#hiding in a drain somewhere

[shiratorizawa-academy]

Ushijima is in class 3?? My bad, I have slandered my boy...

Maybe he's just bad at literature and some aspects of science. Everything else he's actually really good at because he sticks to a high intensity study schedule. No one knows how, since he already has a high intensity volleyball schedule, but he manages.

Yamagata with ADHD is an amazing creation, I thank you kindly. I will be honest, though, I gave him depression 😔i thought it would be funny if 2cnd year tendou tried to swap their medication out...

Also, semi always on ADHD meds or else he will actually get so distracted he'll leave the room - the first time he forgot his meds and walked out on practice, washijou nearly had a fit (tendou had to explain before any beheadings could take place)

Another idea, Taichi has definitely convinced Ushijima to buy the team alcohol before (no one knows how, least of all Taichi)

You're so real for the high intensity schedule. Ushijima's day has to have more than 24 hours, no one understands how he's able to get everything done. Tendou says it's part of him being a Miracle Boy. Ushijima denies this. (For once, Shirabu agrees with Tendou because he already feels like he's drowning between school work and regular training. How does Ushijima juggle that and captain duties and training for the national team?!)

Rip Yamagata... and double rip Semi hah Washijou is gonna side eye him at the start of every training now like 'did you take your meds. If you didn't don't even bother trying to enter'.

LMAOOOO WHAT DID HE SAY. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN.

Kawanishi, looking at a random alcohol bottle: "Oh, that's a nice label." Ushijima: "?" Kawanishi: "Nothing, I just like the design." Ushijima: "Okay, I'll buy it." Kawanishi: Ushijima: Kawanishi: "But... but that's... wait... what????"

[kirkwallsquad]

too many people in my hotel room turning into a dont think abt killing yourself challenge

[deadmic3]

when its a holiday so you gotta go to family functions 💔

[humanjarvis]

lonely millionaire

synopsis: sylus likes when you spend his money.

tags: suggestive (mdni), sylus sits you on his lap while you drain his bank account, it's for a cute reason though, dry humping, size difference, teasing, sylus is a scoundrel, use of "kitten" and "sweetie" cause we stick to the canon over here pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mc word count: 640

a/n: i don't really have anything to sa—omg this is my first non-caleb post! but yeah i've been thinking of this for a while. this is the most explicitly sexual thing i've written with worse to come

“Why don’t you get that one, too?” Sylus rumbles into your neck, pointing to a luxurious dress on your screen.

You’re seated on his lap in the bed you share, his legs caging your smaller frame while he peeks over your shoulder at the laptop in front of you. For the last 40 minutes, you’d been browsing the website of the most exclusive boutique in Linkon. It’d been Sylus’s idea—To get you something nice for being such a good hunter, he’d said—but as he urges you to keep adding opulent pieces to your cart—dresses, skirts, shoes, you name it—you start to suspect an ulterior motive. 

Restless, you turn around to face him. But before you can speak, he steals your lips in a lewd, wet kiss, his thumb holding your chin in place while he swipes his tongue through your mouth. 

“Hmm?” he hums when he releases you, expectantly peering into your eyes. 

Dumbfounded, you stare up at him before his slow smirk jolts you back into your right state of mind. “Sylus! Stop distracting me. You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” you accuse with a glare. 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being your distraction, kitten. I’d rather have all your attention in the first place,” he replies, wearing an infuriating look of triumph. 

“You know what I mean,” you whine, thwacking his shoulder in exasperation. “You have me in your lap while I spend enough to buy a house on things I don’t need. I don’t get it—are you enjoying this?” 

Sylus blinks lazily. Slowly, he chuckles before rolling his hips into the plush of your backside. “You’re well aware of how much I'm enjoying it, sweetie.” 

Startled, you jerk your hands to his thighs, the laptop landing onto the bed with a soft thud. “Sylus,” you breathe, a whimper escaping you as he grinds upwards again. “I-Is this really okay? You’ve been so tired lately, you can’t hide it from me. What if I spend too much and you have to work harder?”

Sighing, Sylus snakes one thick arm around your waist, pulling you further back into his chest. As he splays his large hand across your belly, you feel his body warming yours, making your core clench with need.

“Kitten,” he drawls, nuzzling your shoulder. “When I’m out there making Onychinus deals, putting my life on the line just to come home coated in someone else’s blood—it gets…tedious, sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if I should give it all up so we can start fresh somewhere new,” he confesses, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “But having you here with me, knowing I'm putting my life on the line for you? So you can spend what I earn for you, so I can give you all the pretty little things you could possibly ask for? It makes it worth it, kitten. It brings me…peace. Satisfaction.” 

Throughout his musings, he’s been rubbing you harder and harder against his rigid length. Feeling it pulse beneath you, you moan softly and reach your arm back, threading your fingers in his hair. “As long as…as long as you like it,” you pant. “Want you to be happy.”  

His deep chuckle hits your neck, sending shockwaves down your spine. “Won’t you help me relax, then? After all, I've been so tired lately,” he mocks, nipping your ear. 

“Now,” he starts again. “How about you look at the accessories page next, hmm? Let’s see the handbags.”

It’s an hour later when Sylus is finally satisfied with the subtotal of your shopping cart. 

He holds his card out in front of you while you type in the information, and once the order goes through, he captures your lips in a kiss, tender but claiming. 

“What’s your schedule for tomorrow look like, sweetie?” he rumbles, pressing you close. “I think I’d like to look at some jewelry.”

[scarletwinterxx]

how long before we fall in love - choi seungcheol imagine

the way i was smiling, throwing air punches when i wrote this. pure 100% fluff coming your way!!!🥺😭🤭 (my head screaming SANA GETS NYO KO as i write this)

you can follow me on x, my un 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.

(photos not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’re nursing the last of your drink, ice clinking against the glass as you swirl it with deliberate disinterest, hoping the guy beside you gets the hint. He doesn't. His hand lingers too close to your elbow, and every laugh he exhales smells like beer and desperation.

You've already tried subtle. You even lied about having a boyfriend — twice. Still, he leans in with that rehearsed smirk like he's the one doing you a favor.

You scan the room, fast. Desperation breeds boldness, and tonight, you’re emboldened.

Then you see him.

He’s impossible to miss. Seated at the far end of the bar, broad shoulders framed in black, head dipped low as he nurses something amber in a short glass. He looks like he belongs somewhere darker, quieter. Maybe someplace where men don’t smile, only nod. 

