#to see if they are safe to interact with?

[hannieoftheyear]

LUCKY STRIKE [C.VN]

Vernon would never let anything happen to you. But when the time comes, and he's standing at your doorstep, flowers in one hand, and bloody cuts in the other, it's your turn to take care of him for once.

pairing: vernon x fem!reader

word count: 4,5k of lazy and messy sex for you

genre/au: mafia au, established relationship, smut with the barest plot, a bit of fluff.

content warnings: vernon is terribly down bad, light mafia themes, implied violent encounters, blood, bruises, cuts, minor injuries, reader takes care of his injuries and he gets horny, this is corny, you were warned!! | explicit smut: couch sex, switch!vernon, switch!reader, sucking fingers, they both have a thing for hands and fingers, biting, spit kink, spit as lube, handjob, unprotected sex (don't be stupid pls), cumming inside, nicknames: baby (both).

♥︎ thank you to everyone that tolerated me sending clips of vernon on the thunder stages for days ♡ this is for you

🎧: shining star (vernon solo) — seventeen

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY. I can't control what people read, but I can control who interacts with my blog. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED

check out my main masterlist ♡

note: i'm a sucker for lazy couch sex with vernon and i won't apologize for it!! i hope you enjoy this silly thing ♥︎

this was, of course, heavily inspired by all the 'happy burstday' concept photos and stages

mafia prompt taken from here ♥︎ dividers here

"Being adopted into the local mafia has its pros and cons."

Pros: You can safely do your 2 am. grocery shopping at the one superstore that's open all night without fearing for your life. Those scary looking men, the ones you'd normally cross the street to avoid, treat you like their little sister. All except for the cutest one of them all.

The gloomy night accompanies the swift movements of the crochet needle between your fingers, tangling the strings of light blue and red knitting wool you bought days ago in a whim. In the search for a new hobby, your algorithm acted out again, and you ended up on the granny activities side, peaking your interest enough to sit on your uncomfortable couch for hours trying to make a usable piece of clothing.

Normally, on a weekend night, the cold wind would be welcomed by your barely covered skin, walking hand in hand with the only guy your self proclaimed body guards allowed you to be in close proximity to. But something, or rather, someone, told you to stay home for the night.

Another pro of being close with the bad guys: they help you avoid confrontations with threatening rival gangs. You're left blissfully out of the mess, but, as you're still able to hear the rounds of loud noises on the streets around the neighborhood, you're also not unaware of the bruises you see covering the guys' arms and faces the next day.

Your forehead hurts from all the frowning you've been doing for the past hour, trying to figure out the pattern you should be following and restarting every few rows.

A soft, unsure knock takes your concentration away, but it quickly puts a smile on your face as you realize who's the only person that'd show up at this hour at your door. The amateur crochet project is left forgotten on the coffee table, the metal needle crinkling against the glass as you get up from the couch.

But, whatever excitement you had, it drops completely as soon as the doorknob turns under your hold, and the door opens to reveal who you were expecting.

Vernon stands at the entrance, with his side smile painting his face as if everything was okay. You instantly know it's not. His lower lip is swollen red, probably from a punch, the neck line of his t-shirt is stretched far more than normal, with a tear visible on the side.

Cons of being adopted by the local mafia: your big bad mafia boyfriend constantly gets hurt on the job.

With one hand busy holding a bouquet of your favorite yellow flowers, he wraps the other one around your waist when you don't move, frozen analyzing his state. "Not happy to see me?"

Vernon's teasing smile so close to you, mixed with his breath fanning your face as he leans in to give you a peck, is intoxicating. His bruised lips are soft against yours, taking seconds longer to feel you on him than normal. One would never guess he's hurt from the way he's pushing himself against you.

"Baby, what happened?" Your hand reaches for his behind your back, the cuts on his knuckles harsh under the pads of your fingers.

He sighs against your parted lips, chuckling lightly before taking a step back and letting himself in into your apartment. "You should see the other guys."

"Multiple?" Your wide eyes follow him as he searches for a vase to put the flowers he brought.

It's natural for him to have his way around your home. After all, he's the only one that you, or your neighborly mafia, ever allowed in. It's your sacred place, safe from the dangerous outside world, the only place where you can be truly calm, be with him with no fears.

While he occupies himself with his gift, you take the chance to escape to your bathroom, wash the dried blood from your hands, and find your first aid kit. The one you've never had to use before.

You were always the one who he took care of, who he protected, made sure you were intact. After so many times he was there for you, it's your turn to take care of him and heal his wounds the best you can.

"Remember I told you to stay in today?" His gaze is trained on you as you sink down next to him. The click of the aid kit opening breaks the silence as he waits for your answer.

You only nod, half hearing him, half focusing on grabbing what you need to disinfect the cuts in his hand. His hand that places itself on your thigh to draw your attention.

"We're okay—I'm okay," his voice is soft, knowing you worry every time he goes out to parts of the town they don't have under their control, "it was just a small payback."

"Baby, you're bleeding," Vernon hisses as you clean the wounds around his knuckles with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, "who did you go with?"

"Mingyu and Wonwoo," your insides burn, feeling his stare, boring holes on the side of your face, "they took on the bigger guys." Vernon jokes.

You shouldn't sigh in relief hearing that, but you do so anyway.

It's a regular occurrence for the guys to tease him for his objectively smaller build, but he counters it with a perfectly learned strategy. He knows how to fight, knows the places that hurt the most being punched, where to kick, poke, slap to make his opponent lose their balance, and ultimately, the fight.

"Let's hope these people don't come back after you."

"Believe me, they won't." He smirks, charging his words with smugness.

You wrap the little bandage you had saved around his hand with care. Not too loose, not to tight. You feel his eyes on you as you leave the aid kit on the table, right besides the mess of knitting wool you alredy forgot was there.

"I have the best nurse ever." Vernon wastes no time, lifting your hips with his, now working, hands, and sits you on his lap, both your legs fitting naturally at his sides as he realizes you're only wearing panties under your t-shirt. "I should come here hurt more often."

"Then you'll have to replace the stuff I use on you!" Looking slightly down to connect your eyes with his, your teasing tone vanishes at the soft glimmer in his eyes. "Please, just… be careful next time."

The side of his face feels warm against the palm of your hand, and he leans into your touch, feeling your care even through the smallest, most mundane touches.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shown up like this." His doe eyes turn glassy, searching for any anger indicators on your expression, but only finding worry. "I just wanted to see you."

You could never get mad at him. Not when you met him knowing full well what his life was like. Not when he pursued you by showing you he can still be a gentleman despite his shady life. Not when he never gave you any reason not to trust him.

"I wanted to see you too," you reveal as if you didn't constantly wait for him. Sitting on this very couch every night, longing for that knock on the door you always know it's him. "I don't mind taking care of you."

"I should be the one doing that." Vernon's hands fix their grip on your hips, reminding you that they're still there, holding you close to him.

"Well, I'm not the one getting into fights with 6 feet tall buff guys on the daily."

He chuckles, full of endearment, and your stomach tightens. If you could rank every sound you ever heard, Vernon's kinds of laughs and giggles would all be at the top, not a very close race with anything else. It's a distinguishable sound you never want to forget.

Your hand goes down the side of Vernon's neck, his pulse accelerating under your touch as you check to see if he's real, if he's really sitting on your couch with you straddling him.

His focus get lost on your touch now going down the side of his arm, and soon finds your hand with his. He interlocks his fingers with yours as soon as he gets a hold of it, directing your hand to his mouth and leaving a gentle but teasing kiss on the back of it.

"Vernon," you reprimand, but don't stop him as he places peck after peck everywhere on your hand, each triggering a wave of different feelings down your nervous system. He's uncontrollable and always finds the way to get you in the mood with him.

"You look so pretty over me, all worried." His hot breath tickles your fingers that were just taking care of him.

Your thumb swipes gently over his busted lip, raw from his habit of gnawing at them with his teeth and from the fight you're nursing him from. He purses his lips, teasing your awaiting skin, goosebumps waking up all over your body at the anticipation.

"You can't seriously be turned on by this," you snicker to try and hide the very real reactions he's eliciting from you.

His eyes snap back to you at your words, as if a challenge was set.

So quick you barely have time to register it, the hand at your hip travels to your lower back and Vernon's sliding you across his lap, showing off his strength to get you closer to his torso until you're completely against him.

Every part of you is against him. His right hand on your back, holding you electrically close to his growing hard, pulsing against your core. Your hand's held hostage by his left hand just above where your chest flushes against his.

"You have no idea how crazy I am for you." Every word he says reverberates through his chest and into yours.

Gasping is your only answer. You don't trust your ability to apeak properly in your current state of increasing bodily heat.

"When I wake up and you're not next to me," he continues, "my first thought is always to come looking for you." His fingers wander inside the big t-shirt you're wearing, one you stole from him after your first night together.

"Nothing stops you from staying the night here." Your voice draws the smirk back on his face.

"I'd stay here every night if it didn't mean putting you in danger." Longing bleeds through his words, true and hurt.

"But you'd be here to protect me." You're not naive. You know what he means. But that doesn't stop you from wanting to be close to him every second of every day.

Vernon nods in acknowledgment, a silent agreement between the two of you. It's dangerous. Everything about your relationship is risky. But even if he's willing to put himself at risk for the chance of seeing you, he'd never put you in danger. He'd never take that chance.

His lips kissing your hand again catch your attention, every fiber of your body now focused on his next move. Your fingers, cold against the warmness spreading across his face, seem to be the only thing on Vernon's mind.

When he wraps his mouth around your index finger, gently sucking on it with a new admiration, fire expands from your insides and out, taking everything with it, filling you with a new, unexpected want.

"Vern—" Your breath halts at the mention of his name, fueling his need as he dives in further, playing with his tongue around your finger like it was his new favorite toy.

You've never felt anything like this. A hot, sizzling arousal rushing through your veins at the sight of your boyfriend worshiping the fingers that were just nursing him.

A choked up moan escapes you as he sucks another finger in his mouth. Your index and middle finger are now coated in his spit, making a messy, wet toy out of your hand.

The couch moves just slightly as you push yourself against him at every swirl of his tongue, feeling his length hardening with every uncontrolled grind of your hips against his.

Vernon's other hand travels all over your torso, finding you're wearing no bra under the shirt that was once his. He loves making a moaning mess of you, mixing the arousal from sucking on your fingers with the touch you've been craving on your chest.

Everywhere. He's everywhere. His thighs under yours, his hard pressing against your barely covered core, his hand feeling your chest up as your fingers scrape the sides of his mouth.

Every second it passes, you search for more of him, pressing against his chest until he has trouble fondling your breasts.

He pulls your fingers out of his mouth slowly, a string of saliva connecting them with his lower lips stretching until it breaks, undoing the trance you were in while watching Vernon have his way.

"I should be taking care of you," your voice breaks into a whisper, your boyfriend’s dark stare punching away any thought you had.

"Having you on top of me is all I need," your wet fingers trace his jaw as he speaks, and he smirks at the sounds you make when he flicks one of your nipples with his thumb, "making you moan my name when I've barely touched you."

His eyes train on your parted lips, exhaling heavily as he plays with your nipples exactly how he knows you like it. You can only fist the stretched neckline of his t-shirt, making it worse but making it yours.

Your other hand finds the back of his head, his growing buzz-cut threading between your fingers.

"Have I told you I love your hair?" How you find it in you to speak is beyond your knowledge, but he chuckles at your nonsense, and the fire burning at the pit of your stomach spreads down your thighs and soaks your underwear further. "I love it so much."

Vernon's hard groin twitches under the needy grinding of your hips, his throat swallowing with trouble as you break down his facade little by little.

"Let me," you know he won't take his hands off of you willingly. You don't really want him to stop either, but you're focusing on him tonight.

He groans as you push yourself off him, quickly finding the zipper of his jeans. "Baby…" his words trail off seeing you kneeling on the floor against him.

Trying to slip his jeans and boxers down, he gives in and lifts his body to help you. He'd never deny you of anything you want.

You don't restrain yourself, your hands finding the flesh of his thighs and traveling up and up until you're barely touching where he most wants to.

But a hand sneaks under your jaw, tilting it up until you're connecting eyes with Vernon again. "Don't," you barely whisper, a plea for him to let you make him feel good.

"Want you on top," he doesn't ask, doesn't order you, only outers his wish, with his eyebrows quirking in the way that always has you melting for him, "I'd feel much, much better."

You snort with an endearing smile, "I thought you were fine." Even after your teasing remainder, you oblige what he wants.

"Every time you get off of me, I start feeling sick," he coughs a few times to get his point across, "my body needs you to feel well.

Vernon's always been able to make you laugh, even when you're on the brink of tearing all his clothes off. "Then we better listen!"

His bare legs find themselves under your weight again, the skin to skin contact igniting every connecting point of your bodies. You tug at the ends of his damaged t-shirt until he gets the hint you want it off.

Vernon groans as the dampness of your panties rubs against his length, gripping your hips to flush you against him harder, not wanting to wait any longer to feel you all over him. You waste no time, holding his face between your hands and closing the electrifying distance between you.

A moan fights out of him a soon as your lips take his, molding together perfectly, as if they were meant to be connected forever. You can feel where his lower lip is hurt, swiping your tongue over the bruise as he moans on your mouth again.

Your hand caresses the side of his face, not letting his lips go as the other travels down his heaving chest. His muscles tense under the teasing touch of your fingers, nails raking down his skin.

Another moan coming from him is exactly what you need as you sneak your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock that craves your touch.

He chases your lips as you lean back, revealing the state he's in, all because of you. His lips glisten with the mix of yours and his spit, parted and calling for you again as he catches his breath.

The changing shine in your eyes alerts him that you're planning something, an idea planted by the sight before you.

You swirl your tongue in your mouth, gathering as much spit as you can before locking eyes with him and letting it drop out of your lips, falling in a glob until it sits at the tip of his hardness.

Vernon's eyes darken at every one of your moves, his gaze entranced on your lips. Lips that were spilling all kinds of worried words minutes ago, and now are coating his cock with saliva so your hand can glide up and down at your desired pace.

"God, baby," your hand squeezes around him, spreading the mix of spit and precum so slowly on his girth that he's having trouble breathing, "you're so good to me."

The back of the couch holds his head as he leans back with another groan. His neck stretched out, glistening with sweat, calls to you. And who are you not to answer?

Your core traps his erection against your hand as you lean in, leaving wet kisses on your boyfriend's throat, feeling his every sound vibrating against your lips. He mumbles praises into the air, letting his hands wander across your back and squeezing your ass to press your further to him.

The wet fabric of your panties sticks to your folds in the shape of his length, everything pushing your cores together harder and harder. You let the swift rhythm of your hand on his cock and you grinding your covered clit against him take you to another world.

"Feel better?" Your lips graze the sensitive skin on his neck as you half ask half gasp.

Vernon's automatic response is to tighten his hold on your ass, grinding your hips against his with more force, the friction between your cores breathtaking. "I could," he teases.

"Greedy," your hot breath hits under his earlobe, and even you can feel the shiver going down Vernon's body.

His cock twitches as you slow down the pace of you hand. The combining feel of your folds and your hand stroking him almost make Vernon go crazy.

"You feel so good, baby," his eyes close in concentration, every touch of yours too much for him, "can't wait to be inside you."

In the midst of his senseless words and your desperate touches, Vernon finds the way to sneak a hand under you. Between his legs, his digits find the dampness growing at your core. "So wet already, for me."

Another hand grabs a fistful of your hair, detaching your mouth from licking your way up his jaw. He forces you to look at him, eyes full of desire, waiting for your answer.

"Yes—all for you-u," your words break in a moan as two fingers sneak under your panties, collecting your arousal and triggering another wave.

"Good." It is all for him. All because of him. The only one who can have you like this.

Smirking, his eyes lock in with yours, full of fire as his hand appears in your field of view. You don't stop looking into his eyes, the mischievous glint on them keeping you there, all while he sucks your juices off his fingers.

It takes all your strength to get up from the couch again, with only one objective in mind.

