I'd be honest with you, and you'd be honest with me."

You sit up. "What?" You bend your knees, the sheets slipping down your legs. Aegon presses his nails into the skin of his palm. "I've--I've been honest. I've never lied to you."

The defense comes out so quick and innocent it nearly strips the accusation of any weight. It's a response that'd better suit a child caught stealing extra sweets or rough housing with a younger sibling.

He finally turns his head. The room's lack of light is not enough to diminish your wide eyes. You're radiating such innocence Aegon could choke on it. He's reminded of why he kept you at arm's length throughout your childhood. The good, perfect daughter. The future heir.

"You said your mother had no intentions of marrying you off. That you were not betrothed--"

"I'm not."

Aegon lets out a breath. "Then why did I have to spend most of my evening listening to my small council discuss your mother's latest potential alliances and addressing rumors about your mother's plan to marry you to some lord as a way of securing their support?"

You're quiet for a moment, hands clasped tightly around your knees. "I cannot help rumors." Some odd feeling gnaws at Aegon's stomach. "And you know that I haven't been home in some time. I can't control my mother anymore than you can control yours."

What a politically appropriate answer. He scoffs. "I find it difficult to believe that your mother would ever use you as a bargaining chip without--at the very least--mentioning it to you first."

If there's one thing that doesn't come naturally to you, it's deception. You tilt your chin downwards, your attention falling onto anything that isn't him.

Aegon reaches for your hand. You let him untangle your fingers. He pulls your hand forward, his thumb dragging against your knuckles. His hold on you tightens as he brings the back of your palm to his lips. A part of him is repulsed by how much he means the gesture.

He doesn't let go of you as he brings his hand back to the mattress. Aegon allows himself a moment to embrace the stillness, and then he's shifting forward. His available hand finds your shoulder. His weight presses against you, forcing you back until you're pinned against the headboard.

He holds his breath, waiting for some kind of protest, some insult or attempt to push him away. All you do is watch him, the slightest crease between your eyebrows. "Aegon."

"Tell me." Aegon's fingers press into your shoulder. "Tell me it isn't true and I will believe you. I want to believe you."

Your lips part, but you do not speak. An uncomfortable heat burns its way up his neck. "I--I did not lie." You hold his gaze. "I am not betrothed, but before I was brought here, my mother did mention that she was beginning to consider it."

All of the time he's spent indulging in your presence, living out some ridiculous fantasy of having your attention, believing everything you've told him--he's been nothing more than a fool.

"I wanted to mention it when you asked, but I was..." Your voice wavers. "Honestly, I was afraid."

His gaze falls downwards, his eyes unintentionally landing on your lips. "Because you needed me."

"No." You shake your head slightly, the motion rigid. "Our understanding," you pause, lips briefly pressing together, "Our friendship, was so new and uncertain--and I was afraid of ruining it, of being alone here, of--of the potential engagement. All of it." Your eyes are shinier than they were a moment ago. "I wanted to pretend it didn't exist."

This is the first time you've ever given any indication of not naturally taking to your responsibilities. You agreed to be taken hostage in exchange for your brother's life with little complaint or theatrical martyrism, but the thought of marrying a stranger to aid your mother's war effort shakes you to your core.

Sympathy and petulant satisfaction blend together uneasily, a continuation in the cycle of wanting you while also desiring to take everything from you.

His thumb drags down your shoulder, the warmth of your skin nearly dizzying. "Would you do it if she asked?"

You swallow. "It wouldn't matter. I'm here." He continues to trace a pattern against your shoulder. You squeeze his hand. "You can't have a wedding without the bride."

You're holding onto him with an intensity that's easing. "And if you weren't?"

As silence falls over the two of you, Aegon studies your expression. You're giving him very little to work with. "I wouldn't have a choice." Anything you've had with him has been out of the sake of convenience. It doesn't matter to you. "Aegon, you--you understand that." His lips part, but he has no response worth giving. "You have to understand that."

Aegon's hold on your hand tightens, fingers digging into into the skin of your palm. "Why?" The desperation in the question turns his stomach. He shifts his weight away from you, his hand trailing down your arm. "Do you care for me?"

Your straighten, back pulling away from the headboard. Aegon cannot will himself to read your features. "Do I care for you?" There's a barely there lilt to your voice that only makes it impossible for him to just sit there.

He forces himself to focus on the crumpled sheets in front of him. Something warm finds its way to his cheek--your hand. Your thumb drags itself across the side of his face. Aegon allows his eyes to fall shut. Gently, you guide his head forward.

"Aegon." He opens his eyes. "How many times have I been alone with you, have I--have I slept in the same bed as you?" You stumble, eyes briefly leaving his. Aegon can't help his slight smile. While you've always known about the impropriety of sleeping next to him, he doubts you know why it's viewed that way. You let out a breath in an attempt to recover. "I have risked my reputation, risked betraying my own mother--and you have to ask."