You’re not even sure how your legs carry you there, but in three long strides, you’re beside him, heart skittering in your chest like it knows you’ve made a gamble. He glances up, and for a second, you're sure this was a mistake but there's no time for second-guessing.

“Hey, babe,” you say, and your voice barely wavers. “Sorry I took so long.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, and for one charged second, silence stretches between you like a fuse waiting to be lit.

Then his expression shifts. It's subtle, the faintest curl of his mouth, a spark of recognition in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“There you are,” he says, low and even, like the words were always meant for you. He slips an arm around your waist with a kind of confidence that feels too natural, too smooth.

You think you’ve pulled it off — until a voice slices through the act.

“Seungcheol,” she purrs. She’s suddenly there, close enough that you feel the static of her presence before you even see her. “You weren’t gonna introduce me to your little friend?”

You tense, barely hiding the wince. The stranger, Seungcheol,  doesn’t move his arm.

His voice is calm, even, as if this happens all the time. “Not now, Jiwon”

“But babe—”

He doesn’t even look at her. “And how many times do I have to tell you to not call me that”

Something in his tone makes her falter. She huffs, audibly, but walks away with a forced flick of her hair.

You glance up at him, parting your lips to apologize, but he cuts you off before you can speak.

“You okay?” he murmurs, just for you and you don’t know why but you believe him. You nod.

He leans in just a little, just enough that the warmth of him slips past your skin. “You want me to make sure he stays away?”

And god help you, you say yes.

Seungcheol shifts in his seat, gaze sharp now, trained somewhere over your shoulder. You don’t even have to turn to know the persistent guy’s still hovering. You can feel the weight of him, orbiting.

“Stay close,” Seungcheol says, barely more than a breath against your ear. It shouldn’t send a chill down your spine, but it does.

He stands in one smooth motion, hand still warm against your lower back as he guides you forwar. You catch the guy’s expression the moment he sees who you’re with now. The faux confidence drains from his face in real-time, replaced by something caught between confusion and an almost primal, involuntary instinct to back off.

“Problem?” Seungcheol asks him. He’s not loud. Doesn’t need to be. There’s something in the way he holds himself, loose and deadly, like a predator who doesn’t have to growl to be heard.

The guy lifts his hands in weak surrender. “Nah, man. Just talking.”

“You were done talking when she walked away.”

It’s not a threat. It’s a statement. Inevitable. Irrefutable.

The guy backs off, muttering something that doesn’t sound like an apology, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. You exhale for the first time in what feels like minutes.

Seungcheol turns to you again, and just like that, the sharpness in him softens—no less intense, but different now. He looks at you like he’s cataloging something he doesn’t quite understand yet.

“You okay?” he asks again, but this time the question feels more layered. Not just are you safe, but what made you need someone like me?

You nod, slower this time. “Yeah. Thanks. That was… I didn’t expect you to actually go along with it.”

He shrugs. “You looked like you needed out.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—

“You wanna sit?” he asks, gesturing to his now-vacant seat. “I won’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into.”

It’s deadpan. Almost. You glance at him and find the smallest glint of mischief tucked in the dark of his eyes.

You sit. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, or maybe it’s something else entirely but you get the distinct feeling your night just shifted on an axis you didn’t see coming.

You’ve barely settled into the seat beside him when you feel the disturbance before you see it. She’s back. Jiwon. Her heels click soft and calculated across the floor, posture loose but eyes laser-focused on Seungcheol. She doesn't bother with you, not really. 

She stops at his other side, voice syrupy. “Thought I’d grab you that drink you like,” she says, holding it out like a peace offering. Like she’s done this before and won.

But Seungcheol doesn’t even glance at the glass. He doesn’t blink.

“I’m good here,” he says, calm as still water. “With my girl.”

It hits with the kind of weight that lands sharp but quiet. No performance, no dramatic pause. Just absolute certainty, smooth as silk and impossible to argue with.

You blink. My girl?

Then, as if on cue, he leans in—closer than he’s been all night. His hand brushes against your thigh under the bar, casual but unmistakable. The space between you disappears, and suddenly, all you can see is him.

The edge of his mouth tilts just slightly, a private smirk made only for you.

“I help you,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, just for your ears. “You help me.”

Like a switch, you slip into the role. No hesitation. No breath to second-guess.

You lean in until you’re practically folded into his side, your shoulder brushing his chest, the scent of him filling your senses like a hit of something you’re not supposed to want.

Your fingers find his thigh beneath the bar, light but deliberate, and when you turn your head to face her, your expression is sugar-laced steel.

“Thanks for keeping my boyfriend company,” you say, voice sweet enough to rot, “but we’re good now.”

Jiwon stiffens. You see it in the tight pull of her jaw, the way her hand curls around the untouched glass like she might throw it but she doesn’t say anything. Not really. Just a scoff, quiet and bitter, before she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd again.

The moment she’s gone, Seungcheol exhales a laugh. Low. Quiet. Almost impressed.

“Well damn,” he says, tilting his head to look at you properly. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”

You arch a brow. “What, the spine or the spite?”

His grin widens, lazy and wolfish. “Both.”

You should pull away. You should return to your drink, your solitude, the night you had before this turned into something else entirely.

But you don’t.

Because now, you’re curious—and curiosity is a dangerous thing when someone like Seungcheol is involved. He smirks again, but there’s something different behind it then he leans down, slow enough to feel deliberate, and you feel it:

The brush of his lips against your bare shoulder.

Barely there. Barely anything. But it sets off a fire low in your belly, a spark you weren’t expecting and definitely weren’t prepared for. Your breath catches, and you turn your head to say something but you’re interrupted.

“Yo, Choi!” a voice calls out, casual and easy, and you look up just as two guys approach the table.

They’re both tall, well-dressed, and annoyingly attractive in that infuriating way that only works because they know it. The one with the long and cat-like grin lifts his brows as he takes in the scene. Your hand still on Seungcheol’s thigh, your body tucked into his side, his lips a breath away from your skin.

“Are we interrupting?” the long haired one asks

Seungcheol doesn’t move away. If anything, his arm tightens slightly around you. “If I say yes, will you go away”

The other one—gentler-looking, nudges his friend. “Jeonghan, stop being an ass. Hi,” he says, this time to you. “I’m Joshua. You?”