Your boyfriend gawks as if you were putting on a show only for him, slipping down his favorite panties, now stained with an unholy amount of juices. He stares with his mouth agape, but he's not patient. As soon as the fabric's off, he's grabbing your big t-shirt and pulling you towards him again.

Lips crash with lust and desperation, messily craving more and more. His teeth nibble at your lower lip, a matching bruise waiting to appear, but you don't care. You moan in his mouth, tangling your fingers with the short hair growing at the back of his head.

His thigh becomes a mess of your arousal, careless about your position as you let Vernon have his way into your mouth. Your tongues dance around the other, slowly melting into each other.

"Spit," you chase his lips as he separates to demand. Seeing his non-injured hand under your jaw, you quickly realize what he's doing.

Your living room's filled with gasping sounds and hot breaths, time stopping as your eyes lock. Vernon's eyes are on you as you let your spit drop into his hand.

You hover over his groin, dripping into his hand as he lowers it down between your cores. The tip of his cock grazes your entrance as he pumps his hard with his spit covered hand, the wet sounds reaching your ears.

Sinking down on your boyfriend's lap, the head of his cock enters you just right, your walls welcoming to mold into his shape.

Your lips stop working as you're filled to the brim, sitting on Vernon's thighs and gasping into his mouth trying to get used to the unprepared stretch.

As you're draped over his torso, he easily finds his way down your neck.

"Relax, baby," he says against the skin of your neck.

Every spot he knows you like, he kisses, whispering encouraging praise that gives you chills. Under your ear, along your jaw, over your pulse point, his lips press and suck at your skin, feeling how you warm up around him.

When he shifts his position slightly, his length pushes inside you just a bit more, your walls clamp against him, sucking him further inside in a whine, "That's it."

His husky voice goes through your ear and down to your core, and you swivel your hips up just to elicit another sound from him.

Vernon's hands find themselves gripping your hips again, helping you as you start a lazy pace on his lap. Your teeth sink down on the flesh between his shoulder and his neck, and he moans in your ear at the sensation.

"You'll have to take care of that one too," his breath tickles down your ear, and the vibrations of your chuckle almost make you lose your focus on him.

You kiss on the dent shaped like your teeth, "like you don't love it."

He hums a broken moan, the combination of everything you're giving him finally working like you intended.

Your walls tighten around him just as your fingers find his scalp, short nails raking between his growing buzz-cut trying to have him losing his mind under you.

It's not long before his hips join the fun, thrusting up to meet your pace and making you lose your breath. You feel him up to your throat, every place inside you marked with his name.

Vernon's hands roam all over your torso, indecisive, keeping you close but in the search for his favorite places to grope and touch. Your body's on the verge of giving out, and he knows it.

When he wraps his arms around your back and leans back against the couch, flushing your chest completely against his, you both lose it.

You're not in control anymore, if you ever were. Your knees barely stay at his sides as he thrusts up incessantly, the sounds of your ass slapping against the flesh of his thighs echoing around your living room.

But his groaning in your ear, his rambling words about how good you are for him, are only for you to hear.

Intercalating between lazy and desperate, no matter the time or the place, Vernon always finds that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

So quickly, it'd be embarrassing if it was anyone else, your body starts quivering, every one of your senses losing focus as your insides get closer and closer to snapping.

"I'm c-close," you manage to form a coherent string of words in between a few merciless thrusts.

"I can feel it—" a breathless whine mixes up between his words, "cum around me, baby." He's as desperate as you.

With everything combined, Vernon's noises on your ear, his arms tight around you, and every spot inside you being abused at once, the world becomes a blur of fire and white light as your orgasm rips through you.

Your body shakes on top of him as Vernon chases his own orgasm, stretching yours for as long as his cock grinds inside you with a purpose. But he's a weak man when it comes to you, and with the way your walls clamp hard around him, making him work for every thrust, it's not long before he's lost too.

You feel the ropes of cum coating your walls, his length twitching as you take it all. All of him inside you as if you were one.

Silence, deep breaths and the smell of sex fill the room as your bodies take in everything you just did.

Only when Vernon's lips kiss along your shoulder, you realize he's still inside you, and you shouldn't rest.

"I have the best nurse ever," Vernon chuckles along his words as you get up from his lap to find your discarded panties.

Everything is still the same. His clothes disregarded on the floor, the flowers sitting on a vase you haven't seen since you moved in.

You turn around to find him putting on his boxers, his eyes a promise that he's not done with you yet, "I don't think a good nurse would recommend this type of cardio after a fight."

"Then I don't trust them."

Chuckling again, and knowing he'll join you later in the shower, you fall between his arms again, laying together on the couch like you've done so many times before.

Now is your turn to look up at him, the fire in his eyes not gone, but now overpowered by endearment.

You don't want to. You really don't want to. But your eyes close with tiredness, and the rhythm of Vernon's breathing is so serene that you fall asleep in his arms.

There, in your couch, everything around you forgotten and replaced by him.

note: thank you so much for reading! pls share your thoughts I'd love to read them ♥︎

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

Mine // Luke Hughes

a follow up to The Manuscript, where Luke has some words to say.

part one - here

WC: 1.4k

CW: tears, a lil bit of self deprecation if you squint, post breakup sad, pet names, he lowkey fixes it

He was sitting in the passenger seat of Quinn’s car, riding down the road that now left a foul aftertaste in his mouth. Your house was coming up, 2 miles ahead on the right. The house with the big pine tree and endless kisses and now broken promises lived. 

A promise he'd always come back to you, promises of forever, promises of "I'll come whisk you away. I’ll be on one knee and it'll be you and me.”

That ring felt like it was burning a hole in his luggage. Almost like he could feel the hurt. He could feel hurt. All he felt lately was hurt. He had no one to blame but himself. 

“You could fix this Luke.” Quinn’s voice held a level of support for his brother but also an anger for her. For the girl who was his sister. Maybe not by blood, or even marriage now, but Quinn always supported her. “She’s hurt, but she wouldn’t just forget about you and everything you had in two weeks. Give her some time, get a plan, and bring her home.” 

Luke just nodded.

It had been 2 weeks since Luke had been in Michigan. 3 weeks, 3 days and 12 hours since the doorbell footage he couldn't stop watching. “I loved you, Lukey” playing on an endless cycle in his brain. Loved. Past tense. Had he really fucked this up so badly that she had time to fall out of love with him?

He was staring at the basket that was on the counter. The basket with everything you loved, the basket of proof he never stopped thinking about you. 

That stupid hoodie you always stole, a note front and center, some candy and other snacks, a blanket, the comfiest socks he could find and some books he knew you had been eyeing. Thankful for your goodreads being public enough he could see what books have been bought and what hasn't. 

Quinn had talked him out of waiting at the door with the basket, “That’s basically cornering her, Luke. You can’t do that. Drop it off on the porch, knock on the door and go back to the car.” and maybe Quinn was right. As much as Luke needed to see your face, needed you to see he wasn’t okay either– he knew that wouldn't end well for either of you.

So here he stood, oversized basket in his hand and the iced matcha with white chocolate and strawberry foam from the little coffee shop 20 minutes away that was your favorite in his other. Now all he had to do was knock. Knock and leave. No matter how much he didn’t want to leave, he knew he had to. 

The sound of a hard knock brought your attention away from your rewatch of Love, Actually. Waiting a couple minutes to see if whoever was there would knock again. The thought of social interaction was the last thing you wanted. All you wanted was this bottle of wine, stupid love stories with happy endings that you’ll never relate too and tears. 

Everyone told you, cry over him for a couple days and forget him. But Luke, he wasn't someone you wanted to forget. Luke was all you wanted. He was your safe space, your shoulder to cry on, your support. And for the first time in almost 6 years, you broke down fully alone. 

Finally willing yourself to get up, you wiped your tears and opened the door. 

There sat a basket and a drink. Not just any, yours. Your drink, from the cafe Luke took you to on your first date. 

Closing your front door, you sat on the porch pulling the paper with your name written in the messiest handwriting. 

Handwriting you’d never forget. Handwriting you had grown to know like it was your own secret language. Handwriting that belonged to the one guy you ever wanted. Luke’s handwriting.

Unfolding the paper you scanned over the scribbles. Eyes closed, taking a breath before you were ready to read this properly.

Hi baby,

Am I allowed to say that? Probably not, I'm sorry. I’m not off to a good start here. I've rewritten this 3 times, I decided it's better to just word vomit. That way i dont forget anything. 

God, baby, I am so sorry. So fucking sorry. I was stupid. Stupid is really just putting it lightly. I was dumb, selfish, cold, and gone. I left you alone. I broke promises. I missed dinner. I missed hearing about your day. I missed hearing about your books. I missed hearing what your new favorite song was. I missed all of that, and more, for months. Months you waited for me to come back to you. I was so stuck in hockey, I was stuck giving more to a team than I was to you. 

I will never forgive myself for that. I will never forgive myself for allowing something so bad to happen. I will never forgive myself for setting you up for the perfect plan of falling out of love with me.

I never wanted to hurt you, seeing you cry on the camera broke me. It broke me in a way I don't even have words for. It felt like my heart was ripped out of my body. I never wanted to ever be the reason tears stained your pretty face. 

I was on my way, I texted you and when you didn't answer I thought you were napping. We were on break, we had a couple weeks before playoffs. I was coming home to you. Just you and me. And when I walked in and your bag was gone my heart dropped. Then I saw the box, and the necklace on the very top. I've never held something in my hand that hurt so badly. 

I know none of this is going to fix what I did. I know that, but I needed you to know im a fucking mess without you. Nothing’s been the same. There's no sunshine anymore, because you're not here. You brought the sunshine. You ARE the sunshine. You are everything that is pure and good in this world all wrapped up in one little person. One little person who I had the privilege of loving. No past tense, no loved. I will never stop loving you.

Jack told me I shouldn’t tell you, so did Quinn, but I can't lie to you again. I had a ring. In the closet, hidden in an old box on that shelf you never could reach. I had booked a little cottage up north in June. I was going to ask you to marry me on the 3rd day there. I had a whole script I wrote 7 months ago. I read it daily, I have it burning in my brain. I wasn't going to forget all the things I wanted to say that day.

Anyways I'm rambling real bad and a novel wont fix what I did to us. But please know, youre my past, present and my future. It will always be you. Even if I'm not your future. I'll cheer you on from afar.

I love you,

Lukey.

You couldn't stop the tears. The rest of the basket was forgotten. Reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked his name and held your breath.

Luke sat at the island in the kitchen. Quinn is cooking some sort of chicken. He wasn't sure, he stopped listening 15 minutes ago. Jack was digging around in the fridge and all Luke could focus on was if you got the basket. 

Everyone went silent as the bridge of Mine by Taylor Swift started blaring. Staring at the phone on the counter, your smile taking up the screen.

“Fucking answer it Luke!” Jack yelled, pushing the phone to his little brother. 

He forgot how to breathe, he didn't think you'd call. He didn't think he'd have the opportunity to ever hear your voice again.

“Hello?” His voice was soft, scared really.

“Did you mean it? The letter, did you mean it?” she was crying. He could tell and god that broke him.

“Every word of it. All of it.” He left no room for questions. No room for doubt.

His brothers watched with worry, Jack whispered, “put it on speaker!”

Quinn smacked his head, like he asked for the stupidest thing. They were too busy quietly arguing with one another that all they heard again was Luke.

“Yeah, honey. 10 minutes okay? I’ll see you in a few minutes.” It's almost like he knew what you were about to say. “You’re never going to have to wait again. The world can wait, my world can’t.”

[croquettish]

I'm curious, wdym Hans always fall in love even when we dont romance him? I love your metas so much 🩷 or maybe it was already post about it and I didnt find it. I've got so many questions to ask you coz my autistic ass often dont catch non verbal emotional expressions so you post clarify me things I don't undestand 🥺 Love you 💕

You sending me this made me realize that neither I nor anyone else (that I'm aware of) has actually gone into detail on all of this! So thank you for that!!

I want you to consider Hans' behavior throughout the games. Regardless of whether you read him as bisexual or a comphet gay man, we are dealing with a queer man who has no idea that he's queer. He's grown up sheltered and in many ways unloved. He hasn't seen any models of what love should look like in real life and only knows to interpret the world through what he's learned and read in history and literature. We know this not only because he makes it painfully obvious to anyone with eyes who sees him interacting with Henry, but also because the option to romance him exists at all. The queerness is there, it just has to be coaxed out with the promise of safety.

We also know that Henry is devilishly easy to fall in love with. See here: everyone keeps falling in love with him. And, as we've previously discussed, there is a good reason for why Hans falls in love with Henry to begin with.

Hans is already sweet on Henry and checking him out in that hot tub in KCD1 (reminder that they are canonically naked here) or at the very least finds him attractive:

In other words, Hans just needed to be given a nudge in the right direction. And Henry absolutely gives him more than a few nudges. Like, Henry. You can't just say shit like this and not expect Hans' knees to buckle:

And, as we know, Henry can compliment Hans in Italian even without the romantic context, and Hans loves it even if Henry butchers it, which none of the other love interest appreciate!

Accordingly, we see Hans' slow descent into madness... for the purposes of this meta, I deliberately ignored any and all romance scenes and instead focused on the hints we get outside of that that exist regardless of whether or not you romance him.

The list that follows is meant to serve as individual pieces of evidence that prove that Hans is in love with Henry / falls in love with Henry over the course of KCD2:

Hans is incredibly jealous. The first time this crops up is at the dinner at Trosky:

And then, famously, with Sam:

This, of course, including the conversation we can overhear several times between the two of them. And then later on, if you callously leave Sam behind and he dies, we can get confirmation from Hans!

2. He tries so hard to make Henry jealous:

THIS GIRL DOESN'T EXIST!!!!!! Not only based on this clownery on Hans' part, but also because there is no woman named Karolina in Bohunowitz to begin with.

3. He repeatedly sings Henry's praises to his face:

4. He pays close attention to Henry's state of mind and then acts on that information because he wants to see Henry happy:

5. Hans loves to cut himself off when he notices that he's getting a bit too intimate and panics:

6. Hans outrightly admits that he wants Henry to stay home at Suchdol where it's safe instead of going to meet Erik:

7. And as soon as he hears Henry volunteering for the suicide mission, he volunteers as well:

8. He's heartbroken when Godwin implies that they're going off to die. Not just that, he wavers on what he's saying at all, something that generally doesn't happen with him. He usually just says what he's going to say, he doesn't have stray ellipses showing up out of nowhere like he does here:

9. He'll take on tasks for Henry that no one else will while putting him into the position of a noble.

10. He turns to Henry when he's panicking about the wedding.

11. He is desperate to be worthy of Henry and doesn't think himself worthy at all to begin with (as evidenced by him instigating the divorce arc to begin with).

12. The claustrophobia meta is still applicable even if you're not romancing him. He still has to come to terms with his feelings for Henry, and still comes out on the other side having come to terms with it successfully.

And speaking of, then there's this whole speech:

Not just the prayer (tho jesus christ @ that) but also the bit about the tunnels. Thank Christ for tunnels because they saved Henry?? Taking the claustrophobia : homophobia parallel into account??

13. We still find the buck's blood potion and gay poetry book under his bed at the Devil's Den. (Which you could argue, as per my tags here, was possibly written by him)

14. He could still be argued to be panicking about Godwin discovering his feelings.

15. He still tries to keep the news of the engagement from Henry.

16. He thinks of them as a unit at all times, even while divorced. And this is a running theme for them! He always wants to be by Henry's side and anticipates this being the case of the foreseeable future, like when he talks about how he wants to see the holy land with Henry.

Or when he talks about how he anticipates Henry not only living at his castle, but doing so as castellan (a very prestigious fucking position!). Additionally, he would add a forge just for Henry (recall, again, that Hans' love language is gift giving!):

This similarly crops up right before they're set to torture the guy at Trosky:

He even brings this up to Henry!

There was also a lovely post that I came across a few days ago about how characters act when they're in love but terrified of it. (Many of these don't apply to Hans as far as we know in the game's canon, but that's because they literally can't—the list is meant as a reference for writers and thus is somewhat limited in the scope of its application. This isn't prose and we're not in Hans' head. But I think if you look over the list you'll find that there's a lot of overlap here.) And knowing the risk involved in a confession, it makes sense that Hans would be reluctant.

