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scarletwinterxx · 3 days ago

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for tonight and forever - choi seungcheol imagine

honestly i started writing this after watching a clip of cheol being sporty and my mind went yep i need it. i want this. so here we are😅 was listening to handlebars on repeat while writing this, I dont know but it kinda got that feels for it.

Also, if anyone's wondering like how i name/pick the other characters for my fics. Usually I just search who's the same age as them or a familiar name to me. Okayyy so thats all, enjoy!

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You don’t plan to pick a fight with Choi Seungcheol every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He just seems to bring out the absolute worst in you. Or the best. Depends on who’s watching.

“Did you write another hit piece about the soccer team?” Seungcheol demands, jogging up beside you as you make your way across campus, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder like he’s in some kinda Nike ad.

You don’t even look up from your iced americano. “I wouldn’t call it a hit piece. I’d call it... journalism. Ever heard of it?”

He scoffs. “Right, because calling us ‘a glorified pack of sweaty golden retrievers’ is definitely objective reporting.”

“That’s not what I wrote,” you correct him calmly. “I called you a sweaty golden retriever. Singular.”

He stops walking. “Oh my god. I was the retriever?”

You glance over your shoulder and grin. “Obviously.”

It’s always like this. Snarky comments, stolen pens during class, endless bickering about your article deadlines versus his training schedules.

It’s become so routine that your friends don’t even bat an eye anymore when they see you two “arguing” in the cafeteria. Or library. Or literally anywhere with oxygen.

But last week, when some overconfident guy from the economics department tried to get handsy with you at the freshmen welcome party, it was Seungcheol who appeared out of nowhere, expression dark, stepping in with all the intensity of a final championship match.

“She said no,” he growled, standing in front of you like a damn shield.

You didn’t even have to say anything. just blinked at the guy slinking away while Seungcheol turned around and gently handed you your phone, which had dropped during the whole mess.

And then, as if nothing had happened: “You owe me chicken for that, by the way.”

Now, a week later, he’s still hovering. Annoyingly. Warmly. Protectively.

You pretend you don’t notice the way he always walks you home after late-night publication meetings. You pretend not to care that he saves the extra strawberry milk from team snacks for you. You pretend a lot.

You make your way across the quad, weaving through a sea of students and the occasional electric scooter, when someone bumps your shoulder and you look up to see Exy walking beside you, sipping on her banana milk like she’s been waiting for this moment all day.

"Okay," she says, dragging the word out suspiciously, "are you sure nothing's going on between you and Seungcheol?"

You nearly choke on your breath.

“What—no. Ew. Why would you—absolutely not.”

Exy raises an eyebrow. “Right. So him showing up to your department’s booth last week with snacks ‘for the team’ but only handing you your favorite is coincidence?”

“He was probably just—being annoying,” you mutter, tugging at the strap of your backpack as your ears warm. “He does that.”

“Uh huh. And I suppose he was just ‘annoying’ when he waited outside in the rain for you after your night class because he ‘happened to be nearby’?”

“He did happen to be nearby!” you protest, eyes wide. “The gym is like two buildings away—he probably just finished practice—why are you smiling like that?”

Exy leans in, smug. “Because I’ve never seen you this defensive unless someone messes up the Oxford comma.”

You stop walking to glare at her. “You’re delusional.”

“And you,” she says, poking your arm, “are clearly in denial.”

You start walking again, faster this time. “He’s a varsity jock with too much hair gel and a hero complex. We’re oil and vinegar. Cats and cucumbers.”

Exy laughs. “Says the girl who let him carry her publication banner to the main hall ‘because his arms are already huge anyway.’”

You spin around, horrified. “You were eavesdropping?!”

“Please,” she snorts, “you were practically shouting.”

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Whatever you say,” she sings, skipping ahead as your classroom building comes into view.

You glance up at the sky, as if the universe might send a sign to back you up. All it sends is a familiar voice yelling from behind you.

“Yah, you forgot your charger again!”

You turn around. Seungcheol jogs up, holding out the charger you left in the library. Again.

You blink. “How did you—?”

“Someone posted in the group chat asking if anyone lefit. Figured it was yours. You always have it wrapped around your planner like a weirdo.”

Exy coughs something suspiciously like domestic behind you. You shoot her a murderous look.

Seungcheol, oblivious or pretending to be, grins and tousles your hair like you’re a child. “Don’t fry your laptop this time.”

You swat his hand away. “Stop doing that!”

He smirks. “You love it.”

You glance sideways at Exy. She doesn’t say a word but her eyes say everything.

You hate everyone. Except maybe… not really.

The next morning Seungcheol slides into his usual seat near the back of the lecture hall, pulling his hoodie over his head as if it’ll make him invisible. He spots Exy a row down, already seated, legs crossed, notebook open, pen twirling between her fingers like a threat.

He stiffens.

If he’s being truly honest, Exy kind of scares the crap out of him. She’s all sharp eyes and sharper comebacks, like she was born knowing where to hit where it’ll bruise. No nonsense, no hesitation. Still, he respects the hell out of her.

You’re friends with her, after all. And if he can’t be there every second someone looks at you the wrong way, it’s good to know Exy would probably throw a chair at their head without blinking.

The professor hasn’t shown up yet, and the room is loud with casual chatter, laptops opening, chairs scraping. He’s halfway through unlocking his iPad when Exy turns around in her seat, pins him with a look.

“Okay. So what’s the deal with you and her?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Are you guys a thing, or are you just really committed to the whole ‘enemies but not really’ bit?”

Seungcheol scoffs. “We're not—there’s nothing going on.”

Exy raises one brow.

“I’m serious,” he adds quickly. “We just… bicker. It’s a thing.”

“A thing,” she echoes. “Like a romantic comedy trope kind of thing?”

He rolls his eyes. “No.” Then, quieter, “Maybe. No. Definitely not.”

She narrows her eyes. “You literally showed up to her department meeting with hotteok last week.”

“I was in the area.”

“Uh huh. And the three extra packets of brown sugar filling were also just… coincidentally for her?”

“She likes them,” he mutters.

Exy smiles, but it’s more amused than friendly. “You’re really bad at this whole ‘denial’ thing, you know that?”

He frowns, but it lacks real bite. “Look, even if—hypothetically—there was something, it’s not like she’d be into me.”

“She calls you a golden retriever.”

“Exactly.”

“She also let you walk her home three nights last week. You think she lets just anyone do that?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Exy leans back in her chair, satisfied. “I’m just saying. If you’re not gonna do anything about it, don’t come crying to me when someone else does.”

The professor walks in before Seungcheol can reply, but her words sit heavy in his chest.

Because the truth is, yeah, maybe he is a little gone for you. Maybe a lot. But he’s not exactly sure what to do with all of it. So instead, he flips open his notebook and pretends he doesn’t keep glancing at the empty seat you usually take in the front row.

His day ends with another practice. He kicks off his cleats by the bench, the grass still clinging to his socks and sweat drying cold on his back. Practice ran longer than usual, Coach yelling something about footwork and finals being no excuse to slack off.

But even with his body aching and the floodlights dimming one by one behind him, it’s not the drills or the scores that keep repeating in his head.

It’s Exy’s voice.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, don’t come crying to me when someone else does.”

He scoffs under his breath, ruffling a towel through his hair like he can shake the thought loose. He’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

He’s just heading toward the front gate when he spots you.

You’re walking just a few steps ahead, cradling your laptop bag against your side like always. Head tilted, hair catching the orange glow of the street lamps, laughing.

His heart stutters for a second, because—God. He knows that laugh. Knows the way your shoulders shake when it’s something really funny. Knows that dimple you hate but can’t ever hide.

But it’s not the laugh that gets him. It’s who’s next to you.

Minhyun. Tall, clean-cut, business-major-Minhyun. The guy who spoke at orientation with the kind of voice professors wish they had. Charming, polite, good grades, good future.

Good with you.

Seungcheol stops walking without even realizing it. Just stands there half-hidden behind the practice fence.

You’re smiling at Minhyun. Like, really smiling. he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t prepared for the twist in his chest seeing you like that with someone else.

Minhyun says something and you lightly nudge his arm, head thrown back, carefree.

Seungcheol swallows hard. He doesn't move. Doesn’t call out. Doesn’t let himself get closer. He just watches as you and Minhyun walk down the street, steps in sync, laughter echoing behind you.

And when he finally turns away, it’s with a bitter taste on his tongue and Exy’s voice louder than ever in his head.

The next day. The moment Seungcheol walks into the lecture hall, he doesn’t bother with his usual routine of slouching into his chair and pretending to scroll through notes.

Instead, he spots Exy, takes the seat next to her, and turns to her with the kind of urgency usually reserved for last-minute exam cramming.

“What’s going on with her and Minhyun?”

Exy doesn’t even look up from her notes. “Hello to you too, Seungcheol.”

“Yeah, hi, morning, what’s up with her and Minhyun?”

Exy finally looks up, pen still in hand, unimpressed. “Why?”

“No reason,” he says way too fast. “I’m just…curious.”

“Curious,” she repeats, in a tone that suggests she’s heard better lies from toddlers.

“Yeah. I mean—he walked her home last night, I saw it. They were laughing and all. It looked like they were, you know... close.”

“You were watching them?”

“I happened to be nearby,” he mutters. “They were loud.”

Exy hums like she’s already solved the entire situation and is now just watching him fumble. “You don’t have to worry, you know.”

“I’m not worried,” he says, almost offended. “I’m just making sure she’s not—like, getting her hopes up with the wrong guy. Minhyun’s… smooth.”

“You mean polite?”

Seungcheol frowns. “No, I mean, like, too polite. No one’s that nice without a reason.”

Exy snorts. “Well, lucky for you, there’s nothing going on.”

“What?”

“She’s not into him. She said he reminds her of a quiz app. Looks nice, says the right things, but kind of boring once you tap through the first few questions.”

Seungcheol stares at her. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“Her words, not mine.”

Exy eyes him. “Still just curious?”

“Completely,” he lies.

She leans back in her chair, smirking. “Uh huh.”

And Seungcheol tells himself he’s not smiling. Not really. Exy watches him for a beat, then leans in with the casual menace of someone about to enjoy herself way too much.

“Although,” she says slowly, drawing the word out like it’s bait, “if there’s someone you should be worried about…”

Seungcheol stiffens. “What?”

She rests her chin on her hand, all innocent curiosity. “Seo Youngho.”

He stares. “Who?”

“Youngho. From the music department. Plays guitar, super chill, kind of a walking Tumblr post. Ringing any bells?”

Seungcheol blinks. “The guy with the weird beanie? That’s who I should be worried about?”

Exy grins. “She helped him with one of his interviews last week. Apparently, they’ve been messaging back and forth for edits.”

“Messaging?”

She shrugs. “You know how it starts. A casual thank you turns into a compliment. A compliment turns into, ‘Hey, wanna grab coffee and talk about your creative process?’ Next thing you know, he’s writing her a song with metaphors that don’t make sense but sound romantic.”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens, then closes.

“That’s not even—he wears socks with pineapples on them,” he mutters.

Exy raises an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a crime.”

“I’m just saying,” he grumbles, arms crossed, “she doesn’t even like acoustic guys. She said so. Once.”

“Oh?” she asks sweetly. “So you remember what kind of guys she likes?”

“I remember everything she says,” he snaps before he can stop himself.

Exy’s face does not help.

“…Just as friends,” he tacks on, immediately regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

She pats his shoulder like he’s a very dumb, very loyal golden retriever. “Sure, Cheol. Totally just friendly concern.”

He slumps in his chair and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like pineapple socks my ass.

Exy is still grinning when the professor starts the lecture.

Seungcheol spots you near the fountain, earbuds in, head buried in your phone, your steps a little bouncy like you’re walking to the beat of something catchy. Totally oblivious. Totally… you.

He doesn’t think before calling out, “Hey!”

You look up, surprised, but smile when you see him.

“Hey,” you echo, tugging one earbud out. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the gym or something? Yelling at cones?”

“Rest day,” he says, catching up to walk beside you. “Coach said we looked like overcooked ramen last practice.”

You laugh. “That’s gross.”

“He’s not wrong.”

There’s a small beat of silence, not awkward, just familiar. Then he casually drops it in. Smooth. Natural.

“So… you and Youngho?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You’ve been texting? I heard you helped him with something?”

You squint like he just asked you to solve a math problem. “Youngho? I haven’t talked to him since like, the first week of classes? Why?”

Seungcheol falters for half a step. “Oh. I just—heard you were helping him with an interview or something?”

You tilt your head. “That was last semester. Wait, do you need his number or something?”

“What? No!” he says, way too fast, then clears his throat. “I just… Exy said you were talking. Thought it was a thing.”

You stare at him for a second before realization dawns. You smirk.

“Ohhh,” you say slowly, voice lilting. “She got you, didn’t she?”

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“She totally messed with you.”

“I wasn’t—she didn’t—”

“You thought I was flirting with Youngho?”

“I didn’t,” he lies, every word defensive. “I was just… curious.”

You laugh, and it’s worse than any insult, because it’s light and teasing and just so smug.

“You’re so easy to mess with,” you say, shaking your head.

He glares at the pavement like it personally betrayed him.

You nudge him with your elbow, still grinning. “For the record, I don’t go for guys who write songs with moon metaphors and own six different scarves.”

Seungcheol tries not to smile. Fails. “So what do you go for?”

You look at him sideways, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And you keep walking, earbuds back in, leaving him there on the path with his heart doing things it absolutely should not be doing.

Another day, another café.

You’re both hunched over your laptops, the small table between you a chaotic blend of charger cables, two half-finished drinks, your highlighters, his untouched notebook, and the occasional shared snack.

He’s scrolling through something on his iPad that might be soccer strategies or might be memes you stopped asking. You’re typing furiously, earbuds in but not actually playing anything, more for mental defense than music.

the bell above the café door jingles. You glance up and spot Minhyun just stepping in, scarf around his neck, a familiar tote bag slung over his shoulder. He hasn’t seen you yet.

“Oh, that’s Minhyun,” you say casually, pulling your earbuds out.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up, just hums like it doesn’t mean anything. Which is a lie, because you see the way he pauses in the middle of scrolling, hand hovering just a second too long.

You wave, catching Minhyun’s attention.

“Minhyun! We’re over here!”

Seungcheol finally looks up, but he keeps his face impressively neutral, like he doesn’t care even a little. Which you don’t buy for a second.

Minhyun smiles as he approaches. “Hey, small world. I didn’t know you came here.”

“I practically live here,” you say. “You want to join us?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth—probably to protest, you can feel it coming off him in waves—but Minhyun’s already pulling out the third chair.

“Sure, if it’s okay.” He glances at Seungcheol politely. “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol replies with a nod that sounds like it costs him everything.

Minhyun settles in beside you, pulling out a book and a sleek little tablet. “What are you working on?”

“Publication layouts,” you say, already pulling one tab over to show him. “We’re redesigning the culture section.”

He leans in to take a look, and Seungcheol can hear the way your tone softens when you talk to Minhyun. friendly, focused, but soft. Not that it means anything. Probably.

He takes a slow sip of his lukewarm coffee, eyes flicking from you to Minhyun and back again.

He’s not jealous. He’s not. He’s just suddenly very aware of how close Minhyun’s chair is to yours. How you’re leaning in. How you laugh once, quietly, and nudge his arm with your pen.

Totally normal. Totally fine.

He pretends to look back at his iPad but spends more time glaring at his reflection in the dark screen.

You glance at him then, like you just remembered he’s there.

“You okay?” you ask, brows slightly knit.

He smiles, a little too tightly. “Perfect.”

You stare for a beat longer something flickering behind your eyes like you’re catching o n but Minhyun says something else and your attention shifts again.

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and taps his screen to life.

Perfect, his ass.

Minhyun stays for about an hour maybe less, but to Seungcheol, it feels like a whole semester’s worth of third-wheeling compressed into sixty suffocating minutes.

He doesn’t say much. Just watches. Watches how your voice dips into that soft, almost melodic tone when you explain things to Minhyun. Watches how you tilt your head, eyes crinkling just a little more when you laugh at one of his lame puns.

Mostly, he watches how different you sound when you're talking to Minhyun.

It’s not that you’re fake. No, it’s worse. You’re genuine. Sweet. Thoughtful. Almost… gentle.

Nothing like the way you talk to him.

With him, it’s sarcasm, banter, eye-rolls and elbow jabs. It’s you calling him “musclehead” with your chin in your hand and the tiniest grin on your lips. It’s insults that somehow feel like compliments and arguments that stretch out longer than necessary just because neither of you wants to stop.

With Minhyun, it’s all warm tones and quiet understanding.

Seungcheol’s practically chewing through his own tongue by the time Minhyun checks his phone, apologizes with that polite smile, and stands to leave.

“I’ve got a meeting,” Minhyun says, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, smiling.

Minhyun nods at Seungcheol, who manages a grunt and what might be a nod or might be a twitch.

Then it’s just you and him again.

You sip your drink like nothing’s changed, like the air isn’t thick with tension across the table. He’s silent. Half sulking. Half glaring at the innocent sugar packet in front of him like it personally offended him.

You glance up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” You go back to typing, but you can feel his mood hanging in the air like storm clouds. “You sure?”

He finally looks up, brow furrowed. “Just wondering.”

“About?”

He shrugs, but it’s tight. Forced. “It’s impressive.”

“What is?”

“The way your entire voice changes when Minhyun shows up,” he mutters, eyes pointedly on his iPad. “It’s like I’m watching a romcom where the lead suddenly discovers she has range.”

You blink. “Are you seriously—?”

“Not that it’s any of my business,” he adds quickly, still not looking at you. “You can sound however you want. I just didn’t know you had that tone in your arsenal.”

You stare at him, amused and mildly annoyed. “You mean a normal tone? You want me to start cooing at you too?”

He glares. “No. Gross.”

“Then what, exactly, is your problem?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Crosses his arms. “…Nothing,” he mutters again.

You lean back, arms crossed to mirror him. “Wow. Someone’s sulky.”

“I’m not sulky,” he grumbles, sulkily.

You watch him for a moment, a smile creeping at the corners of your lips. “You’re totally jealous.”

He scoffs, eyes wide. “I am not—”

You raise an eyebrow.

“—jealous,” he finishes weakly, shoulders sinking.

You hum, satisfied. “Sure, Cheol.”

And you go back to typing, smirk hidden behind your cup, while he sits there, stewing in the mess he doesn't want to admit he's already in.

It’s game day. The campus field is packed. students gathered on the bleachers, the buzz of excitement in the air, banners fluttering in the breeze.

You're by the sidelines, bundled up in your oversized varsity jacket, press tag clipped to the hem, camera hanging from your neck. You've already snapped a few wide shots for the publication but you're really here for one thing. Or well… one person.

You spot Seungcheol jogging over, all athletic swagger and sweat-damp hair, pulling off his warm-up jacket with the kind of ease that makes the girls in the stands sigh a little too loudly.

He’s scanning the sideline like he always does—and his eyes land on you immediately.

“Don’t get in the way,” he says, coming to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling just a little faster than normal. “And don’t drop that camera again. Last time was—”

“Cheollie,” you coo, cutting him off in that voice, syrupy and infuriating. “You look so strong today. Are you gonna score a goal just for me?”

He freezes.

Right there on the turf, hands on his hips, mouth parting like the words got caught somewhere between his lungs and his brain.

“…Why,” he mutters, “why are you like this.”

You don’t answer. Just smile sweetly and lift your camera to get a shot of his stunned expression.

That’s when Yuta jogs by, slowing just long enough to glance between the two of you, brows furrowing.

“You good, bro?” he asks Seungcheol, wary.

Seungcheol doesn’t look at him. “No.”

Yuta looks at you. You give him a cheerful wave.

Yuta looks back at Seungcheol. “Okay, cool. Not my problem.” And he jogs off without waiting for a response. You stifle a laugh.

Seungcheol glares at you like he’s trying to burn a hole through your smile. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

You lift your camera. “Say cheese, baby boy.”

He groans, dragging his hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” you chirp, snapping the shutter.

And as he jogs back onto the field, you catch it. that tiny twitch of his lips that betrays the fact that maybe, just maybe, he really doesn’t.

They win, of course.

Final whistle blows, and the field erupts. The crowd’s on its feet, cheers echoing across the bleachers as Seungcheol gets swarmed by his teammates, arms thrown over shoulders, shouts of victory mixing with the sound of cleats thudding against the grass.

You’ve already got the shot—the moment he scored, that raw burst of power and focus in his eyes. Pure, stupid perfection. You’re checking the image in your viewfinder when you hear your name being called.

Loud. Familiar.

You look up just in time to see him jogging toward you, grin wide, sweat-slicked hair falling into his eyes, jersey clinging to him like a second skin.

“Don’t even start,” he says, breathless, still high on adrenaline.

You don’t miss a beat. “My strong baby boy scored a goal just for me, huh?”

He freezes again, hands on his hips, jaw clenching like he’s trying so hard not to rise to the bait but his eyes are already dancing with fire.

And then—he lifts a hand.

“One…”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Two—”

It takes you half a second too long.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—”

You barely turn when he lunges.

You shriek, half laughing, half panicking, and bolt, camera bouncing against your chest as you take off down the sideline like your life depends on it—which, in this case, it kind of does.

Behind you, you hear him shouting your name between bouts of laughter.

“I swear—when I catch you—!”

You don’t dare look back. “You’ll what? Hug me? Thank me for the moral support?”

“Moral support?! You called me baby boy in front of my entire team!”

“You loved it!”

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

And that’s how you end up sprinting across campus, laughing your lungs out, camera swaying, heart hammering—not just from the chase, but from the way his voice sounded when he said your name.

You barely close the door behind you when Exy’s voice rings out from the kitchen.

“So,” she says, in that sing-song tone that always means she knows something, “how does it feel to be publicly chased down the sideline by Choi Seungcheol in front of, oh I don’t know, half the campus?”