You give your name, and Jeonghan grins like you just told him a secret. “Cute. She’s cute.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just takes a sip from his drink but there’s something in the way his thumb traces idle circles against your hip that says plenty.

“You’re not usually the type to play house, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan adds, sliding into the seat across from you both. “What’s this, new leaf?”

“Maybe I like what I’m playing with,” Seungcheol says, and his voice is so calm, so unapologetic, that for a second, even you forget this started as pretend.

Joshua raises a brow but doesn’t push it. He just smiles a little, as if he already sees where this is going before either of you do. And when you feel Seungcheol’s hand settle more firmly against your thigh, like he’s staking a claim in front of his friends.

A few drinks later, your head’s pleasantly light, the warmth of alcohol and laughter still lingering in your chest.  Jeonghan and Joshua had finally wandered off to harass someone else, leaving you and Seungcheol alone again, though somehow the silence between you isn’t awkward—it’s alive.

You glance at your phone, blinking at the time. Late.

You push your glass away and sigh, “Alright, I should probably call it. Before I start thinking karaoke’s a good idea.”

Seungcheol chuckles, low and easy. “You’d make a great bad decision at karaoke.”

You shoot him a look, but you’re smiling. “I’m not drunk enough to embarrass myself like that.”

“Pity. I’d pay good money to hear you scream-sing something tragic.”

You snort. “You’re not even pretending to be nice.”

He tilts his head, mock thoughtful. “Did I ever pretend?”

You open your mouth to fire back something snarky, but the moment shifts. Just slightly. Just enough.

You glance toward the exit, suddenly uneasy. The weight of earlier brushes the edge of your thoughts, and now that the buzz is wearing down, the memory of that guy—the lingering stare, the way he didn’t get the hint—sticks.

Seungcheol notices. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, but his voice stays light.

“Want me to walk you out?”

You hesitate then nod. “Actually… would it be weird if I asked you to drive me home?”

His brows rise just a touch but he doesn’t hesitate. “Not weird,” he says. “I was hoping you'd ask.”

You raise a brow, teasing. “You were hoping?”

“I mean, you’re kind of glued to me tonight,” he says, smirking as he stands, grabbing his jacket. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

You follow him out, the air outside cooler than expected. He opens the passenger door like it’s instinct—like he’s done this for you a hundred times already—and when you slide in, he leans down just enough that your eyes meet.

“You trust me to drive you home?” he asks, voice lower now, a touch more serious, but still laced with that lazy confidence.

You look up at him through your lashes, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Should I?”

And just like that, the door shuts with a soft click and your pulse doesn’t quite settle the whole ride home. When he slides into the driver’s seat, the engine purring to life beneath his hands, you glance sideways at him, half-joking, half-not, voice just a little too casual.

“I’m not gonna end up in a true crime documentary, right?”

He smirks without looking at you, eyes on the road as he pulls out of the lot. “Nah. Too much paperwork.”

You laugh, but he doesn’t stop there.

“If I was gonna murder you, I wouldn’t have bought you drinks first. That’s just inefficient.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Comforting.”

He glances over at you, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, his voice a bit softer now

“I mean, you approached me. Technically, this is your villain origin story.”

You feign scandal. “So I lured you in.”

“Exactly. Innocent-looking girl at a bar, bold enough to lie her way into my lap? Yeah, you’re the dangerous one here.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at your lips. “You think I’m innocent-looking?”

He cuts his eyes toward you, a slow once-over that makes the air between you crackle.

“I think you’re a lot of things,” he says. “But innocent? Not buying it.”

And just like that, the car gets a little quieter. Not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

And you wonder, as the streetlights blur past the windows, what you’ve really gotten yourself into tonight.

“Oh,” you say, feigning surprise, a slow smirk curling at your lips. “So you’ve got me all figured out already?”

He glances over, and this time he doesn’t hide the smile.

“Didn’t say that,” he replies smoothly. “I said I’m not buying the innocent act. Big difference.”

You hum, dragging your gaze out the window like you're not grinning.

“Maybe I’m just mysterious,” you tease. “Hard to read. Dangerous, even.”

He snorts. “You’re definitely dangerous.”

“Yeah?” you ask, turning back to him, playful but edged with something more. “Afraid I’ll break your heart?”

He laughs once but then his eyes flick over to you, and it’s different now. He’s not smiling anymore, not quite. His voice drops, soft but steady.

“Nah,” he murmurs, “I’m enjoying this too much.”

You don’t answer right away, and neither does he. The quiet stretches, dense with something neither of you name. But when his hand brushes yours over the center console—barely there, just a question—you don’t pull away.

“And you?” he says, voice quiet, like he’s easing into something he actually wants the answer to. “How come, out of everyone there… you suddenly let yourself strut my way?”

“I don’t know,” you say at first, then pause. “You just looked like the kind of guy who wouldn’t ask questions.”

He huffs a laugh, amused. “You were banking on me being cooperative?”

“I was banking on you being scary enough to make the other guy piss himself.”

“And I was.”

You grin despite yourself. “So humble.”

He finally turns to look at you fully, eyes dark but curious, a faint crease in his brow like he’s studying you a little deeper now.

“But that’s not it,” he says. “Not really.”

You tilt your head. “No?”

“No. You could’ve gone to the bartender. The bouncer. Your friends, if you had any there. But you came to me.”

You’re quiet for a beat too long, because—yeah. He’s right.

So you shrug, pretending it’s simple when it’s not. “Guess I like walking toward the fire sometimes.”

He laughs again, deeper this time, but there’s something thoughtful behind it.

“Then lucky for you,” he murmurs, eyes still on you, “I don’t burn easy.”

And your heart? Yeah. It skips. Hard.

=

The next morning, Seungcheol walks into the office ten minutes late with zero regrets and exactly one iced Americano in hand, looking irritatingly composed for someone who got maybe four hours of sleep.

He’s barely set his cup down when Jeonghan’s voice sings from across the room.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t Mr. I-Don’t-Do-Relationships strolling in like a man who definitely didn’t go straight home last night.”

Joshua looks up from his laptop, raising a brow with a barely contained smirk. “So… who was she?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just pulls off his jacket and hangs it up with surgical precision, like he’s trying not to indulge them.

Which, of course, only makes them hungrier.