Finally, I wrote up a whole post about how Hans falls in love with Henry (and when!) that might be of interest to you here as well!!

Thank you so much also for your kind words 🥺 I should say that my evidence for things is almost never rooted in facial expressions, in part because (outside of cutscenes) we can't rely on them. There are a handful of gestures and expressions baked into the game by default. Like the beloved pointing gesture that our dear John is so fond of. It's why I always use dialogue as evidence. You can rely on tone of voice a bit more because our boys act with intent, but even that is something you can read into. Dialogue is concrete and hard to argue with. Even if it's "hey let's overanalyze this ellipsis." At any rate, I hope this proves helpful/insightful!!

[notaaronsroommate]

We have spent the last 20ish years trying to eliminate not liking people. you are a good and socially conscious person, you can't find someone annoying, no one is allowed to be annoying or grating or creepy or offputting. to think so is ableist/ transphobic/ etc. SO! You still don't like that person and desperately want to get away from them. But your constructed online morality forbids you from just finding them irksome. What do you do? Figure out what their sin is. Find a problematic tweet, read into the themes of a fanfic to decide theyve got bad sexuality (not that they're queer! We like that! Not kink shaming! that's also bad. But uh. they've got... misogynistic sexual kinks? there we go!) just anything. But see here's the problem. we've decided that the only viable option for someone your socially punishing for deviant behavior (I mean. being Problematic) is to go all the way. try to get their friends to abandon them, maybe even doxx them and talk to their employer. So, you can't just say "I've decide this annoying person is [insert accusation] so I can safely not interact with them and not feel like a bad person." You have to make this into a group thing, and it you can't ever give up. So, someone who was maybe just kind of a pain in the ass, maybe just neurodivergent and weird, now you've got to bury the shame of ever having a non shiny happy enlightened human emotion about another person. You've got hound this person unto death. It was way way better when we all just bullied someone because they were weird and offputting. At least that way you eventually got bored, or felt bad, or could learn a lesson. Once you decide you're doing something justified and good by harassing and ostracizing someone, there's no way to learn a lesson or change. You'd have to admit that the same caliber of hearsay, innuendo, and circumstantial evidence you'd used for cancelling someone was bullshit. which might mean that the other times when a neurodivergent person got dogpiled by the internet over the same level of evidence was also bullshit. If you think you're doing something good and politically correct, it means that now your cruelty can't just be a character flaw you can reject later on. It's now tied to your entire political philosophy. Just say you find someone annoying. It's ok if they're annoying because they're neurodivergent or they're the person with fifty flags in bio and a mile long ca.ard and a million DNI's. It is infinitely preferable to just say they're cringe and obnoxious than to find some secret hidden transgression they've committed.

In my opinion it's a lot more healthy to be able to own that you dislike someone for petty reasons than to do all kinds of mental gymnastics to make everyone you don't really vibe with out to be a bad person actually

[radfemmauve]

petition to start calling male heterosexuality 'non female loving non man'

[blushhbambi]

LITTLE THINGS STALKER!RAFE DOES ᝰ.ᐟ

mdniᝰ.ᐟ stalking / obsession, masturbation, home invasion, panty stealing, threat, non con surveillance, blackmail, kidnapping threat... . ༉‧₊˚.

౨ৎ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he's obsessed with your every move so naturally he has to put up cameras in your house. your just so dumb leaving your bedroom window open, practically inviting him in to do so, and of course, he watches them religiously. he just had to make sure you're okay. he can't have you getting hurt now, can he ?

stalker!rafe loves watching you, recording you especially when you're changing, stripping to get into the bath or tossing and turning in your bed just for your pyjamas to hitch up enough to see the soft of your tummy. he imagines running his hands over you, how delicate you'd be.

his favourite time watching you is late at night. when you've got your hands between your thighs or humping at your pillow uselessly like some dumb bunny as he pumps his cock hard, imagining it was you. it almost makes him laugh how much you need him and you don't even know.

he'll meticulously plan out little interactions because he's memorised your routine. you two just happen to be in the same coffee shop and he just happens to accidentally order an extra of your favourite snack. so he'll grumble and make a show of giving it to you begrudgingly. what a gentleman !

loves visiting your house, snooping through your room and your kiddy diary going on about how you thought one of your colleagues was cute, and they wouldn't be for long. he knows your room like the back of his hand, even taking a few of your little, cotton panties to jerk off into later, and of course, he returns them. it's an addictive habit, just getting to be so close to you, even if you're not there, to smell you and trace over your belongings knowing you touched them too, makes him buzz with excitement.

you’re like a new drug, you're better than the coke and the cheap weed. you make him act better. minus the countless times he'd jump the guys that would hit on you, try to flirt or touch you like you weren't his. he became savagely brutal so easily even at the thought of it.

stalker!rafe wants to keep you away from all that shit. wants to keep you safe with him. he'll get you one day, keep you in his room to be all docile and quiet. he'd pet you and feed you, buy you whatever the fuck you needed as long as you were with him.

oh, and god if you ever caught him, ever rejected him or his passion, he would ruin your entire life. friends and family ? gone. those little videos of you with you playing with yourself ? he's not above leaking them. he'd make your life a living hell if he had to. make it so you could only turn to him and be reliant on him completely. but of course, you'd have to face the consequences of your actions, that's just life. . ༉‧₊˚.

© written by blushhbambi— do not steal or claim as ur own ᝰ.ᐟ

[lynncade]

In which Zayne receives a midnight patient while you are resting in his home. Including: zayne and sylus FYI: sfw, cleaning open wounds

Soft sheets, clean and smelling of fresh cotton, tempt you to remain in the space between sleep and consciousness. Dreams of snow glistening in the moonlight and ribbons of red and black smoke call out to you but as you roll over to further bury yourself into the pillows you realize what had awoken you: soft knocking at the front door. Blinking your eyes open, you note a light on in the living room and hear the muffled footsteps of someone making their way to the door and opening it.

“You told me it was just a few scratches.” Zayne’s voice is measured, adopting the tone of a doctor examining his patient.

“It is. Some of them just happen to be in the shape of bullet holes,” answers another voice, deep and rich and definitely not supposed to be in Zayne’s house in the middle of the night.

The front door closes as your mind begins to race.

Sylus? Here? And what is this talk about scratches and bullet holes?

You start to throw the covers off to get out of bed but then Zayne’s voice sounds closer and in a split second you decide to conceal your face behind the blanket and freeze. “This would be easier with all my equipment at the hospital.”

“And here I thought Linkon’s foremost doctor could handle a few…scratches on his own.”

As the door to the bedroom opens further, you close your eyes. Concern and curiosity battle it out in your mind, the latter eventually taking over as you decide to let the scene play out. Something about these two men interacting feels like a colliding of universes: one safe and familiar, the other dangerous and intriguing. Unexpected, yet somehow always on the horizon as an eventual reality. Sure and undeniable.

“She’s still sleeping, please keep your voice down. This way.”

The door to the adjoining bathroom opens and the light flickers on.

“You don’t have anywhere else to do this,” Sylus asks, his voice lazy and bored as always but slightly strained. You recognize this tone, the one he uses to try to cover up how serious the situation is. “Have you ever dealt with her after she’s been woken up?”

Zayne lets out a breath of annoyance and then several sounds happen in succession: from what you can surmise, the medicine cabinet is opened and someone pulls bottles and packages out. With both of them supposedly preoccupied, you shift the blanket slightly to allow you a visual of the scene before you.

From your vantage point you catch glimpses of Zayne shuffling around the bathroom and Sylus watching him from the doorway, leaning against the frame with an arm wrapped around his middle. Blood drips from his shoulder down his arm. At the sight of it, worry inches its way up your spine as you try making sense of it all: Sylus, injured and in Zayne’s home. Zayne, gathering medical supplies and slipping into Doctor Mode. Both of them speak with familiarity. How do they know each other? And for how long? How was Sylus injured?

Questions continue to race through your mind as Zayne speaks again.

“If you wouldn’t mind, please step into the light so that I can better see and so that your blood doesn’t stain my carpet.”

Sylus steps in with a smirk, asking, “do you really not have another bathroom? Some doctor’s salary you must have, only enough for a one bed one bath.”

“She seems plenty happy with what my home offers. Sit.”

After a moment Zayne breaks the silence again, softer. “I’ll need you to remove your shirt.”

“Not even taking me to dinner first? Although from what she’s said of you, I know how fond you are of going straight for the dessert.”

“If you want to go to dinner with me you’ll have to dress nicer, this shirt is in shameful condition.”

“Careful, doc, this shirt costs more than your mortgage.”

“You seem entirely too concerned with where I live, how about we focus on making sure you stay alive long enough to return to whatever gothic mansion you most surely haunt?”

Sylus’s laughter, low and smooth, drifts through the doorway and settles your mounting nerves. He’s laughing, surely the injuries can’t be that terrible if he’s laughing? And with Zayne in charge of his care, that makes the situation feel more safe and stable. You continue listening, their voices falling silent for a few minutes as Zayne starts examining and cleaning the wounds. The slow, methodical way Zayne works, his fingers and movements gentle yet efficient, start lulling you back to sleep. You try fighting the temptation, but the safety of Zayne’s bed and knowing that both of them are okay made for convincing arguments to give in.

Just as you feel yourself slipping, Sylus makes another comment. “I can see why she keeps you around, you could actually make a career out of this.”

To your surprise, you hear Zayne chuckle. “I suppose one of us should have an actual career and you don’t seem to be making any advances in that regard.”

“I see my doctor has impossibly high standards. And here I thought owning several establishments and hosting multiple high-profile auctions would constitute a worthy career. ”

“And to keep my plausible deniability I will not question the legality of any of those ventures,” Zayne quips as he starts stitching one of the wounds.

“If you’re worried about operating within the bounds of the law, doc, you might not want to continue patching up strangers that show up on your doorstep in the middle of the night.”

Strangers?

As if hearing your thought, Zayne responds, “we’re hardly strangers anymore, though I would request a little more forethought before your visits in the future.”

“Ha, next time I’ll alert the people shooting at me that my doctor requests I take less bullets.”

Silence again. You see Zayne finishing up a few stitches and then carefully turning Sylus’s arm towards the light, examining his work and nodding to himself. As he starts cleaning his supplies, Sylus draws out a question.

“You won’t tell her…?”

Zayne pauses then turns to Sylus. “Doctor-patient confidentiality, there’s nothing to tell.” He resumes clearing the sink down, the sound of running water slightly muffling his voice. “Besides…she would say…”

Sylus responds but you can’t be sure what exactly he says, the rushing of the sink completely concealing his words. You try leaning closer to the edge of the bed in hopes of picking up the threads of conversation again but as you move, one of the pillows falls to the floor. You quickly shut your eyes and try to steady your breathing to keep up the pretense of sleep.

Immediately, the sink cuts off and you hear both of them enter the bedroom. You feel their eyes on you, assessing just how asleep you are.

“I’ll see myself out,” Sylus whispers after a moment.

“No, I’ll walk with you. I have some antibiotics in my bag on the couch to send with you.”

Their voices trail off as they make their way into the living room. Silence falls and soon the rattling of a pill bottle fills the room followed by the sound of the front door opening.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting payment for services rendered,” Sylus asks, sounding more like himself.

“What services? You were never here.”

Sylus laughs softly. “Of course, we are strangers after all.” A beat of silence. “Let her sleep in tomorrow, work has been hard for her.”

“I know, I have no plans of waking her.”

A moment later you hear Sylus step outside and then the door closes. After locking up, Zayne spends a few minutes tidying up around the rooms, making sure that no traces of the midnight guest are left. Once he finishes and all the lights are off, you feel him slip into the bed next to you and under the covers.

The last thing you feel before sleep finally takes you is the warmth of Zayne pressing himself against your back and wrapping an arm around your waist. Thoughts run through your mind at a million miles per second, but the sound of Zayne’s easy breathing in your ear and the knowledge that Sylus is okay calm you enough for the night.

You’ll begin investigating your questions in the morning.

[lyricwritesprose]

"Aaaand now we get the fuck out of here," Clay said very quietly, and started walking. I fell in step beside him. The paramedic looked as if she was going to call after him, but Clay's pulled-up hood and scrunched posture may have discouraged her. Or else she wasn't sure what she had seen.

I was sure.

Look, Clay was my roommate. Right? And he intimidated me at first. Well over six feet tall with jet black hair and a profile to die for, green eyes that I swear change color with his mood like some teen wish fulfillment, muscles like a Greek statue under warm brown skin—he looks, on the surface, like a guy who could fold up a skinny nerd like me and stick me through a basketball hoop.

As time went on, it became subtly obvious—that was the least of the things he could do to me if he chose. He just didn't want to. He didn't want to pick a fight with anyone. He didn't want to pick a fight with Jared who made fun of him for belting "Let It Go" in the shower. (Does he have perfect pitch of fucking course he has perfect pitch. And really good tone quality, and a killer high note. Also I am not sure he knows how hot showers are supposed to be, because the steam just rolls out. Anyway.)

So there are a lot of things, including the one time we went down to the frat house and got tipsy (you would not believe the amount of alcohol), there was an odd trail of wildflowers the next morning where we crossed the grass on our way back—almost like someone had forgotten that flowers weren't supposed to sprout in his footsteps. He was careful-ish, but you don't live with someone and not see things.

This was the first time I'd seen him raise the dead, though.

We took several turns almost at random. As if to throw off anyone following us. "Any reason we can't just—zoop—vanish to wherever?" I asked in a low voice finally.

"I honestly don't know what that would do to you," Clay said. Voice equally low. "It looks like—just a sort of rainbow tunnel, to me. But I don't know what it is for you, and I don't want to hurt you."

Okay. Made sense.

"My mother told me that if I ever show you my true form, you'll actually catch on fire, even though I mostly just look—this, but moreso." Clay motioned to himself. "Of course, Mother had—sort of strained relationships with mortals even back when we interacted with them. They basically just called her The Maiden rather than use her name. I think she found it kind of hurtful? Although being widely recognized as the most terrifying thing in the room at least kept her out of idiotic fights over apples and things, which is worth its weight in gold."

Oh. Well. That explained the wildflowers. It was also one of the least reassuring facts I had ever absorbed. "So the reason you can bring people back from the dead—"

"Is that Dad will snarl a little bit about his bookkeeping, but he's not actually going to get angry angry. Yeah. It doesn't always work. Sometimes there's another power involved, and if I started a fight—yeah, I might win against someone my age, I've got the lineage and 'kind of everything to do with earth and soil' is a crazy strong dominion if you know how to work it—but typically they'd find a way to screw over the mortal as they lose, and that's usually worse. Than just letting death take its course. As much as that sucks. You're not freaking out."

I considered. "I think I am a little?"

"You're a Classics major, I expected you to freak out a lot."

"You've been going out of your way not to intimidate me ever since we met. I mean. I've told you a little bit about what happened in high school, you know how twitchy I was about bullying, and you not only made it clear that you weren't going to do that—you shielded me from the people who would, and you did it without ever throwing a punch. If this had happened freshman year, then yes, I would have lost it, but I've gotten to feel safe around you. I've—" I stopped.

"You've what?"

I looked at my shoes. "Picked-up-sort-of-a-crush," I admitted, "but I'm fine, it doesn't have to be a big deal or, or any kind of deal, half the campus has fallen for you at one point or another and mostly you've been fine just waiting for it to go away."

Clay stopped, and turned to face me. I swallowed. I come about to his shoulders. Have to look up to meet his eyes.

Which were very bright green, just right now. He pushed a strand of hair away from my eyes. "It—usually doesn't work. You know that. Something fucky happens and someone gets turned into a tree or a constellation."

I swallowed again. "It always ends between—mortals, too. One way or the other. No real happy endings, just—the best happy middle we can manage."

"Yeah. Yeah, I would—I'd like to try it, but—look, there are so many pitfalls, we have to make rules." He stroked the side of my face. It felt divine. In several senses.

"Talk about it back on campus?"

"Yeah. Let's go get the bus."