You groan, dropping your camera bag to the floor with a dramatic thud. “Exy. No.”

“Oh, yes.” She leans against the counter, mug in hand, eyebrows up. “Do you know how fast my phone blew up? My friend from engineering said it looked like a scene out of a teen drama. One minute he’s scoring the winning goal, next minute he’s full-on sprinting after you like he’s ready to propose or commit murder.”

“He wasn’t—” you start, but she’s already smirking.

“You called him baby boy.”

“That was his fault!” you point accusingly, peeling off your jacket. “He was being all sulky and—whatever—I was just messing with him.”

“Oh, and then he chased you. Full speed. Zero hesitation. Definitely just bro things, right?”

You make a strangled noise and cover your face with both hands. “Exy, please. I’m going to melt into the floor.”

She sips from her mug. “So when are you two making it official?”

You drop your hands and glare at her. “There’s nothing going on.”

She snorts. “Sure. And I only like himbos with abs and no brain cells—oh wait, that’s true.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“I am,” she agrees cheerfully. “But I’m also right.”

You dodge past her into your room, slamming the door shut with a dramatic groan, but even through the wood, you hear her yell:

“CALL HIM BABY BOY FOR ME NEXT TIME!”

You’re curled up in one of the worn-out lounge chairs, legs tucked under you, laptop balanced on your knees as you edit photos from yesterday’s game. The student lounge is half-empty, low buzz of conversation around you, the occasional clink of coffee cups from the vending machine nearby.

You hear footsteps and don’t bother looking up until a shadow falls over your screen.

Seungcheol’s standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “You’re not gonna call me that again, are you?” he says, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s bracing for impact.

You don’t even blink.

“No more baby talk for you,” you reply flatly, scrolling through the thumbnails. “I’ve decided to retire that version of myself.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup.” You shoot him a quick glance. “Clearly you couldn’t handle it. Almost tackled me on school property.”

He slides into the chair beside you, sprawling with way too much comfort, his leg knocking gently against yours. “You ran. Like a criminal.”

“Because you counted down like a threat!”

“I was threatening you.”

You shrug. “Wasn’t very effective.”

He scoffs. “You screamed and ran. That’s literally textbook effectiveness.”

You glance at him, then back at your screen, lips twitching. “Still. No more soft talk. You’ve been cut off.”

He leans in, just enough that you can feel the warmth of his shoulder. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You raise a brow, not looking at him. “It’s a warning.”

He hums, and you can feel the smirk without even seeing it.

“Good,” he mutters. “Didn’t like you calling me that anyway.”

You side-eye him, slowly. “Then why’d your ears turn red?”

His jaw tightens. “They didn’t.”

“Okay, baby boy.”

“Yah—!”

You’re already laughing again as he flails for your laptop in mock betrayal, and the girl across the lounge glances over at the two of you, then whispers something to her friend.

Yeah. The rumors are probably already flying and somehow, that doesn’t bother you one bit.

“You get sulky when I talk soft with other guys,” you say, biting your grin, “but then when I do it to you, you hate it.”

He stares at you, deadpan. “That’s ‘cause you do it with spite when it’s me.”

You gasp, dramatically clutching your chest. “Spite? Cheol, I poured honey into my voice for you.”

“It was poisoned honey.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He scoffs, leaning back like the weight of your crimes is too much to bear. “You didn’t say it to be nice. You said it to get in my head.”

“…And it worked,” you mutter under your breath.

“I heard that.”

You shoot him an innocent smile, and he groans, dragging his hands down his face before tossing his head back against the chair. “I’m never living this down.”

You tilt your head. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t call you baby boy anymore.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Thank God.”

You grin wider. “I’ll think of something worse.”

He whips his head toward you, eyes wide. “Don’t you dare—”

But you're already back to editing, humming like the angel of mischief you are, while beside you, Choi Seungcheol quietly braces himself for whatever fresh torment you’re cooking up next.

The music’s too loud, the lights are too dim, and the smell of cheap beer mixed with overpriced cologne is already giving you a headache.

You glance around the packed rooftop bar, surrounded by a sea of familiar-enough faces classmates, clubmates, the occasional TA trying to look younger than they are.

You sigh into your cup, swirling whatever vaguely citrusy drink you’ve been nursing for the past twenty minutes. All you know is that it’s 10PM, your feet already hurt from standing too long in boots that looked better than they feel, and you’re three whole messages deep into debating if it’s too early to fake an emergency and leave.

You’re tucked off to the side of the open terrace, leaning on the railing, the city lights flickering in the distance. Your phone’s out, thumb hovering over your texts when—

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. That voice, equal parts smug and teasing, is practically branded into your brain at this point.

“You sound surprised,” you say, glancing up with a dry look as Seungcheol steps into view. He’s ditched his usual hoodie for a black button-up, sleeves rolled, hair swept just slightly back like someone definitely dragged him into looking decent for this.

He shrugs. “I am. I figured you’d be hiding in your room with tea and a face mask.”

“How do you know I do face masks on Fridays?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Exy talks. I listen.”

“You spy.”

You roll your eyes and go back to your drink, but you don’t move away when he leans next to you against the railing. Neither of you says anything for a moment.

The party rages on behind you But here, in this sliver of quiet under the glow of the terrace lights, it almost feels like you’ve stepped out of it.

“Seriously though,” Seungcheol says, voice a bit softer now, “what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d try being normal for once.”

He chuckles. “And how’s that working out for you?”

You shoot him a look. “Horribly. I want to leave.”

He grins, bumping your shoulder gently. “Give it twenty more minutes. If it still sucks, I’ll make up a fake emergency for both of us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’d do that?”

“What are friends for, baby girl?”

Your jaw drops.

“No. Absolutely not. You do not get to turn this around on me—”

But he’s already walking away, that stupid smug grin plastered across his face as you fume behind him, drink in hand, fully forgetting how much you wanted to leave just a minute ago.

Seungcheol’s gone for two minutes. Three, tops.

He’d left you leaning against the terrace wall, muttering something about grabbing real drinks this time—“not whatever watered-down lemonade that was”—and you’d waved him off, rolling your eyes but letting him go.

He doesn’t expect anything to happen in those few minutes. It’s a mixer, not a crime scene.

You’re still where he left you. Only now, there’s some guy standing way too close. One hand braced against the wall next to your head like a goddamn cliché, the other mid-gesture like he’s trying to impress you with whatever he’s slurring through his tequila breath.

But what sets Seungcheol off isn’t just the guy—it’s you.

Your arms are crossed tight, jaw clenched, your glare sharp enough to cut. It’s the look you give right before a verbal takedown. Or a physical one. And Seungcheol knows that look. He knows the way your shoulders tense when you're holding back.

He's by your side in an instant, slipping between you and the guy like it’s muscle memory.

“Hey,” he says, voice calm, low but there’s a warning threaded through it like steel. “You got a problem?”

The guy blinks, thrown off. “Huh?”

“She’s not interested.” Seungcheol doesn’t look away, doesn’t raise his voice but something about the way he stands, the way his eyes have gone cold and unreadable, makes it feel louder than a shout.

“Woah, man, chill,” the guy says, backing up a half-step. “Didn’t realize she was taken.”

You don’t say anything, but your eyes flick sideways to Seungcheol, and for once, there’s no smart remark waiting on your tongue. The guy mutters something under his breath and stumbles off, finally disappearing into the crowd.

Seungcheol turns to you then, brows drawn in concern. “You okay?”

You nod, a little slower than usual. “I was about to knee him in the groin.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Thanks.”

He exhales, finally relaxing, and hands you your drink. “Next time just deck him. I’ll vouch for you.”

You snort. “Thought you said you didn’t want to get kicked out of school for assault.”

“I said me. You can get away with anything.”

“Even calling you baby boy in public?”

He groans. “Don’t push your luck.”

You spot her before she spots you which is exactly three seconds of peace before her eyes lock in and her grin goes full shark mode. Exy, armed with a drink in one hand and chaos in the other, pushes her way through the crowd like a woman on a mission.

“Let’s dance,” she announces the second she’s close enough, already reaching for your wrist.

You jerk back instinctively, eyes wide. “No.”

“Oh, yes,” she counters, looping her fingers through yours. “You’ve been standing like a moody wallflower all night. Come on, I’ve got the perfect song.”

You shoot a panicked look at Seungcheol, who’s beside you sipping from his drink with all the calm in the world. Your eyes practically scream: Help me.

He doesn’t even blink. One second you’re getting tugged forward, and the next you’re yanked right back, a firm arm locking around your waist like a seatbelt.

You barely register the movement before your back hits Seungcheol’s chest, his drink still in one hand, his other arm cinched around you like he does this all the time.

“Sorry,” he says, voice casual, cheek resting near yours as he stares Exy down. “She’s busy.”

You blink, stunned, heat crawling up your neck as the crowd seems to muffle around you.

Exy raises both brows, lips twitching. “Busy?”

“She’s got a prior commitment,” Seungcheol says smoothly, sipping his drink. “With me.”

Exy smirks, shaking her head slowly. “Wow. Okay. Fine. I’ll find someone else to humiliate on the dance floor.”

“You do that,” Seungcheol says, not letting go.

She gives you one last teasing glance before disappearing into the crowd. And still he doesn’t let go.

“Nice save,” you say quietly.

“Anytime,” he murmurs, chin brushing the side of your head. “My reflexes are scary good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore how loud your heart’s gotten. You stay there, tucked against him, the bass of the music rumbling through your bones but somehow, with Seungcheol’s arm still around you, the chaos of the party feels… muted.

Comfortable, even.

“Are you gonna let go?” you ask, only half teasing.

He shrugs behind you, arm unmoving. “You looked like you were in danger. Can’t be too careful.”

You tilt your head slightly, cheek brushing his collarbone. “Of Exy? She’s five-two and dances like she’s summoning demons.”

“That’s exactly why I stepped in.”

You laugh quietly, your fingers curling slightly around the hem of his sleeve. Neither of you moves to create space. Not even a little.

After a beat, he says, voice lower now, more honest, “You sure you’re okay here?”

You glance up at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Just…” he pauses, eyes scanning your face. “You looked like you wanted to bolt earlier. Thought maybe the crowd was too much.”

You blink. It’s not the question itself. It’s the way he says it—like he noticed. Like he always does.

Your voice is soft when you answer. “Yeah. It was a lot. But... this helps.”

He watches you for a moment longer, then nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear.

“Okay. Then I won’t move,” he says simply.

And he doesn’t. You stay like that standing there in the middle of a rooftop party you never wanted to be at. with Seungcheol wrapped around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like there’s nowhere else you’re supposed to be.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s thinking the same thing.

It’s late afternoon, you're in the library seated across from Minhyun, half your things spread out. Supposedly working. Mostly talking.

“Well, someone has high standards,” Minhyun says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s cracked some great mystery.

You raise a brow. “I’m sorry?”

He shrugs, clearly enjoying this. “Just saying. You always complain about guys being boring, or messy, or not knowing what a double space after a period is.”

“Okay, that last one is basic formatting decency,” you argue, sitting up straighter. “I shouldn’t have to date someone who thinks microsoft word automatically fixes their laziness.”

He snorts. “See what I mean? High standards.”

You wave a hand. “It’s called not settling. I have taste.”

“Oh, you definitely have taste,” he agrees, mock-thoughtful. “Just not anyone specific in mind?”

“Nope,” you say quickly. Too quickly. You’re back to flipping through your notebook like it suddenly got interesting.

He narrows his eyes, amused. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You glance up, expression innocent. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” he says, pointing at you like he’s found a clue on a crime show. “The guilty one. You’re hiding someone.”

“There is no one,” you insist, biting back a laugh. “I would know. I live in my own head, unfortunately.”

Minhyun leans forward, elbows on the table now. “So you’re telling me not a single guy has caught your attention lately? Not even, I don’t know, a certain varsity soccer player with the world’s most punchable smirk?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you definitely do.”

You’re halfway through forming your next liesomething about how you barely talk to Seungcheol anyway when Minhyun just grins and goes back to his notes like he hasn’t just lobbed a truth bomb across the table.

And despite your best effort, your brain is now helpfully supplying you with a memory: Seungcheol’s arm around your waist, the solid press of his chest behind you.

You clear your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat in your cheeks.Minhyun doesn’t say anything more but the look on his face says everything.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You freeze, mid-sip of your drink, caught red-handed by absolutely nothing.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” you say way too defensively, setting your cup down a little harder than necessary. “I’m thinking about this—this paragraph on media ethics. Because that’s what we’re here for. Academics.”

You kick him under the table. Lightly. Mostly.

He grins, rubbing at his shin. “Ow. Abuse. I’m telling Exy.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, burying your face in your notebook.

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. It’s cute.”

You groan. “Minhyun, I swear—”

“I’m just saying,” he cuts in, leaning forward again, his voice more teasing now, “I don’t think it’s nothing.”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy pretending to reread the same line over and over. But inside, your brain is spinning. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not nothing.

But saying it out loud? That feels like something big. Something you’re not ready to hand over just yet.

So instead, you glance up and deadpan, “I hope you spill your coffee on your notes.”

Minhyun laughs again, loud enough to get a side-eye from the librarian but he doesn’t push.

What you didn’t know is that a few rows down in the same library, someone else caught the whole scene.

Kim Mingyu, long-limbed and tragically loud even when he’s trying to be quiet, had been on a solo mission to actually study for once in his life. He’d just settled into a corner with his econ notes and a banana milk when his gaze drifted, purely by accident, toward one of the study tables across the floor.

And there you were. With Minhyun. Laughing. Smiling.

Leaning in just close enough that if someone didn’t know you, they’d absolutely mistake that for flirting. Honestly, even if they did know you, they might still mistake it. Because there’s something about the way you kicked him under the table, the way Minhyun grinned like he won something, the way you laughed afterward that.

Mingyu blinked. Watched for another beat. Then slowly pulled out his phone.

Mingyu: yo. ur girl’s flirting with someone at the library rn lol Seungcheol: who Mingyu: The girl? Seungcheol: The guy, you idiot Mingyu:Oh Mingyu: Minhyun. They look cute, close too. Seungcheol: k

Mingyu stared at the typing bubble for a moment. It blinked in. Blinked out and that was it.

Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Seungcheol stared down at his phone, jaw ticking just slightly. He told himself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t his business. That you weren’t his.

But that didn’t stop the quiet, unwelcome twist in his chest. Didn’t stop him from wondering just how close “close” meant.

He gives it a few seconds maybe ten. Just enough time for the screen to go dark, for his reflection to stare back at him in the glossy black glass. His jaw’s tight, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Mingyu’s message sits there like it’s daring him to react.

He tries to ignore it but fails. before he knows it, he's swiping up, hitting your name in his contacts, thumb moving like muscle memory.

“What?” your voice comes through, casual and distracted, like you didn’t just launch yourself into the back of his mind and set up camp there. “I’m in the library.”

“I know,” he says, and it comes out sharper than he means. He clears his throat, tries again. “I just… what are you doing?”

There’s a beat. Then a quiet, “Homework?”

“With Minhyun?”

“...Do you have a problem with that?”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “No. I mean—no. Just asking.”

“You sound weird,” you say, more amused than anything. “Wait—did something happen?”

He wants to say no, because this is ridiculous. He has no right to be calling. No claim. No excuse.

But instead, what comes out is, “Were you flirting with him?”

Dead silence. Then a laugh “What?”

“I’m just asking,” he snaps, defensive now. “Mingyu saw you two. Said you looked... close.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, half-laughing. “Did you really just call me because of something Mingyu said?”

“I didn’t call because of him,” he says quickly. “I called because—”

He cuts himself off. Because what? Because he didn’t like the idea of someone else making you laugh like that? Because the thought of Minhyun sitting across from you, pulling that easy smile out of you, made something coil tight in his stomach?

You’re still waiting on the other end.

“Because I wanted to hear your voice,” he finishes, quieter now. Honest.

You go silent. He hears the distant rustle of papers, a soft sigh.

Then, you say, “You’re ridiculous.”

He almost smiles. “Yeah.”

“And needy.”

“Only a little.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you say, but you don’t.

He leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on nothing. “Okay.”

Your phone buzzes again barely five seconds later. You glance at Minhyun, who raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing the caller ID flash across your screen. You mouth one sec and pick up, standing up from your seat

“You better not be talking to him with that baby voice shit you do.”

You laugh a full, startled laugh that earns you a glare from a nearby student and a very entertained look from Minhyun.

“Oh my god,” you say, still grinning. “Are you actually spiraling right now?”

“I'm not spiraling,” Seungcheol grumbles, voice low and half-muttered. “I’m just saying. You do that thing—your tone gets all soft and sugarcoated and—ugh. I don’t want to hear that being used on anyone but me.”

“First of all, you hated it when I used that voice on you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because when you do it with me, it’s annoying. When you do it with other guys, it’s... threatening.”

You snort. “Threatening?”

“To my sanity, yeah.”

You shake your head, amused and maybe a little flattered in the most chaotic way. “So what, you want me to reserve the baby voice exclusively for you now?”

He’s quiet for a beat too long. Then—

“...Maybe.”

You nearly drop your phone from how fast your hand flies up to your face.

“You are unreal, Choi Seungcheol.”

“I just know what’s mine,” he says, all confidence now, like he didn’t just blurt that out by accident. Your smile softens, just a touch.

“I’m still in the library,” you murmur.

“So?” he replies. “Not like I can kiss you through the phone.”

You pause. That was... not a joke. Not fully. And your heart? Oh, it flips.

You swallow. “Then maybe stop calling unless you're ready to make that kind of statement.”

There’s a long, loaded silence.

Then, low and smug, he says, “Good. So you were thinking about kissing me.”

You hang up and across campus, Seungcheol laughs to himself like he’s just won the lottery.

Practice is the last thing on his mind. The sky is bleeding orange over the field, the kind of late afternoon glow that usually helps him lock in, focus up.

But Seungcheol’s head is somewhere else half on your voice in his ear earlier, half on the way you hung up on him like you were flustered out of your mind, and maybe a little on how good that felt.

He’s tying his cleats on the sidelines when Mingyu drops onto the bench beside him, kicking his legs out like a golden retriever who just learned how to stretch.

“You know what’s funny?” Mingyu says, not even pretending to ease into it.

“No,” Seungcheol replies flatly, not looking up. “But I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“I texted ‘your girl’s flirting at the library’ and you didn’t even ask who I was talking about,” Mingyu says, all grin. “Just went straight into panic mode.”

Seungcheol freezes for half a second before continuing to tighten the laces. “I wasn’t panicking.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Mingyu drawls. “You were calmly accusing her of using her baby voice on other men within seconds.”

“I was just—checking.”

“Sure,” Mingyu says. “Checking. Out of concern for her academic productivity.”

Seungcheol glares at him. “Do you need to be like this?”

Mingyu slaps a hand over his chest dramatically. “I’m just being a supportive friend.”

“Supportive friends don’t act like tabloid reporters.”

“Supportive friends call it like they see it, and what I see is a man deep in denial about being down horrifically bad.”

Seungcheol grabs a water bottle and takes a long sip just so he doesn’t say something that proves Mingyu exactly right.

Mingyu leans in, eyes twinkling. “You like her.”

“She’s annoying.”

“You like her.”

“She talks to me like I’m a five-year-old.”

“You’d let her step on you if she asked.”

Seungcheol gives him a deadpan look. “You good?”

Mingyu shrugs. “You’re not denying it.”

Seungcheol exhales, tipping his head back, letting the fading sun hit his face. Mingyu, satisfied with the tension in the air but not quite done poking the fire, stretches his arms overhead, lets out a content sigh, and adds, far too casually:

“But, like... they do kinda look cute together, don’t they? Minhyun and her.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps up so fast Mingyu almost flinches.

“What did you just say?”

Mingyu fights back a grin, trying to keep his tone innocent. “I mean, he’s got that polite, nice guy thing going on. She’s sharp, a little mean—classic opposites attract. Balance, y’know?”

Seungcheol’s jaw ticks.

“They don’t balance,” he says, too quickly. “Minhyun’s too bland for her.”

Mingyu raises a brow, delight practically radiating off him. “Bland?”

“Yeah. She’d eat him alive. He’d fold at the first sign of an argument.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

“I fight back,” Seungcheol snaps, and then immediately realizes how that sounds.

Mingyu full-on cackles.

“There it is! There’s the alpha wolf! Jesus, dude, chill before you end up headbutting someone.”

Seungcheol scowls and tosses the ball at Mingyu’s gut lightly, but with just enough force to make it a statement.

Mingyu catches it with a grunt, still laughing. “So defensive. You sure she’s not your girl?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer this time. Just turns toward the field, jaw set, hands on his hips, trying and failing not to think about how close you and Minhyun had been sitting.

The following day you barely make it five seconds into sitting across from him at the student lounge before you're hit with the weight of his mood.

Seungcheol’s already there when you arrive hood up, arms crossed, textbook open but clearly untouched. His eyes flick up when you slide into the seat across from him, but he doesn’t say anything.

You squint at him. “Okay. What’s this vibe?”

“What vibe.”

“The one where you’re one exhale away from challenging someone to a duel.”

“Dramatic.”

You tilt your head, resting your chin on your palm. “Did Mingyu say something again? Did he beat you at something? Or is it because of—” you pause, catching the flicker of something in his eyes, “—Minhyun?”

Nothing but that nothing is so loud, it may as well be a full confession.

You grin. “Oh my god. You’re sulking again.”

“I’m not sulking,” he mutters, refusing to meet your eyes

“You have sulking energy. Your entire aura is sulk.”

He slams the book shut “Why him?”

“What?”

Seungcheol looks at you then, eyebrows slightly furrowed, like he’s genuinely annoyed but underneath, there's something else. A little unspoken frustration. Maybe even jealousy, thinly veiled.

“Minhyun,” he says. “Why do you laugh like that when you’re with him?”

You stare at him, lips parting, unsure if you’re hearing him right.

“Are you seriously asking me why I laugh at jokes?”