“C’mon, Cheol,” Jeonghan pushes, trailing him to his desk like a cat stalking something shiny. “You had her in your lap half the night. You don’t cuddle in public. I didn’t even know you could cuddle.”

“Technically,” Joshua adds, “I think she was in the driver’s seat.”

“Literally and figuratively,” Jeonghan nods. “She had you wrapped. It was… inspiring.”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and finally turns around, arms folded, leaning against the edge of his desk like he’s humoring children.

“She was someone who needed help,” he says evenly. “That’s it.”

Jeonghan’s eyes glint. “So you just happened to keep your hand on her thigh all night out of… community service?”

Joshua’s tone is gentler, but no less pointed. “You looked comfortable. Not pretending-comfortable. Just… real.”

Seungcheol hesitates. He hates that they’re good at this. That they know how to read the cracks in his tone.

“She was easy to talk to,” he admits. “Didn’t play games. No agenda.”

Jeonghan fake gasps. “Wait. You liked her.”

He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it,” Joshua counters.

Jeonghan grins like he just won something. “What’s her name?”

Seungcheol smirks now, because this is the part he won’t give them. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And when he turns back to his desk, his phone buzzes once.

A message from you.

You:  So… if I walk into your office right now, am I gonna ruin your mysterious, emotionally unavailable persona?

He stares at it for a second, then smiles—small and private. Maybe he is in trouble. He stares at your text for a beat longer, thumb hovering over the keyboard like he’s weighing something heavier than the words.

Seungcheol: Only if you walk in looking like last night. My reputation wouldn’t survive it.

Seungcheol: Free for lunch? I’ll come to you.

He hits send before he can think better of it.

Across the room, Jeonghan is still dramatically theorizing about your identity, now halfway into a ridiculous monologue about you being an international art thief who seduced Seungcheol for corporate secrets.

He ignores it because right now, he’s more interested in seeing you again and if that means sneaking in an hour between meetings and pretending he’s not the kind of guy who clears his calendar for a woman he just met, then so be it.

A little past noon, your phone buzzes again. You’re mid-email, squinting at your screen, when the notification pops up.

Seungcheol: Outside. Come down. I brought bribes.

You blink. Bribes? What does that even mean? Curiosity wins out fast. You grab your phone, smooth your outfit and head down.

The moment you step out, you see him leaning against a sleek black car that absolutely screams expensive and unnecessary, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, holding a paper bag and two drinks.

Your brows lift. “So this is you not trying?”

He grins, looking annoyingly perfect for someone who probably woke up late and still somehow managed to make the pavement feel like a runway. “Told you. Bribes.”

You walk up slowly, eyeing the bag. “What is it?”

“Sandwiches. From that overpriced place near here. Hope you’re not one of those 'just salad' people.”

You narrow your eyes. “I contain multitudes.”

He chuckles, hands you your drink. “Good. You’ll need them to keep up.”

You gesture toward the car. “So, this your day job? Picking up women and showing off your mysterious wealth?”

He laughs genuinely, this time. “Would you believe me if I said I’m just a humble middle manager?”

You give him a long, skeptical once-over. “Not a chance.”

He opens the passenger door for you again like it's a habit. Like he already knows you’ll get in and you do. Because lunch with Choi Seungcheol? Yeah. That sounds like danger worth walking toward twice.

You slide into the passenger seat, you glance at him as he rounds the front of the car and settles into the driver’s seat again, placing the food carefully between you.

“Okay, so what is it that you actually do?” you ask, peeling open the sandwich wrapper, the scent already unfairly good.

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Management. Mostly.”

“That’s vague as hell.”

“Intentionally,” he says, shooting you a sideways glance. “You’ll find I’m very good at withholding.”

You snort. “Is that your way of saying you’re emotionally constipated?”

“No, that’s me saying I like keeping some cards close.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, swallows. “Makes things interesting.”

You hum, eyes narrowing just a touch. “So you’re not gonna tell me what your job actually is?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Not yet. I kind of like that you don’t know.”

You blink. “Why?”

He turns toward you fully now, one arm draped over the back of your seat, eyes lazy and unreadable but focused—very focused—on you.

“Because if you knew,” he says slowly, “you might treat me differently.”

Something flickers behind his tone. Not arrogance. Something quieter. Something worn and for a second, you forget you're supposed to be teasing him.

You hold his gaze. “Then maybe I’d rather not know.”

He searches your face for a beat, like he’s waiting for you to flinch, waiting for that inevitable shift he’s used to seeing in people when they do find out. But you don’t.

You just take another bite of your sandwich and speak through your smirk.

“So, Mr. Vague Middle Manager, are all your dates catered and chauffeured?”

That draws a full laugh out of him—deep and unguarded.

“This a date now?” he throws back.

You shrug with exaggerated innocence. “You did bring food. And bribes. And you’re staring at me like you wanna ruin my whole week.”

He hums, low and amused, eyes dropping to your lips and staying there just a little too long.

“Trust me,” he murmurs, “if I wanted to ruin your week… you’d know.”

And just like that, your heart forgets how to beat steady.

Again.

The place he takes you to is tucked away on a quiet side street. nothing flashy, no fancy valet, no five-star pretensions. Just the warm, familiar smell of grilled meat and the faint sizzle of something delicious already hitting a hot pan.

You recognize it immediately. The kind of Korean spot that’s half comfort, half chaos. Worn wooden tables, metal chopsticks in tin cups, steam clouding the windows from hot broth and soju-fueled laughter. A place where people don’t come to impress, they come because it feels like home.

He pulls the door open for you, and the ahjumma behind the counter beams when she sees him.

“Seungcheol-ah!” she calls, already bustling toward the kitchen. “Same table?”

He nods, bowing slightly in greeting. 

You look at him sideways. “Regular, huh?”

He shrugs, the edge of his mouth twitching. “Told you. I like places where people don’t ask too many questions.”

She’s already setting the table as you both slide into the booth. The tabletop grill is already heating, meat—samgyeopsal, thick-cut and glistening—lands in the center with a satisfying thud.

He picks up the tongs like he’s done this a hundred times, which he probably has, and starts placing the pork belly on the grill, the sizzle instant and loud.

“Wow,” you say, smirking. “So this is how you impress women.”

“I’m feeding you, aren’t I?” he says, eyes focused on flipping the meat with practiced ease. “It’s a love language.”

“You do seem suspiciously fluent in this.”