A passer-by yelled, "Get a room, assholes!" and then tripped on a dandelion growing through the pavement and ate shit spectacularly—no serious injuries, I didn't think, but he'd look like he did a round with Mike Tyson.

I barely noticed.

You've always had a sneaking suspicion that your friend was secretly a god pretending to be human, but you've never been able to prove it. Until they slipped up one day by doing something only a god could do.

[makeitworse]

SNAP OUT OF IT

── cheol’d be damned if he ever stole someone’s girl, especially a member’s. but how else is he meant to save you from that asshole?

ෆ ͜ ̩͙ f!reader x seungcheol. indent format. hurt/comfort. angst. reader’s bf is left unnamed.

what a pretty fuckin’ predicament you were.

seungcheol loves his group. bottom of his heart, he really does. they’ve been through years of practice rooms and stage lights and growing pains together. he’ll be the first to cover for them in interviews when they can’t find the right words, the first at their defence when netizens take things too far.

when it comes to the team, their public image, he’ll sure as hell keep them in line. but he won’t control what they all do behind closed doors, away from the cameras. that’s the limits of his responsibility. but lately, those limits have been staring him in the face with kind eyes and the softest goddamn voice he’s ever heard.

you. his member’s girlfriend. cheol doesn’t know where the fuck he found you and how the fuck he pulled you— better yet, how he’s managed to keep you this long. you’re sweet. polite. you greet them all by name, remember the little things they mention. the room lights up when you enter. you make everyone feel seen, known, like they matter. and you’re gorgeous— fuck, painfully so. cheol’s caught himself watching you more than once, eyes lingering too long, heart thudding with something that sure as hell shouldn’t be there.

you must’ve descended from the heavens and he was the first human you saw, and now you don’t know any better. because, pardon the french, your boyfriend’s a fuckhead when it comes to women. doesn’t know how to treat a girl right even if there was a gun to his head. everyone else tiptoes around it, keeps it cordial for the sake of the team— but cheol hears the whispers, the offhand comments.

minghao grumbling after last week’s party about your boyfriend raising his voice at you. jeonghan biting his tongue when your boyfriend made some offhand comment about your outfit. once, cheol was pulled aside by a conflicted joshua: “she looked like she was about to cry the whole night. should i say something to him?”

cheol doesn’t. because what’s he gonna say? “hey, treat your girl right or i will.” cheol’s not that guy. he’s not the homewrecker. even if the ‘home’ is made of straws and sticks. you can only tell so much to someone who won’t listen. and it’s not cheol’s place to manage his members’ private affairs, right? so he minds his business. stays in his lane. except, lately, he keeps veering off-road.

because whenever cheol sees you— bright-eyed and glowing before your boyfriend’s gotten the chance to dim your light— he thinks about what he’d do differently. cheol’d sweep you off your feet. he’d never raise his voice, always hold your hand in public. learn every little thing about you just to hear you talk. he’d make you feel safe— happy, goddamn it. it feels like complicity just witnessing a dime piece like you get mistreated. but cheol has to remind himself that you’re not his girl, and he’s not that type of guy.

you’re too sweet to ever be anything but faithful either. too loyal to ever stray, as much as your boyfriend doesn’t deserve it. that’s the worst part. even with the way he talks down to you sometimes, even with the doubt in your eyes, you’d never look at cheol like you were thinking of leaving. you love your man. cheol loves the idea of what could’ve been. and it tears him up inside when he sees you.

it’s a late weekend night. the boys are having a small gathering: bring your own drinks and a plus one. cheol figured you’d be there, but what he hadn’t expected was for your eyes to find him the instant you arrived— boyfriend’s arm still slung over your shoulder as you waved at cheol with the cutest smile ever. his stomach fluttered over the interaction, but he tries to not let it linger. you’ve always been nice to everyone.

until you’re seated next to him at dinner. the group and their partners are all scattered around the place, but you chose to take the spot right next to cheol, shyly asking if it was okay with him. your boyfriend was halfway across the room, scrolling on his phone between bites of the food and barely sparing you a glance. cheol’s trying, really trying, not to think anything of it. your shoulder’ll brush his every so often, soft giggles spilling from your lips like you forgot who you came with. it’s just a seat. just conversation.

but every time you lean in to whisper something, every time your hand comes to his arm as you laugh, there’s something deep and desperate coiling in cheol’s chest. your boyfriend probably forgot you’re here— meanwhile you’re telling cheol about your favourite movie you recently rewatched, this ramen spot that gave you food poisoning, the dumbest tiktok that made you laugh earlier. and you smile. god, you smile— wide and bright and so effortlessly real— and it fucking guts him.

cheol’s never seen you look like that with your boyfriend. he might not have even tried to pull that kind of light out of you. but here you are, radiant like the sun, and all cheol can think is how much he wants to reach across the space between you and tell you how he’d never let you feel anything but this. that you deserve the world and more, and cheol’s just a man but he’d sure as hell try. he wants you. it’s not right thing— but when your boyfriend’s done everything except that, cheol can have this one. he fucking wants you and he can’t do anything about it.

amidst the post-dinner chatter, your boyfriend approaches the table with a low voice, pulling you off into another room. the room’s shift in energy is palpable. conversations trail off. laughter thins out. heads turn as the door closes behind you— and there’s a sick twist in cheol’s stomach. he doesn’t know what was said, but he’s got a pretty good guess. jealousy’s a hell of a sickness, and your boyfriend’s terminal. cheol’s been trying to play it cool all night, but maybe he smiled too much, made you laugh too loud. maybe your boyfriend finally looked over and saw what everyone else had been choosing not to.

the group starts filtering out not long after. the mood’s gone— sliced by the tension hanging in the air. no one really says it out loud, but they all know why. cheol says goodbye to others from the table, choosing to stay behind. he chews the inside of his cheek as his eyes flick to that closed door every few seconds. he wants to check on you, but it’s not his place. not yet.

once the door opens, your boyfriend comes out. alone. avoiding anyone’s eyes, he rubs a hand down his face, muttering “we broke up.” like it’s nothing. like it’s just a line on the to-do list he’s finally gotten around to. cheol’s out of his seat before he can stop himself.

“you’re a fucking idiot,” cheol spits, louder than he means to. the whole room flinches, with your ex narrowing his eyes like he’s waiting for more. like he’s not the least bit startled that someone’s finally calling him out. cheol clicks his teeth in frustration, already turning away. your ex storms out without another word. you’re still there, in the other room.

cheol hesitates only a second before walking in. you’re sitting on the edge of a low bench, hands in your lap, eyes glassy. you don’t look up when he enters, and it wrecks him— how small and quiet you look. he crouches down in front of you, voice gentle like he might rouse you. “hey.” your lip trembles. you try to shake your head, act like you’re fine, but the tears come anyway. cheol doesn’t think— just opens his arms, and you fall into them like you’ve been waiting to.

you’ve broken up with him before. a dozen times. probably more. and somehow, he always crawls back to you— apologies and promises on a silver platter. but not this time. not if cheol can help it. he runs a hand soothingly down your back, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “let me take you home,” he tells you softly. “you don’t have to stay here.” and when you raise your head with a nod, you’ve got a look in your eye— that same glint of relief from when you first arrived and saw cheol.

the drive’s quiet, but the comfortable kind. just full of things that neither of you need to say out loud. when cheol pulls up in front of your place, you don’t move to get out right away. just sit there, fingers fiddling with your sleeve before you glance at him: eyes still red-rimmed, voice soft. “do you wanna come in?”

he knows he probably shouldn’t. there’s lines that once crossed, can't be uncrossed. but you’re looking at him like you need him. not just anyone, but cheol. and it’s not about anything physical— he can see it clearly. you just don’t want to be alone. and god knows he doesn’t want to leave you alone either.

your home’s dim and quiet. you offer him tea like it’s any other night and he’s your guest— not the aftermath of a breakup, where he should be the one asking to get you anything. cheol follows as you sit on the couch, close but leaving a few inches of polite space. until you lean into him, head bumping his shoulder. and he lets you. of course he would. he even wraps an arm around you, holding you close.

cheol’s thumb rubs soothing circles onto your shoulder. when you sigh and nuzzle closer, the words slip from him: “you deserve so much better,” he confesses, voice low. “you know that, right?” you nod, but barely. cheol’s warm hand holds you, tilting his head down at you. “i would’ve treated you right,” he adds, quieter this time. “still would.”

you both let his words sit. at some point, your hand finds his, fingers shyly lacing together. cheol doesn’t move, doesn’t rush it. just breathes you in, chest aching like he’s waited too long for this. and when you raise your head to face him, eyes soft and searching, he knows what’s coming.

your lips find his— just careful, like a question. and cheol answers without blinking: leaning in, his mouth warm and soft against yours. he kisses you slow, unhurried. the kind that says i’ve thought about this more times than i should. cheol’s hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in adoration. and even when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, when your breath catches just slightly, he pulls away. just gently. he lingers close, forehead against yours, lips parted like he’s catching his breath— not from want, but from restraint. because he’s not going to ruin this by rushing.

“don’t wanna take advantage of you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your lips. “not like this. i need you to be sure. whatever you decide... i’ll be here. ‘m not going anywhere.” you smile at him all sleepy and soft, the kind of smile he’d go to war for. “i already am,” you whisper. “sure, i mean. you’ve kind of... ruined him for me.” cheol exhales a quiet laugh. something unspoken settles between you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he’s not aching with guilt.

you stay like that for a while; cheol just holding you close, lazily rubbing your side. and when he eventually moves to stand, thinking he’s overstayed his welcome, you tug on his sleeve. “stay?” just one word, looking up at him like he’s all you’d ever need. and he doesn’t hesitate.“of course.” you fall asleep on the couch together— limbs tangled beneath a shared blanket. and it’s not messy or rushed or confusing. you feel safe with him, warm. like something real is finally beginning.

a/n: ngh,... (i would so do a pt2 w smut if anyone wants it btw)

taglist (join here): @lightinbug @sherrayyyyy @ferrarifinnick @namsgyu @riddlerloveb0t @pinkpunkdynamite

[wistfulnightingale]

Fearful Memories (Aziraphale KNOWS)

[Moments that Matter]

"Silly Aziraphale. Clueless Aziraphale.

So easily taken in. So devoted to Heaven he can't see how awful it really is.

Guess that's why he left Crowley..."

?????????

Look at this moment. If you believe that Aziraphale has dreamy thoughts of heaven, and is idealistic about how "right and good" it is, look very closely.

That's not just a startle response. It's exaggerated, extreme, terrified. Aziraphale's eyes become unfocused for a moment. He's literally swaying, disoriented and off-balance. When he refocuses, he's not reassured that it's "just Jim". Aziraphale isn't seeing "just Jim". He's seeing a threat to his life, to his existance. That's PTSD, folks.

That's trauma.

Aziraphale was deep in thought about heaven at the time of the God/Satan Job bet, 2500 BC. He was remembering how Gabriel and Michael couldn't begin to comprehend the love that Job and Sitis had for their children, that they wouldn't want them destroyed and replaced. Aziraphale had futilely tried to advocate and explain, about human parental love, and and also that 7 more births wouldn't be a positive thing for Sitis. During the interaction, our Angel was scoffed at, disbelieved, patronized, mocked, minimized, and accused of not trusting God's plans. It was controlling, debasing, and altogether toxic.

Interestingly, their casual violence of destroying and replacing Job's children was subtle. The archangels don't see themselves as violent. They're RIGHTEOUS. They're "the Good Guys." Destroy Job's livelihood and his family? God's will. Battle your fellow angels and cast them plunging down into pools of burning sulfur and darkness? That's Justice. Even those who weren't violent, and just challenged your authority by asking too many damn fool questions? ABSOLUTELY FINE. They deserve it.

Heaven carries a constant undertone of violence. The threat is everpresent. "We did it before -- we are capable of doing it again." And Aziraphale is constantly hypervigilant because of it.

Worst of all, some of them enjoy it...

Aziraphale doesn't forget. He copes. He masks. He gives performative compliance to survive. They watch. They listen. Aziraphale spouts off heavenly rhetoric to keep them at bay and to keep his beloved demon safe.

Crowley didn't forgive Gabriel for trying to destroy Aziraphale with hellfire. Why do we somehow assume that Azi will forgive heaven and the archangels, when it was Crowley they actually kidnapped and beat and cast into the fire? (I have serious questions about how Crowley came to be tied into that chair. When we see him examine his bonds, I suspect he just came back into consciousness.)

"Oh, but Crowley didn't tell him about it!"

It's very clear that he did, prior to the first episode of S2. Crowley states during their argument about Jim that this is the same heavenly boss that tried to cast Aziraphale into hellfire. It obviously wasn't news to Aziraphale -- he doesn't miss a beat. He's simply focused on protecting this lost helpless featherless bird that's also been victimized by heaven.

"Okay, but that stuff was all done by the archangels. Aziraphale still let himself get sweet-talked and flattered by the Metatron, because he still believes heaven and the Metatron are Good."

We know -- WE KNOW -- that Aziraphale will do anything to protect Crowley. We've seen it over and over.

And we also know -- we are clearly shown -- that the Metatron hates Crowley, and Aziraphale knows it. Our Angel sees the same look we see. He keeps walking, anxiously trying to lead the Metatron away from Crowley.

Remember, this is the same Metatron who broke the last remnants of Aziraphale's innocence in S1. The same Metatron who spoke so casually about how "a multi-nation nuclear exhange would be a nice start" to the War between Heaven and Hell. Who didn't give the slightest thought about all the lives on Earth.

Aziraphale remembers this too.

Aziraphale is not a fool. He's a survivor, and a Protector. He's the fecking ANGEL OF THE EASTERN GATE who risked damnation to give his Flaming Sword to protect a pregant couple from the wilderness, and LIED to the Supreme Archangel to save the lives of 3 children. He's the Principality who was willing to go up against a giant Hellhound unarmed, and held his restored Sword up against Satan himself, knowing full well it would be futile.

Aziraphale is not stupid. He's analytical, investigative. He makes connections, sees patterns. He studied and solved the mysteries of Agnes Nutter's prophesies, and he studied and researched and remembered to explore the mystery of what happened to Gabriel.

Aziraphale knows what heaven is like. Imagine the Courage it took to return there. He had a much bigger reason than being cajoled and flattered. He would never believe that he could rewrite heaven's rules and make it all better.

Aziraphale had a plan. A spontaneous plan, a crazy plan, a desperate plan? Absolutely.

But fooled by heaven? Silly you, if you were even thinking it.

*****

(Btw, I think Crowley was part of that desperate, chaotic plan, but that's all explained in my Chess Moves Theory set!)

*****

Thanks for being here, and for considering the eager and enthusiastic writings of a stalwart Aziraphale defender and a believer in the Ineffable Old Married Couple!

[kiame-sama]

Humans Are Extinct (Yandere!TWST x Fem!Reader) Monster AU pt 59

(Riddle has been healing at a faster rate than expected from his Overblot. He still has scars from his ordeal, but they are becoming less noticeable. It is still visually apparent Riddle Overblotted, but his mane and tail are slowly returning to the color they were before his Overblot. His remarkable healing speed is attributed directly to the amount of time he has spent with the Human.)