Aegon's vision blurs. He presses his lips together, forcing himself to not look away. "Of course I care for you."

He places a hand over the one you placed on his cheek. There's a lot of responses that Aegon should offer you, some declaration, some assurance of his fondness for you, but he's never been particularly talented at expressing the sentimental.

His fingers bend around your own, carefully pulling your hand away from his cheek. He sets your hand down on the mattress gently. You blink at him curiously, but before you can overthink the action, Aegon's shifting forward.

He presses his lips against yours. You're rigid, body still until he pulls your bottom lip between both of his. Aegon moves closer, one hand finding the back of your head. You lean forward, arms wrapping around his neck. You move your weight onto your knees, Aegon's available hand coming to your waist to keep you stable.

Aegon's head tilts back, creating space that you're more than ready to fill. His teeth tug at your bottom lip. You hands slide away from his neck, down his shoulders, settling on his chest. Aegon's hand moves away from your hip, coming to rest on your thigh.

The need for air brings him back to reality. Aegon breaks the kiss slowly, pulling away without letting you go. For a moment, all he can do is grin at you as you both catch your breath. "If I had known you had it in you, Princess..."

The use of your title seems to make you realize that you're still practically on his lap. You move back, making a point of sitting up straight. You roll your eyes, but between your ragged breaths and inability to lift your gaze, the look falls flat.

You keep your legs between the two of you, a barrier that bends at your knees. Aegon's smile broadens. He's not sure he's ever seen you so unsure of yourself. "I--that wasn't..."

"You can relax." You finally look up again, eyebrows drawn together in what he assumes is a display of skepticism. "I won't tell anyone." His hand find your lower leg, fingers tracing a delicate pattern against your skin. "And if anyone accuses you of anything, I'll have their tongue."

He sets his hand against your knee, his touch growing in security. You stare at your leg incredulously. "Aegon."

"What?" His thumb trails across your skin. "Would you prefer their head?"

You tilt your head, expression unamused. Aegon smiles, leaning forward to place a quick kiss against your knee before moving towards his original spot. You turn your head, watching him carefully.

Aegon lets out a sigh as he sinks into a pillow. "I'm tired."

You lay down next to him. "I didn't realize I wore you out."

The grin in your voice is audible. Aegon uses his forearm for support as he lifts himself to lean over you. "Do not start something you can't finish."

The corner of your mouth pulls itself upwards, the look similar but not quite the same as the accidental smiles Aegon has grown accustomed to. He smiles as he lies down, his head resting against your upper stomach.

You're quick to accept the proximity, your hand moving to smooth through his hair. Aegon's arm settles against your waist. This newfound closeness is nearly overwhelming in the relief it offers him. The feeling grabs at him, forcing out words he is not ready to say, "We could always get married." He tries to swallow, but the dryness of his mouth makes it impossible. "Then your mother wouldn't be able to marry you off to anyone."

Your fingers stall against his scalp. "Aegon--"

"I'd be a good husband to you."

At your silence, his fingers press into your side as if you might slip away if given the chance. After a beat, your nails begin to brush through his hair again. "You are thinking of the war, of your claim, of--of your small cou--"

"I am thinking of you."

You let out a sigh Aegon feels more than hears. "We need to be realistic. Would my mother's retaliation not concern you?"

He forces himself to focus on your tangibility. "The only thing concerning me is figuring out how to keep you here as long as possible." He drags his knuckles against your hip. "You once told me that you'd never get married, and that instead you'd spend your life riding dragons and eating cake."

You let out a soft laugh. "I can't believe you remember that."

"You sounded very serious." Aegon releases your side in favor of finding your hand. His fingers trace patterns against your palm. "We could get married and spend our days riding dragons and eating cake."

Your drag your hand away from his head, palm settling against his back. You begin to smooth circles against the fabric of his shirt. "Now you be serious."

Aegon intertwines your fingers, squeezing your palm to his. "I know better than to jest about cake."

You're so quiet he'd assume you fell asleep if it wasn't for the patterns still being traced against his spine. "Can we just...can we give it some time?"

He's not sure what you expect to get from time. The realm will still be divided, his half-sister will only grow more desperate and willing to marry you off for support, and his mother will continue to question why he's keeping you in this limbo. But the request is far from a rejection.

You've always been practical, the kind of person to think through prospects instead of trusting your instinct. Aegon is your best option, the closest thing you have to a lifeline. The way you feel about him has already encouraged you to cross lines you would have never considered approaching. Perhaps time and his attention will be what it takes to put it all into perspective for you.

Aegon lifts your hand to his mouth, his lips brushing against your knuckles. "We can give it all the time you need, Princess."

You mumble something he can't quite make out. Before Aegon can ask about it, your hand stills against him. Without looking up, he knows that you've fallen asleep.

----

A/n i had to throw in a little alicent and rhaenyra parallel <3 i could see myself writing a part 2 to this so if you like that idea lmk!! or if u want more hotd in general :)