“You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”

You lean your chin into your hand, watching him with lazy interest. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like watching you cook.”

He glances up, brow raised, but there’s a flicker of something else in his gaze now. That slow burn again.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Flirting with me at a restaurant I come to every week? You’re treading into girlfriend territory.”

You pop a piece of kimchi into your mouth and smile like it’s nothing. “Wouldn’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“Too late.”

There’s something light about this but underneath, there's a current neither of you are pretending to ignore anymore.

He wraps a piece of grilled meat in lettuce, adds a bit of ssamjang and garlic, then holds it out across the table.

“For you,” he says, voice soft, hand steady.

You pause. Then lean forward, take it straight from his fingers, lips brushing his skin on the way.

And the look in his eyes?

Yeah, lunch just got a lot more complicated.

You're mid-chew when the ahjumma comes back over, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes sharp and curious as she sets another bowl of pickled radish down on the table.

She turns to Seungcheol with a knowing grin. “You’re not with the usual troublemakers today. Who’s this lovely girl? You got married and didn’t tell us?”

You almost choke. Seungcheol freezes for a secondbut then, smooth as ever, he swallows, glances at you, and smiles like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Not married yet,” he says casually, sliding his chopsticks into the rice like punctuation. “But I’m working on it.”

Your eyes snap to him. Excuse me?

The ahjumma gasps, clearly delighted. “Aigoo! She’s pretty and patient—finally, a girl who can handle you! Yah, I prayed for this!”

You blink at her. Then at Seungcheol. He’s not even flinching. The man has the audacity to look pleased.

“Ah, he’s exaggerating,” you say quickly, giving the auntie a smile and trying not to combust. “We just—”

“—Make a good team,” Seungcheol finishes for you, eyes flicking to yours with a glint of mischief. “She keeps me in line.”

The ahjumma sighs dreamily, clearly buying the whole act. “Don’t let him go, sweet girl. He might act cool, but he needs someone who’ll yell at him when he forgets to eat. This one’s stubborn.”

You nod solemnly. “He does give off that energy.”

“Exactly!” she points at you like you’re a genius. “You understand already! Just marry him.”

Seungcheol coughs into his drink, but he’s grinning now, and you can’t help it—you’re laughing, eyes narrowed at him across the table.

The auntie bustles off, muttering about bringing more side dishes for the happy couple.

You lean in, tone low and pointed. “Married? Really?”

He shrugs, unabashed. “What? You handled it like a pro. I’m impressed.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, sliding another wrap your way, “you’re still here.”

You hate how easy it is to smile at him. Hate it even more that he’s smiling too—like he likes whatever this is just as much as you do.

The ride back to your office is quieter, he pulls up in front of your building, shifts the car into park, and glances over at you.

You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You make it sound like I’m not planning on doing it again.”

You grin, leaning just a little closer. “Oh? Planning on making a habit out of me?”

His smirk is there, but softer now. “Thinking about it.”

You hop out before you say something stupid. Before he says something worse. But before you can shut the door, he leans across the console and says, quieter:

“Text me when you get up there. Just so I know you made it.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Yes, Dad.”

He raises a brow. “You really want to test that boundary this early?”

You shut the door before your brain melts and give him a mock salute through the window.

By the time Seungcheol pulls into the garage under his own office building, he’s five minutes behind schedule and vaguely irritated at how fast traffic moved now that he was in a rush.

He checks his phone in the elevator: one message from you.

You: Alive. Fed. Still thinking about that ssam you made. 8/10.

He grins to himself just as the elevator dings open on his floor. Unfortunately, his mood immediately sours when he sees who’s already in the conference room, arms folded, feet on the table like he owns the place.

Jeonghan.

The second Seungcheol steps through the door, Jeonghan looks at his watch dramatically.

“Five minutes late. How domestic of you.”

“Save it,” Seungcheol mutters, dropping into the seat across from him.

Jeonghan smirks like he’s been waiting for this moment. “So? Was it worth it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. You’re flushed, your hair’s a little messy, and for once, you didn’t glare at anyone” Jeonghan taps his fingers against the table. “You’re basically glowing.”

Seungcheol sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “Can we just get through this meeting?”

“Oh, we will,” Jeonghan says brightly. “But not before you tell me if she’s single, if she has friends, and if your sudden boyfriend energy is gonna affect this quarter’s performance.”

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Absolutely.”

The days blur together. You two still talk, in between meetings and his hectic schedule he would always find some time for you. When he’s free he’ll go drive to you and grab lunch, wherever you want or sometimes a surprise.

It’s just past six when Seungcheol finally leans back in his chair, eyes dragging away from the spreadsheet he’s barely processed for the last fifteen minutes.

His fingers hover over his phone for a second before he gives in to the impulse—simple and direct.

Seungcheol: You free for dinner?

You:Yes. Come rescue me.

He smirks, already pushing back from his desk. Jacket on. Sleeves rolled. A very quiet kind of urgency in his steps.

On your end, the timing couldn’t be more perfect. Your coworkers have been hovering at your desk all afternoon, buzzing about Friday drinks like it’s the social event of the year. They’re already lining up shots in their heads, plotting karaoke and potential chaos.

“You coming, right?” one of them asks, nudging your elbow. “C’mon, you always dip. Just one night.”

You smile politely, already trying to edge away. “I actually have plans—”

“With who?” another cuts in, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been glowing all week.”

You blink. “What is it with people and this glowing thing?”

They groan. “So you do have a date. Who is he?”

Before you can lie—or dodge, or disappear into thin air—your phone buzzes again.

Seungcheol: Be there in twenty. What kind of rescue we talking? Fire escape or just dramatic entrance?

You bite your lip to suppress the grin that tries to surface.

“Just someone picking me up,” you say vaguely, grabbing your bag and ignoring the chorus of curious oohs that follow.

“You’re no fun,” one of them whines as you make your escape. “At least send us a picture! We won’t believe he exists!”

You wave behind you. “Exactly why I’m not sending one.”

They groan louder, but you’re already walking toward the elevator, pulse picking up just a little. You don’t know what this is with him yet—not really. But it’s enough to have you hoping the next twenty minutes pass just fast enough.

You make it out of the building just as the sun is dipping behind the city skyline, casting everything in that dusky golden glow that feels almost too cinematic for real life. As if on cue, his car pulls up. 