Warnings; yandere au, monster au, multiple yanderes, platonic and romantic yanderes, yandere conflict, NBC vs RSA vs NRC, Fleur City awaits, mention of local artisan foods to Fleur City (grapes, breads, cheeses, alcohol), verbal arguments, standoffish behavior, quiet conflict, Inferno Nymph, Hellcat, Harpy, Rakshasa, Teumessian Fox, Air Nymph, Dragon

~~~~

The sun was warm against your exposed shoulders as you walked through the bustling city. Everyone seemed to know who you were and eagerly offered you whatever they had available to them. From food, to trinkets, to clothes, everyone was eager to give you some kind of gift and just have seconds of your time reserved for them.

As you made your way through the streets, you were surprised to see that the colors you wore were not common among the masses. None of your guards wore the pinks and purples that you wore, and it was clear this trend was true among the locals as well. Almost none of the citizens wore colors close to your own, making you wonder if the colors of pink and purple were somehow reserved for Humans during the festival.

Even as you stood with Grim and looked out at the bustling marketplace, you could hardly find one person who seemed unaware of your presence. You assumed some of the crowd was composed of other students, as groups of young adults clung to one another and seemed more interested in your presence than the others. It was supposed to be a social gathering, after all.

Trein had insisted that- for the first official day in Fleur City- your guard team would remain as a group. It made sense to you, as staying in a group allowed them to get a feel for the city as well as see how the people of the city treated you. You figured it was also done to keep everyone calm and in a group while somewhere new. Despite your entourage, everyone was still keen to approach you and try and make small-talk with you.

Rollo remained practically glued to your side the entire time. The ashen Nymph walking in step with you and- for the most part- kept others away with a stern frown that sent most scuttling back to their stalls. Despite his less than approachable attitude towards others, he was almost always smiling when you spoke to him.

"We are honored to be hosting you this year, Madam (Y/n). Fleur City is known for being a safe haven for Humans seeking asylum. It is our duty and honor to have you and your guards visit."

"No need to call me Madam, (Y/n) will suffice. Honestly, we are happy to be here, Rollo."

It was then Grim started wiggling in your arms, as if trying to draw the ashen Nymph's attention to him as he mewled and squeaked. You adjusted your grasp on Grim so he was sitting up and able to talk to your guide more clearly. Rollo seemed somewhat put off by the Kit's insistence, but didn't interrupt as Grim began to speak.

"Don't forget about me! Mama said we can have all the treats today!"

Rollo seemed confused by this, holding up a handkerchief over his nose and mouth as if he were trying to cover his face. His bright red eyes glinting as he regarded the little Kit dubiously.

"... Mama?"

It was then you interjected, petting Grim on his forehead as he loudly purred from the gentle affection you showed him. This behavior from you seemed to interest Rollo as he hesitantly observed the two of you. Perhaps he had misread the interactions you had with the Kit, not wanting to cause any possible offence in his conversations with you.

"Yes, 'Mama'. I found Grim- or more accurately, he found me- when I first fell into this world. As I'm sure you already know, I am not local to this world or it's customs. That first night was a whirlwind of stress and confusion for everyone. Grim was living in the forests on his own despite the fact he is far too young to be alone and found me when I got lost in the woods. Since then, I have taken him on as my own Kit and he has taken to me as his Mama. Despite the fact I did not birth him, he is no less my son. And, for the record, I did promise him treats today."

Grim purred and fluttered his little wings as he nuzzled your chin affectionately. His small whiskers tickling along your jaw as he purred to you and cuddled into your hold with a soft squeaking mewl.

Rollo could scantly believe it. To think that you had been left alone in a forest was one thing, to hear you had the title of mother foisted upon you by a creature such as a Hellcat was appalling. He wasn't going to argue against your connection with the small feline, but he knew that those Night Raven guards were clearly untrustworthy with your safety.

"I see..."

As Rollo tried to think of something to save face and cover up his disappointment in your guards, someone was quickly approaching you. He dropped the subject to face the newcomer head on, ready to scold them for daring to approach so brazenly when you breezed past him towards the figure. In his panic to keep you safe, he almost tripped on his own robes.

You smiled happily and moved to greet the approaching group with excitement, recognizing several among them.

"Neige, how have you been?"

The Dove Harpy let out a trilling sound as he hugged you, cooing over Grim as he enthusiastically greeted you. His feathers were somewhat ruffled with excitement as the others caught up. The group seemed to be comprised of Royal Sword Academy students, even having both Alistair and Che'nya present among the group.

"Hello, my friend! I knew you were going to be present for the festival, but I didn't know that we would be able to meet up so soon!"

Your guards had also caught up and seemed to almost be posturing in an effort to scare off the rival school, but none of them paid the group any mind. All eyes were on you instead.

"Glad to see you all! We were just thinking about grabbing something to snack on while we wander. How about we all settle down for some lunch?"

"That's a great idea! That way I can introduce you to the other Royal Sword Academy students! I know you have so many guards at Night Raven College, but we are always happy to step up if you need us. I promise, none of us are like Erikír."

Despite the way the others seemed to be objecting to your suggestion of grouping up, they weren't about to demand anything to the contrary. You were happy, so your guards swallowed down their pride and resigned themselves to pretending to play nicely with the rival school. There was an open park area with plenty of blankets lain out for wandering visitors to rest and eat, so your group of twenty strong settled down at the cluster of blankets to have a picnic of sorts.

Silver settled down behind you so you could lean back on him as the others formed a close cluster around you. It was clear not all of them were letting their guards down, as Rook kept an eye on the tops of the buildings and Trein kept a close eye on the gaggle of students that were now under his care. Rollo ensured to remain close, glaring at the Harpy that seemed to have somewhat earned your affections.

"(Y/n), let me introduce you to my classmates! The Teumessian Fox is Robin Redhood, he's the leader of our Verdant Wood dorm. He's a super nice guy and can help you find anything you may need in the woods. Then there's Jasper Sandsvire, he's the Rakshasa next to Robin, he leads the Gobianvi dorm. Then there's Kida Kidagakash, he's an Air Nymph Fae and the leader of the Mystilantia dorm. You already know Alistair, Che'nya, and me, so I won't worry about introducing us again."

You tried to follow Neige's gestures to put faces to the names as he rapid-fire introduced you to his group. It made you happy to see that Alistair was still being included in Royal Sword Academy outings despite being temporarily lodged at Night Raven College with you. The group actually seemed a tad more friendly than your own scowling guards but you knew their rivalry ran deep even if they weren't willing to say so out loud.

Robin seemed to be a handsome looking Fox man, his fluffy red tail tipped with white and his pointed red ears angled towards you. His skin was fair and his green eyes seemed to hold the warmth of a forest on a sunny day. His legs were that of a red Fox and his almost delicate looking paws ended in a darker colored fur.

The one you assumed to be Jasper reminded you quite a bit of Leona, their body types similar despite the difference in coloration. Jasper's eyes were a warm brown that almost seemed gold in certain lights, akin to the coloration of imperial topaz. His face and body seemed to be equally decorated in lighter colored stripes that framed his face and wound playfully around his sun-kissed skin. It was readily apparent to you that Jasper was some kind of Tiger man instead of a Lion like Leona.

Kida was likely the most interesting of the three you were introduced to, seeming almost alien as he sat among the others. His body was mostly exposed as his clothes were primarily comprised of mesh. His body was glowing from within with an intense light blue shine that also seemed to glow from his eyes, mouth, and tattoo like designs on his lithe figure. His hair was a cloud white and seemed just as disorganized as the clouds themselves despite the air of regality that emanated from him.

The three new faces all seemed much softer and kinder than the typical scowls you were used to seeing at Night Raven College and it was somewhat of a relief to see them. Where you were- mostly- comfortable at NRC, it was still nice to encounter a group of students who weren't desperately trying to one up their fellow students for your attention.

As you chatted with Neige, Jamil and Ruggie returned to your group with a veritable bouquet of fruits, cheeses, and drinks for the gathering that had settled down. It seemed like they even got food for the rival school's students despite how displeased they were at first to have to share your attentions. Grim was nearly wiggling out of his fur with how excited he was, happily digging in the moment those plates stacked high with fruit were set in front of him.

You were quick to get a bunch of grapes for the young Kit, feeding them to him as he purred and popped the fruit in his mouth. It was more than obvious to the group that Grim held a position higher than the rest of them in your eyes as you fed the voracious Kit. While you occasionally took some fruit for yourself, you glanced over the other offerings presented to you.

It was surprising to see cheeses on these plates as you had been under the impression that such culinary feats were beyond the common inhabitant of Twisted wonderland. Rollo seemed to pick up on your interest and was eager to answer you unspoken question.

"There are not many artisans who are adept at the lost art of food preparation, but a fair number of them call Fleur City 'home'. Naturally, I'm sure it would mean quite a lot to the citizens to see you enjoying the fruits of their labors. I wouldn't be surprised if you had quite a bit more to sample while you are visiting our lovely city. Let me know if you would like to sample the other treats were have available."

The word 'treats' quickly caught Grim's attention as he looked at Rollo with wide blue eyes. Rollo seemed to immediately understand that he had piqued the interest of the Kit and was quick to go retrieve an assortment of foods for you and the Kit to try. In his absence, it was the Air Nymph Kida who settled down next to you in the vacant spot.

"Mind if I take this seat?"

"Go right ahead."

"Thank you. I know Neige gave us a lovely introduction, but I figure I should properly introduce myself to you first. My name is Kida Kidagakash, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Kida had a rather smooth voice that was closer to the timbre of a tenor than a bass, his voice rich with warmth and a subtle accent that made itself apparent throughout his words. Though Neige said Kida was a Fae, you had almost believed that he would be like Malleus or Lilia, speaking in an antiquated way or hesitant to get close to others species. This was clearly not the case as Kida spoke in a relaxed drawl to you, not at all put off by Neige leaning into him and laying a wing over him.

"Where I would typically say 'I have questions, and you're not going anywhere until I get some answers', I doubt your loyal guards would look too kindly on me if I did say that. Of course, I still have questions about you, if that is okay? Forgive my eager behavior, I am curious about you after hearing Neige, Che'nya, and Alistair's high praise."

Despite the more lofty way he spoke- a common occurrence among Fae, it seemed- there was an obvious excitement to his tone. He reminded you quite a bit of Neige and Lilia, an almost child-like wonder in response to your presence. It was clear he was also taking into account his proximity to you, giving you space to breathe regardless of his own interests. That interest mirrored in the way Robin and Jasper watched you.

"Don't take all of her time for yourself, Kida!"

Robin cheered, smiling as he sat across from you, having moved closer to your cluster of students in an attempt to speak with you as Kida had. It seemed Jasper also took up a spot next to Robin, unaware or not acknowledging of how your guards glared at them for approaching you. Silver seemed- for now- comfortable with their proximity to you, but he still kept a close eye on the trio of newcomers.

"Sorry about them," Jasper spoke, his voice a deep bass that rolled from his vocal cords smoothly like fine grains of sand in an hourglass, "we all have heard a lot about you. Neige and Che'nya are constantly singing your praises whenever we ask about you. You are quite the interesting topic on Sage Island, and clearly the rest of the world agrees with that notion."

"Oh, mostly good things, I hope?"

"Well of course. Not a single one of them has anything bad to say about you. I guess you could say we are curious about you and your Kit. The most we have gotten to know about you is what you have posted to Magicam. Though I feel silly saying it, I actually made a Magicam account just to keep up on your posts."

"Oh? Hopefully I haven't disappointed with any posts. Most of them are actually uploaded by Vil, Rook, or Cater. They're the 'admins' of my page and they typically sift through any private messages I get to make sure they are appropriate before sending them through to me."

Jasper frowned at this, a kind of pitying look overtaking his full lips. Of course he figured those of less than respectful behavior would bother you on social media, it still disappointed him to see others behave in such a way towards you. Goodness only knows what the more depraved of them would say to you if given the chance.

Malleus frowned, watching you speak so candidly to Kida and felt his own poisonous envy rolling in his stomach. He had been trying to give you proper space and not encroach upon your comfort after his prior overstepping of your boundaries, but he couldn't help the way he moved to sit upon Silver's back behind you, making himself a kind of Gargoyle or Grotesque that hovered behind your body. The guarding behavior was obvious even to the Royal Sword Academy students.

Kida was the one who frowned at Malleus the most out of the three, the natural conflict of Day Fae and Night Fae in motion. Robin, though aware of the conflict between the two Fae, made sure to pick up the lull in the conversation. His smile radiant and apparent as he lounged against Jasper's side. The Tiger- or Rakshasa as Neige called him- was quite content to have the Fox lean against him as he grabbed some more fruit.

While the others chattered and tried to gain a second more of your attention, Kida and Malleus simply stared at one another. Sky blue meeting electric green as both males glowered. Though Malleus was not going to stop you from talking to the Royal Sword Academy students, he was not going to allow Kida an easy time wooing you.

Even beyond the conflicted Fae, Rollo looked out at the multifaceted group you claimed as your guards, wondering how he could get you away from them. He was not so foolish or brazen as to speak his plans in front of the group, but it made it all the more difficult to earn your affections with so many others vying for them. He would simply have to try harder, and that Kit of yours would likely be an effective way to get in your good graces quickly.

All in due time.

[flightyalrighty]

I've been a (joking) "Ivan has never done anything wrong ever free him" fan but this week's page made me feel sick, but like in a good way. Like when Ivan killed Drago at least you can see the shock and fear in his eyes when he's realized what he's done. And yes it's gory and shocking but it's also almost absurd?

But this page just showcases the type of person Ivan is. He's so incredibly selfish and self-centered that he's willing to kill Sonic, a child, to get his way. And the way he does it is so brutal, smashing his head against the tree. Throwing the safe at least felt...idk, impersonal if that makes sense? I really like the size difference between them too. I know it's because of their difference in species but it also makes Sonic look that much younger and more vulnerable than him.

(Also I love that Ivan grabbed Sonic by his face instead of the back of the head since Sonic can rip through metal if he tenses his quills. It also makes the head smashing feel impersonal in a different way since Ivan can't see Sonic's face)

I also like how Ivan's selfishness is shown but almost kind of hidden since he was mostly interacting with unlikable people. Like yes the ringmaster was rude but he makes the point that Ivan has been late repeatedly. I noticed Ivan got annoyed when he referred to him as Ivan instead of Magnus backstage not in from of the crowd which... yeah? Who refers to someone by their character or stage name when they're not performing? That would've been the last straw for me too. Ivan demands respect he's not willing to give to others.

Sorry for all the droning but I just love this comic so much!

(Context: This was sent on June 6th)

YOU were picking up what I was putting down! I had no idea how to answer this in a way that would feel like a proper response, however! Which is why it took so long! Sorry about that!

Anyway, gold star for you.

⭐️

[treefish815]

It depresses me a little bit how Katherine has so many characters who flirt with her by exclusively complimenting her appearance. Even characters who I’d argue probably weren’t written to be in love with her like Samuel or Janosh have idle dialogue telling her how pretty she is. Henry is her only option for a relationship and even his romantic interactions with her are mostly “heh, you look pretty sitting there, it’s a great view from up here” and shit like that until AFTER they fuck, and even then when my guy is trying to sus out whether this can become a long time thing he tells her she’s only the second bravest woman he’s ever met behind Theresa 💀

Look I’m just saying, Jan “never once so much as mentioned Katherine’s appearance” Zizka saying he trusts Katherine more than half the men he’s worked for and trusts she can keep herself safe because he knows her routine and abilities well is way more romantic than “heyyy Katherine I see you got your beauty sleep”

[xylatox]

lovesong(demo).wav || lhs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lmfao Heeseung

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

Hes so annoyingly cute here

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

This made me giggle omg, i love Jungwon

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

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

This entire interaction is actually so cute 

“You look pretty,” he said quietly.

The way I would immediately fold. 

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

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

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

Im going to sob Heeseung is so cute

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

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

CRYING

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

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

I cant do this. I love them so much

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

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

I will pass out.

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

I cannot do this actually

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

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

I’m so fucking soft ugh.

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

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

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

I already love how dramatic Jake is

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

Also love Sunghoon in his natural teasing way

“You got this, babe.”

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

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

I love them so much its actually insane

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

PATTY YOURE GOING TO KILL ME I SWEAR TO GOD

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

UEIBAFBARBGIAUA YES OMG YAY

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

I really would pass out

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

LOVESONG(demo).wav

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

⋆｡◛ ⊹ ⤳ requested ･:*:･｡☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stopped for a second, taking a deep breath.

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

Someone cursed under their breath.

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

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

“Yes.”

“And the inclusion set designs?”