“I’m asking why you laugh differently.”

You lean back in your seat, slowly crossing your arms, lips tugging into a smug smile. “Choi Seungcheol... are you jealous?”

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

“You’re so jealous.”

“I’m just observant,” he grumbles.

You lean in, resting your elbows on the table. “You know, if you wanted me to laugh like that with you, maybe try not scowling at me the minute I sit down.”

He snorts, finally just barely “Then stop using your baby voice on other guys.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing. “You’re never letting that go, huh?”

He leans back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not until you start using it where it counts.”

And just like that, the mood shifts. The sulk might still be there but so is the smirk.

Then he says it. Just like that, out of nowhere. No warning. No buildup.

“And don’t think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

No break. No pause. Not even a breath.

“You thinking about kissing me.”

Your brain screeches to a halt. “What—”

“I heard you,” he says, leaning in, smug etched all over his stupidly handsome face. “You said it yourself. ‘Then maybe stop calling unless you’re ready to make that kind of statement.’ Which means you were thinking it. Which means—”

“That is not what I said,” you argue, pointing at him like that’ll physically push the words back into his mouth. “You twisted it. You butchered it.”

“Oh? So you weren’t thinking about it?”

“I was—hypothetically speaking. There’s a difference.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “So you admit you thought about it.”

You gape at him. “That’s not—no! I was talking about you! You were the one flirting over the phone—”

“I was flirting?”

“‘I wanted to hear your voice,’” you mimic, dropping your voice into a painfully off-key version of his deeper tone. “That’s you! That’s textbook flirt!”

He shrugs, completely unfazed. “Did it work?”

You glare. “I hung up on you.”

He grins. “Exactly. You panicked.”

You stare at him for a full three seconds. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, like he’s delivering some grand conclusion, “you’re still here.”

You want to throw your pen at him. But more than that, you want to wipe that smug look off his face.

Unfortunately, kissing him would do exactly that. Which is why you don’t. Not yet.

You just mutter, “Don’t flatter yourself, Choi,” and flip open your notebook, pretending to focus.

But from the way you can feel his eyes on you, you know this isn’t over. Not even close. He doesn't let up. In fact, he leans in.

Elbows on the table, eyes locked on yours with that sly smile that should be illegal on campus grounds. Close enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, like pine and trouble.

“And yet,” he murmurs, smug and slow, “you’re blushing, babygirl.”

You freeze. Eyes wide. Brain empty. Heart somewhere doing backflips against your ribs.

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me—”

His smile deepens, utterly pleased with himself. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

“I am not blushing—”

“You are.” He points lazily, like he’s stating the weather. “Right there. Your cheeks. Like strawberries.”

You slap both palms against your face. “Stop looking at me—” He laughs, leaning back like he just won a championship match.

You glare at him through your fingers. “You think this is funny?”

“Hilarious.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You grab your pen like a weapon. He raises his hands in surrender, still grinning like the devil in a varsity hoodie. But Seungcheol? He’s already forgotten the rest of the world exists. Because all he sees is you. Flustered, indignant, glowing red and still sitting right there across from him.

And he’s never felt more victorious in his life.

It’s been a few days, but nothing’s changed.

If anything, he’s gotten worse.

Now Seungcheol’s teasing comes armed less banter, more ambush. One second, he’s making fun of how you chew your pen when you’re focused, the next he’s casually dropping something like, “Careful, keep doing that and I’m gonna think you’re trying to distract me, sweetheart.”

Which, of course, earns him a full-on attack with your highlighter. Or your notebook. Or, once, your water bottle though to be fair, that was more of a warning toss.

He just dodges, laughs, and runs off like the menace he is, usually calling a smug “You’re obsessed with me!” over his shoulder while you try not to chase him down and tackle him in the middle of campus.

It’s a game now, and he plays to win.

Which brings you to now. another game day, your camera bag slung over your shoulder as you take your usual spot on the sidelines. The stadium is buzzing, the sky starting to dip into dusk, and you’re setting up your lens when something drops over your head.

You flinch, camera instinctively cradled to your chest, and yank the thing off only to find yep. A varsity jacket.

Not just any jacket. His jacket.

You turn around instantly, already knowing who it is.

Seungcheol stands a few feet away, casually stretching like he didn’t just try to blindfold you. He’s grinning, loose and cocky, in that way that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Sun’s setting,” he says innocently. “Didn’t want you to catch a chill.”

You hold up the jacket like it’s evidence at a crime scene. “This almost took me out, Choi.”

He shrugs. “Worth it. You look cute in it.”

Then you narrow your eyes, lips twitching. “You just wanted me to wear your jacket”

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Wouldn’t complain.”

“You are—so—insufferable.”

He starts backing away toward his team, still grinning. “Still wearing it though.”

You glance down at the jacket in your arms. And yeah, you do pull it on but only because it’s cold and definitely not because it smells like pine and trouble and home.

The game starts, the first half going like the usual but then it happens. It happens fast, too fast to process. One second, the ball’s moving upfield in a blur, and the next, a player slams into Seungcheol. Hard.

You hear the collective oof ripple through the crowd as his body hits the turf, legs folding awkwardly beneath him before he rolls over, clutching his side.

Your heart lurches to your throat.

The ref’s whistle blows sharp and loud, halting the game. A few players drop to a knee. Others stand, tense and quiet. You grip your camera like a lifeline, frozen on the sideline as medics rush the field.

You lift the lens with trembling fingers, trying to keep it steady as they kneel beside him, talking quickly, checking something near his ribs.

They help him to his feet slowly, his arm slung around one of the staff, weight uneven. He’s limping, favoring his side, jaw clenched. But even from here, even under the stadium lights, you can see him trying to brush it off, like he’s fine.

He’s not fine.

They help him off the field, and the game resumes minutes later but without him. You keep scanning the benches. The sidelines. The crowd.

He’s gone.

And you can’t move. You want to, but your job—your literal responsibility—keeps you stuck at the sideline. Camera still in hand. Fingers still numb.

Every few minutes, you steal glances again, just to be sure you didn’t miss him coming back. But his spot on the bench stays empty and your chest feels a little like it’s folding in on itself.

Meanwhile Seungcheol is in the locker room, the small medic room too quiet.

He’s pissed. Not the kind of pissed where he’s throwing things or yelling. no, this is the quiet kind. The boiling-under-the-surface, jaw-locked, muscles-tense kind.

The kind where he has too much adrenaline and nowhere to put it.

The medic room is too white. Too still. And he hates how sterile everything feels, how he’s being told to rest when all he wants to do is get back out there and finish the damn game.

He leans back against the padded table, an ice pack strapped to his ribs, shirt halfway off. His phone’s on the bench across the room, untouched. He hasn’t looked at it once.

The door creaks open and Yuta steps in, still in his cleats, jersey grass-stained, hair damp from sweat.

Seungcheol sits up straighter. “What’s the score?”

“We won,” Yuta says, casually. “2-1.”

Cheol exhales, but there’s no relief in it. Just more frustration. “Should’ve been out there.”

“Yeah, well,” Yuta shrugs, peeling off his gloves. “Not much you could do with half your ribs probably cracked.”

“Not cracked.”

“Probably,” Yuta repeats.

Seungcheol glares at the floor.

There’s a pause before Yuta jerks a thumb toward the hallway. “By the way. Your girl’s outside.”

Cheol’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Yeah. Pacing like she’s about to wear out the floorboards,” Yuta smirks. “Muttering something about rules and how you’re stupid and reckless and honestly, she sounds more pissed than you.”

Seungcheol’s already sliding off the table.

“You’re not cleared to leave, bro,” Yuta calls after him.

“Then tell the medic I’m stretching my legs.”

Yuta raises both brows. “Stretching your legs or going to get yelled at?”

Cheol throws his shirt over his shoulder, heading for the door. “Probably both.”

The second he steps out, he sees you. Right there across the hallway, arms crossed, pacing a tight little loop like you’ve got fire under your feet.

You don’t even notice him at first too busy muttering to yourself like you’re rehearsing a speech that ends in murder. Then you hear the door shut.

You whip around.

“Choi Seungcheol—”

Oh, yeah. He’s definitely about to get yelled at.

“You absolute idiot,” you start, marching up to him. “What part of take care of yourself did you not understand? You got wrecked, Cheol—rammed, like you were nothing but a traffic cone—”

“I’m fine,” he says, calm but slightly amused. “See? Walking. Breathing. All parts attached.”

“Don’t you dare try to joke your way out of this—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You narrow your eyes. “Then why the hell did you try to get up like you were fine? You were obviously in pain—”

“I was fine.”

“You couldn’t even walk straight.”

“Okay,” he admits, “mostly fine.”

You throw your hands in the air. “Unbelievable.”

He just watches you, eyes softening, lips quirking at the corners. “You were worried.”

“Of course I was worried. You're—” You stop. Catch yourself. Almost let the words slip.

He steps closer.

“Say it.”

You glance away. “No.”

“Say it.”

“No, because you’ll get that smug look like you’re about to win something—”

“I already feel like I did.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s thudding too loud to ignore. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice dropping just a little, “you’re still here. Still yelling. Still wearing my jacket.”

You look back up, intending to retort—but he’s already looking at you like that.

Like that. Warm. Steady. Quietly proud. And maybe a little in love.

You glare at him “You’re impossibl and you’re stubborn.”

He replies back, smiling as if he isn’t nursing a few bruised ribs“You look good when you’re mad.”

“I’m gonna throw your cleats at you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You lunge. He laughs then winces.

You freeze instantly. “Wait—are you okay?”

“Still sore,” he admits. “But worth it.”

Your voice is quieter when you say it this time, like the wind got knocked out of your chest but you still needed to say it anyway.

“You scared me.”

Seungcheol’s smile falters just a little.

“I know.”

You shake your head, staring at him, hard. “No. I mean it, Cheol. I—I couldn’t even see where you went after they helped you off the field. You weren’t on the bench. No update. No text. Nothing. I just had to stand there, holding a damn camera, wondering if you—”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice gentler now. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You never do,” you cut in. “But you keep getting in these stupid plays like you have to carry the whole team on your back or something. You don’t always have to be the one who takes the hit, Cheol. You're not invincible.”

He watches you for a long beat. Then takes one step closer. Then another.

“You done?”

You blink. “No.”

He’s close now. Arms open, head tilted down to look at you fully like he always does. “Good. Get it all out.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling—”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning openly now. “Because you’re here. And yelling. Which means you care.”

You glare “Of course I care. You big dumb idiot—”

“Babygirl ”

“Don’t babygirl me right now—”

“I’m gonna.” He grins wider. “Because I like the way it makes you flustered.”

“Seungcheol—”

“I promise,” he says suddenly, cutting through your spiral. His tone drops. Softens. Steadies. “No more of that. I’ll be more careful. I won’t disappear on you. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”

You narrow your eyes, watching him like you’re still deciding if you can believe him. “I swear, if you ever scare me like that again, I will end you.”

He holds up a pinky. “Scout’s honor.”

“How many times do I have to remind you, you were never a scout.”

He smiles that boyish handsome smile, showing the dimples on his cheeks

“Still counts.”

You’re about to shoot bac another sarcastic comment, another dramatic eye roll but he doesn’t wait. He just opens his arms and tugs you in like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Your face presses against his chest, and you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Slower now. Calmer. Warm.

“I need a hug,” he says softly, chin resting against your hair. “So shut up for like five seconds.”

You sigh, but you don’t move. Don’t push him away. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his jersey. He’s warm. Solid. Here.

“I still hate you,” you mumble.

He chuckles. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

You swat at his ribs.

He flinches and tightens his arms around you. “Hey! Injury!”

“You’re lucky I don’t aim lower”

He hums, a low sound in his chest. “Still not letting go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

He’s halfway through zoning out when it happens.

Sitting near the back of the lecture hall, earbuds in, one arm slung over the back of the empty chair beside him, pretending to review his notes but really just rereading the same sentence for the fifth time.

His brain’s still somewhere else. Specifically that night a few nights ago when he got pulled out of the game. If he’s being honest, it was worth it. He might not have been there for the winning goal but it felt like he was the MVP that night.

Then the chair next to him creaks. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

Exy’s presence is impossible to miss. She’s got that smirk today, too, the one that makes him instinctively brace for something. She doesn’t say hi.

Just, “So.”

Seungcheol glances at her warily. “So…?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “What are we calling it now? Friends who hug like their lives depend on it? Friends who give each other heart attacks on the field?”

He sighs, already exhausted. “You really don’t have anything better to do?”

“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “Just here to make sure you’re emotionally stable before you inevitably do something stupid.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yet.” Exy leans back, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. “But you will, because you’re both stubborn idiots who think prolonged eye contact and light bullying is a form of communication.”

“You’re very dramatic for someone who wasn’t even there.”

“Didn’t need to, I have eyes everywhere” she says

“What do you want, Exy?”

She shrugs “Just making sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“Do you?”

Exy leans in, not unkind, but unrelenting. “Look. You like her. Obviously. And she likes you back. Also obvious. But if you’re gonna keep doing this—whatever this is—just make sure you’re not playing tug-of-war with her heart. She’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to. She sees it anyway, in the way his shoulders tense, the way his hands curl into fists on his thighs. The quiet kind of protective that never quite fades, even when he’s sitting still.

Exy softens, just a little. “She really does care, you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

Exy watches him a moment longer, like she’s trying to decide if she should keep going or let him sit with his own thoughts.

Spoiler: she keeps going.

“You know what she likes, right?” she says, drumming her fingers against the desk. “The reason she messes with you so much? It’s because you never say what you mean unless it’s wrapped in sarcasm or some post-goal adrenaline.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “And you’re suddenly her spokesperson?”

“Please,” Exy says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve known her longer than you. She’s my roommate, my soul sister, sometimes the voice of reason. You get what I mean”

He shoots her a glare. She ignores it.

“She likes straightforward guys,” she continues, voice a little more serious now. “Not the ones who get jealous in the corner and stew in silence, not the ones who pretend like they don’t care. She wants someone who shows it. Not in a weird ‘mine mine mine’ way, but like… make it clear.”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “I don’t want to come off—”

“Possessive?” Exy finishes. “Yeah, you already are but neither of you acknowledges it. But you know what she likes more? Feeling chosen. Loudly. Publicly. Like, no room for guessing.”

He’s quiet again. Processing. Thinking.

She nudges his leg under the table. “You don’t have to post her on Instagram with a cheesy ass caption. But you do have to stop pretending like you’re just ‘hanging out’ when the whole campus already knows you’d deck someone for even looking at her sideways.”

He lets out a breath, more exhale than sigh. “…You think she really likes me back?”

Exy looks at him like he’s said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. Which, in fairness, he might’ve.

“Seungcheol. She ran to the locker room after you got benched. She paced like a worried girlfriend. She lets you hug her in front of people. She calls you baby boy.”

His ears go red instantly. “That was—she was teasing—”

“She blushed,” Exy says, shaking her head. “That’s like her version of a declaration.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then another. Then, “So what do I do?”

Exy shrugs, getting up as the professor finally walks in. “You stop being a coward. And you start making it obvious or atleast more obvious than you already are”

She pauses, smirking down at him. “Starting now would be ideal.”

Later after his last class, he waits for. Like he always does, you never asked why you’re just used to it now.

You’re already mid-rant about your journalism group,voice going a mile a minute. Something about missed deadlines, broken printers, and the absolute disaster that is your publication’s group chat.

He’s barely said a word, just walking beside you with that small smile tugging at his lips, watching the way your face scrunches when you get fired up, the way you skip a step when you’re being dramatic on purpose.

The sun catches your hair, and he wonders again how he got so gone. Maybe it slipped between the banters, the teasing, the walks after class. Just like this one.

He can’t even recall what campus life was, or his life, was before you. You’ve become that one constant in his everyday routine. From countless morning coffee runs, to late lunch hall trips to late night convenient store runs. He doesn’t know just when he became your first call, but he doesn’t mind. You’re his first person he’d call too, if he’s having a great day or a bad day or he just needed a break from all the madness.

You don’t even notice when he slows down, steps dragging just a bit more than usual.

Too busy talking, you reach back with one hand and grab his, tugging without even looking at him. Intertwining your fingers with his like you’ve done it before.

“Anyway, I told him, if you turn in your draft the day after deadline again, I’m going to start publicly shaming you—”

But he doesn’t budge.

You stop mid-step, turning. “What—?”

He’s looking at your joined hands. Not in shock or hesitation. Just… lingering.

You follow his gaze and blink down, like just realizing you were holding his hand. Then back up at him, one brow raised. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, your hands and then at your face like he’s trying to memorize something.

“What,” you say again, a little more cautious this time.

“You always do that?” he asks, voice low, just a little amused. “Grab my hand like it’s nothing?”

“You were walking like a grandpa. I didn’t want to miss the bus.”

He laughs softly. “Right.”

You tilt your head. “What’s going on with you?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t let go of your hand. In fact he holds it firmer “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you tease.

But he’s not smiling now. Not fully. He takes a step closer, just enough to make your hand drop between you.

His voice is quieter when he says, “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

Your heart skips. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes meet yours, all steady, no teasing this time. “You hold my hand like it’s nothing. You call me baby boy in front of my teammates. You yell at me when I get hurt”

You open your mouth to say something anything but he cuts in, voice soft but serious.

“I’m making it clear now. I like you. Not just for the banter. Not just when it’s easy.”

He squeezes your hand, not hard. Just enough.

“I want to make it obvious.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest now, and for the first time in a while, you’re the one struggling for words. But your hand tightens back around his, and your mouth twitches like you’re fighting a smile.

“You’ve always been obvious, you growl at other guys if they so much so look my way” you joke

He scowls at you, “Here I was being genuine and sweet”

You smile small at first, a little shy, but then it breaks wider, soft and warm and so you.

But since you’re you and he’s him, you reply back

“I guess I just never said anything because you didn’t either. But we both knew, we both know what this really is. Good to know you finally got your big boy pants on and say it loud and proud”

He lets outs chuckle, looking down at you. He tucks in the few strands of hair blown by the late afternoon wind, his other hand still holding yours.

And like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you just pick up where you left off. “Anyway, as I was saying—this guy? He sends in drafts written like a text message. Like, full-on ‘LOL’ and emoji placeholders. I wish I was joking, Cheol.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, not because of the story but because of you. The way you bounce back so easily, how nothing ever feels awkward with you for long. One minute you’re standing still while he’s basically confessing on a quiet campus path, and the next you’re dragging him toward the bus stop with your fingers still looped with his.

He glances down at your hands. Intertwined. And you’re not letting go.

You’re still talking, still dramatically reciting the tragedies of group projects and typos that somehow made it to print, but your thumb brushes against his like it’s always been meant to be there. And he’s just… listening.

Not saying much. Not needing to.

Because this? This moment your voice in his ear, your hand in his, your familiar little eye-roll when you notice him smiling too long is everything.

And there's nowhere else he’d rather be. This right here has been the ultimate goal all along.

A FEW MONTHS LATER.

The first thing he hears when he opens his eyes?

Your voice. Of course.

Not soft, not dreamy, not the gentle cooing kind of morning wake-up call some people probably expect from their girlfriends.

No. yours is sharp, brisk, and deeply exasperated.

“Choi Seungcheol, I swear, if you forget your cap, I’m not turning around this time. We’re not missing line-up just because you take three business days to get ready—”

He groans, arm flopping across his eyes as he cracks a smile. “Good morning to you too, jagi”

“You’re impossible in the mornings,” you mutter, rifling through a bag near the foot of the bed. “I don’t know why I agreed to be the responsible one in this relationship.”

He peeks at you through his lashes, hair still a mess from the night before, lips pressed in that familiar line that says you’re trying not to smile even as you’re scolding him.

Still you. Unmistakably, unapologetically you.

And for some reason, he feels full just watching you.

Because today’s the day. Graduation. The end of all-nighters and library corners and half-serious bickering in cafes. The end of walking across campus as “friends” with a mile of tension between you and the start of something else.

“Are you even listening to me?” you ask, exasperated, already halfway to the mirror to fix your hair. “The trip, Seungcheol. We leave next week. And you have that early training thing right after we get back, so if we don’t get everything packed—”

He pushes himself up slowly, stretching, watching you spin through your checklist with military precision.

“—and your mom said she wanted photos after the ceremony, so don’t disappear with the team, okay? And please don’t forget to eat before we leave, I’m not dealing with you fainting in full gown and—”

You’re cut off with a kiss. Firm, quick, not giving you a chance to back away or dodge it like you do sometimes just to be difficult.

You blink at him. “What was that for?”

He grins, thumb brushing your chin. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

You swat at him, cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

He tugs you back gently, arms looping around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder from behind. “You know, when we first met, I thought I’d lose my mind if I had to listen to you nag me every day.”

You snort. “Charming.”

“But now?” He kisses your temple, voice soft. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You roll your eyes, but your hands come up to rest over his anyway.

“Better not,” you murmur, the edge in your tone barely there. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He smiles against your skin, eyes slipping shut for one more second.

You. Still you. Still loud. Still quick to argue. Still calling him out when he needs it but now he can shut you up with a kiss. Now, you’re his. Officially. Publicly.

Somehow he managed to distract you enough to pull you back in bed but you’re still talking.

Even now, knees planted on either side of his hips, straddling him in the middle of your shared chaos of a room. gown half-steamed and a to-do list longer than your patience. You’re going off about last-minute logistics.

“You didn’t charge your camera last night, did you? You said you would, and if it dies while my parents are taking photos, I swear to God, Seungcheol—”

He’s not even trying to keep up anymore. Not with your words, at least.

Just… watching you. The way your brows furrow when you’re pretending to be mad. The way you keep adjusting your hair like it’s not already perfect. The way you’re sitting on top of him like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

And your voice filling every inch of his morning like it always does.

He thinks, Yeah. This is it. This is what he wants every morning to be like. Even if you’re nagging him. Especially if you’re nagging him.