The passenger window rolls down, and there he is, arm resting on the wheel, watching you with that lazy, low-key amused smile that somehow makes your heart skip like it’s late for something.

“You always look like you just walked out of a movie,” you say as you slide in, tossing your bag at your feet.

He glances over, that grin growing as he shifts the car into drive. “Funny. I was just thinking the same about you.”

You shake your head, suppressing a smile. “Flattery before food? Risky move.”

“Not flattery,” he says, glancing at you as he pulls into traffic. “Observation. You look like you needed a getaway.”

You sigh dramatically, letting your head thud against the seat. “You have no idea. They were trying to hold me hostage for soju and noraebang.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel. “I’d pay to see that.”

“You would,” you mutter. “Anyway, thanks for the timely rescue.”

“Anytime,” he says, tone quiet but sincere.

For a moment, you both fall into comfortable silence, the hum of the road filling the space. It’s not awkward. If anything, it’s the kind of quiet that only settles when someone’s presence feels... easy.

“Where are we going?” you ask after a while, glancing at him.

He tilts his head, lips tugging upward. “Somewhere that serves food hot, drinks cold, and lets me look at you across the table without interruption.”

You arch a brow. “Is that your version of romantic?”

“No,” he says. “That’s my version of honest.”

Your stomach does that annoying little flutter again. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but his hand briefly brushes your knee in a turn—accidental, maybe—but he doesn’t pull away too quickly.

The drive takes longer this time, farther out from the noise of downtown, the streets growing quieter, narrower.

You glance over at him. “You’ve got a thing for hidden spots, huh?”

“I don’t like crowds,” he says simply. “And I like places that let me hear you when you talk.”

You pause, caught off guard by the casual weight of it. “You’re smooth.”

“I’m observant,” he corrects, pulling into a tiny gravel lot tucked away

You step out and take in the place. No line. No obvious branding. Just the kind of restaurant people guard like a secret.

“This place looks like it has stories,” you murmur, tucking your hands into your coat.

“It does,” he says, rounding the car to walk beside you. “Mostly about good food. And about the owner being mildly terrifying if you show up drunk and disrespectful.”

You laugh, and he pulls the door open for you, holding it until you step inside.

It’s warm. Cozy. The scent of doenjang jjigae and grilled mackerel hangs in the air. The lights are soft, yellow, casting everything in that old-kitchen comfort glow. You’re seated in the farthest corner, a little nook with floor cushions and a small table already set with water, chopsticks, and folded linen napkins. The privacy of it feels intentional.

The owner, a silver-haired woman in a worn apron, comes over with barely a word, just a sharp eye and a small smile when she sees Seungcheol.

“You brought someone,” she says, voice raspy but kind. “She’s pretty. And awake, unlike the last idiot your friend brought.”

Seungcheol winces. “That was Mingyu.”

She waves him off, already handing you both menus like she’s decided you’re staying regardless.

You stifle a laugh. “Do all your regular spots come with built-in character witnesses?”

“Only the good ones,” he replies, flipping open the menu. “What’re you in the mood for?”

You pretend to study the list, but really, you’re watching the way he sits here—comfortable, known, but still somehow wrapped in mystery. Like there’s more under the surface that he only lets people see in pieces.

“You choose,” you say, passing your menu across the table. “You haven’t steered me wrong yet.”

He takes it with a slow smile. “Dangerous trust.”

“You like that about me,” you say without missing a beat.

His eyes meet yours, steady and sure.

“I do.”

And the way he says it?

It isn’t playful. Isn’t light. It lands somewhere between a promise and a warning.

And suddenly, the quiet between you feels like something else entirely.

He closes the menu without looking at it for too long, then says something casual to the owner, his tone respectful but familiar. She gives you one last look (a little assessing, a little approving) before disappearing toward the kitchen with a short nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “You didn’t even ask what I wanted.”

He leans back, completely unbothered. “I did.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. You said, ‘you choose.’ That’s verbal consent. Witnessed and documented.”

You snort. “Okay, lawyer.”

He grins. “You’ll thank me in a few minutes.”

And you do. Because when the food comes, it’s thin wheat noodles in a light broth, topped with julienned vegetables, sliced egg, seaweed, and just a hint of sesame oil. The aroma alone makes your eyes widen.

Your inner monologue might as well be standing on a table, screaming. He ordered noodles. My weakness. My love language. My eternal home.

“Are you a mind reader?” you ask, unable to hide your excitement as you pick up your chopsticks.

“I had a hunch,” he says, watching you with mild amusement as you practically dive in. “You look like someone who’d fight for the last noodle in a pot.”

You pause with your chopsticks halfway to your mouth. “Is that a compliment or a psychological profile?”

“Depends.” He’s smiling, elbow propped lazily on the table, eyes fixed on you. “Are you the type to share your noodles, or hoard them?”

You pretend to consider it, chewing thoughtfully. “Depends on who’s asking.”

He laughs, low and full. The kind that catches in your chest.

The food is simple, warm, deeply comforting. Not because of the food, exactly. But because of who’s sitting across from you. And how easy he makes all of this feel.

And when he steals one of your noodles just to prove a point? You let him.

As you both finish the last of the broth, the warm glow of the restaurant wrapping around you like a lazy blanket, you lean back on your cushion and stretch your legs under the table, nudging his knee with your foot.

You glance at the time on your phone and raise a brow. “It’s not even eight,” you say, mock-disbelief in your voice. “Don’t tell me you’re the type to go to bed right after dinner. Old-man hours already?”

“What, you think I’m boring?”

You shrug. “I mean… I don’t know. The cozy dinner. The secret spot. The soft lighting. This has bedtime-by-nine written all over it.”

“You’re lucky I like you,” he mutters, grabbing the check before you can even reach for your wallet.

You blink. “Wait. What was that?”

“I said,” he repeats, standing smoothly and ignoring your faux-innocent stare, “you’re lucky I like you.”

“Bold assumption,” you say, following him toward the door. “You don’t know me like that.”

He holds the door open, leaning into the frame as you step past him. “You say that, but you’re not running away.”

You pause outside, cold air kissing your skin as you glance up at him.

“I’d say that depends,” you murmur, lifting your chin slightly. “Are you planning to make the night more interesting or tuck me in with warm milk and a bedtime story?”

“I was thinking…” he steps a little closer, voice dipping, “maybe something in between.”

Your pulse flickers fast. Intrigued.