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled back weakly. “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The clock on your screen reads 21:56.

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

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

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

“Miss Y/L/N.”

The voice slithered in before the man did.

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

Mr. Kim.

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

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

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

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

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

But he was apparently not done yet.

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

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

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

He winked, “Good night, Miss Y/L/N.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” he said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Despite yourself, you smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.

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

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

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

You blinked up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised an eyebrow. “On?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled faintly in response. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit. Do your thing. I’ll be quiet.”

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

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

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

You stared at it, then glanced at him.

“Do I look that miserable?”

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

You let out a laugh that surprised even you.

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

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

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

Or how he tapped out beats on the desk.

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

You glanced over, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gave a little wave. “Morning.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung nodded. “It does look really pretty.”

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

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

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

You shared a glance, silently commiserating. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He huffed. “Great, so… Helvetica?”

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

Your screen pinged with a message.

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

You blinked.

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

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

You shrugged and started typing back.

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

His reply came back thirty seconds later.

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

You blinked at it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You checked the time.

15:24.

You stood up, smoothing down your skirt. 

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

Jungwon gave a dramatic salute. “Godspeed.”

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

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

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

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

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

And then… your brain short-circuited.

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

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

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

Your voice cracked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which meant it was just you and Heeseung now.

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

He raised a brow, unfazed. “What?”

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

“I told you we needed input.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You look pretty,” he said quietly.

You blinked at him. “What?”

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

You hesitated. “I didn’t freak out–”

He gave you a look.

“…Okay, I freaked out a little.”

He grinned. “But only a little.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You crossed your arms. “This is unfair.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head with a small chuckle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously?” Your eyes widened. 

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

You frowned slightly. “Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That explains the cake last week.”

You nodded. “Guilty.”

“So… what happened?”

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

Heeseung hummed softly.

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

He chuckled. “Living the dream.”

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

He shot you a look. “You met me.”

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

“Wow.”

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

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

You blinked. “Want to what?”

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

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

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

You just stared at him.

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You’re joking.”

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

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

“Absolutely.“

Monday, you were the first one in the booth.

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

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

Honestly, it looked like the inside of your brain.

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

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

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

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

You heard the door open ten minutes later.

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

Then he stopped short.

You watched him inspect the box. 

“…What the hell?”

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

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

You blinked innocently. “Bring what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He saluted dramatically. “On it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that a direct quote from Bang PD?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he said, simply.

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait–uh, have you eaten?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

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

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

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

You stared at him for a second, thrown off.

“You… want to make me ramen?”

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

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

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

You bit back your grin. “Okay.”

He blinked. “Okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kind of,” you said, self-conscious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dealer’s choice.”

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

You found yourself watching him for a beat too long.

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

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

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

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

“Usually just me and a microwaved rice bowl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A beat passed.

“But not, like… bad weird,” he added.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Not bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CONFIDENTIALITY & CONDUCT AGREEMENT (NDA)

You blinked. “I–sorry, what is this?”

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

You stared. “Jay?”

Why would Jay invite you for dinner? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinked. “...No?”

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

“I wasn’t.” He grinned, thoroughly enjoying your fluster. “Do you not wanna come?”

You launched yourself at him before you could stop yourself, arms looping around his neck. “Are you kidding?! Of course I want to come! I can’t believe– thank you, seriously–”

You hadn’t even fully realized you were hugging him until you felt that split-second freeze in his posture. His hands hovered in midair like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Oh–,” he muttered under his breath.

You pulled back immediately. “Oh my god–sorry–”

“No, no,” he said quickly, shaking off whatever momentary glitch he just had. His arms settled loosely around your waist. “I just didn’t think you’d be this excited about an NDA.”

“You literally handed me a legally binding document that says Enhypen wants to hang out with me.”

He snorted. “Technically, it just says they won’t sue you if you talk about anything that might happen or will be said.”

You smacked his arm lightly.

He grinned. “We’re going for Italian on Thursday.”

You blinked. “Thursday? Crap–I have the rollout presentation Friday morning.”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Okay… so come over instead.”

“…What?”

“I’ll host. My place. We’ll do pizza or pasta or whatever. Super chill. I’ll tell the guys.”

You stared at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Absolutely.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip a little. You tried to pretend your ears weren’t burning as you nodded slowly.

“…Okay,” you said, voice a bit higher than intended. “I’ll bring dessert.”

“You’d better,” he shrugged. “If not, you’re getting uninvited.”

You laughed under your breath as you followed him out into the hallway, heart thudding somewhere between this is so surreal and how is he so nonchalant about this.

He laughed softly, arms coming up to steady you as you practically bounced on your heels. “Okay, okay, calm down. It’s just dinner.”

“It’s not just dinner,” you huffed into his shoulder. “It’s Enhypen dinner. I didn’t even think you liked me that much–”

“I don’t,” he teased. “I just want more croissants.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly but didn’t let go. You were still grinning way too hard to care.

The morning crowd on the subway was… less than forgiving.

You regretted everything the moment you stepped onto the packed train, clutching your bag and a coffee cup against your chest like a shield. Heeseung had met you at your usual stop with a lazy smile and two iced Americanos, one of which you almost spilled when the train lurched forward.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-tripping. 

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

Not a single muscle moved.

His arm stayed firmly around you, low and warm and annoyingly natural.

“I was doing fine,” you protested, after a few seconds. 

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing down at you with a raised brow, “you look thriving.”

You shot him a look, but the next jolt of the train had you wobbling forward again. 

And suddenly your entire spine was pressed against Heeseung’s chest, shoulder to ribs.

You were perilously aware of everything: how warm he was, how steady his breathing felt against your back, how he smelled faintly like cologne and coffee. And most of all, how he didn’t move.

If anything, he just adjusted his grip slightly. 

You wanted to say something. Instead, you just blinked at your own reflection in the window and tried not to melt.

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

You made a tiny, strangled noise, trying not to squeeze the two cups in your hand, while panicking. 

And then, mercifully, the next stop came.

By the time you spilled out of the subway car onto the platform, your legs were jelly and your face was on fire. 

“You okay?” he asked, amused when you handed him his cup.

“Totally,” you wheezed. “Normal. Very normal train ride. Love commuting. Big fan.”

“Good,” he said, sipping his coffee, grinning at you.

The train finally began to slow near your stop, the pressure of the crowd shifting as people prepared to shuffle out. Heeseung’s arm loosened from around you, and you stepped forward as space allowed, finally able to breathe without your heart doing parkour in your chest.

At the platform, the two of you walked in step toward the station exit, letting the rhythm of the morning crowd carry you along. 

Outside, the morning air was already stuffy. You reached the entrance of the building.

You turned to Heeseung. He was already watching you with that unreadable expression of his, coffee cradled in one hand.

“See you later,” you said, a little quieter than usual.

He nodded, mouth tilting up just a bit. “Yeah. Later.”

 By 6:40 p.m. on Thursday, you were this close to crying.

Your desk was a mess of draft decks, color-correction notes, and flagged emails you hadn’t yet answered. Your hands were cold from stress, your jaw ached from clenching, and your chest felt tight.

You were just about finished for the evening when you noticed him standing in the doorway of your booth. His shoes clicked against the polished floor, his movements far too deliberate, too slow, as he made his way toward you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice so sickly sweet you could almost taste the insincerity. “Looking absolutely stunning tonight.”

You blinked, trying to refocus on your screen.

“Is that a new dress?” He leaned closer, his smile stretching too wide for comfort. “You know, I do enjoy when someone can dress for the occasion... So much more appealing to the eyes.”

You barely suppressed a grimace, resisting the urge to curl your lip. You'd chosen the dress that morning because it was a simple yet professional choice. You didn’t think much of it until Mr. Kim made it clear that it had caught his attention in a way that had nothing to do with your work.

His eyes lingered, scanning you too intently for your liking, and the comment that followed only made your stomach churn.

“Quite the distraction, though,” he added smoothly. “Makes it hard for a man like me to focus, Miss Y/L/N.”

You hated how his gaze felt like it was crawling over you, how it lingered a little too long on the way your dress fit and the way you sat at your desk. 

He lowered his voice slightly, the words coated with layers of suggestion. “You know, I could always help you with getting your mind off work... if you needed a break from all this stress.”

Your jaw clenched. A small part of you wanted to retort, tell him exactly what you thought of his “help,” but you knew better. You didn’t want to make a scene. You smiled tightly instead, forcing the words out with as much professionalism as you could muster.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim. But I have everything under control.”

He leaned back, satisfied with your answer, or rather, the fact that you hadn’t rejected his offer outright. You tried to shove the creeping feeling of disgust down. He made a final comment before leaving, "Don't work too hard, Miss Y/L/N. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get too tired in that lovely dress."

You almost threw your stylus at him.

Now you sat slumped in your chair, elbows on your desk.

You wanted to cancel. You really, really wanted to. 

But you couldn’t.

Because Heeseung invited you. Because he was excited. Because you were excited. Because you made tiramisu. Because this was your chance to meet some of the Enhypen members as actual people, not headline acts. 

A knock on the outer glass startled you.

Heeseung.

He walked in smiling, but his expression shifted the second he saw you. You didn’t even have time to straighten up before he crossed the room.

“Hey…” His voice was gentle. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer and ended up just blinking fast.

“Oh. Okay, come here.”

He wrapped his arms around you before you could say anything else. One hand rubbed gently between your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

You sniffed, trying not to fall apart completely. “Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know, I’m just really tired and that asshole came by and–”

“I hate that guy,” Heeseung muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.

His hands came up to frame your face, gentle thumbs brushing at your temples, moving a few strands of hair away with soft care. “You’re doing amazing, okay? Don’t let him make you think differently.”

Your breath shuddered out. “I just… I don’t wanna show up all weird and stressed and ruin the vibe.”

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

That got the smallest laugh out of you. He himself asked you if you could make tiramisu. 

He smiled. “Let me carry your stuff, okay? We’ll head to mine, eat too much, and if you want to dip early, I’ll make something up. Deal?”

You nodded slowly. “Deal.”

“And,” he added, lowering his hands but still watching you carefully, “if he ever comes near your booth again, let me know. I’m not management, but I know how to be annoying.”

You laughed again, for real this time. “You? Annoying? Never.” 

The subway car was packed.

Not just crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder, strangers-breathing-down-your-neck kind of packed. You squeezed in just behind Heeseung as the doors hissed shut, the jolt of movement almost sending you stumbling. He caught your elbow instinctively, his hand steadying you for just a second before he let go.

“Seat,” he said quietly, nodding toward the only one available, just a few feet to your right.

You hesitated. “You should take it.”

Heeseung looked at you like you’d suggested jumping onto the tracks. “You’re wearing a dress and heels.”

You blinked. “What does that–”

“Just sit.”

You didn’t argue again. You just slid into the seat, your bag clutched tight in your lap.

He stood directly to your right, one hand braced on the bar above, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The car lurched forward.

Your knees bumped his leg when the train turned.

He didn’t move.

You shifted, trying to give him space, but there wasn’t any. He was close enough that you could smell the laundry detergent on his hoodie. 

Another stop. More people pushed in. He adjusted his stance slightly, his shin brushing against your ankle now, the line of his thigh against yours. 

His eyes flicked down.

Then up again.

Then away.

Neither of you spoke.

You didn’t have to. The contact was small, but your whole body was aware of it.

You stared at the blinking subway map above the door.

One stop. Then two. Almost home.

You tried not to think too hard about how nice it felt, this quiet little moment of being taken care of in the most casual, quiet, unspoken way.

By the time you reached your building, it started raining and you and Heeseung were huddled under his umbrella again. You buzzed yourself in, holding the door with your foot until Heeseung followed.

Once inside, you took off your shoes, motioning toward the living room. “Give me two minutes. Gotta grab the tiramisu and maybe… change?”

Heeseung tilted his head. “Yeah….actually, if you want to, that might be… good?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Just figured you might wanna get out of your work stuff, to be…more comfortable. It’s super casual, I mean.”

You nodded slowly. “Got it. Two seconds.”

You disappeared down the hallway, your heart doing something slightly irrational as you pulled open your wardrobe.

Comfortable. Casual. Not… too casual.

You settled on high-waisted jeans and a soft black tank with scalloped straps. Simple. You undid your hair too, shaking it out with your fingers until it settled loosely over your shoulders. You checked the mirror, lips twitching.

And then, without overthinking it, you padded barefoot back into the living room.

“Okay,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. “This okay?”

Heeseung looked up from where he’d been sitting on your sofa, flipping through one of the design magazines you bunkered under the table, and froze. 

His eyes scanned you quickly and then darted immediately to the floor like the entire act of looking had caught him off guard.

“Uh–yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. That’s–uh. That’s perfect.”

You tilted your head. “You sure?”

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

You smiled slowly, watching the tips of his ears turn pink. “Thanks, Heeseung.”

He coughed once, avoiding your eyes. “Let’s… let’s go before I eat the tiramisu myself.”

You grabbed your bag again, heart fluttering just enough to make your grin feel dangerous. “Lead the way.”

Heeseung’s apartment was bigger than yours. 

He dropped his keys in the bowl near the door, turning to offer you a small smile. “They said they’d be here around seven-thirty, so we’ve got a few minutes.”

You nodded, clutching the tiramisu like it was a shield. Your heart thudded faster now, not in fear exactly, but in nerves. The idea of sitting down and casually having dinner with ENHYPEN suddenly felt very… real.

Heeseung watched you for a moment, eyes soft. “You okay?”

“Just… mentally preparing,” you said, exhaling. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Just casually meeting five people who were on my Spotify Wrapped last year.”

He grinned. “If it helps, Sunghoon still burns toast.”

You laughed under your breath and were about to respond when the shrill sound of Heeseungs doorbell interrupted you. 

Heeseung raised a brow. “They are early.”

You instinctively stepped half behind him as he opened the door.