You lean forward a little, pressing your hand to his chest like you’re trying to make a point. “Seriously, if we’re late, Exy is going to murder us both. Don’t give me that look—”

“Babe,” he says, laughing softly.

“No, you always do this—you smile and nod and then forget everything I said—”

“Babe,” he says again, pulling you down gently, your face just inches from his now. “I love you.”

You blink. Mouth still parted mid-rant. Eyes just a little wider. And that second of silence? It might be his favorite part of the whole morning.

He grins. “Like, really, really whipped for you.”

Your expression twists somewhere between smug and flustered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“Hopeless.”

“Absolutely.”

You huff and try to sit back, but he doesn’t let you, arms locking around your waist.

“I’m serious,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Call me whipped. Call me down bad. I don’t care.”

He presses a kiss just below your jaw, and your fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his shoulders.

“I’ll take all of it,” he adds. “If it means waking up to you. Every single day. Nagging and all.”

You try to look unimpressed, but your lips betray you with the softest curve of a smile.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

And you do. Maybe a little more than you’d ever admit out loud.

So you lean down, brushing your nose against his, and mutter against his lips, “Only if you remember the damn cap this time.”

You kiss him, once. Twice. “And I love you, too”

He laughs again head thrown back like you’ve just handed him the world.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The door swings open, the morning sun spilling across the hallway as you bolt out in full momentum. heels clicking against the tile, hair slightly tousled from your last-minute panic fix, your phone clenched in one hand and a rolled-up copy of the graduation itinerary in the other.

“—and I told you,Cheol, if we don’t get to the hall before they start locking seat assignments, I am not begging some underpaid volunteer to let us in. And no, don’t give me that look, you were the one who decided to iron your shirt twenty minutes before we had to leave—”

He follows behind you, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. His cap is still crooked, tassel flipping wildly in the breeze, and he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

Not when you’re out here looking like that radiant and already halfway to combusting because of a scuffed shoe or a forgotten pin or God knows what else.

You keep going, barely glancing back. “—and I can’t believe you tried to bribe Exy with iced coffee so she wouldn’t tell me you forgot to RSVP to the post-grad dinner. You know she’s lactose intolerant—”

“Babe.”

“—and then there’s still the trip itinerary we haven’t finished, your mom’s gift still needs wrapping, and I told you at least four times to print out your boarding pass just in case—”

“Baby,” he says again, stepping closer now, his hand brushing your wrist.

You spin toward him, full of momentum and indignation, your mouth already open to launch into another paragraph of minor disasters and contingency plans.

But he just cups your face in both hands, warm and sure, and pulls you in.

Kisses you. Firm and fast. You freeze, lips caught mid-word. Your eyes flutter open in surprise, brows drawing together.

He pulls back a half second later, grinning. “Hi.”

You blink, processing.

And then, just like that, “Anyway, as I was saying—if we don’t get to the photo op on time, your sister will murder us both, and you still haven’t replied to the family group chat—”

He kisses you again.

You make a muffled noise into his mouth, both hands lifting in frustration that he can never let you finish a proper thought.

He pulls back again, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

You glare. “I swear—”

Another kiss. This one longer.

This time, when he pulls back, you're breathless. But still stubborn.

“I hate you.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m smiling because I’m two seconds from kicking your ass in front of your entire graduating class.”

He grins, nose brushing yours. “Still worth it.”

You push lightly at his chest, trying to turn away. “We’re going to be late—”

He kisses you again before you can take a step. And again. And again.

It becomes a pattern. every time you open your mouth to talk, he just silences you with a kiss. They’re quick at first, just small interruptions. But the more you fight him, the longer they stretch. The slower they get. Until you’re not even trying to speak anymore—just giggling helplessly against his mouth as he pecks you one more time, then another, and then another.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble into his shoulder, finally giving up, forehead resting there while he loops an arm around your waist.

“You love it.”

“Debatable.”

“You love me.”

You groan dramatically. “God, don’t remind me.”

He laughs, light and easy, kissing the top of your head as you both start walking again, fingers intertwined, the rush of the morning finally slowing down.

And somewhere between the bickering and the kisses, the nagging and the laughter, it settles in:

You’re still you. He’s still him.

But now… it’s official.

Caps and gowns, travel plans and futures ahead. Whatever comes next—training camps or late deadlines or burnt breakfasts—he’ll have you. And you’ll have him.

Even if he’s five minutes late. Even if you never stop nagging.

Even if the only way to shut you up is kissing you breathless at the door every single morning.

307 notes · View notes

shysuccubusstuff · 2 days ago

Text

Helping Hand

Content: Non proof-reader; Android! Caleb + Overstimulation + Fake cum + Size difference + Dacryphilia + Praise kink + Aftercare

Summary: You chose to buy one of those new androids in the market, after all, with the little time you had, it was logical for you to get one! But after your birthday party, you can't help but feel like something has changed within Caleb...

Note: I'm finally done with exams but now my brain is dry... On another note, I have to keep on writing my novel! It has nothing to do with my usual work here, but I really should keep on writing cause I have so much ideas for cool characters! Wish I could draw them... I hope people get the ideas of how Android! Caleb lower half works...

Note 2: I just put some fake nails and writing has become so difficult... Had to use two pens towards the end...

Android! Caleb who opens his eyes and encounters your face. He was programmed to be cold, always following the orders of the person who bought him. At least, that was what he had learnt, as you soon rebooted his whole system, changing his personality to a softer and more "human" one. He is still quite confused, why would he need to have a personality for serving a human? Still, he couldn't help but feel a strange rush of electricity run through his system, maybe he had a strange type of malfunction?

Android! Caleb who becomes accustomed to taking care of you. He is always close to you, always waiting by the door of the house a few minutes before your arrival, food still warm and waiting for you to eat, the house completely in order from him cleaning it... Gosh, you could even feel all the tension leaving your body as soon as you entered your house. You allowed him to carry you to the bathroom, head resting against his soft chest as you let him undress you, letting your clothes carefully folded as he helped you get inside the lukewarm bath.

Android! Caleb who becomes your only caretaker. It took him less than a few days to get completely used to your body language, knowing exactly what you wanted, when you wanted it and even how you wanted it. He was basically reading your mind, always one step ahead, letting you rest your exhausted body on his bigger body, his soft hands caressing your hair as his mechanic heart kept pumping the blue liquid all over his system. You knew you shouldn't get so attached to him, but how were you supposed to stop yourself from it when he knew you like the palm of his hand?...

Android! Caleb who receives a strange update. It had recently been your birthday, so you decided to make a small party, nothing big, really. You invited a few of your friends from work, together with some other friends from when you were still studying, organising a small party at your house for all of you to drink and have fun while watching some low-quality films. It was around 3:00 when you started to feel your eyelids dropping, with your friends too focused on the climax of the film for them to notice, you chose to simply fall asleep in the cozy sofa, surely someone would wake you up sooner or later, right?

Android! Caleb who becomes much more... domestic. You didn't notice the first few days, still unaware of the strange update your friends had added as a "gift" for you. Yes, it was a bit strange for Caleb to always greet you with a hug and a kiss on your forehead, but hey, maybe it was something that they had added in one of the millions of updates Caleb had, maybe some client had complained about them being too stiff? Whatever, it wasn't as if you were particularly concerned about it, in fact, you did like it a bit...

Android! Caleb who finally puts his update to good use. It was late at night when you suddenly felt the urge to do it. It wasn't something particularly strange, with you being alone most of the time and all the stuff you liked reading and listening... What was strange was the moment the door to your bedroom was knocked. You quickly hid your naked lower half with the sheets trying your best to get your phone to hide the content you were seeing. "Caleb?" You whispered, heart beating rapidly in fear of having been discovered by him. "Pips? I'm sorry for disturbing you so late at night, but my systems have warned me that my owner, that is you, is currently in need of my assistance." You furrowed your brows, slightly confused about what was he even implying, still, you knew Caleb was unable to cause any harm to you, so you simply sighed, letting him enter without much thought. "So what was wrong, Caleb?" Caleb smiled, sitting close to you and petting your hear with his rough hands. "My system told me you needed my help, do you need it? I have been upgraded with the latest system, allowing me to help you in this kind of delicate activity." Still confused, you simply nodded, after all, the system tended to be right. As soon as you did so, Caleb removed the sheets that were covering your body, his huge hands lifting your legs with ease, getting them closer to your face, just enough for your slick pussy to be in front of his face.

"Caleb! Just-- Just what are you doing?" You tried your best to get him to let go of your ankles, squirming around with not much luck, with Caleb still retaining his sweet smile.

"I'm fulfilling my new tasks, you allowed me to do so." Caleb's arm moved, changing his grip on your thigs to keeping your body in position with just his arm. "Now, no more moving, pips, I need you to remain calm so I can help you appropietly." Caleb's tongue stick out, this time looking slightly longer than usual, his right hand making his way to your entrance as his mouth got closer to your clit.

"Wa--Wait a second! I'm pretty sure this was NOT included when I bought your model--!" Caleb stopped for a second, his expressions remaining as sweet as always.

"It wasn't. Your friends added it to my program in hopes of making you happier, they explained it to me and I agreed. I believed it would truly help you destress. I hope I will actually ." Caleb moved closer, spreading soft kisses all over your lower tummy, making a small path towards your pussy. At the same time, his hands started to glide towards your entrance, teasing it with his fingers by simply gliding up and down on it but never actually inserting them, simply coating his fingers with your lewd fluids. "Let me know if you feel any discomfort." Caleb's mouth slowly got closer, wet kisses being left around your clit as a way to tease your sensitivity, being unable to not smile after seeing your back arch from the sudden touch. Following the set procedure, Caleb slowly entered one of his fingers, circling your clit with the tip of his tongue and making you cling to the sheets, soft whimpers leaving your mouth even despite you tried to cover your mouth with your hands as a way to avoid letting even more shameful sounds escape. Suddenly, one of Caleb's hands moved, grabbing your wrists with ease and pinning them on top of your head. "I need to hear you so I can know exactly what you need." Caleb moved, his face now facing yours before diving himself into a deep kiss, his right hand still playing with your clit, making short circles around it regardless of your poor attempts of squirming away.

"Ca... Caleb! Too much-- it's too much!" You whispered, chest puffing up and down as you tried to recover from Caleb's kiss.

"My name is not the safe word, you should probably know that." Caleb suddenly switched positions, letting your back rest against his chest, his legs tangled around yours to avoid letting you try to close your legs, his lips kissing yours as he moved one of his hands to your chest, playing with your nipple as the other hand kept slowly moving inside you, searching for that sweet spot until you let a whimper escape you. "This must be your g-spot, right? Gotta make sure you enjoy this." Caleb kissed your face, peppering soft kisses all over your face as he slowly introduced another of his digits, his fingers constantly hitting that spot even as you kept trying to move away from him, with Caleb simply laughing softly against your ear, pushing his fingers even deeper inside. "You're so cute... Humans always react so vividly to the stimuli..." You could't help but feel embarrased, with Caleb's mocking tone reverberating inside your head as he kept forcing you to cum around his fingers, using his other hand to pinch and twist your nipples with just enough force.

It had been over 20 minutes since your sweet torture had begun, with Caleb moving and hitting the exact place you were craving, forcing you to close your eyes from the overstimulation. "Caleb~... That's enough... I don't think I can cum more..." Your voice sounded now raspy from all your whines and moans, with Caleb obviously ignoring them, simply cooing you.

"That's alright, then we can finally move to the main course, right?" Caleb finally let you move a bit, getting up and removing his trousers, leaving them on your chair before returning to the bed. "Let me syncronise my tools, alright?" Suddenly, Caleb's lower half changed from the usual plain surface to the shape of an erect cock, his . "Let me just..." Caleb got on top of you, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist, moving his hand to grab his cock and starting to rub it against your entrance, letting some of his self-lubricating fluid just for extra caution. "I'll do it slowly, open wide now, pips." You took a deep breath as Caleb's cock entered you, softly biting against his shoulder as a way to stay calm. "Such a good girl... Just a bit more." And you could simply whine, your insides already feeling as if they were about to tear as Caleb finally bottomed out. "So good for me..." Caleb caressed your cheek, kissing your forehead as he started to move, barely moving a few centimeters before pushing back in, nails digging on his back as he kept pressing his body against yours. "Just a bit more... It will feel so good in just a few minutes..." Caleb pressed your mouths together, sucking on your tongue before starting to french kiss you, a strand of saliva connecting you both the moment the kiss ended.

As the minutes passed, you were finally able to get used to his size, the slight discomfort changing into pure pleasure, making your eyes roll back each time he rubbed that spot. "You feel so nice wrapped around me... Let me help you a bit baby." Caleb lifted your body with ease, laying your body on your front before moving back on top of you, his cock entering you, the pressure of his weight making you bite on the pillow that was close to you, whinning as Caleb's hand made light pressure on your lower stomach, just enough for you to start feeling his length even more, each thrust making your walls wrap around his cock, the system of Caleb slowly getting overheated each time you clenched around him. "Be careful... My system may get a bit overwhelmed if you keep clinging so much to me..." That was of course easier said than done, after all, it had been such a long time since you had been able to feel so good... Still, you tried your best, taking a deep breath and hugging your pillow, a few tears falling down your cheeks as you felt your mind slowly slipping away.

"Too big... You're crushing me~..." You whined, the heat radiating from Caleb mixed with the feeling of having your insides scrambled being enough to make your head feel overwhelmed. Regardless of that, Caleb kept going, his hips bumping against your ass each time he forced his whole length inside you, his hands petting your hair whole he whispered soft praises against your ear.

"So good... Cum all around me pips, show me just how much you're enjoying this..." Caleb's raspy voice echoed inside your mind, the embarrasment of having your own android seen you so fucked dumb suddenly leaving, letting you only focus on how much you wanted Caleb to praise you... So of course you did just as he asked, your gummy walls pulsing around his cock as you felt a warm liquid filling you up, forcing you to cum for who knows what time, toes curling as you felt Caleb increasing his rhythm at the same time you came, then slowing down as he felt your breath become even heavier.

After letting you recover your breath for a few minutes, you felt Caleb lifting you up from the bed, carrying to the bathroom with ease and letting you rest inside the warm bathtub and using a soft towel to scrub you, removing all the sweat together with the mixture of his cum and all your fluids. He then left for a few minutes, returning with a huge towel, wrapping your whole body around it before taking his sweet time drying it. After that, all you could remember was te warm embrace of Caleb, mixed with the fresh smell of a new set of heet together with the citrusy smell that emanated from him.

#AWfanfiction #x reader #love and deepspace #love and deep space #caleb x reader #lads #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #lnds caleb #caleb love and deepspace #android x reader

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that-faerie-in-the-corner · 1 day ago

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you know what I find fascinating about how Helen is talked about in the works in the epic cycle?

everyone has argued to death over whether she was kidnapped, went willingly, was influenced/controlled/threatened by Aphrodite, whatever, but the thing is the actual TEXTS can't seem to make up their minds on Helen. everyone will be cursing Helen's name as an unfaithful wife and destroyer of men in Agamemnon but then Paris will be called a "robber-rapist" which would obviously heavily imply that he stole and assaulted her (plus the part where Clytemnestra basically says "shut the fuck up about Helen she didn't force you to do all that", although how much we're supposed to agree with her is debatable). In Iphigenia In Aulis we're going to war to get REVENGE on the Trojans AND HELEN but then Agamemnon will accuse Menelaus of "lust(ing) only to hold a lovely woman in (his) arms", calls him crazy for wanting her back, and then when Menelaus changes his mind about killing Iphigenia to get the winds back he says "Could I not obtain A perfect marriage elsewhere, if I longed for Marrying? But a brother whom I should Most cherish, I was about to forfeit To gain a Helen, so bartering excellence For evil" which is still pretty spiteful towards Helen but also really fucking weird to say if he only wanted her back to kill or otherwise punish her. Then, in the same play, the Greeks are described as wanting to sail to Troy so "That they may halt the plunder of marriage beds And the rape and seizure of Greek women" which would also imply Helen was, in fact, raped and seized, otherwise why would it be phrased like that and not like, "seduced" or "whisked away" or whatever? In Orestes Elektra and Orestes interpret Helen's actions in the worst possible light while when Helen actually speaks she seems generally sympathetic towards them, distraught and grieving over the whole situation, and claims that she went because Aphrodite made her mad, which could absolutely be a lie, but the thing is we just don't know who's the unreliable narrator here Is this a translation thing? Indicative of a really weird idea of what rape is? Is this an intentional writing choice? This got me to thinking and then I realized that if Menelaus was away when Helen left then he almost certainly doesn't actually know what happened. He didn't see or hear what happened, he doesn't get a chance to talk to Helen and have her explain until after the war, and obviously none of the other Greeks would know for sure either, right? And I just think it is kind of a missed opportunity that adaptations don't really do anything with this kind of unspoken conflict at all. Paris the Musical kind of does (Menelaus believes Helen was abducted when she ended up begrudgingly going with Paris trying to help him to escape) but like, why do all the greek men have one idea of Helen in adaptations? Why don't they argue about it? Why don't they question Menelaus about his motivations more? What if (especially if Aphrodite fucked with her head, as I am one to believe) Helen doesn't even trust herself on her own intentions? What if Menelaus tears himself up debating this with himself every night? Like, could I trust that she wouldn't do this to me and our daughter? Is it better that my wife doesn't love me anymore and is safe with her new lover, or that she does but is trapped against her will having who knows what done to her? Do I know my wife anymore? Did I ever know her in the first place? What if he lays eyes on Helen, his Helen, for the first time in ten years and his sword slips from his grasp as he realizes that yes, of course he knows her, how could he have ever doubted? Or maybe he still doesn't know if he knows her, but maybe he doesn't need to, because he knows that she is tired and scared, and he still loves her, and he just wants to take her back to their home? What then? Hm?

#ok FUCK this turned into a long ass meta and shameless Helen and Menelaus posting that took me so long to write #im just saying if you wanted to you could make their arc about Trust #theres so many directions you could go with this #him being sure Helen was kidnapped at first and frantic to rescue her but doubt and resentment slowly creeping in #over time that comes to a boiling point by the time of the siege but leaves him when they reunite and he sees the look on her face #or maybe he initially thinks she cheated and is furious with her and he wants to keep being furious but he can't help but fear for her #in his heart of hearts #or maybe he flips back and forth and everyone else is like Oh my gods Menelaus shut the fuck up about your wife #CMON PEOPLE im giving you FREE IDEAS #ANYWAY. GASPS FOR AIR #im not a classicist this is just the musings of an autistic 20 year old who just got into this #greek mythology #mythology #menelaus #the iliad #the epic cycle #homeric epics #menelaus of sparta #tagamemnon #helen of sparta #helen of troy #helen of argos #ilium the musical #the trojan war #greek myth retellings #greek myths #text post #rambling #meta #kind of????

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miyasmagnolias · 19 hours ago

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𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𓂇⋆⭒˚｡⋆

miya atsumu x f!reader

you invite atsumu and the boys to your spring dance showcase to raise money for a good cause — and maybe get even after the viral video incident. meanwhile, atsumu is determined to ask you out and, if he's lucky, kiss you properly this time around.

part eleven of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

a/n: a tiny bit of lore, but i used to dance throughout college (and still do to this day), so this one was super fun to write. enjoy! ( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

"So...what kind of dance does she do again?"

"Uh..." Atsumu blinked down at the bouquet of flowers like they might contain the answer to Suna's question. "Hip-hop, I think?"

Osamu locked his car and shot his twin brother a judgmental glare. "Haven't ya lived with her for, like, eight months now? Shouldn't ya know what type of dance she does?"

"How am I supposed to know?! It's not like she performs for me in the livin' room or anythin'!"

Osamu's face twisted in disgust. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't ya."

Atsumu's face turned beet red. "The fuck is that supposed to mean — ?!"

"To be fair," Aran interjected, ever the pacifist. "Modern dance can blend together a lot of styles — jazz, ballet, hip-hop. It's really not as cut and dry as people think it is."

"See?" Atsumu said, grateful to his team captain for coming to his defense. "It's not as cut and dry as ya think it is!"

Aran gave him a flat stare in return. "Still, I find it baffling that you didn't think to ask."

The four former Inarizaki boys began the long trek from their parallel parking spot to The Bloom Room — a seventies-inspired cocktail lounge nestled in-between campus and downtown. Your university dance troupe had partnered with the small business to host your annual spring showcase, the event doubling as a community-wide fundraiser for a handful of local nonprofits.

Invite the volleyball boys, too! you'd texted Atsumu a few weeks back, along with the link to buy tickets. We need as many people there as possible. The more drinks you buy, the more goes to charity!

Atsumu didn't exactly know who you meant by the 'volleyball boys' — Osamu and Suna didn't really count anymore, and Sakusa wouldn't be caught dead in a place like The Bloom Room. Aran, on the other hand, was a welcome surprise, the captain of the men's volleyball team happily agreeing to go when Atsumu brought it up to him after practice the other day.

"I'll do anything for a good cause," he'd said, though the fluorescent lights of the locker room did nothing to hide his amused expression. "Did you end up wooing her with your extensive knowledge of Pride and Prejudice?"

"I was not tryin' to 'woo' her — I was tryin' to help her with an essay!" Atsumu exclaimed, slamming his locker door shut. "There's a big difference."

"You stopped reading every other sentence just so you could ask me what it meant," Aran said dryly, recalling the two-hour flight back from their first away game. Off the court, he'd never seen Atsumu more concentrated. “If anything, you needed help.”

Atsumu shot his team captain an offended glare. "At least I finished the damn thing. It got good — ya know, once I got used to all the ol' timey English."

Aran folded his arms across his chest and exhaled slowly. "Look, it's clear you've got feelings for this girl. So in addition to reading her favorite books and kissing her on the cheek after games, why don't you just ask her out?"

The setter shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It wasn't as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind before — just that every time it did, it was accompanied by the worst possible outcomes he could think of. Him, finally working up the courage to ask you out. You, laughing in his face. Him, having to sleep in the room next to yours every day while he died of embarrassment. Just thinking about it made Atsumu want to yak.