“So,” you say, eyes narrowing. “What now?”

He glances toward the car, then back at you. “Let’s drive.”

“That’s it? Just a drive?”

He shrugs. “You scared I’m secretly boring?”

You smile, teeth catching your bottom lip as you shake your head. “No. I’m scared you’re not.”

The city peels away behind you, all neon and noise in the rearview, replaced by wider roads and quieter corners. You glance over at him as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gearshift. 

"You always drive like this?" you ask, the wind catching in your voice just slightly.

He glances over, curious. “Like what?”

“Like you're in a movie. Slow, steady. No destination, just vibes.”

His mouth tugs into that crooked half-smile. “Wouldn’t be the worst scene to be in.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin gives you away. “You're really running with this leading-man energy, huh?”

“You’re the one who asked me to rescue you. I’m just sticking to the role.”

"Right. So where's the dramatic monologue about how you're secretly emotionally unavailable but somehow willing to change only for me?"

“That’s coming in act three,” he says smoothly. “Right after the almost-kiss and right before I mess it all up.”

You’re laughing now, really laughing, and when you glance at him again, he’s not even pretending not to stare.

He clears his throat. “There’s a lookout just up ahead. View’s nice this time of night.”

“Another hidden spot?”

“You doubting my taste now?”

“Never. Just making sure you’re not lulling me into a false sense of security before you reveal you are, in fact, a very charming serial killer.”

He chuckles under his breath. “If I was, you wouldn’t’ve made it past the noodles.”

You hum. “Fair point. Still. You are dangerously smooth.”

“I could say the same about you.”

That brings a new kind of quiet. One with heat underneath it.

By the time he pulls up to the lookout you’re not sure whether you’re more captivated by the view outside, or the one inside the car.

He kills the engine but makes no move to get out. Neither do you.

“So,” he says after a beat, voice a little lower. “Still think I’m putting you to bed before nine?”

You smirk, turning just slightly toward him. “We’re well past bedtime, Cheol.”

And somehow, that feels like the most dangerous thing you’ve said all night. He huffs a short laugh through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement as he shifts to face you more fully in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

You tilt your head, feigning casual. “Just doing my due diligence,” you say, poking at the corner of the console with your nail. “Before this gets… you know. Interesting. You don’t have kids right? Or a wife waiting at home something like that”

He raises a brow, resting his arm against the back of your seat. “Interesting, huh?”

He doesn’t deny it. Just lets that lazy grin spread as he lets his gaze settle on you—like he’s trying to read between your words and the space between your knees brushing his.

“No wife,” he says finally. “No kids. No secrets.”

You blink. “Wow. A full set.”

He leans in just a little, voice lower now. “Disappointed?”

You laugh, the sound soft, breathless. “Relieved, actually. I’d hate to be a plot twist in someone else’s drama.”

“No,” he murmurs. “If anything, you feel like the beginning of something.”

You freeze just for a second.

“Are you always like this? Charming, smooth-talking, devastatingly good at timing?”

His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear, slow and deliberate. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Guess I’ll need more data.”

He laughs again—quiet, warm—and lets the moment linger in that hazy space between restraint and intent. Outside, the city glows. But in here, it’s just the two of you, suspended in that delicious kind of silence where everything feels possible.

You swallow lightly. “So… how much data are we talking? One night? Two? A whole series?”

His smile curves, lazy and full of mischief. “Are you asking how many dates it takes before I kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you say, voice just above a whisper. 

“Depends how good the data is.” He leans in a little, not touching you yet but close enough. His voice dips, rough around the edges in that way that sends a shiver up your spine.

Your breath catches, pulse ticking a little faster, but you don’t lean away. If anything, you meet him halfway.

You exhale slowly, watching his eyes flick down to your mouth.

“You’re really not going to kiss me, are you?” you ask, a little breathless now.

He smirks, gaze lifting back to yours.

“I will,” he says. “But not because it’s expected.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

“Then why?”

He tilts his head, thumb brushing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Because the second I do… it stops being light and easy. And I think we both know it.”

You sit there for a second, stunned into silence—because he’s not wrong. There’s a weight to this that neither of you are quite ready to name, but it’s there. Unspoken, humming like the low thrum of electricity before a storm.

So instead, you nod—slow, almost amused.

“You’re dangerous, Choi Seungcheol.”

He leans back just slightly, watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.

“And you’re trouble.”

You smile.

“So what now?”

He reaches for the gear shift, gaze still lingering on you.

“Now,” he says, “I drive you home before we both make very bad, very good decisions.”

And you don’t argue.

But as he pulls away from the lookout, your fingers resting dangerously close to his on the center console, you get the feeling this isn’t the end of the night.

It’s just the prelude.

=

The sky is painfully clear, bright blue with not a cloud in sight and the sun has no business being this aggressive before noon.

Jeonghan’s halfway through lining up his swing when he notices it. The stillness. The quiet hum of something off.

He looks over and nearly misses his shot entirely.

“Okay,” he mutters, club dangling from one hand as he turns toward Joshua. “Am I hallucinating or is Seungcheol smiling at his phone?”

Joshua, already sipping on an iced americano and way too comfortable in his obnoxiously pastel golf attire, raises an eyebrow and glances over at their friend, who’s sitting on the edge of the golf cart with his phone in hand, thumb tapping out something quick.

And yeah. He's definitely smiling. Not smirking. Not plotting someone’s downfall.

Actually, smiling.

Joshua leans closer, squinting dramatically. “Are we about to die? Should I call my mom?”

“Maybe he’s reading memes,” Jeonghan says, though his voice lacks conviction.

“Right,” Joshua snorts. “Because Seungcheol totally wakes up and chooses cat videos.”

They both watch him a beat longer.

Seungcheol finally glances up, catching their stares. “What?”

Joshua holds his drink up like it’s a toast. “Just wondering if we need to evacuate Seoul. You good, buddy?”

Jeonghan crosses his arms. “You’re smiling, Cheol. Like… full teeth. Sunshine smile. Are you in pain? Blink twice if it’s a hostage situation.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but the corners of his mouth don’t drop. If anything, they twitch higher when his phone buzzes again and he types out a quick reply before tucking it away in his pocket.

“Y’all are dramatic.”

“Oh no no,” Jeonghan says, hopping into the cart. “You don’t get to be mysterious. Who is she?”

“There’s no she.”