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

“We literally just came back ourselves,” Heeseung replied, letting them all in. “We haven’t ordered anything yet.”

“Man, thats dissapointing,” Jake said, already peeking toward the kitchen where you were standing, next to the tiramisu.

“Hi,” you replied, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt.

Behind him came Niki and Sunghoon, who both had wet hair. All of them were bare faced.

“We’re minus one,” Sunghoon said as he dropped onto the couch. “Jay’s not coming.”

Heeseung blinked. “What?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “His girlfriend started her period today and he went over to her place.”

“That’s… actually sweet,” you blurted.

Heeseung gave a small laugh and motioned toward you. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She works in creative.”

You gave a small wave, not quite trusting your voice again yet.

Sunoo smiled at you, “Nice to meet you Y/N.”

You slightly cleared your throat. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”

Jake stepped into the kitchen. “Wait. Is that the tiramisu?”

“Mhm,” Heeseung said walking over and, setting it in the fridge. 

“Dude I thought you ordered some,” Sunghoon said sitting down on Heeseungs sofa. 

“Yeah. Well, not exactly order, I asked Y/N if she wanted to make some,” Heeseung shrugged. “It’s Sunghoon’s favorite.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You asked for it.”

Heeseung’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Yeah. For Sunghoon.”

You turned to him, deadpan. “Dude. What the fuck. I wanted to make cookies for you cause you said u said they looked yummy and now i made tiramisu for an international super star?”

Sunoo laughed immediately. “Wait, you’re the croissant girl?”

You blinked. “The crossiant girl?”

“But Heeseung didn’t shut up about the croissants for days.”, Jake said plopping down next to Sunghoon.

You looked at Heeseung, arms crossed. “You told them about the crossints?”

Heeseung, who was now pretending to scroll through the pizza delivery app, said nothing.

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

“For him or me?” you asked.

“Yes,” Sunghoon replied with a faint smile.

You shook your head, still suppressing a grin. “Okay. You guys want pizza or not?”

“Absolutely,” Niki said. “Half bulgogi, half pepperoni. No pineapple.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jake muttered.

“Do not start a war in my apartment,” Heeseung warned.

While they argued about toppings, you helped Heeseung finish the order. 

Sunoo plopped down next to Sunghoon and patted the seat beside him. “Come on. We don’t bite.”

You hesitated, then sat, keeping your posture neutral, your legs tucked neatly under you.

“Okay,” Jake said, lounging across the arm of the couch. “So what made you want to work at HYBE?”

You blinked at the directness, then laughed nervously. “Wow. Uhm I'm there more or less on accident?”

You glanced at Heeseung, who offered a small nod of encouragement from the kitchen.

“I… actually wanted to be a baker,” you said. “I studied design because my parents wanted me to have something ‘practical’ to fall back on. Turns out I liked it enough to keep doing it. And then one internship led to another, and somehow I ended up designing teaser graphics for idol groups.”

“Do you still bake often, or was it a one time thing for hyung?” Niki asked.

“Mostly for stress,” you admitted. “Or when someone makes a really annoying request for tiramisu.” You shot a glance at Heeseung, who just smiled and opened a cabinet.

“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “That was a great decision.”

The next morning was already chaos.

You had a stack of revised mood boards tucked under your arm, three poster mock-ups clipped to your tote, and a USB drive clenched between your teeth while you tried not to spill your lukewarm coffee. The team had pulled off near-miracles, reworking concepts, rebuilding a cohesive storyline, and salvaging designs under impossible pressure. And now it was time to present.

Your nerves were frayed and your blouse was wrinkled and of course, of course, the elevator was packed when you stepped inside.

Just as the doors started to close, a hand slipped between them.

Heeseung, headphones around his neck and hair still slightly damp like he’d showered five minutes ago made his way into the packed elevator. He offered you a sleepy smile, eyes darting to the mess in your hands.

“Are you ready?” he asked, leaning slightly against the side of the elevator.

“I am not sure,” you muttered, clutching your things. “Everything breaks if one person blinks wrong.”

“Sounds relaxing,” he said, with a small smirk.

You gave him a half-hearted eye roll, but you were grateful for the few seconds of levity. His presence was oddly grounding. Then the elevator dinged.

And in stepped Mr. Kim.

The air changed immediately.

You froze as the man’s eyes raked across the small elevator car, lingering far too long when they landed on you. Your stomach twisted. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his tone smug. “Always working so hard.”

You tried to smile without actually smiling, eyes darting to Heeseung, who glanced between you and Mr. Kim.

You gave him a look.

And without missing a beat, Heeseung shifted closer to you, casually, but firmly placing himself between you and Mr. Kim. His hand came up to gently rest on your back, warm through the fabric of your shirt. 

Your breath caught.

As the elevator slowed to your floor, Heeseung looked down at you and gave a quiet, encouraging murmur.

“You got this, babe.”

Your brain short-circuited.

You barely registered the surprised look on Mr. Kim’s face as he blinked at Heeseung, then back at you, as you stepped off the elevator.

“Oh?” he said, clearly trying to mask his annoyance. “You and Mr. Lee are… close?”

Heeseung didn’t even blink. He just smiled.

“Yes. We’ve been going out for a while now.”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a small nod, like the internal math he was doing didn’t quite add up but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort to challenge it, at least not now.

The rest of the meeting passed in strange, almost blessed peace. Mr. Kim didn’t interrupt you once. Didn’t cut off your points, didn’t make snide remarks. He just… sat there. Quiet.

The applause at the end of your presentation felt like a drug. Even Legal had nodded in approval, which was practically a standing ovation. When your manager turned to you with a small, rare smile and said, “Great work. We’re green lit to post. Let’s get this live by Monday,” your knees almost buckled.

You had survived.

You should have felt on top of the world.

Except…

Heeseung had been red on Teams since 10:14 a.m.

You checked. Rechecked. Closed and reopened the app. Still red.

[12:47 PM] y/n: We did it. Greenlight.

No reply.

[2:05 PM] y/n: I brought the fancy draft mockups for you to roast but you’re ghosting me instead, rude

Still red.

You tried to be mature about it. He was busy. Probably. 

Except it stung a little. Okay, a lot. Especially when your manager swung by at 4:30 with a tired grin and a generous offer.

“You’ve earned a break. Go home, everyone. Rest. Sleep. Don’t even look at your inbox until Monday morning.”

And like that, the office emptied.

You took the train back in silence. When you got home, you peeled off your work clothes, cleansed your face, and climbed into your pink kitty pajamas. You slapped on your favorite aloe sheet mask and sank into your couch like a deflated balloon.

You glanced at your phone once more, just in case.

Still red.

At 9:17 p.m., just when you were deciding whether you wanted to start a new drama or rewatch a old one your phone vibrated. 

[9:17 PM] Heeseung: Are you still in the building?

You blinked, stared, then scrambled to type back.

[9:18 PM] y/n: Nope. Left hours ago. Home now.

Three little dots appeared immediately.

[9:18 PM] Heeseung: ...Can I come over? Actually. I’ll be at your place in 5 min. 

You froze and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your TV.

You barely had time to rip off your sheet mask and throw on a hoodie before the doorbell rang.

When you opened the door, Heeseung stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a bottle of red wine and a guilty expression.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “I forgot how fast I walk when I’m anxious.”

You blinked. “You’re anxious?”

“...Yes.”

He stood there for another second, then stepped inside when you moved back. He hovered awkwardly near the entrance, hands in his pockets now, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant to come by after the elevator. I really did. But the studio called me into something last minute and then I had to stay in the editing room and–”

You blinked, confused for a second. “Wait. You were coming to find me?”

He nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. I wanted to come after you texted me you got greenlit. To congratulate…and to see how you were doing, if he did something again.”

Oh. You thought back to the elevator, Mr. Kim’s eyes on you, his words oily and smug, and then Heeseung’s hand on your back. The quiet “you got this, babe” still echoed in your head like a song lyric you didn’t know how to stop humming.

“I was fine,” you murmured.

He gave you a look.

You sighed. “Okay. I was… about to punch him but holding it together. Professionally of course.”

“I was so mad,” he admitted, voice lower now. “At him. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I should’ve texted.”

“You were red on Teams all day.”

“I was sitting on the floor with a laptop trying to fix three vocal tracks while my phone was dead in my bag,” he said, smiling weakly. “It was not my most functional day.”

You stared at him, this boy who offered you a tissue when you crashed into his, now your, booth when you were crying, who casually invited you to meet your idols, who fought off your sleazy coworker with just four words and a hand on your back, and felt something soft start to uncurl in your chest.

“Want wine?” you asked, voice gentler now.

He looked up like you’d just told him the world was ending and he had five minutes to enjoy it.

“Yes. So much.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were curled up on your couch in your oversized tshirt and mismatched socks, and Heeseung was beside you, barefoot now, as he poured you both generous glasses of red wine.

Your cat-themed pajama pants were definitely not glamorous, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression had softened the second you shuffled back into the room with your hair damp from a quick rinse and your face washed clean of mask residue.

“You really are glowing when you’re out of that office,” he said, handing you a glass.

You wrinkled your nose. “I think that’s just the very expensive and excessive amount of skincare on my face right now.”

He smiled into his glass as you both sipped.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low flicker of your floor lamp the only light in the room. The Netflix menu looped quietly on your TV, still waiting for a decision you didn’t feel like making.

Heeseung broke the silence first.

“I kept thinking about it.”

You turned your head to him. “About what?”

“The way he looked at you.” His jaw tightened. 

You said nothing. Just reached for your wine again.

Heeseung glanced sideways, then spoke again, softer. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just… wanted you to know I saw it. And it wasn’t okay.”

You nodded slowly. “It happens. More than it should. To more girls than just me.”

He looked at you, brows drawn slightly. “Still not okay.”

“I know,” you whispered.

Another beat passed.

“I didn’t expect you to say it like that,” you said finally.

Heeseung blinked. “Say what?”

“‘Babe.’”

“Oh,” he said, the tips of his ears instantly going red. “Yeah. That was… I didn’t plan that.”

You smiled into your wine glass. “It worked.”

He looked over, surprised. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “He didn’t say a single word to me during the meeting.”

“I’ll call you that again if it keeps him quiet.”

“Don’t push your luck, Romeo.”

That made him laugh, the sound low and honest, and you smiled against your glass again.

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

By the time the movie was halfway through, the first bottle of wine was nearly gone.

You hadn’t meant to drink that much. Neither had he.

But you kept topping off each other’s glasses in lazy silence, the bottle tipping between you like a slow conversation neither of you wanted to end. The couch had become a sort of middle ground, with two pillows behind your backs and one blanket draped loosely over both your legs. You weren’t sure when that had happened either.

The film flickered quietly in the background, something about a bakery in Paris and a romance that neither of you were really following. Heeseung made a dramatic noise when the lead actress confessed her feelings to the wrong guy, slumping his head against your shoulder.

“Justice for the hot violinist,” he mumbled into your hoodie.

You burst out laughing, setting your glass down before you spilled.

“You’re so annoying,” you said between giggles.

“Am not,” he replied, lifting his head just enough to smirk at you.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away.

Heeseung grabbed the second bottle from where it had been sitting patiently by the TV and held it up like a question.

You raised your brows. “You really want more?”

“Yes.” He grinned. “Absolutely.”

You got the cork halfway out before it popped with a little pop that made you both jump and then start laughing all over again. Heeseung nearly dropped his glass trying to pour, his other hand bracing against your thigh for balance, and you swatted at him gently.

“God, you’re clumsy,” you muttered, amused.

“Blame the grapes,” he said, eyes dancing.

You sipped your wine and sank deeper into the couch, your legs half-tangled with his now, your knees bumping, your feet tucked under the blanket. The buzz in your head was warm and a little dizzying. 

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked after a while, your voice soft and hazy. “Stay late at the office? Show up at coworkers’ apartments with wine?”

Heeseung shook his head slowly, resting his head back against the couch. “No. Not really.”

You turned to look at him.

He was already watching you.

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

You felt your heart stutter in your chest.

Then, to cover it up you reached for your glass. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Lee.”

He grinned, slow and crooked. “Dangerously?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And if I said I meant it?”

You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Then I’d probably say… don’t stop.”

Both of you were silent for a second, watching each other until Heeseung turned his head towards the TV again.

By the time the second movie started your feet were in his lap, his hand resting lightly against your calf. You were curled up sideways, your cheek brushing his shoulder. At some point, his fingers started tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your knee.

You felt them even through the blanket.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.

You made a soft sound. “You’re heavy.”

“Lies.”

“Truth.“

Your wine glass was empty and forgotten on the coffee table, your head tilted slightly toward Heeseung as the credits rolled over yet another cheesy, completely ignorable romantic subplot. The soft buzz in your limbs made you slower, warmer, and more tangled up in the present than you usually allowed yourself to be.

He hadn’t made a joke in a while.

Which, honestly, was weird.

You shifted slightly, cheek brushing the edge of his shirt where your head had been half-leaning for the last–what, twenty? thirty?–minutes. His shoulder was warm and steady beneath you, but quiet.

Too quiet.

You turned your head slowly.

He was out cold.

His head had slumped just slightly to the side, lips parted the tiniest bit, one hand still loosely holding the stem of his wine glass, though it had dipped into his lap. His other hand was still half-tucked under the blanket near your leg.

You blinked.

“You traitor,” you whispered, grinning.

He didn’t move.

You leaned closer, squinting at his face in the low light. His cheeks were flushed, not just wine-warm, but rosy now, all the way to the tips of his ears.

You couldn’t help it.

You let out the softest, breathiest laugh and murmured, “You’re so red, oh my god.”

You carefully reached out and plucked the glass from his hand before he could spill anything, setting it on the coffee table. Then you curled back into the couch, closer this time, and let your head rest against the curve of his shoulder.

“You laughed through an entire subplot about a pastry chef and her ghost boyfriend,” you whispered into the quiet. “And this is what knocks you out?”

Still nothing.

But his breathing stayed slow and even.

You looked at him again, your smile softening.

He looked peaceful. Not polished or poised or the version of him you usually saw pacing around the studio, just… Heeseung. Slightly flushed, his shirt wrinkeled, wine-drowsy, and entirely asleep in your living room.

And somehow, that made your chest ache in the nicest possible way.

“Guess I’m not the only lightweight,” you whispered, barely audible.

You shifted carefully, moving one arm, then another, easing yourself up from the sofa to go sleep in your bed. 

You didn’t even get the chance to move mor ethan a few centimeters when Heeseungs hand tightened at your waist followed by a quiet, groggy voice.

“…What?”

You froze mid-sit-up and looked down.

Heeseung’s eyes were barely open, squinting in the low light, his lashes heavy against his cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep. But he was awake. Or halfway there.

You smiled, soft. “Go back to sleep.”

He blinked slowly. “Where are you going?”

“My beed,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his wrist, trying to gently pry his hand off your hoodie. “I was just gonna–”

“No,” he mumbled, arm tightening just slightly, his voice all thick and low and whiny. “Stay.”

You blinked. “What?”

He made a small, disgruntled sound and shifted, trying to pull you back down the way someone hugs a pillow in their sleep.

“Stay,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he knew he was already asking for too much. 

You were about to argue. Say something rational. Like you’d be more comfortable in your bed or he might need space or this is unprofessional, right? But then he made that soft noise again and his fingers caught the hem of your shirt.

And your chest did that dumb, twisty ache again.

So you sighed and gave in.

“Okay,” you murmured, lowering yourself back down. “Fine. Whatever.”

You felt him relax instantly, his arm slipping easily around your waist again, pulling you against his chest with a quiet breath of relief.

His forehead bumped gently against your temple as you both settled back into the blanket.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered.

He let out a small, satisfied mmph, already melting back into the couch. And just before sleep pulled you under too, you thought you felt him murmur something else, a quiet, hazy little thank you, into the space where your shoulder met his chest.

Heeseung didn’t stir. Just exhaled softly, mouth twitching. You watched him for a second. The way his hair was a mess, flattened on one side. The way his mouth hung open just a little. The way his shirt had slid up to reveal a sliver of his waist where your hand had been curled all night. You shook your head and padded into the bathroom before your brain could linger on that detail too long. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and pulled your hair into a low bun. By the time you stepped back into the kitchen, the soft blue light of morning had begun to filter through the curtains. You opened the freezer, reached in, and smiled. You still had a tray of frozen croissants.  You’d rolled and shaped them last week and froze them, just in case you needed some for an emergency. This counted as an emergency. “Perfect,” you murmured. You set the oven to preheat, arranged four pastries on a tray, and grabbed a knife to slice up some strawberries and green grapes you’d had tucked in the fridge. As the fruit hit the plate, a soft creak sounded behind you. You turned, just in time to see a very groggy Heeseung shuffle into the kitchen. His hair was sticking up in three directions, and he looked like he wasn’t really awake yet. He blinked at you. “Why are you vertical?”

You grinned, holding up a strawberry slice. “Because I have a healthy sleeping rhythm and can’t sleep longer than 8 am.” He made a soft, confused noise and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his head dropping forward onto the table with a dramatic thud. You laughed quietly, setting the fruit down in front of him. “Sleep well?” He mumbled something into the wood that might have been yes or kill me, you weren’t sure. You turned back to the oven just as it pinged. The smell of the croissants was already filling the apartment. Behind you, Heeseung groaned. “Are you baking?” You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the one who told me you’d work the counter at my imaginary bakery if I paid you in croissants.” He squinted up at you, one eye barely open. “You’re baking. At 8 am on a Saturday morning.” You slid the tray into the oven with a smile. “I am. Just for you.” You sat on the small bench by the wall, a mug of coffee wrapped in both hands, your bare legs curled up beneath you. Your shorts were riding up slightly, and your oversized t-shirt hung comfortably off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep.