It was much easier to flirt with you than to actually admit that he liked you, he'd realized. In fact, Atsumu kind of hoped you'd be the first to acknowledge it. He'd dropped more than enough hints for you to catch on.

But as your spring semester continued without so much as a peep, Atsumu realized he didn't have much time left. He needed to fess up to you before you graduated and went on to become a publishing mogul or a Pulitzer Prize winner — or whatever the hell English honors students went on to do after college.

The plan was simple: get you alone after the show, hand you the bouquet he'd spent nearly an hour picking out. Pop the question while somehow keeping his ego intact. Easy peasy.

At least, he thought it was.

"Oh, are you here for Y/N?" a girl with large hoop earrings and a handkerchief for a top said when Atsumu approached the check-in table. "You're her roommate, right? She's told us so much about you!"

"She didn't tell us you'd be bringing a whole team with you," another drawled, twirling a long braid around her perfectly manicured fingers as she sized up his friends. "Sheesh."

Despite himself, a stupid grin broke out on Atsumu's face. "She talks about me?"

The two girls exchanged humored looks from across the table.

"Let's just say she's gonna really love the flowers," the one with the braids replied with a smack of her gum.

"Wish my boyfriend bought me flowers," the one with the earrings chuckled, stamping the back of Atsumu's hand. "Enjoy the show!"

The Bloom Room was bathed in sultry purple lights as Atsumu and his group navigated the crowd of friends and family that had shown up for that evening's showcase. The high-top tables and stools had been cleared out to make room for a dance floor, with rows of folding chairs now lining the perimeter of the space.

"It's awfully intimate, ain't it?" Osamu observed as he sat next to Atsumu in the row closest to the dance floor.

"I'ma grab a drink," Suna quipped, already making a beeline for the bar. Meanwhile, their phones pinged in unison. It was from you.

Are you here yet?? you'd asked in the group chat you had created with all four of them. Did you get good seats?

Atsumu's fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

Yep, front row! Break at leg! Then, before he could stop himself, he added a pink heart emoji and hit send.

"Whoa," Aran said, blinking back at the text message not a moment later. "A heart? Things must be getting pretty serious."

"Shaddup," Atsumu tsked, folding his arms across his chest. At Osamu and Aran's bemused stares, he asked, "What? It ain't the red one! The red one is the serious one!"

"Dunno, man," Aran teased as Osamu stifled his laugh. "A heart's a heart."

Atsumu's confident expression faltered as he said, "W-Well, do ya think it's too much? Should I edit it?

"I think it's a little late for that," Osamu drawled just as their phones pinged again. They all looked down at their screens.

Great! you'd replied, hearting Atsumu's message. Can someone take a video of me pwease?

On it, Suna texted back. He returned a few minutes later with a tequila soda in-hand.

"Dude," he murmured as he sat back down. "What was up with that frilly pink heart? Keep that shit to yourselves."

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

"Good evening, everyone! Take your seats, take your seats," the girl with the hoop earrings said into the microphone as the remainder of the crowd settled in with their drinks. "My name's Mina, and I'd like to personally welcome you to the Silk Club's third annual spring showcase!"

A wave of applause ricocheted through the venue.

"We've got an incredible lineup of talent here tonight representing several on-campus dance orgs, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show," she said. "As a reminder, all ticket and drink proceeds go towards our city's women's shelter and the center for LGBTQIA+ youth, so I encourage you to get as drunk as humanly possible! It's for a great cause!"

Laughter and applause rippled across the crowd. Beside Atsumu, Suna tipped his cup back until all that was left was ice.

"Now without further ado, I have the pleasure of introducing to you our opening act," Mina continued. "The Silk Club is a group of young women whose mission is to feel empowered and body confident in their dance. This is their third year hosting their annual spring showcase in support of the local nonprofit community, and they are incredibly excited to perform for you all tonight. I myself have been a part of this team for two years now, and I can confidently say there's no other group I'd rather shake ass with to raise money. So without further ado, give it up for Silk!"

The crowd whooped and hollered as several silhouetted figures emerged from the back room and assumed formation on the dance floor. Meanwhile, Atsumu's heart kicked up a notch as he scanned the shadows to find you. Beside him, Osamu frowned.

"Shake ass?" Osamu repeated under his breath. "Don't tell me — "

He was promptly cut off as the opening chords to Mariah Carey's "Obsessed" blared through the speakers, the spotlight flickering on to reveal you — in the tiniest black tube top and skirt — staring back at the audience with a sultry pout on your face.

Aran's eyes widened. Suna nearly choked on his ice. Osamu ran a hand over his face and glanced toward his brother, who — for all intents and purposes — looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Because you were hot. Nay — you were hot as fuck.

And everyone in that room knew it, too.

"I thought she did hip-hop!" Aran yelled over the music as you danced across the floor in your stiletto heels, your confidence radiating with every body roll, every hair flip.

"Dunno what kind of hip-hop you're watching, but this certainly isn't it," Suna shot back dryly, having already hit the record button on his phone.

Except Atsumu wasn't even listening. All that occupied his brain was you. Batting your eyelashes at the audience. Rocking the headscarf you'd styled into your long hair. Touching yourself in places that made Atsumu feel faint. You looked like the seventh member of Katseye, only prettier. How hadn't he known this about you?

"Why you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know..."

The crowd went completely ballistic as all the girls on your team planted their hands on the sticky floor and shook ass in perfect unison. Only then did Atsumu notice the phone in Suna's hands.

"Would ya not film my roommate's ass like that?" he stammered, doing a double-take.

Suna merely shrugged and said, "What? She asked me to."

Then, before Atsumu could argue further, you were sauntering up to him. Soft smile. Pouty lips. Eyes that could disarm him in an instant. You ran a delicate finger along the curve of his jaw, tilted his chin up to look at you. And winked.

For fuck's sake.

"I think you can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body," Suna deadpanned, scrubbing through the video after you and your teammates had struck the final pose to the sounds of ear-splitting applause.

Osamu elbowed his brother in the ribs and said, "Ya alright in there, Tsumu?"

Atsumu just stared at the dance floor as you and your teammates took your bows. Brain empty. Face steadily draining of color. His grip tightened around the bouquet in his lap as he tried to careen himself back to earth.

Asking you out was going to be way harder than he thought.

Atsumu's heart rate more-or-less returned to normal after that, the rest of the show featuring a variety of modern dance crews, cultural clubs, and K-Pop cover groups. Nothing as outrageous as the opener, but perhaps that was for the best. Atsumu didn't need his nervous system compromised for a second time that night — especially with the question he was about to ask you after the show.

The Silk Club closed the showcase with a much tamer, less anxiety-inducing routine to "Rocket" by Doechii, the choreography maintaining your team's signature charm while showcasing your versatility of style. Atsumu cheered for you as you danced your heart out in the center of the room, your energy infectious as the music coursed through your every muscle. From your cheeky smile down to the soles of your sneakers, it was clear you loved being up there. The entire time, Atsumu couldn't stop grinning.

He was the first to give you a standing ovation by the end.

"Seems like Atsumu isn't the only one who can work a crowd," Aran drawled in amusement, standing up so he could clap for you properly. Beside him, Suna snapped about a million pictures.

Osamu merely hummed in agreement and said, "Pretty sure this is the first time he's been more enamored by someone other than himself."

As usual, Atsumu didn't hear a damn thing — just clapped his brother on the shoulder and said, "I'll be right back."

Several families and friend groups had since flooded the dance floor to reunite with their performers, Atsumu shouldering his way through with the bouquet clutched to his chest. Your friend Haru had found you first and was currently gushing to you about your performance, Atsumu maintaining his distance for several nerve-wracking seconds before your eyes eventually latched onto his. Your face broke out into the sunniest smile he'd ever seen, and by God. You were beautiful.

You said goodbye to Haru and made your way towards him. His arms found purchase around your waist as he lifted you several inches off the ground and squeezed you as hard as you could.

"Hi," he murmured into your hair. It smelled of your sweat and shampoo.

"Hi," you whispered back, your voice warm and breathless. "What did you think of the show?"

"I..." Atsumu trailed off, the mental image of you throwing it back flashing across his mind. "I didn't know ya could move like that, that's for sure."

A chuckle rumbled out of you as he set you down. You adjusted the oversized jersey you had changed into for the finale and said, "Yeah. I'm a little embarrassed that you and your friends got a full view of my ass, but it's whatever."

"Well, for what it's worth, it looked good." Then, after realizing what the fuck he'd just said, "You. Y-You looked good, I meant. Shit."

You were full-on laughing at this point. "That's high praise, coming from the king of low sets himself."

The tips of his ears turned red as he finally remembered the bouquet in his hands.

"These are for ya," he said, watching your eyes soften as he gave them to you. You lifted your nose to the assortment of wildflowers like you did with all of your books. "Ya looked incredible up there, Y/N. Seriously."

"...thank you, Tsumu." A shy smile worked its way onto your features before you admitted, "No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Ya bein' serious right now?" he asked, equal parts surprised and pleased with himself. You nodded. "Well, that's only cause ya haven't invited the right people before."

You rolled your eyes. "The right people being you?"

"Damn straight," he said, already reaching for you a second time. "Come 'ere."

He wrapped his arms around you in the middle of the crowded dance floor, his cheek resting against the crowd of your head. Relaxing into his embrace, you listened to his heartbeat through this shirt. Steady. Grounding. A little fast. But then again, so was yours.

You craned your neck to look him in the eye. He gazed down at you like you were the only other person in that entire room.

Pulse picking up speed, Atsumu slowly leaned in until he was a mere breath away from grazing your lips against his.

But before he could kiss you, someone was already calling your name.

"Y/N!" Mina hollered, the both of you jumping backwards like two guilt-ridden teenagers. She scanned the dense crowd from the front of the room like a mother who'd just lost her child at the zoo. "Y/N, where the hell are ya?! We're taking a group picture!"

Clearing his throat, Atsumu adjusted the collar of his jacket and tried to channel whatever nonchalance was left in his body. Beside him, you haphazardly tried to fix your hair. The two of you locked eyes once more and, gradually, started to laugh.

"Go," Atsumu said, jerking his chin towards your teammates. "Don't keep 'em waiting."

Mashing your lips together, you looked like you wanted to argue. But your teammates were already calling your name.

"Come out to eat with us afterwards?" you offered, a hopeful expression on your face. "I think a handful of us are going to that new Korean spot downtown. You can bring the boys, too."

Chuckling, Atsumu nodded. "Sure. We'll be there."

"...okay," you eventually managed. It did little to mask the dazed, if not mildly disappointed expression on your face. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

"Ya boys in the mood for Korean food?" Atsumu asked his friends when he found them lingering outside the restrooms.

"Why, what happened?" Osamu asked, shooting his brother a grin. "Yer plan fall through?"

"Yep," Atsumu quipped, throwing an arm around Osamu's shoulders. "I'm 'bout to drown my sorrows in an army stew."

"At least you gave her the bouquet," Aran offered, drying his damp hands on his jeans. "You only spent half the afternoon trying to pick it out."

"Seriously," Suna mumbled, eyes never leaving his phone. "You owe us dinner for the amount of moral support we're showing you right now."

The three of them debated how many dishes to order the entire car ride there. Meanwhile, Atsumu stared out the window, wondering when the hell he'd be able to get you alone.

"I never thought I'd see the day someone actually outdrank Mina," you giggled, fumbling with your keys to the apartment. "How much soju did Suna have?"

"I dunno, but he was scarily composed after all those domino shots," Atsumu murmured as you both entered through the front door and turned on all the lights. "Passed out like a light in the backseat, though."

Even though he'd barely managed to talk to you during dinner, it was surprisingly fun to see you relax for once. You were excited to introduce Atsumu and his friends to the people you had danced with for the past several months, grateful to see everyone get along so well in between spoonfuls of bubbling hot pot.

"It's nice to finally meet the best roommate she's ever had," Mina had teased, already four shots in. She flung a sweaty arm around your shoulders and said, "Her words, not mine!"

At that, Atsumu raised an eyebrow and grinned. "The best, huh?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he swore your face turned two shades redder at that.

Now, Atsumu watched from across the kitchenette as you meticulously trimmed the flowers he'd gotten for you, your fingers nimble as you arranged each one into a vase. The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between you, along with the rhythmic snip of your scissors.

Without looking up, you said, "You're staring."

"Am I?" Atsumu drawled, a smile toying on his lips. "Was just admirin’ yer makeup. Is that what they call a full beat?"

You nearly choked on your laughter. "Where did you learn that from? TikTok?"

He lifted a noncommittal shoulder. "I have my sources."

Smiling, you said, "Well, would you be so kind as to grab my makeup remover from the bathroom? I've been dying to get this off."

Five minutes later, Atsumu poured himself a glass of water as you tried removing your eye makeup with a soaked cotton round, a dark streak of eyeliner now smudged halfway across your face.

"Did I get it?" you asked, blinking at Atsumu from where you sat atop the kitchen counter. Laughing, he put down his glass and began wiping it himself.

"I like when you look like this," he confessed, gently dragging the cotton round across your skin.

Frowning, you said, "Like a rabid raccoon?"

"No, ya twerp. Ya know what I mean."

You didn't say anything for a long while as he continued removing your makeup. You felt your face warm beneath his touch as he did so.

"Thank you for coming to the showcase tonight."

"Of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Then, after a brief pause, "Ya know, as the best roommate you've ever had."

You groaned. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Not a chance," Atsumu drawled. He cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and inspected your face from different angles beneath the warm kitchen lights. "There. Squeaky clean."

Neither of you moved as you realized just how close you'd gotten to each other. You, your knees grazing against his torso. Him, the warmth of his palms sending a pulse of electricity down your spine.

"Atsumu..." you breathed, your voice merely a croak.

"...yeah?" he managed, brown eyes searching yours for something — anything — to indicate that you wanted him closer.

"...is there a reason you're always so nice to me?"

Lips parting, he said, "I think ya know why."

You closed the gap and kissed him not a moment later.

Now, Atsumu had imagined what it would be like to kiss you — had even dreamt about it, embarrassingly enough. But nothing, nothing compared to the way your lips worked against his now, each movement slow. Deliberate. Almost like you were asking a question.

You like me? you seemed to ask, fingers curling into his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Atsumu merely cupped the back of your head and deepened the kiss, the feeling of his tongue against yours extinguishing all doubt from your mind.

Yes, he thought, melting into you completely. Yes. I always have.

He braced his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, boxing you in. Your hands slid into his hair. A low moan escaped the back of his throat when you parted your legs for him and wrapped them around his waist. Fuck. He couldn't believe this was happening right now.

But before he let himself fall any further, he had one thing left to ask.

"Wait — wait," he stammered, pulling away from you suddenly. Lips swollen. Hair disheveled. Heart hammering in his chest.

At your confused expression, he asked, "Will ya go to dinner with me?"

Your chest rose and fell as a bemused expression crossed your features. "Are you asking me out right now?"

Atsumu gulped back and said, "I just...I wanna be sure I do this right."

Heart twinging at his words, your hands gently traveled down from his hair to cup both of his cheeks.

"You know, I thought you'd never ask," you drawled, eyes gleaming in adoration as you beheld him. Your roommate. Your friend. Your best friend, if you were being totally honest. "I'd love to."

The stupid grin that broke out on his face had you pulling him in for another kiss.

a/n: thank you for the love on these past couple of chapters, y'all! i'm slowly but surely responding to messages and comments — but in the meantime, please know that i appreciate all of you for reading this sappy lil' fic of mine. it means the world to me.

(next chapter will cover atsumu and y/n's first date mwahaha. stay tuned.)

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

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mountaingutta · 3 days ago

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Some headcanons about my favorite aliens (TFP)

Orion tease Megatronus about the shape of his helmet.

Megatronus constantly teases Ratchet about his height. One day, as revenge, Ratchet unscrewed his legs while he was asleep.

Before the war, many well-known Decepticons and Autobots were on the Senate's “elimination list.” Naturally, both Optimus and Megatron topped it.

Most bots either deactivated or completely removed their reproductive systems during the war. They did it to install new upgrades, make the frame faster, stronger, and remove an unnecessary component that was draining body energy. For some, those systems were severely damaged.

Ratchet sing serenades under Orion's window, maneuvering on the Cybertronian equivalent of a motorcycle while playing guitar.

Orion tells everyone Alpha Trion found him in a dumpster. In truth, he was discovered in an abandoned temple deep in a forest, feral and surrounded by a pack of cyber-wolves. When Ratchet asked why he keeps spreading the dumpster story, Orion replied "Jazz and Ariel find it funny" - "Because the three of you share half a processor between you"

Ratchet and Ironhide welded Jazz to the ceiling at least once.

Ratchet ran away from home to study in Iacon. He didn’t return until after he’d earned his medic’s license.

When Ratchet introduced Orion to his family as his partner, every single one of them threatened him to treat Orion well.

Miko loves learning foreign languages. In the future, she'll either become the best pilot in the world, one of the most renowned linguistics experts — or both.

She has three dads — a caring one, a crazy one, and a strict stepdad who doesn’t know he’s her dad yet.

Arcee is obsessed with anything shiny.

Ratchet used to call Orion “dolly”

During the war, Megatron put a bounty on every Autobot medic. As for Ratchet, he ordered him taken alive or, if killed, to bring him his hands.

Jack runs a food blog. At first, it was supposed to be just a fast-food blog — but Jack quickly realized he gets enough of that at work. Optimus suggested he explore traditional dishes from different countries and turn the blog into that instead. They are researching this together.

One of his followers asked why he chose that particular topic for the blog, and Jack, without thinking, said, “My dad suggested it…” Then he just "Wait! no — I meant this one dude... "

Soundwave plays a video game on the Nemesis mainframe. He has a nemesis in-game with the username “Needawrench12.3/4.” It's Raf.

During the game, Soundwave tries to use typical insults like "I'll fuck your mother". And when Raf reads this, he looks at Ratchet and writes back "Your dick won't last."

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coochiekrab · 1 day ago

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Long ramble on stupid

Re middle school projects post I think a problem i always had up until highschool was that i just always associated not following a rubric exactly was grounds for complete failure. In 2nd grade we went on a field trip to the zoo and we were supposed to record data on a specific animal and come back with a full shoebox diorama report on it, and the teacher emphasized that no one was allowed to work on the same animal probably just to discourage an entire classroom of children from picking lions. I picked giraffes and signed up to be the One Student doing giraffes and went to the zoo, did all my work, came home and did my entire report and then the day before the report was due i asked a kid what animal he picked and he said giraffe. I completely freaked the fuck out and trashed my entire project because i thought i was going to get in trouble for doing the same animal as someone else. Spent the entire night crying and whipping up a super rushed report on owls and i couldn’t redo my diorama because i didn’t have anymore shoe boxes nor did i have any owl figurines or anything like that. I cried during my presentation because i was so upset that i couldn’t do my giraffe one and got like a B. That kid didn’t even do his report on giraffes. I also remember freaking out over a similar project on tsunamis because it was also supposed to be a shoebox Diorama but i didn’t have any shoeboxes AGAIN (too broke to buy shoes regularly?) and i went to school crying because i was so embarrassed by my Random Large Cardboard Box Diorama and it didn’t even matter cuz my teacher loved it. And then years later i cried over a cereal box book report on Firestars Quest because once again i did not have a cereal box (NO FOOD) so i made a box out of computer paper and had to hand write everything while everyone else’s was printed in color because my mom wouldn’t give me change to use the school printer and thought my teacher would kill me over it. And i did fine anyway. I think i cried over some American history shoebox diorama because again I Had No ShoeBoxes and had to do toilet paper Paper Mache on a paper plate and i probably did okay too. I took everything way too seriously. Why did everything require a fucking box

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solarstranger · 19 hours ago

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CHAPTER 1 | I HOPE YOU SEE (RIGHT THROUGH ME)

w.c. 1.2k

tags. minors dni. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (23), some cussing (it's not bakugou's internal monologue if there aren't any), suicide-related deaths (see series synopsis for more details), discussions of suicide, canon-typical descriptions of violence

a/n. welcome to another series by yours truly!!!! i know i still have that body swap one in the queue, and while i am planning on working on that, this series' premise just spoke to me and i was emboldened to write it as soon as i could. i'm writing this as i go, though, so the posting schedule is likely gonna be erratic, but i promise i'll try to write this consistently. anyway, i'd absolutely love to hear what you think throughout the process, so please don't be a stranger and talk to me!

links. masterlist, ao3

Somehow, he’s wound up in the emergency room of Musutafu’s highly renowned Central Hospital.

Which, if he had the energy left to really think about it, is not particularly an unusual occurrence. He’s been here—and other similar hospitals—enough to have a general blueprint of the corridors etched in his mind, as well as the basic rules they shared and protocols that were strictly followed. Stuff like how phone calls are prohibited, fatigued doctors specializing in emergency medicine are perpetually present, and how—for a place supposedly and rightfully dubbed with the ‘emergency’ title—the staff sure don’t seem to have a whole lot of sense of urgency.

Although he supposes he’d rather have that than be in a room teeming with frantic energy. Maybe they’re doing it on purpose, actually, for the sake of the patients who get rolled in.

Except right now, he was not a patient.

He was technically not a guardian, either, though the disheveled-looking middle-aged man blatantly staring at him from a few rows up front is most definitely thinking otherwise.

Well, then.

Acutely aware of the unwanted attention, Bakugou shifts uncomfortably in his seat, wincing ever so slightly when the connected metal chairs to his right creak loudly with the motion. It doesn’t help that he’s still in his hero clothes—although he’s aware there’s no point in mulling over it now; after all, he didn’t exactly have the time to do a costume change with all the shit that went down.

Not that he’s exactly sure what that ‘shit’ even was.

It all happened too fast.

One minute, he was walking down his regular patrol route down Shizuoka’s famous tallest bridge—cursing the unbearable summer heat and the dehydration-induced headaches that it brought with it; the next, he was jumping off of it.

He even boosted himself with his quirk to aid gravity in his free fall, but to no avail.

Your body had already collided with the ground by the time he could grab your wrist.

The moments that passed after that are even more of a blur now. He doesn’t know how he did it, but after what seemed like an eternity of merely staring at your limp, bloody body, Bakugou was able to pull out his phone and call 119. The medics arrived shortly after, maybe in a span of five minutes, but to him it felt like more.

It took everything within him not to just haul your body and propel you to the nearest hospital.

Because if someone died under his watch…

“Mr. Dynamight?”

Bakugou startles, looking up from where he was blankly staring at his intertwined, scarred hands. At the sight of a white coat-clad woman, the pro-hero immediately stands up, nodding, turning to face the brunette with his full attention.

“Hi,” the doctor greets, “It’s come to my understanding that you’re the one who called in regarding Patient—” she trails off, looking down at her clipboard to double-check, before saying your name in a question. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Bakugou rasps roughly, before clearing his throat and trying again. ��Uh, yes, doc.”

The doctor nods. “Were you on patrol when you found her?”

Close, the voice in Bakugou’s head retorts without missing a beat. I saw her fucking jump.

Instead of saying all that out loud, however, the ash-blonde only nods wordlessly.

The woman hums. “Okay, then. Well, her parents are still on the way here, and normally we’d let them know first, but given the nature of your involvement and your occupation, I might as well inform you.”

Instantly, Bakugou finds himself bracing for what’s next.

The doctor presses her lips in a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” she starts, shaking her head solemnly. “She didn’t make it.”

Dead on arrival.

You were dead on arrival.

At least, that’s what the doctors told him when he pressed them for more. He couldn’t tell if they were hesitant about divulging further information about you aside from the basics or just simply in the dark themselves, seeing as how they only had your wallet that they found on your person to go from. Either way, Bakugou decided it didn’t matter as soon as an older couple burst through the doors of the emergency room—a good half hour later—whom he immediately identified as your parents.

Needless to say, he hightailed it out of there.

The last thing he needed was to be the unfortunate bearer of bad news, or worse, be recognized as the reason why their daughter is currently lying lifeless in one of the hospital’s private rooms.

After that, he couldn’t remember much of his actions, only that he somehow decided to head to the agency. The entire flight down to his office, he stuck his good ear out for any signs of ringing from his phone, which surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—didn’t come.

Which makes sense.

He’s heard stories before. Exchanged in hushed whispers back in the UA dormitory, and uttered in low voices in the agencies he worked at as a sidekick. About how suicide cases in the country are criminally underreported—not just because of the stigma surrounding the act, but because the police allegedly make it a point to conceal such cases, away from the media’s prying eyes and before it gets blown out of proportion by the public.

Hakamada told him it was most likely to prevent the occurrence of suicide clusters, to which Bakugou scoffed instinctively, granting him a reprimanding look from his mentor.

But really, could anyone blame him?

The idea seemed stupid then.

If he killed himself for whatever reason, he sure didn’t want his death to be treated as some sort of curse, talked about only when people think no one’s watching.

There’s nothing more pitiful than fading away without leaving a single trace, after all.

But now, as he sits in the quiet dark of his agency’s office—the building silent if not for the gentle whirring of his air conditioner—Bakugou finds himself oddly grateful.

Because…

Because.

He wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to face the press about what just happened.

He’s not sure how long he sat spaced out in his office, but by the time he’s inserting his lone copy of his key into the door knob, it’s already two hours past midnight, and the exhaustion from the day’s events has finally made itself known in the form of muscle aches and a throbbing migraine.

Bakugou doesn’t try to fight the sigh of relief that wracks his body the second he hears the lock click, his movements automatic as he pushes the door open with his side, left hand reaching out in the dark until it lands on and presses against the switch.

As if on cue, light floods the living room slash kitchen of Bakugou’s apartment unit, a sight so mundanely familiar that he doesn’t even blink at first.

Just—drags his aching feet towards the foyer where he toes off his sneakers and drops his duffel bag, which he swears he’ll collect the first thing tomorrow morning.

But then that’s when it happens.

Bakugou barely catches it—the movement at the corner of his eye—but he does.

And when he does—glance to look at it—he blanches.

Because sitting on his sofa is no other than a ghost.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ

#i know. it's pretty short and i HATE that it's short but there just wasn't much to say without making it unnecessarily convoluted #it's just how it is lol. i hope you still give it a chance though! future chapters are gonna be longer. ish #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #re: bakugou katsuki #eeya.docx

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wisteria-lodge · 1 day ago

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What do you think about Draco’s and James’s similarities + differences but opposite treatment in the narrative?

Since Draco does have a full detailed explanation behind his behavior, he was raised to think it’s okay but they should keep up appearances, and he often witnessed others doing it first. James does not have any sort of explanation other than his parents pampered him.

Both said “Think I’d leave, wouldn’t you”. However Draco said it in context of trying to find something to bond with Harry over whereas James just wanted to bully Snape.

In Goblet of Fire, Draco points out how the death eaters could attack Hermione to scare the Trio into leaving him alone, however James actually did what the death eaters and threatened to do worse since he took his frustrations with Lily out on Snape. In Said confrontations, The Trio were the ones who accidentally came across Draco but James approached Snape out of boredom.

Both had prejudiced beliefs but Draco actually gave up his childhood prejudices but we have no proof James did.

While James did help Snape, he was also helping His friends and he went right back to sadisticly bullying and he was the main instigator.

Draco spared his enemies and tried helping them with no ulterior motives and fully expecting to be tortured/killed. While he did go to Harry in the room of requirement, he didn’t actively participate in the attacking, aside from trying to stop Crabbe from attacking the Trio. He also even expresses concern for Harry.

Yet James is somehow seen as more heroic.

James dies, Draco doesn't. It's the Draco vs Regulus framing thing all over again. As far as JKR is concerned, dying heroically just fixes everything, I guess.

A related part of her worldview is that suffering purifies you and makes you a better person. I do think that's the intended purpose of the super deliberate James + Draco parallels ("I think I'd leave, wouldn't you? [if I was sorted into X house]" - is really on the nose.) It's supposed to communicate how Harry would have looked, if he'd grown up like James or Draco. (Wealthy, only child, wizard parents who dote on him and spoil him.) Under difference circumstances, Harry could have had more of an ego, been more entitled, given into the brutal streak that he does have. When we first see school-age James, he's described as "It was as though [Harry] was looking at himself but with deliberate mistakes." That's a very interesting description, and I think ties in nicely to an "alternate universe Harry" reading.

This is also something that seems to have been on Dumbledore's mind. He describes 11-year-old Harry as "You were not a pampered little prince [ie, James], but as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well."

So: As far as he's concerned, leaving Harry with the Dursleys is not just justified but good, because it's made Harry a better person. Considering that Dumbledore, Snape, Dudley, Ron (arguably Draco) also have personal growth arcs kick-started through suffering... I'd say this is a point of view the text supports overall.

But another thing... is that I've always thought JKR writes friend group dynamics really, really well. They're messy, shifting, warm, tight-knit and complicated. Outside dynamics like class, politics, and discrimination come in, and bounce around in unpredictable ways. Even if there was some way to cleanly add up everyone's 'bullying points' and 'victim points' or whatever, and plug them into some formula, and be able to come out with some definitive statement like "Draco had it worse than Peter" - I wouldn't want to do it. What makes the Harry+Ron+Hermione+Draco dynamic interesting... and what makes the James+Remus+Sirius+Peter+Severus+Lily+Regulus dynamic even *more* interesting... is that basically everyone has an area in which they're powerful or privileged, another area where they're vulnerable or disenfranchised (with the possible exception of James)... and it makes for these fantastically complex character dynamics and vicious cycles.

Because every single one of these characters is written with some degree of ambiguity, (some more than others...) which ones you gravitate towards, and which ones you dislike end up being more of a personal Rorschach test than anything rooted in the books.

Like, I can see from your ask that you're inclined to give Draco a very positive edit. (and I mean, come on, I love Draco too.) You read Draco as vulnerable during the scene where the Golden Trio finds him the woods during the World Cup chaos, and decides to "scare the Trio into leaving him alone." That is absolutely a read that makes sense, but it's one that you're bringing to the book, there's nothing in that scene to suggest that Draco feels threatened. My personal read is that Draco - always squeamish about violence - is actually worried about Hermione on some unexamined level, because everything he says during that scene is advice on how to protect her, just expressed in a really asshole-ish way. But I think the read intended by JKR is - here's Draco, being an asshole, dishing out some exposition.

#hp #jkr critical #draco malfoy #james potter #harry james potter #the mauraders #the golden trio

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buckysthunderbolts · 2 days ago

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Maternal Instincts

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After avoiding Bucky for far too long, you're forced to come to him and ask him to help you walk through memories you don't believe are real. Only this time, it involves two people that look suspiciously like you and Bucky.

Warnings: Eventual 18+ content, canon-typical violence, knives, injuries, mentions of suicide, language, blood, needles, trauma, angst galore

Word Count: 5k+

Author's Note: Here's part two! This story is just flowing out of me and I'm really enjoying writing it. I really enjoy writing fics where there's really strong emotional intimacy and I hope you're able to see that here! Please let me know what you think and remember to comment and reblog fics you read and enjoy!

Chapter 2: The Patriot

THEN

My first solo mission was my last solo mission. It was shortly after the war ended and I was completely and utterly alone. Steve sacrificed himself and Bucky fell off the train shortly after his regiment was rescued. The future Bucky dreamed of us having was dead, gone and buried. I would never have that with anyone else.

So instead of moving on and living my life the way I know Bucky would’ve wanted, I was on a mission to do everything I could to harm the people who took away the person I loved most in the world. Even if what I did killed me in the end, I didn’t care.

In exchange for his biological work, scientific research, and continued protection by SHIELD, Arnim Zola gave up numerous HYDRA shell locations. I was responsible for gathering intelligence on their whereabouts, including all research on biological weapons and projects, and individuals who’ve escaped justice.

I was undercover at an underground bunker in Russia as a biologist to get access to all the intel I needed for SHIELD to take the necessary steps to take out the underground locations and gain control of their data. I was under strict orders not to engage in direct conflict. The intel was too valuable to stay in the wrong hands. I could not engage in conflict. I had two weeks to gather what I needed and then quietly leave as if I had never been there in the first place. If it took longer than two weeks, I was on my own and help would not be coming if I was discovered and captured.

On the day I was supposed to leave, there were whispers and rumors from the doctors and scientists that an asset was being delivered to the bunker. They called him the Patriot. He was allegedly an American soldier captured from the war that wasn’t released with the remaining prisoners of war when it ended. He was being used as their test subject for the biological experiments I was pretending to help facilitate. It was rumored that whatever was given to him gave him superhuman strength.

I decided then and there I would try and take him with me. If I had the opportunity to save someone while I’m here, I have to try. It’s what Bucky and Steve would’ve done if they were here instead of me.

I adjust the satchel across my body and keep my hand hidden inside, ready to shoot and kill anyone who gets in my way. The long maze of hallways and dark corridors don’t deter me as I listen to my heart race and the desperate cries of the soldier hidden away in a locked room. Two guards are posted in front of the door, and I eye the set of keys on one of their belts.

I let out a careful breath and brush my hair from my shoulders. I force a smile on to my face and the men eagerly return it. I approach them like a girl ready to be carried away into the sunset. They smirk at me, and I let my free hand trail down the arm of one of them towards his belt. He grins at the attention I give him. My fingers carefully hook on to his belt and I look into his eyes. I think his name is Aaron.

We’d been playing a cat and mouse game since my arrival and now that he was guarding whoever was behind that door, I needed to use it to my full advantage.

“Wanna sneak out for a second? There’s an unlocked room calling our names,” I asked quietly in Russian.

He flashes me a toothy grin and nods. He turns to the other guard, and they share a quick word. I grab his hand and quickly move down the hall. I open the door to the unlocked room and push him inside. He laughs eagerly as I shut the door, and his mouth finds the side of my neck. I involuntarily shiver and he grabs the hem of my shirt, pulling it out from under my pants. His hand palms my skin and slides up to squeeze my breast. I lock the door and turn to face him.

“We need to be quick and quiet, yes?”

He nods in agreement and takes me by the hand towards the table in the room. I slide my hand up his arm again and he grins at me. This time, I return the grin before twisting his arm. He lets out a surprised cry and I use my body weight to throw him into the table. He claws at my arms as I choke him from behind before he goes limp.

I exhale a heavy breath and unclip the keys from his belt loop. I readjust my top and shake out my shoulders. I step over his unconscious body and slip out of the room. I hurry down the hall again towards the lone remaining guard. His brows pinch together, and his hand hesitates on the gun at his hip.

He opens his mouth to speak, but I don’t give him the chance to say anything. Instead, I press my palm into his throat, and he immediately chokes. I swipe his legs underneath him and his eyes widen in surprise. I hold his head between my thighs until he goes unconscious.

I stand quickly and insert the key into the locked door. The door creaks open and I pull the guard in from behind me before slowly shutting the door. I let out a deep exhale and try to catch my breath by briefly taking in my surroundings.

There’s a blinding white light hanging from the ceiling illuminating the room. The man, who I can only assume is the asset and American soldier they’re calling the Patriot, is strapped to a metal table. The thing that stands out to me the most is that he’s missing his left arm. He’s dressed in rags for clothes, and it looks like he’s gone far too long without proper food and water. The only thing clean about him is the white bandage where his arm should be. He's muttering quietly and soft cries fill the room.

I slowly approach the table and look down at him. A gasp escapes my throat, and I start to feel dizzy. I feel like I’m staring at a ghost. My hands shake and my heart starts racing.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

The Patriot is Bucky. My Bucky. My Bucky who’s been presumed dead for more than a year. My Bucky who dreamed of a life for us after the war. My Bucky is the one who’s been tortured and experimented on for who knows how long.

A wave of emotions hit me in my chest and stomach. Relief, anger, grief, and elation flow through me and tug at my heart.

Tears threaten to spill over my cheeks, and I gingerly reach out to touch him. His eyes are closed and there’s a dried spot of blood on his temple. Dirt, sweat, and grime cover his skin. Bucky’s eyes fly open, and he flinches when my hand makes contact with his forehead. He winces against the harsh artificial light and blinks a couple times before his eyes meet mine.

“Bucky,” I can’t help but cry. “How is this possible? How are you still alive?”

Bucky’s brows pinch together, and he whispers my name like he’s in a trance. His voice is rough, and he winces when he speaks. “Am I dreaming? Are you real? What are you doing here? Where are we?”

I move quickly and unbuckle the straps that pin his arm and legs to the table. I help him sit up and glance through the small window at the door. The hall was still empty, and the alarms still haven’t been signaled.

“As much as I would like to answer your questions, we don’t have time. I will answer them later. We have to get out of here. Now. Can you stand?” I asked him, carefully reaching for his arm.

“I’ll just slow you down. You need to leave me here. You have to save yourself. If they catch you-”

“No,” I interrupted him. “That’s not an option. I won’t leave you. We leave together or not at all.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, and I carefully help him to his feet. He leans on me as we walk to the door. I open the door slowly and pull my gun from the satchel, aiming it straight ahead as we walk together towards one of the emergency exits that lead to the vehicle transports.

The alarms break through our heavy breathing, and I lean us against a wall in a hidden alcove. I turn to look at Bucky and he’s white as a sheet, but he’s eyes still hold the same warmth they’ve always had when he looks at me. I brush his hair out of his face and his shudders at my touch. I press a soft kiss to his mouth and rest my forehead against his.

“You ready? We have to move quickly. If I get stopped for any reason, you run as fast as you can, you hear me? Do not stop and help me to be the hero, no matter what,” I carefully take the satchel from across my body and throw it over his head. “Get these to Peggy Carter.”

He starts to protest and I shut him up with another heart pounding kiss, my hands holding the sides of his face. “I will not lose you again. There is no time to argue. Do you understand me? Promise me you’ll do what I say.”

Bucky nods silently and braces himself against me, his arm wrapped protectively around me like a warm blanket, “I promise.”

We step out into the light and run as fast as we can towards the exit. I shoot anyone that gets in our way and break through the exit door with Bucky beside me.

My eyes find the nearest vehicle and I pull Bucky towards the passenger door when pain rips through my shoulder. A silent scream fills my lungs, and I fall to my knees, my gun falling uselessly at my side. Bucky yells my name and reaches for me. Blood soaks through my shirt and the pain blinds my vision. I can’t hear anything.

Bucky quickly grabs the gun and stands up, aiming it at the men that face us. He takes a careful step back and I’m forced to my feet. I cry out and feel the barrel of a gun against the side of my head. My heart pounds loudly against my chest.

“Let her go,” Bucky demands, his eyes passing between me and the men holding me up.

“I knew there was a rat in our midst,” Dr. Nikolai Frolov hummed beside me. His hand wraps in my hair and he tugs harshly, pulling my head back. I yelp and tears fill my eyes. “I could just smell it. It’s a shame such a pretty face made such a stupid decision. Why risk your life for someone you don’t know?”

“Bucky, shoot me,” I begged, looking at him. Tears stain my cheeks.

He looks at me like I shot him. His eyes are wild with desperation as he stares at me. Silent tears coat his face and mix with the sweat on his skin.

Frolov hums again and looks between us. “I misspoke then; you do know each other. From the look in your eyes, the desperation seeping from your skin, I’m guessing you know each other too well, hmm? Is this the woman you cry out to, Sargent? What did you say her name was?”

A beat of silence passes over us and it feels like time has stopped. Frolov digs his fingers into the wound on my shoulder, and I collapse in agony. I can hardly see, but I look up at Bucky.

“You promised me you wouldn’t try to be the hero. Please. Shoot me, Bucky, please,” I cried.

Agony fills his face, and he aims the gun at me. I close my eyes, waiting for the end, but too much time has passed. I open my eyes again and look at him. Bucky has the barrel of the gun pressed against his temple.

“If I kill myself, all your research and progress goes away, yes? Whatever you’ve been doing to me will die with me? You can’t do whatever it is without me,” Bucky threatens, finger lingering on the trigger. “Let her go and I won’t kill myself.”

Frolov laughs and shoves me to the ground. I’m too weak to catch myself and my head hits the ground with a loud crack. The blinding pain from my shoulder travels up my spine and surrounds my head. My head spins and I can’t see straight.

“Go ahead and try,” Frolov replied. “There’s a reason you haven’t yet and that’s because you can’t. I have been able to rewire your brain and alter your self preservation, but feel free to test it out. You’ve had multiple opportunities to kill yourself and yet you haven’t, have you stopped to think and wonder why that is? As much as you want to leverage your life for hers, you can’t. It’s admirable what people try to do to save the people they love most. She’s asked you to kill her. Go ahead.”

He grabs me by the hair again and drags me until I’m at Bucky’s feet. He forces me to look up at Bucky. Silence fills the hanger, and I try to take slow breaths. I can see the calculations and risks Bucky’s weighing in his eyes. His lip trembles as he moves the gun from his temple down to meet my forehead. His finger hesitates over the trigger.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay. I asked you to. It’s not your fault. I love you.”

“I love you. I’m sorry, please forgive me,” Bucky murmured back before falling to his knees in front of me, raising his hand in surrender. The gun falls out of his grasp.

No! A sob rips through me, and we’re instantly surrounded. Guards shove him to the floor and pin his arm behind his back. The sound of Frolov’s laughter fills the room once more and he claps eagerly.

“You promised me!” I cried as guards dragged us a part. Desperate sobs fill my lungs and agony and betrayal coat my skin. “You promised you would do what I said. You promised me you wouldn’t be the hero.”

“Take them away,” Frolov demanded. “Make sure to separate them. Take her to the lab, I have plans for her. Subdue her if you have to.”

I start to scream and thrash against the guards pinning me to the floor, fighting as hard as I can. “No! No! No! Bucky!”

A blinding pain hits the back of my head, and I crumble to ground. My vision goes dark, and I succumb to the pain.

….

NOW

I slowly come to. My throat burns and it feels like my chest is on fire. There’s a slight ringing in my ears and I hear the slow, steady beating of the heart rate monitor. Disinfectant fills my nose, and my eyes moves slowly inside my head.

A groan settles in my throat, and I open my eyes. I blink a few times and reach to rub my face, but I can’t. I look down and my arms are pinned down to the bed in leather straps. Panic grips me and I pull against the leather. My heart races and the sound of the heart rate monitor grows with each passing second. Alarms go off and a team of doctors and nurses enter the room.

They do nothing to ease my panic. It’s like I’m not even here. Fear fills my chest at the sight of the white coats, clipboards, and scrubs. My eyes fly to the door, and Yelena comes racing in. Tears blur my vision and a sob escapes me. My voice fails me. I feel helpless. It brings me back to memories I have tried so hard to forget and move on from.

“Back off!” Yelena yells, shoving them away from me. She looks at the cuffs strapped to my wrists. “Can’t you see you’re scaring her? Take the cuffs off.”

One of the faceless doctors turn to Yelena and barely spares me a passing glance. “The restraints are for her own safety as well as for our own. Until we deem she is no longer a threat to herself or others, they stay on. She’s on suicide watch because of what she did.”

I watch Yelena grit her teeth and straighten her spin. Her presence and energy towers over them. “I’m telling you right now she is not a threat. She is not suicidal. If you don’t take them off or let me do it for you, there will be a problem. Do you want there to be a problem?”

Yelena’s threat fills the air and makes the room heavy. The medical team glances at each other and the doctor that spoke lets out a heavy sigh. He moves towards me, and I hold my breath and stare down at his hands as he frees my wrists from the restraints. I immediately hold my hands to my chest and rub my wrists between my fingers.

“Good choice.”

“We’ll be back shortly,” the doctor muttered before he and the other doctors and nurses exit the room.