Heeseung sat next to you, his long legs stretched lazily under the table. One of them bumped against yours. His knee slid alongside your thigh, skin against skin. Neither of you moved. You felt it in your stomach, low and sudden. Heeseung, half-slouched in the chair, blinked once. Then again. His gaze dropped briefly to where your knees touched, then back up to your face. You pretended not to notice. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a quiet hum and slumped his cheek into his hand, eyes only half-open.  “I’m trying to remember if I said anything stupid last night.” You sipped your coffee, lips twitching. “Define stupid.” “Like… did I call you ‘babe’ again?” You smiled into your cup. “No.” He exhaled, relieved. “Just whined like a child until I stayed on the couch.” His head snapped up. “What?!” You grinned. “You literally said, ‘Don’t go yet, just stay.’ And then clung to me like a koala.” Heeseung covered his face with both hands. “Oh my god.” “I did stay,” you added, smug. “So technically it worked.”

“Please erase that entire interaction from your brain.” You let your thigh lean just slightly more into his. “Nope. Gonna treasure it forever.” He peeked through his fingers, groaning. “Why are you like this?” “Because you slept with your mouth open and drooled a little on my shoulder.” He gasped. “That’s a lie.” You shrugged innocently. “You’ll never know.” He squinted at you, then glanced down at your coffee. “Is that the good blend?” You nodded. “Vanilla roast.” He reached for your mug without asking and took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “I forgive you.” “For what?” “Mocking my emotional vulnerability.” You laughed softly, the sound curling between you like steam. When the oven pinged, neither of you moved for a moment. Your legs were still touching.  His knee was still pressed lightly against your bare skin, and your arm was now brushing his where it rested on the bench. It was nothing. And also very much something. Then Heeseung stood up slowly, stretching with a yawn that revealed the tiniest sliver of skin under his t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder at you. “You’re burning our breakfast.” Breakfast didn’t last long, but neither of you moved afterward. You stayed exactly where you were: side by side on the bench, your knees brushing, your thighs pressed together, your bare leg warm against his. The soft cotton of his t-shirt clung to his side, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath every time he shifted. Heeseung sat with one elbow on the table, chin in his hand, half-turned toward you. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the second cup of coffee, his hair still tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. You leaned back against the wall beside him, foot nudging his under the table.

“This is weird,” you said. He blinked. “Weird how?” You tilted your head. “I don’t know. I feel like I should be freaking out. You slept over. We’re… close.” He looked down at where your legs were still touching. “Yeah.” “But I’m not freaking out,” you added. He smiled slowly. “Me neither.” You were both quiet for a moment. Then he said, voice barely above a whisper, “It’s nice.” You nodded, looking down at your empty plate. “Yeah.” His hand moved slightly under the table. His pinky nudged yours. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you moved your hand and intertwined your fingers with his long ones. And when you turned your head to glance at him again, he was already looking at you, something soft and unspoken flickering behind his eyes. “I could stay like this all day,” he murmured. You smiled. “Then stay.” Heeseung didn’t answer right away. But he didn’t move either. And neither did you.

The booth was quiet except for the occasional soft click of Heeseung’s mouse. It was already late, past golden hour, and the air outside had cooled from its blistering midday heat into something softer. Muggier, still sticky, but breathable. You sat on the couch with your legs tucked under you. A bottle of cold green tea sat between your knees. You’d finished your last rollout file before dinner. Technically, you could’ve gone home. But instead, you waited. You liked waiting. Because it meant walking home with Heeseung. That had become your favorite part of the day over the last weeks. He pulled off his dress shirt and was only wearing the white tank top he always wore underneath. His hair curled a little at the edges when he got too warm, and he kept pushing it back with one hand, blinking hard at the screen. You checked the time. “Almost done?” you asked, voice low, lazy. He didn’t look up. “You don’t have to wait.”

“I know.” His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. He continued working for a few more seconds, and then he sat back in his chair and let out a dramatic exhale. “Okay. I think I’m done for today.” You grinned. “Took you long enough.” He finally turned to look at you. And then didn’t look away. His gaze dropped to your bare legs curled on the couch, to the faint line of sweat at your collarbone, to the gentle flush on your cheeks. He blinked once. Twice. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but forgot what. You just raised an eyebrow. “Ready to go?” He stood, grabbing his dress shirt, putting it on again, and held the door open for you with that same crooked, tired smile he always had at the end of a long day. The hallway was empty, the whole building humming quietly. Your footsteps echoed softly as you made your way toward the elevator. Outside, the streetlights were just flickering on. A warm wind blew past, thick with summer and stillness. Heeseung walked beside you, your shoulders occasionally brushing, your hands swinging just close enough to touch.

The hum of the AC buzzed low through the apartment, doing its best against the weight of the summer heat a few days later. The heat seemed to get worse every day, clinging to your skin and making it impossible to breathe. Your AC had sputtered and died two nights ago, and since then, you’d been semi-permanently relocated to Heeseung’s place. Today, after work, you kicked off your socks and curled up on his couch, legs bare, feet tucked under a throw pillow. The oversized t-shirt you wore hung down past your hips. You stole it from him after he spilled tomato juice on your at-home T-shirt the day before. It still faintly smelled like his cologne. Your shorts were barely visible beneath the hem. Heeseung stood in the small kitchen, barefoot in a black tank top and old sweatshirts, elbows braced against the counter while he adjusted something in the blender. You’d watched him add frozen banana, ice, peanut butter, a protein scoop, and almond milk. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed the button. You flipped a page in the book resting across your thighs. And then didn’t read a single word of it. You were too busy ogling Heeseung in a very professional, not inappropriate way, colleagues? Friends? His muscles were taut from leaning over the counter, jaw set, skin glowing slightly from the walk home, strands of now red hair curling over his forehead from the heat. The edge of his tank had dipped low, revealing the clean cut of his shoulder and the line of his collarbone. His arms flexed slightly as he twisted the lid back on. You licked your lips and quickly looked back at your book. He wiped his hands on a towel, completely unaware of the crisis you were currently having ten feet away. Or maybe not, unaware he’d caught you staring once already when he was adjusting the fan, and you swore he smirked. You turned to another page you hadn’t read.

“Still good over there?” he asked, his voice teasing, lazy. “Barely,” you called back. “I'm still melting. I don't even wanna imagine how warm my apartment is right now.” He grabbed two glasses from the shelf. “I expect your eternal loyalty and gratitude for granting you shelter from the heat .” You gave a dramatic sigh. “You get two compliments and one baked good per week. That’s the cap.” “I already get that,” he called back. You smiled to yourself. “Then I’ll consider bringing you lunch to work sometimes.” He froze just long enough for you to see it out of the corner of your eye. Then he laughed, soft and breathless. “Noted.” You peeked up again as he walked over, two glasses in hand. He handed you one, fingers brushing yours, and settled onto the floor, leaning back onto the couch. You stared down at him, still flushed from the heat, or maybe not only the heat. “Comfortable?” you asked, sipping your smoothie. “Very.” He tilted his head back lazily until it rested against your knee. “Book good?” You stared at the unread page. “Incredible.” He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “You haven’t flipped it in five minutes.” You pressed the book gently to his forehead. “Shut up.” He grinned, eyes crinkling. The two of you went silent again, and after a while, your hair slipped into his hair, playing with the dry strands and grazing your nails along his scalp while you actually started reading your book again. Heeseung let out a long, contented breath. “I like having you here.” You paused. Then said, just as softly, “I like being here.”

Half an hour later, the smoothie was half-melted in your glass. Your book sat open in your lap, though you had to re-read the same paragraph three times thanks to the way Heeseung’s arm kept brushing against your side. He was still on the floor, and at one point, you joined him there, the sofa’s velvet texture feeling too warm against your skin. Your whole body was leaning against his, your head resting softly on his shoulder, and your legs draped loosely to the side. From Heeseung’s laptop, which was propped up on his thighs, came the steady pulse of a new track, layered synth, subtle guitar… and a voice. You blinked, looking up. “Wait. Is that Jay?” “Mhm.” Heeseung didn’t turn around, just scrolled through something on his screen. “He dropped by to do a scratch vocal for one of the demos. I haven’t layered the harmony yet, but his tone worked weirdly well.” You stared at the screen. Jay’s voice.

On his song. In this apartment. While you were wearing Heeseung’s shirt and drinking smoothies with your legs tangled against his, and a half-read book in your lap. You let out a quiet laugh and muttered, “My life is so weird.” Heeseung looked over his shoulder. “Good weird?” You met his eyes. And immediately regretted it. Because he was already looking at you the way he always did when you caught him off guard, soft, curious, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but knew he didn’t want to stop. His face was close now, your head still on his shoulder, your fingers curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt right above where your thigh still pressed against his. “Very good, weird,” you said quietly. Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Just for a second. Your heart thudded. But he just moved his head back towards the laptop. The soft sounds of Jay’s vocals looped again from Heeseung’s laptop. You could see it in his profile, that sharp little line between his brows. The tension in his jaw. He was thinking again.

Which meant he wasn’t going to do it. You waited another second. Two. Gave him a chance. He didn’t take it. So you did. You closed the book gently and set it aside, leaned over just enough to catch his attention, and when he looked up, eyes wide and questioning, you kissed him. Pressing your lips to his. You didn't even really think about it; it just felt right. He froze for half a second, just enough for you to second-guess it. But then his hand slid to your thigh, fingers tightening. His other reached for your waist, softly grazing against the fabric of the shirt. You pulled back first, just barely, your nose brushing his. He stared at you. His eyes were glazed, and his mouth parted slightly. You smiled and breathlessly muttered. “You took too long.” He blinked. “You–” His voice cracked. “I was trying to be respectful.” “You were being a coward.” “I was waiting for a sign!” “Heeseung, I gave you so many signs.” “I’m not a mind reader!”

You laughed into his neck, warm and breathless and giddy. His arms slipped around your waist properly now, hugging you close, face buried in your collarbone. He mumbled something into your skin. You stilled. “What?” He stiffened. “Nothing.” You leaned back just enough to look at him. “What did you say, Heeseung?” Heeseung stared, wide-eyed. Then blinked once. “Hypothetically. I really want to kiss you again.” You grinned, pulling him back in by the collar of his tank top. “Hypothetically, I think you should shut up and kiss me again.” So he did. His lips moved slowly and steadily against yours, and you moved your head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss for a second before he pulled away first this time, breathing heavier than before, his forehead resting against yours.

You could feel how warm his skin was. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” You smiled. “Yeah. I noticed.” He gave a soft, helpless laugh and bumped his nose gently against yours. “So… now what?” You looked at him, all flushed cheeks and messy hair and wide brown eyes, and knew you never wanted someone else to see him like this ever again. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But I like this.” “Yeah?” he asked, eyes searching yours. You nodded. “Yeah. I like you.” He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days. Then, with that lazy, crooked half-smile you were quickly learning was dangerous, he said, “Can I kiss you again?” You raised a brow. “You’re asking now?” “I’m being respectful.” You leaned in. “Then yes.” Your hand slid into his hair, thumb brushing the curve of his cheek when his lips were on yours again. His lips were on yours again before the word even left your mouth. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, palm splayed wide over the soft fabric of your shorts, fingers flexing slightly. You shifted into his lap without thinking, tilting your head, knees brushing his thighs. He made a sound in the back of his throat, and it made you smile against his mouth. “Stop laughing,” he murmured. “You make weird noises.”

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Y/N.” You laughed, soft and breathless, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, not sorry.” He kissed your collarbone next, just a warm brush of lips against skin. Then another, lower this time. Your breath caught.

He pulled back instantly. “Okay?” You nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Just… yeah.” His hands found your waist again, more certain now, thumbs brushing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your thighs tightened around his lap just slightly. He inhaled sharply. “Y/N,” he said, like it was a question and an answer and a prayer all at once. You kissed him again. This time, you were the one deepening it. Your fingers curled in the collar of his tank top, pulling him in closer, angling your hips until your bodies fit together just a little too well.  You could feel the shift in him, the way his hands stilled, the way his breath hitched when your thighs pressed around his. But he didn’t push. He didn’t even pull you closer. He just let you kiss him, his lips soft and slow, like he’d waited long enough that he didn’t want to ruin it by rushing. Eventually, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, lips kiss-dumb and smiling. “You good?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles at your waist. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Really good.” “I swear,” he muttered, breathless, a little dazed, “I had this whole thing planned out.” You tilted your head. “What thing?”

He gave a weak huff of a laugh and shook his head, cheeks flushed. “To tell you. To ask you out. I didn’t think I’d just..get kissed out of nowhere and completely forget how to speak like a normal person.” You smiled, fingers brushing his wrist. “Heeseung.” “I’m serious,” he said, laughing softly, reaching up to caress your face. “I had it all laid out. I wrote you a song.” Your brows lifted. “A song?” He hesitated. Then nodded and reached for his laptop that was lying forgotten next to the two of you and tapped at the keyboard with one hand, the other never leaving your waist.

“I wrote it like a month ago,” he said quietly. “Kind of… when I realized.” You rested your head on his chest, watching him type. “When you realized what?” you asked. He didn’t look at you. But you saw the corner of his mouth pull up just a little. “That I really like you too, Y/N.” And then he hit play. The track started low, just a few notes of piano, slow and thoughtful. It was… beautiful. You didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand slid down to his chest, your palm resting flat just over where his heart was pounding. Heeseung moved his head back slightly to look at you. You leaned in, brushed your lips against the edge of his jaw, and whispered, “I’m really glad I kissed you first.” He laughed, just once, softly and short, and pressed his forehead against yours. “I was so scared I’d mess it up,” he said into your lips. “I wanted it to be right.” You held him close, one hand carding gently through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up.” He tilted his head, eyes bright. “You think?” “I think,” you said softly, “this might be the best song anyone’s ever written for me.” He smiled and whispered, “That’s good. Because I’m not writing another one about anyone else.” You closed the distance between the two of you again, pressing your lips softly against his.

Thank you so much for reading! Lots of Love, Patty

all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ ⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ

ᝰ taglist. @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @firstclassjaylee

ᝰ an. ₊ ⊹  dear anon, I am so sorry I needed 3 months to write this and I hope you enjoyed reading, regardless of the wait! I also hate tumblr. I just spend one and a half hour formatting this. Also in case someone wants to request anything! Please do! Just know I'll probably do it inbetween my other projects and might need...like 3 months lmao

[aroaceleovaldez]

old hc i think is fun: I like to think that Hestia helped guide Nico to and through the labyrinth when he ran away from CHB. He had already interacted with her by that point and it's likely she already knew he was her nephew. And as a goddess of family, she'd be particularly motivated to help/protect her nephew and try to guide him to her brother/his father. And we know the Labyrinth connects to the Underworld, so it'd be a good easy means for her to guide him from CHB to his father when he tries to run away (and keep him from getting eaten by monsters in the woods). And as a bonus, she'd probably also see it all as an opportunity to try and help Hades by reuniting him with his son, particularly bringing their family together after losing Bianca.

And i think this is also where Minos comes in. Hestia can't enter the Underworld herself - she can only guide Nico to the entrance and just hope that he can find his way around or Hades or one of the Furies or someone finds him and brings him home, and that at least as a son of Hades he'll be mostly safe down there. It's just poor happenstance that Minos was the first one to find him, and instead of guiding him to Hades, chose to manipulate him. Cue Hestia somewhere punching a wall.

[arashiashanddirt]

Episode 5 has been very interesting for Jax as a character because it's the first time we've seen him "at rest"

We always see the cast in tension. They're always out on high-stakes adventures, being hunted down in the Circus itself in an indoor adventure, or resting after being wiped out. The only time we've ever seen them in a comfortable, safe environment where they're all together is in the very beginning of episode 3, and in that episode, Jax is actually a pretty positive part of the dynamic. He's a talkative, forward, enthusiastically sardonic figure who's not afraid to be impolite, which is really important, since most of the other members of the gang are principally polite. He's a down-to-earth person who'll tease and banter, and can take teasing and bantering in turn.

It's only when the element of Caine is introduced that the cast suddenly harden again into the versions of themselves they've developed as self-defense mechanisms; Gangle stops sharing her art and stays to herself (when she can), Ragatha plays group therapist, Zooble rejects interaction entirely, and Jax goes from playful ribbing to active hostility. Because it's easier to act like you just don't care about other people, so that when bad things happen, you can pretend you don't mind, right?

But he does care. He DOES think about Gangle and her psychology, and he DOES enjoy it when he quips and someone laughs, and he DOES like learning about Pomni and her history, and though he doesn't like sharing about himself, that's not a crime. He'd just rather play it off as a joke than say "I don't want to talk about it," which itself is a bit of that shell-hardening defense mechanism going through whenever someone tries to scale his emotional walls. He's a principally fun guy who's good to talk to, and only when he's pushed do his abrasive traits go from simple quirks to active issues.

And this is true for every single member of the cast, but never is it more obvious than in Jax - and in Ragatha. Makes you wonder why he complains about HER more than anyone else. Maybe he sees some of himself in her. Couldn't you imagine some of these exact words being used by Ragatha, to Jax?