Yelena approaches my bedside and pulls the chair from the corner of the room to sit beside me. A shaky sigh leaves my mouth, and I rest my head against the pillows at my back. Tears silently coat my cheeks. Yelena gingerly takes one of my hands into hers and rubs her thumb across the back of my hand, carefully avoiding the needle pumping fluids into my veins.

I turn my head away from her and look towards the bare wall. I bite my bottom lip to suppress a sob and fail miserably. Yelena whispers my name, and I turn again to look at her. Shame bursts inside my chest so big that it hurts. She has stitches across her forehead and a bruise along the side of her face. I know without asking that I did that, that I hurt my closest friend.

The mission comes rushing back to me. I failed so spectacularly. I had one job and couldn’t even do that. Memories of Bierhal blowing a powdered substance into my face flash every time I blink. The loss of control I felt when I couldn’t speak and couldn’t tell Yelena or Bucky why I was trying to hurt them. The suffocating familiarity I felt when I looked at and tried to attack the two people who looked like me. The realization dawning on Bucky before he had the chance to stop me when I stabbed myself in the gut to prevent Yelena from shooting.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered before coughing uncontrollably.

I wheeze and wince at the burn in my abdomen. Yelena reaches across to the small counter beside me and fills a plastic cup with water. She leans over me and tips the water into my mouth, the cup brushing against my lips. The cool water coats my throat, and I swallow hard. I gasp in relief and relax against the bed. Yelena brushes her fingers against my forehead and gently tugs my hair out of my face.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You weren’t in control. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You didn’t have a choice.”

Silence falls between us, and Yelena helps me with sips of water whenever I cough. I let out a careful breath, considering my next words. I swallow hard. “What happen after…”

“After you stabbed yourself in the stomach?” Yelena asked.

I nod silently.

Yelena sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “You coded twice on the jet. Even though the doctor is an asshole, he saved your life. It’s a miracle you’re still here. They took samples of your blood to try and figure out what was in the drug that Markov doused you with. The lab is still waiting on the results.”

“And Bucky?”

“He was distraught, obviously. He had to watch Joaquin and Sam perform CPR and use the defibrillator until your heart started again.”

Another wave of tears break through, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I press my palms into my face and Yelena reaches for my hand again and squeezes it firmly. “He hasn’t left your side since you got out of surgery. Sam had to drag him out of here so he could shower and get some sleep.”

I nod quietly and ignore the lump in my throat and the ache in my chest. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Yelena and I sit in silence for a while before the doctor returns. He glances at the chart in his hands before glancing at me through his glasses.

“I don’t know what possessed you to stab yourself, but you’re lucky to be alive. You pierced your small intestine. If it wasn’t for the quick thinking of Mr. Wilson and Mr. Torres, I can’t say for certainty that you would still be here. You also have a broken nose and several bruised ribs. I also stitched the laceration on your forehead. How are you tolerating the pain?” he asked.

I swallow hard and Yelena gives me some more water before I answer. “That explains why it feels like my gut is on fire,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“I’ll give you some morphine for the pain.”

The thought of taking morphine makes my heart race. It just brings back memories of torture, pain, and never being fully present for the things HYDRA did to me. The alarms on the monitor fill the room and Yelena places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’ll be here when you wake up,” she promised. “No one will hurt you.”

I nod slowly and watch the doctor take a syringe and push the liquid into my IV. The pain subsides after several minutes, and I dip into a dreamless slumber.

….

The next time I wake up, I feel better than I did before. I open my eyes and turn my head, finding Bucky sitting beside me. His arms are crossed over his chest and his head leans back on the wall, eyes closed.

I wince as I sit up and Bucky immediately opens his eyes. He leans towards me and hesitantly takes my hand in his. Both flesh and metal hands envelop my hand, and he brings it up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles gently. He’s careful to avoid the IV on the top of my hand. It sends shivers down my spine.

“Hey,” I mumbled quietly, my voice rough with sleep.

He reaches for the cup of water on the table attached to the hospital bed and helps me take a sip. He brushes his metal hand gently across my forehead and the coolness of his fingers is a welcome relief to the heat in my chest. Bucky sits back down but doesn’t let go of my hand. His fingers brush against the bruising on my wrist.

“Hey,” he whispered back. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than before, but everything hurts still.”

Bucky nods silently and I take in his haggard appearance. His hair’s a mess and he has bags under his eyes. His shirt is a wrinkled mess. He has a scrape on the side of his face, but its already on its way to healing. It’s a stark contrast to what he looked like the last time I saw him, the way I usually see him.

Since his tenure as a Congressman and Avenger started, Bucky was the picture of what it meant to be put together. Crisp suits, neat hair, tailored beard, clean skin. It’s strange to see him like this.

There’s so much I want to say to him, to ask him, to explain to him, but I don’t know where to start. How do you explain to the person you love most in the world why you pushed him away? How do you ask him questions about memories you’re too afraid to relive, too afraid to admit that it was true and not a figment of your imagination when he’s the only one that has the answers?

Bucky swallows hard and his eyes find mine again. I try to find the right words to say but they fail me. I used to be able to say anything and everything to him, and now I can’t. The slow beeping of the heart rate monitor fills the room as we stare at each other. We may as well have been at opposite ends of the earth with the space that filled the silence between us.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologized quietly, as he squeezed my hand and rubbed my skin.

My brows pinch together in confusion as I stare at him. I sit up a little straighter. “Sorry?” I asked. “What do you have to be sorry for? The mission failed because of me, not because of anything you did.”

Tears threaten to spill from his eyes, and he squeezes my hand tightly. “Back then… when you tried to rescue me when you were undercover. I promised you I wouldn’t try to be the hero and broke that promise when I didn’t kill you like you asked. I betrayed you when you needed me the most. If I had… the things that were done to you… the things I did to you… what happened during the mission… none of that would’ve happened if I wasn’t such a fucking coward and did what you asked.”

Bucky says the word with such venom that I wince. Silent tears coat my cheeks, and I bite the inside of my cheek and swallow hard. “I put you in an impossible position, Bucky. I should’ve never put that on you in the first place. I was desperate for you to escape, even at the cost of my own life. Even if I was angry with you, I forgave you a long time ago. None of what happened after that was your fault. You didn’t have a choice and neither did I. Now I just have to live with the decisions I made that led us to this point.”

His face crumbles and he pushes the chair impossibly closer to the bed. He leans his elbows over the bed. “Then why push me away? If it wasn’t my fault, why does it feel like you’re punishing me?” Bucky’s voice cracks and is filled with desperation. “Explain it to me.”

He holds my face between his hands and looks at me with such love that it hurts to breathe. He brushes away my tears and I sniff quietly. “Bucky, you’re an Avenger and a politician. You’ve healed so much and I just… I haven’t. I get these flashes of memories I know you have the answers to. I’m too scared and too ashamed to ask you about them, so I pretend they don’t exist. I don’t want to hold you back from moving on.”

The weight of my confession hangs in the air, and I stare at my lap. Bucky’s stare burns the side of my face. He moves to stand, and I expect him to get up and go. It’s what he deserves. Instead, he carefully climbs into the bed beside me and holds me in his arms for the first time in so, so long.

My shoulders shake and fat ugly tears stain my face. It feels like I can breathe for the first time. The weight in my chest and in my heart from keeping this from Bucky goes away. Bucky’s own tears wet my hair and his mouth presses against my skin for the first time in decades. He kisses my cheeks, my throat, my forehead. He breathes me in and for a moment, I’m brought back in time to the days before the war, before everything changed forever.

“None of that means anything to me if I don’t have you to share it with,” Bucky whispered against my skin. “I have spent over 80 years trying to get back to you, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.”

Silence fills the room again and I’m nearly asleep again when Bucky mutters something against my skin that I don’t quite understand or catch. “Hmm?”

“Why did you stab yourself?” Bucky asked, playing with the ends of my hair between his fingers. I feel his hot stare on the back of my neck.

My spine stiffens and I swallow hard. A cold sweat starts to form on my back, and I shift uncomfortably. “You know why,” I murmured.

“I do. I just want to hear you say it.”

A shaky sigh leaves my mouth as I build up the courage to answer him. “Whatever I was drugged with rewired my brain and made you and Yelena into combatants. I couldn’t speak and tell you what was going on or what happened. When Yelena knocked me to the floor after I tried to stab her, she had her gun trained on… on her. I didn’t know what to do. You were preoccupied with him. I couldn’t hurt them because of the drugs, and I didn’t want to hurt you or Yelena, so I panicked. I thought if I created a big enough distraction, no one I cared about would get hurt. It was a calculated risk I had to take, and I don’t regret it.”

“Do you remember who they are?”

The question weighs on my shoulders and sits on my chest. I let out a careful breath and nod. “I didn’t at first. When I looked at them… really looked at them, I knew. I knew like my lungs know how to breathe for me. It was like I was staring at them for the first time. I knew I was staring at our kids. Maggie and Peter.”

Bucky kisses the side of my head and brushes away the last of my tears, “Yes.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction

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cheschesterpossum · 2 days ago

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Here's the "lil' something something" I've been working on for your Creators In the Flesh AU! The fic ran away from me. It was only supposed to be a drabble, but then I got carried away. And now it's, like, an entire one-shot.

(Also, I've elected to call myself the Perchance Anon, bc it's funny.)

Also, just wanna put a few warnings here for yandere behaviors, drugging/kidnapping, slight blood, some of the lore-related liberties I took when writing this which I can explain later, and what is probably going to be some ooc-ness on SG! Rung's part. I haven't written for him before. So, yeah...

You enter the unkempt project lab slowly, as the scientist responsible for checking in on, and maintaining the dimension you'd had a hand in creating. Stepping through the interdimensional groundbridge, and setting to work bringing the diagnostic systems back to life. You note immediately that a strange layer of dust blankets the keyboard you type on, whilst you work and it irritates you that nobody cleaned this up while you were away. Shouldn't somebody have been here to clean all of this? Surely Rung would've seen to that, at least. He was always so thorough when it came to dusting, cleaning, and well, whatever task you gave him so he wouldn't bother you whilst you did your job. When you were around, at least. You'd heard from the others that he wasn't always that cooperative when you took a sick day.

You pause to light a cigarette before continuing, and thus fail to notice the quiet pattering of a single set of pedes trailing into the groundbridge emitter's room. A few minutes later, your diagnostic tests finish, and you take the datapad containing the report with you when you trudge back into the groundbridge emitter's room. Almost completely ignoring the fact that you are no longer alone in favor of completing your final task for the day. But. As to be expected, because it could never be Easy coming here. The groundbridge closes mere moments before you could cross back through it. As though somebody was waiting to pull the plug on you.

Setting aside your report, you roll up your sleeves in preparation for what you'd have to go through to get home this time. You sigh loudly once you've opened the hastily tampered with maintenance panel, and witnessed the chaos that somebody had wreaked upon the machine's interior. It certainly could be worse, though, couldn't it. After a few minutes of tinkering with the old machinery, you stand up, and attempt to reestablish the connection. Nothing. Huh. Guess it's gonna take a minute or two. Suddenly, the door closes and locks behind you as familiar footsteps creep closer to your position. Rung? Of course. He must've tampered with the emitter to buy himself some time with you.

You try to turn around to face your needy creation so you can buy yourself some time whilst the groundbridge emitter does its job, but Rung wraps an arm around your neck before you can even move. He wraps his right arm around your waist, and pulls you close. Nuzzling his faceplate snugly into the side of your neck in the process. Rung ventilates deeply, and shudders quietly for a minute or two. The quiet sounds of living and non-living technology fills the silence between you. The mech curls himself around you tightly like he hadn't seen you in centuries, and had scarcely believed you to be alive. A strange sort of desperation, to be sure, considering that you'd only been gone for a month at most.

You shift uncomfortably in Rung's grasp for a few minutes, and issue his release command once you'd had enough of his clinging. Taking the chance to shuffle out of his grasp when the purple bear trap pries itself open for you automatically. Rung's optics narrow slightly at your casual use of a command once he composes himself. Had thought that you'd grown past ordering him about like a dog, but alas.

You cough awkwardly when you make eye contact with him again, and back away further when he tries to bridge the gap between you. "Sorry. I didn't want to do that, you know. But breaking company machinery called for a higher reprimand than the scolding from HR you'd have received if you'd only just invaded my personal space. You're lucky I knew how to fix the groundbridge emitter, by the way Rung."

Your reprimand softens slightly into a mild complaint, because you aren't paid enough to hold something this minor against him. Not to mention, he'd even left the removed parts inside the maintenance panel. Like he wanted you to find them, and put them back. A lazy attempt to endear himself to you, probably.

"Now, if you don't mind, I've got to get this datapad report back to HQ. Seems like I'm the only Project: Primus member they trusted to complete the task. Orrrr at least the only one that hadn't left to take on a separate project shortly after their first attempt. If the scientist running the diagnostic tests didn't disappear outright during the process." You carefully pivot 90 degrees to simultaneously address the groundbridge terminal, and keep an eye on your possessive creation post explanation. But find, to your dismay, that the emitter hasn't even begun to bridge the gap between dimensions yet. "Huh? Why hasn't it reopened yet? Everything is back in place in the emitter, it should be working by now." You turn fully to run a diagnostic test on the machine, and to reopen the maintenance panel just in case there was something you missed in your initial repairs.

Ignoring Rung once more in favor of efficiency, to his growing agitation. A minute passes, and then two before Rung growls, and grabs you again. Wrenching you away from the control panel, and telepathically shutting the machine down again with the connection he'd established to the ancient machinery occupying the Dimensional Control Center decacycles ago.

"Woah, Rung. What's gotten into-"

He pivots you around swiftly to hug your smaller frame to himself properly, and to plant your face into his neck cabling. He presses his faceplate into your hair afterwards, and then begins to stroke the back of your head in an attempt to self-soothe. You still smell of cigarettes, machinery, and sweat when he ventilates to draw in your scent once more. How is your scent still the same as when you were actively checking in with your team on Project:Primus all those vorns ago?

How long had it been since you've been gone?

Years? Centuries? No. It was much longer than that. He was sure of it. No matter. He simply won't lose you again. Never ever again… Not now that he's finally gotten you back.

"Perhaps. ...hah... Perhaps, the reason it won't reopen for you, my Dear. Is because it was never meant to. I'd been waiting for you to return for Such a Long time, after all. All of us have. Even the machinery you'd used before longed to feel your gentle touch again." He shudders again before picking up where he'd left off. "And you know how lonely I-We get. When you aren't around to monitor our progress. To witness how far we'd come under your careful supervision." He shifts his servo onto the back of your neck after his little speech, and jabs his transformed pointer digit into the side of it once he'd identified a proper injection site.

Injecting you with a sedative, and installing a tracker in you, all at the same time. In case you get any ideas once you woke up in your new home.

You feel the sting of his claw piercing the side of your neck, and you begin to thrash wildly in his iron grasp. He hesitantly releases you once he's certain of the trackers installation. Smugly satisfied at your panic, but not angry enough with you to properly enjoy it. Not now that he knows you hadn't meant to leave him behind.

You press your hand to the minor wound, and look back at your creation incredulously before you stagger over to a nearby med-station. Surely there must be some kind of omni-antivenom in here…? Right? But upon further investigation, you only find the odd bottle of ointment and a few gauze rolls in the dusty old med station. You push yourself away from it in frustration, and turn to face Rung head on. Shaken, but undeterred. "Alright. -Just. What did you dose me with? … Rung. Look at me. What. Did You. Dose me with?"

He doesn't respond this time, but the bitter longing in his optics speaks volumes. It couldn't have been poison, then. There's no way he'd get rid of you with how obsessive he'd been since his creation day. The mech watches you stagger away from the med-station with a predatory interest. Head turning to center you in his crimson gaze as you set about restarting the groundbridge emitter again.

Not that he'd let you escape, of course, but all you're doing is wasting time before that sedative kicks in fully. Truthfully, he'd broken the machine in a far more complicated manner than you had initially realized when you "fixed" it earlier. Just enough to prevent a real connection with your prior dimension, but not so much that it wouldn't even power on. It would such a shame if you were to look deep enough to find the real root of the problem now wouldn't it?

Rung stalks closer to you like a hungry wolf as you silently try to figure out why the machine isn't working. Drawing ever closer as you type away desperately at the diagnostic panel, akin to a rabbit clawing desperately at the walls looking for an escape route.

Luckily however, this wolf isn't looking for an easy meal. Just the permanent return of a beloved companion. His arms stretch out towards where you lean against the groundbridge emitter's maintenance panel, poised to catch you once you fall, with twitching claws primed to dig in and never let go.

You try to haul yourself upright again when your knees buckle under the weight of the sedative, but your grip falters too. Leaving you to slump into Rung's arms as the two of you collapse to the ground. Your world swims in and out of focus as you fight to stay awake, and Rung carefully brushes your hair out of your face. He stares into your eyes for a moment, temporarily lost for words. But you speak up with the last of your strength to ask one simple question: "Why?"

His optics widen in disbelief, as if he couldn't believe you had the nerve to ask him that. But he composes himself again, looks away, and then he answers you. "It seems that time runs differently between our two dimensions, Dear. What felt like little more than a month to you in your previous dimension, was millions of years in ours. We waited ever-so-patiently for you to return, you know. But your usual arrival time came and went repeatedly. And beyond your coworkers appearing less, and less frequently, your primes and I feared the worst."

When he looks back to see you asleep, he huffs in frustration before lifting you into a princess carry. The doors between the two of you and your new home open easily at his command. And seal shut behind you. Locking firmly in place. They'd never open again if Rung had it his way. And he's finally ensured that he would from now on.

With you by his side.

-Perchance Anon

*inhale* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

I HAVE BEEN BLESSED?!!!!! I HAVE BEEN TRANSFERRED TO HEAVEN???!!!

LORD I CAN'T PUT INTO WORD ON HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. THIS IS MAGNIFICENT, THIS IS WHAT I NEEDED ALL ALONG

I CAN DIE HAPPY NOWWWWWWW

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the-obey-rot · 2 days ago

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Hii! Hope you're doing well!

If you haven't done it yet, can I request mc calling Lucifer, Barbatos, and Simeon "dad"? and when they ask about it mc just says that they give off father vibes. You can do this however you like! If only you want to write it of course!

That's all! take care of yourselff! Thank youu

I am actually doing well! Thank you for the request dear anon, I hope you are too <3

Lucifer

It was a simple help with some homework, Mc struggled with the demonic texts and Lucifer would help them as needed. Once Mc finally finished the text they smiled at Lucifer "thanks dad!" and they went to put the homework into their bag.

"I'm sorry?" Lucifer asked, confused look at Mc as he took his reading glasses off. "Oh, you just keep giving very fatherly vibes, my dad used to help me in the same way" "was he a good man?" "yeah, he was" "then I suppose I can handle having another child to take care of"

Barbatos

Mc was staying at the castle, helping Diavolo plan for new exchange students, while Diavolo had left a while ago, too distracted to do his work again, Mc was still working on the plans late into the evening.

Barbatos walked in with some fruit and tea, placing them on the desk "Please do go to bed on time Mc, the young master would not be thrilled to see you without sleep" "yeah I will, thanks dad". Barbatos leaves, only later realizing what Mc called him, the next morning he goes to wake them up and asks.

"did you call me dad on purpose?" "...no but I do think it often" "how so?" "you keep taking caring of me no matter what, that's what dad's do" "I can only hope the young master does not see it the same"

Simeon

Mc is short, Luke is short, Simeon is the only not Solomon in this house willing to grab stuff for them from the top shelf. And so when Mc and Luke are baking again he grabs them the big baking pan, Mc and Luke then in unison go "Thank you dad", at first Simeon stares at them and then he laughs

"I'm only a caretaker for one of you?" "Yeah but you still act like a dad to me" Mc answers, a little akward "oh, well, I suppose I can be a human caretaker as well?" "yay! Baking sibling!" Luke says, tho quickly looking grumpy as Mc laughs "yeah, baking sibling"

#obey me hcs #obey me headcanons #obey me otome #obey me mc #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me luke #obey me simeon #obey me lucifer #obey me barbatos #obey me

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namelessgoose · 22 hours ago

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Travel related headcanons for the papas! ✈️🌴

I started these when I had down time traveling a while back and I just remembered I did that so I finished it up and yeah!! This is my first time writing out something like this to post so … be nice 😅

Nihil:

- He throws a bunch of random things in his bag with no sense of organization and then needs someone else to fix it for him and will complain about how they organize it because “he had a system” (there was no system)

- He takes his sweet time in the TSA line, no sense of urgency at all. If his bag gets stopped he immediately starts arguing.

- On the actual trip, he cannot stick to a schedule, he’s the least punctual person in existence.

Primo:

- He’s very preplanned and organized without having to put in much effort. He’s able to pack right before he leaves and packs pretty minimally.

- His bags get through TSA easily, that’s not to say that he doesn’t have anything illegal on him. He has his ways. Don’t worry about it!

- HATES airports. Too many loud people who can’t figure out how to do simple things.

- He doesn’t do anything on the plane. He just sits there. What’s he thinking about? Who knows.

- His trips are generally for business only, he doesn’t enjoy traveling very much. Though, he will stop to see the nature of the area if there’s some.

Secondo:

- Secondo is absolutely an overpacker, but denies it completely. But not in the “i’m bringing 10 pairs of underwear just in case I shit my pants every single day” way, no. Like he’s bringing 5 different kinds of cologne and way too many outfit choices (thinking about that one picture where he’s in that very eccentrically decorated room that was scrapped from Papaganda i believe) And he is able to give serious rationale for everything he brings.

- Hates airports just as much as Primo. His bag gets stopped at TSA every time without fail for absolutely no reason.

- I don’t think he travels much outside of clergy duties BUT if he has to go on a trip for business, he absolutely makes the most out of it… he might get a bit distracted and not fulfill some of the business duties.

Terzo:

- Terzo is packed and planned WELL in advance. He knows exactly what he’s wearing everyday and has alternate outfits depending on the weather. He has all of his essentials and his bag is well organized. He always makes reservations with timed out schedules, but isn’t afraid to deviate from the plan to do what he feels like at that moment.

- Though, he really doesn’t like planes. Not that he’s scared of them, the elevation just gives him a headache. He brings a book to read to try to distract himself, but it usually doesn’t work very well.

- Even if a trip is technically for business, he’s able to make the absolute best of it. I think he’d like to travel for pleasure as well. Honestly, I think he would be the best to travel with.

Copia:

- Unlike Secondo, he is definitely the “packing 10 pairs of underwear just in case i shit my pants every single day” type of packer. Overpacks because you never know what could happen. And even with his overpacking, he definitely forgets something essential and has to get it overpriced at the airport. He also procrastinates packing until the last minute which doesn’t help either.

- Doesn’t like sleeping at hotels. Hell, he has trouble sleeping at home. The cold and unfamiliar hotel room is definitely not going to help him out in that regard.

- He only travels for clergy business, so it’s all planned for him. He tries so hard to adhere to what he’s supposed to do that he stresses himself out. He’s able to get it all done though, despite the chaos.

- His ghouls make sure he lets himself relax and actually enjoy the trip at some point when there’s time so he’s not just overworking himself.

Perpetua:

ngl i don’t have a great grasp on his character yet, i can’t wait until i see him at my ritual!!!

- He seems like the type who comes off very planned and put together, but is totally just going off vibes.

- I have a feeling that those claws aren’t getting though TSA easily

Wow you made it to the end! I’m not really anticipating anyone really reading this lmao BUT if anyone wants any of these ideas developed some more or if you have any of your own travel related hcs for them, feel free to drop something in my ask box :3

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #papa emeritus i #ghost band headcanons #papa primo #papa secondo #papa emeritus ii #papa terzo #papa emeritus iii #papa copia #papa emeritus iv

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i-dare-say · 23 hours ago

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I have a theory about Airplane's original outline, the one he lost which was supposed to be mature and deal with more complicated themes than what PIDW actually became. Some posts on here made me curious about what other people would think of it.

What if Shen Yuan didn't transmigrate into a copy of PIDW, but the actual original outline?

We know Airplane lost the file when his computer randomly died and that he had plans for Tianlang-jun to be the final boss and for Shen Jiu to be a direct parallel to Luo Binghe.

We're not told when he lost the file.

What part of PIDW was he writing at that moment? Was it when Luo Binghe was 14? But he lost the file, discarded the original outline and went for the stallion novel.

While a new universe was born, as Airplane decided to satisfy his readers more than follow his own ideas, the original universe was left unfinished, lost without an ending.

The system has worked in other universes before, so it knows how to deal with this. It takes a soul from another world to finish the story and bring it to its original ending instead of the one in PIDW.

Who better than the author? Airplane, who had to discard his art to make money for a living. He'd be the perfect one for the job.

But, as we know, Airplane doesn't actually change much. The role of Shang Qinghua proves to be too removed from Luo Binghe, and he's not given enough incentive or instructions to do it.

The system learns from this first mistake: next it takes someone who hates the ending of the PIDW universe, and puts them right where the original outline stops, in a role deeply tied to Luo Binghe, giving them clear objectives and punishments if they don't follow the instructions.

It works.

Shen Yuan is dropped into the original outline and actually manages to deliver on all its promises. That's why Shen Jiu's past is revealed, why we get to know the truth of Tianlang-jun's relationship with Su Xiyan and all that the Palace Master did, all plot points that never existed in PIDW.

(Why the characters are much smarter, why the female characters have a personality other than being their archetypes)

You could argue that they do exist in PIDW, hidden under all the monster fighting and maiden fucking. But PIDW is a stallion novel, with tropes and a narrative that follow a certain structure. I can't imagine the events of svsss ever happening in a story like that.

The original outline though? Yeah, 100%. It already had the potential of being complicated, with all those secrets and mysteries, so it's not that hard for it to add the relationship that is born between Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu to the mix.

And, this is the reason why we only got to meet Bingge but not his original outline counterpart.

Let's be honest: if a third universe existed other than svsss and PIDW, with a lonely Luo Binghe that never finds love, you bet your ass he would eventually find his way to svsss like Bingge did. But it never happened.

Because Bingmei is him.

#I'm curious to know what other people think of this #this theory was born mainly because of what i said at the end #if bingge met bingqiu why didn’t the original outline binghe meet them too?#i always though svsss to be a copy of pidw that sy tweaked until it became unrecognizable #and the original outline remained lost with sqh's lost file #but it never sat right with me #so i created this theory #i think it makes sense #and more importantly #original outline luo binghe isn't left to wander the world unmoored like airplane planned #but lives happily ever after with the love of his life #while bingge goes to find his own shen yuan as we all agree #svsss meta #svsss #bingqiu #luo binghe #it also explains why sqh and sqq's experiences are so different #sqh was the system's failed attempt #he was put there as a baby #and the system didn't tell him much #while sqq is thrown right there in the action #and the system follows him constantly

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ihavenoideawhatiamdoingjustgay2 · 3 days ago

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Hi! Do you write crack? (Lol this sounds so funny) If you do...can you write about how Arlecchino tries to surprise reader with a nice dinner...only for her to accidentally burn half the kitchen. Thanks!! :3

When all the stars stood in the wrong place

Trope : Crack

Summary : Arlecchino wants to make a delicious dinner that you can enjoy once you return, little does she know that it won't be that easy.

Notes : The Kids⁽ᵀᴹ⁾ are also there, so, Family bonding ig. Chaos, cooking, my phone is bugging out bc of all the words wtf phone those are only 3000, Arlecchino doesn't know that she's in a Crack Fic, POV Arlecchino, No Beta, Fluff, Arle - I fucking love my wife - cchino, Arlecchino is still bad with feelings, Bad Cooking

Thanks for the Request! <3

Wordcount : 3,396

Masterlist

Link to ao3

The Harbingers fingers tapped against the wood of her chair. Her eyes were on the paperwork in front of her. The finished paperwork. Her eyes catched the orange ligth, avoiding her, favoring the table. She pushed the chair back as she stood up. It was odd to be done this early with her work, usually they had more casualties to cover up. Her bones were cracking as she started moving them, pushing her back with her hands, stretching her head left and rigth. She shock her head, moving past the table, the sofa and towards the door, leading her out of the office. Her first thougth was you. Where were you again?

She had woken up next to you, like always, smothered you in kisses untill you woke up before taking a walk in the court of Fontaine, then you had breakfast with the children, after that you prepared some tea and macaroons for her, bringing them to her study. She remembered you telling her about going out with your friends, for shopping, a bit later in the day. Arlecchino also remembered that you said it could get late. That meant nine to ten in your language. She smiled. You had always been good. Perfect even. She walked through the halls of your shared mansion, her feet carying her to the bedroom, her side was well made while yours was…not. She sighed, going to do it herself. Such a mess. While doing your side she thougth about what else there was to do, she could look after her children, but she'd most likely have to go back home once she arrived there, no… she got back up, looking at the time. Maybe…you could be hungry once you got back. She crossed her legs. Usually she only made something at the barbecues, all the other times someone else would be responsible for food, often enough she'd go along, doing what the chef would tell her too, but it could not be too hard to Cook by herself.

Or would it be?

She unconsciously made her so to the kitchen, what could she make for you? You didn't have much of a sweet tooth, yet you liked some here and there, she should probably just make something that easily goes down, considering the time of day. She looked around the lavish kitchen, it was in the typical Fontainian style, with its terquis and whites, as for the elaborate symbols. She moved rigth to the fridge, she should look what was available before making any plans.

The fridge was, unsurprisingly, well filled. As always, Alis must have just went shopping yesterday. Arlecchino picked out some of the basics, eggs, milk, as for flour that she had grabbed from the storage. A few bowls migth be practical too, she grabbed then from…huh? She crocked a brow, staring perplexed at the dishes. What were they doing under the sink? And where in the world are the bowls? She sat back up, opening the place where the dishes were supposed to be, only to be met with spoons. A crease appeared between her brows as she tried to make sense of the forces that were trying to prevent her from making a nice meal for you. Was Celestia playing a cruel joke on her? She was shaking her head, opening all of the cabinets, finding odder and odder things, some that did not even belong in the kitchen.

"Where is a wretched pot?!", she asked as she picked up a plant that was standing in what had been the cabinet for the mugs once. For a split second she thougth about taking the plant out and using the flower pot for the food, only to dismiss the idea for…several reasons. She could rip her hair out, you'd most likely be home in an hour and she hasn't even started cooking. Her last option, before going through every cabinet in the mansion, would be the pantry. She sighed, facing the door. "You better have what I need.", she told it as she pulled down the door handle. Her hand looked foe the ligth switch, fumbling a bit, before activating it. The room was illuminated by the brigth warm ligth, reflected in some surface, she looked away from it, facing the ground. She stayed like this for a few seconds only to see her personal holy grail once she looked up.

A fucking pot.

"Finally.", she mumbled, picking it and the big glass bowl next to it up. This must've taken her like fifteen minutes already, oh, the things one does for love.

She pulled her hair up into a bun and put her jacket on the clothes holder, switching it for an apron, ignoring the open cabinets, she had everything that she needed rigth in front of her and a bit behind her, she'd still need the hearth.

She grabed one of the eggs, cracking it on the border of the glass bowl.

Chirp

She looked at a little being, made out of a feathery yellow coat, she barely saw the beak peeking out. "Hello?", she asked. It only chirped back at her. She blinked, perplexed, trying the next egg…and the next one….and the one after that. At the end, she had six little fluff balls chirping up at her. Was this a punishment? Had she not gone through enough?

"Ok, come here, come here.", she picked them up, carefully and individually, transferring them into the sink. "You, stay.", she commanded as if they could hear her. She'd talk to Alis later, apparently the eggs had been to fresh, it can happen. What she was focused on however, were properly working eggs. And she'd gladly ignore the real problem for now, even if it was chirping at her.

"You better have some proper eggs inside of you.", she threatened the box, trying not to throw it down on the counter, her long nails carefully grabed the edges, ready to open it, untill the doorbell rang.

She grumbled, turning to leave the kitchen, but not withouth a word to the chicks. "You stay here.", they stared at her with their empty button eyes. "And that is an order.", they chirped once, as if they had understood. She nodded. They had an understanding.

Little chick's could be obedient, it depended on personality of course, but they mostly were die to the attachment to their Mother Hen. And this position had gone to Arlecchino it seems, considering the little fluffballs that were carefully following her.

"Who rings that late in the evening?", she asked no one but herself, hoping it wasn't you as she opened the door. But it was someone far worse.

She crocked her brow and straightened her back. "Lyney?", she opened the door a bit further "Lynette and Freminete?", she crossed her arms "What is this about, Children?"

They stared behind her. The little fluffballs were gathering at her feet, but the children didn't dare aw. "Come in, quickly, before anyone can see."

They followed, only awing once the door was closed, falling to their knees, picking the little chicks up. Their 'Father' blushed in embarrassment. "Let's just hope one can't distract you that easily when you're on one of your missions.", she said, walking back to the kitchen with nine children trailing behind her now.

"We were sent by mother." Lyney started, walking up to her side. "She told us to tell you that she'll come home at nine twenty and that she'd like to still eat with you."

"We met her while we were going shopping ourselves." Lynette said, holding up a bag filled with a few ribbons, Freminete held his bag up, Iron clattered against eachother. It probably was for one of his inventions.

She hummed, sligthly smiled. "Well, I was already preparing something.", she said, stopping rigth before the kitchen. "I just, ran into some trouble."

The children looked down at her feet. "The eggs were too fresh, I assume?", asked Lyney. Arlecchino kept her facade up.

"Save it for the stage…but yes. As for some other things.", the door opened, revealing the open cabinets and misplaced objects. "Someone or something seems to be messing with me.", she revealed.

The children looked around. "Well, do you want us to help you 'Father'?", Lynette asked.

Arlecchino considered, putting her hand on her chin. Having more people meant that she could cover more space if she needed to look for something, it meant more hands and…she looked at the three, standing there, anticipatory a bit happy. If you were here, you would've agreed rigth away…she sighed. "Freminete, you take care of the chicks, build them a cage of whatever you can find. Lynette, you put everything in its place and Lyney, you help me cook."

"Yes 'Father'.", they said in union, going rigth to their places.

She met Lyney back at the counter.

"What were you doing 'Father'?"

She shrugged. "I was just…" she thougth a bit about what to say. "…going with the flow, as your 'Mother' would say it."

He looked at her for a few seconds. "Alrigth then, we go with the flow.", he put his hat down, grabing the flour as she went back to cracking the eggs. Now, everything should go just-

Something popped, she hid behind the counter as white blurred her vision. She should stop thinking that everything should go alright.

"What was that?", she asked, looking up from her hiding place.

"I'm sorry 'Father'." Lyney said, standing over an open flour bag as everyone recovered.

"I didn't know a flour bag could make such a loud noise…" Freminete mumbled, picking up a few of the shocked chicks.

"Usually they don't." Arlecchino said, taking of the apron, throwing it on the counter behind her. "Now where is your-" she spotted Lynette behind the counter, hands over her ears. Of course, she was more easily startled by loud noise.

"Lynette, is everything ok?", she asked, the girl looked at her, a smile cracking her face. Rigth, Arlecchino must be covered in flour from head to toe. She tried to scold her expression, but Arlecchino shock her head. "No, it's quite fine, I must look ridiculous."

Lynette smiled.

"I tell you what, you stay here untill you're combat capable again and I'll take care of that drawer filled with spider, ok?"

She nodded.

"Perfect." Arlecchino said, standing back up.

This was something she may have taken from you. Her hands drew out the spider drawer. "Lyney, you're the chef now, do you think you can take that responsibility?"

"Yes 'Father'! I won't disappoint you."

Her gaze softened. "I know."

This too. Arlecchino was growing soft and her mask was slipping. Or maybe you were taking it off. Anger makes you impulsive, sorrow causes you to waver…and love made you weak. She sighed. She opened the back door, the sun was still beating down on earth, the last few hot days wer e a test on her and on her love for suits."There, there, you're free now.", she told them as they scattered withouth looking back. Oh, they were lovable creatures, weren't they?

As she was slowly approaching the kitchen, she was able to hear Lyney barking orders at his siblings. Arlecchino smiled. He was as good as she expected. Upon arriving, she had her hand go over her jacket, cleaning it on atleast surface level, but gods knew that she'd never get the flour out of all those little crevices.

"'Father'! You're back!" Lyney was stirring the pot as Freminete was working on a little cage and Lynette was pushing a pizza in the oven. "The Pizza is only a last resort, if all else fails! Also, Freminete is nearly done with the cage, then…well, he's nearly done and I think we'll just make kaiserschmarrn."

"Sounds good.", she came up to him and he automatically gave her the pot.

"I'll get some of the other stuff for it.", Lyney said.

Lynette finished setting the oven up, turning back to her 'Father' now.

"Set up the kettle and your 'mother's' favorite tea." She said withouth looking up, concentrating on sprinkling chocolate chips in and half of the flaked almonds.

"Children?"

"On it, 'Father'!" She heard how Lyney grabbed the butter and Lynette slapped it in. Arlecchino stirred a bit more, looking at the recept one or two times inbetween. She sat the bowl down, adding the rest of the flakes, now it only would have to densen for a bit, after the recipe atleast.

When she turned, the butter was already melting, Lynette was pouring the tea and Lyney checked the pizza. Freminete has finished now with the cage and- Arlecchino had to hild back her smile as the chicks tried to climb the walls up, only to fall back down.

"ˋFatherˋ, where do the plants have to go?"

She looked at each of them. "Small ones go on the windowsill of the bedroom, that big one was next to the fireplace and the rest, just put it in the living room and atleastnone in my office." he nodded as he took some of the smaller ones, taking them out.

Arlecchino looked at the clock over the doorframe. Nine, on the dot. Her charcoal hand fanned some air towards the flowy dough. If it wasn't done in five minutes, she'd just throw one half in and distract you somehow as the children finished the other one.

Five minutes passed and Arlecchino parted it to throw it into the pan, disconnecting the dough frome eachother as Lyney was slowly panicking. "She'll be here I'm five minutes!", he said, grabing his head.

Lynette shrugged. "And we're nearly done. There's no need to panic.", she shrugged, staring as her 'Father' calmly set the stove on fire, helping a bit out by putting her hand under the pan. "That's actually quite practical.", she said.

"That could be a practical skill on outdoor missions, did you ever use it?"

"Only in cases where a fire wasn't possible.", she said, putting it down once she was satisfied.

"Do you think 'Mother' will be satisfied with that handprint on the pan?"

She picked it back up. Indeed, there was a big charcoal handprint. "Damn it. You're mother is barely in the kitchen, she won't notice unless she's looking for it. And Alis won't ask any questions."

"Who's Alis?" Freminete, who has just arrived, asked.

"The Maid."

All of the three children looked confused now. "You have a maid names Alis?"

She turned around, confused. "Yes. She's worked for us since…well, I can't exactly recall, but I'll have to have a proper talk with her because she's responsible for the kitchen."

"But…you only have two maids." He said. "Pauline and Robert…mother said so."

She looked at him confused as the raw food stirred in front of her. "But-"

The Doorbell rudely interrupted her.

The doorbell?

The doorbell!

"Ok, I'll go distract her for the next ten minutes and children, I trust you, Lyney, the kitchen is in your hands once again. You just need to look over the pan and do what's in the recipe. Not to hard. I trained you for this, my children."

"Yes 'Father'." Lyney said, watching as his 'Father' went into battle.

"Arlecchino!", you jumped rigth at her and she catched you, twirling you around.

"Well, someones excited to see me.", she said, holding you up still, on one arm only.

"Of course! It has been, what? Ten or something hours since I saw you the last time?"

"Now you're being hyperbolic, my dear.", she said, still not putting you down, switching her gaze to the clock. Just a bit more.

"Am I being hyperbolic when I'm telling you that I'm starving?", you were leaning forward and slowly, her arm was starting to strain, so she let you down, resorting to pulling you as close as humanly possible.

"Quite so.", she kissed your lips. "But you must wait a bit, the food must still cool a bit."

"Didn't you put it at the open window?"

"I didn't want any Squirrels to steal it.", you rolled your eyes.

"That happend ONE time.", you argued.

"Still did happen."

You hid within the crock of her neck. "You smell nice. Like kitchen."

Arlecchino chuckled. "You smell like…" she couldn't really decipher it, but it was an array of smells, not necessarily a good one. "…not yourself."

"We tried a LOT of perfumes.", you said, pointing to a small bag. "I hope you don't mind me buying one or two things for them?"

She put some hair behind your ear. "Aslong as it wasn't to expensive. Now, how about you show me some of the stuff you got?"

There was a sparkle inside of your eyes. "Yes, oh you'll love it!"

"I'm sure I will."

In the end, she had been able to buy the children fifteen minutes of time. You had made quite the big purchase and didn't realize, due to your excitement, that your Husband was acting dumb when she asked how to apply lipstick. You had chuckled a bit, then kissed her, saying. "Like this.", rigth after.

"Hm, quite efficient.", she had said.

Now the two of you were sitting at the dinner table, in front of some of the Kaiserschmarrn. "It's from Mondstadt, isn't it?"

She nodded, watching as your fork hovered rigth over it. "I did put a lot of effort into it.", she looked at the children, their eyes peeking out from the door, ready to retreat behind it any second. You stared at it for a few more seconds, you're gaze concentrated, the fork in your hand quivering sligthly. Lynettes tail was stare, Lyney was breathing harsh, Freminete had hid eyes covered.

"You know, I'd you're not hungry-"

She went to grab the plate, but you pulled up your legs and hid it behind them. "No, it's mine.", you announced proudly, finally taking your first bite, humming.

"Amerelle.", she said and the children calmed, taking their hiding place, though the door was still sligthly ajar. You didn't hear the code word….or maybe you acted as if you didn't.

"I should get out of my clothes.", you sighed after taking a few bites. "And take of my make up."

"I'll be waiting for you rigth here.", she said, leaning back, crossing her legs, watching you leave through the door in front of her. She sighed once you were out of earshot and so did the children, who were slowly making their way into the living room, slumping into the chair Arlecchino allowed it, this time.

"Do you think she knows?" Lyney asked.

"Maybe…probably…yes, definitely."

"I think she's even walking to the kitchen." Lynette mentioned. "I saw her going that way."

Freminete stayed silent.

Even at the loud "ARLECCHINO?!", that was shouted through the whole house.

Arlecchino went through her hair, before getting up. She could imagine you standing in the middle of the mess, shocked at first, then laughing. "I'll handle this.", she told the children, following the path you took.

It was like she imaged. Just minus the smoke and the Black iced over kitchen counter. She realized with horror that they forgot to put the kettle out, same with the pizza. You were sitting between the chicks, laughing so hard it brougth you to tears.

"Is everything fine?", she asked, bending down to your level, taking your shaking hand. You put your forehead on her shoulder, still laughing, trying to catch your breath, but chocking on the smoke and your laugh.

"Children! Open all the doors and windows.", she called and they came, quickly going to work.

You calmed down after a few more minutes. The children were resting in the pantry, partially laying on the floor.

"How did this even happen?", you still chuckle, pointing to…the chaos.

"I think that was Alises fault.", she said and you looked confused, just as the children. "Doesn't matter. You liked the food though?"

You nodded. "You all did that quite well, atleast."

Arlecchino smiled, the chicks were gathering around her heels once again. "I'm glad to hear I did one thing rigth today."

You held your breath, untill you looked back at everything. Loud laugther erupted again and this time, it affected her and the children too.

How beautifully absurd.

#genshin impact #genshin impact arlecchino #arlecchino genshin #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #Her name starts looking weird help me you guys #arlechinno genshin #genshin x reader #genshinimpact #genshin lynette #lyney genshin #genshin lyney #genshin freminet

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