“Liar. You haven’t looked this happy since Mingyu fell into that koi pond.”

Joshua hums, thoughtful. “It’s the girl from the bar, isn’t it?”

Seungcheol doesn't answer which is an answer in itself.

Jeonghan squints. “Wait, you’re still talking to her? Damn. I thought that was just a one-night distraction.”

Seungcheol shrugs, grabbing his club and walking toward the next hole. “Maybe I like being distracted.”

Joshua raises his brows. “He’s whipped.”

“Absolutely whipped,” Jeonghan echoes, grinning like he’s already plotting how to make this his new favorite topic of conversation.

The reason for that rare, suspiciously soft smile on Seungcheol’s face? Easy.

It’s sitting in his phone, timestamped at 8:02 a.m. 

A photo of your desk, where a bouquet of creamy white ranunculus and pale blush roses now sits in the center, like it owns the place. A handwritten note tucked between the blooms simply reads:

Thanks for keeping me up past my bedtime. - CSC

Your caption underneath the photo had been equally unfair.

You: You smooth bastard. You knew I liked flowers, didn’t you?

He hadn’t, actually but he guessed. Just like the noodles. And the way your voice lit up over the phone when he mentioned he had a surprise coming. 

It was a hunch, like everything else about you so far, a series of guesses that kept turning out more right than he probably deserved.

You: Do I have to say thank you over lunch or dinner? Because I can clear my schedule.

Hence: the smile.

The same one he’s fighting right now, out on the golf course, while Jeonghan interrogates him like a nosy mother with a magnifying glass.

“She thanked me,” Seungcheol says finally, smirking to himself as he adjusts his grip on the club.

Joshua frowns. “For what?”

He doesn’t even look up as he swings. “For the flowers I sent this morning.”

There’s a pause.

“Flowers?” Jeonghan yells from the cart. “Oh, we’re officially in rom-com territory now.”

Joshua leans on his driver. “You used to make fun of me for that. Remember back then when I got my girlfriend flowers after two weeks and you called me a simp with no spine?”

“I was right. You were insufferable,” Seungcheol replies easily. “I, on the other hand, am charming.”

Jeonghan snorts. “You sent ranunculus, didn’t you?”

That actually gets Seungcheol to glance over, brow raised. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” Jeonghan deadpans. “And because you’re literally the only person I know who flirts with florals like it’s a love letter.”

He shrugs, but the smug look doesn’t leave his face.

“She liked them.”

And really, that’s all he needs today. Not the perfect swing, not a quiet weekend, not even an answer to whatever it is that's slowly, surely happening between you and him.

You’re barefoot, hair up in a loose bun, sleeves shoved past your elbows, and a cleaning rag hanging off your shoulder like a badge of honor. There's a half-folded pile of laundry on the couch, your favorite playlist echoing from the kitchen speaker, and the scent of lemon cleaner still lingers in the air.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not exactly. Okay, maybe a little.

But still, when the doorbell rings, you freeze mid-wipe, glancing toward the door like it might be another delivery.

Flowers again?

You make your way over, still patting your hands dry on your pajama shorts, and swing the door open without much thought.

And your heart absolutely stutters.

Because standing there isn’t a courier. Or a stranger.

It’s him.

Choi Seungcheol, dressed down in jeans, a dark tee, and that unfairly calm expression that somehow looks even better in daylight. One hand casually stuffed in his pocket, the other holding up a familiar-looking takeout bag.

“You said lunch or dinner,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Thought I’d split the difference.”

You blink, stunned and slightly underdressed for this plot twist. “You—wait, you’re here?”

He lifts the bag slightly. “Samgyeopsal dosirak. And something sweet because I thought you might need dessert after all that dusting.”

You let out a soft, surprised laugh, stepping back instinctively to let him in. “You could’ve texted.”

“I could’ve,” he agrees, stepping past the threshold, eyes flicking to the mess of throw pillows and laundry and general weekend chaos. “But I figured showing up gets me bonus points.”

“Bold move,” you say, shutting the door behind him.

He shrugs, setting the bag down on your kitchen counter. “You already called me smooth this morning. Might as well live up to it.”

You watch him for a moment, slightly in awe—and slightly mortified you’re wearing an old t-shirt and fuzzy socks while he looks like that.

“Sorry for the mess,” you mutter, grabbing a few stray pieces of laundry and shoving them toward a basket.

Seungcheol just leans against your counter, watching you with that amused, unreadable expression.

“Relax,” he says. “I kind of like seeing you like this.”

You pause mid-fold. “Like what? Disheveled and unprepared?”

“Comfortable,” he corrects. “Like yourself.”

You clear your throat and gesture to the bag. “Well… you coming all this way with food means you’re definitely staying to eat, right?”

He grins. “Only if you sit next to me this time.”

“Scandalous,” you murmur, already pulling out plates. “We’ll have to keep the blinds shut. Can’t let the neighbors catch me fraternizing with the flower guy.”

He lets out a low laugh as he moves to help, and just like that, the space between you feels smaller again.

You slide the plates across the counter toward him, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his as you settle into the rhythm of unpacking the food. The scent of grilled meat, garlic, and rice fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the easy comfort of it.

“How was your morning?”

He leans back a little against your counter, breaking apart his chopsticks slowly, like he has time—like he’s in no rush at all.

“Golf,” he says. “Jeonghan roped me into it. He and Joshua have this bet going about who’ll finally beat me. Spoiler: they didn’t.”

You snort softly. “Let me guess. You smiled once and they thought something was wrong?”

He looks up at you, surprised, then chuckles. “Actually, yeah. Jeonghan thought the world was ending.”

“Because you were texting me?”

His gaze lingers on you for just a beat too long.

“Maybe.”

You look away then, biting back the way your heart trips at the casual weight of his honesty.

You try to keep your voice light. “You like golf?”

“I like the quiet,” he says. “And the way it slows everything down. Plus, it's one of the few times the guys don't expect me to be in CEO mode.”

You blink. “Wait—CEO mode?”

His smile turns crooked, caught between smug and sheepish. “You didn’t know?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “You told me you work in management!”

“I do,” he says innocently. “Technically.”

You gape at him. “You're ridiculous.”

“And you're adorable when you're annoyed,” he replies, grinning as he sets the table with casual precision.

You shake your head, still reeling, still smiling despite yourself.

“Fine,” you say, settling down beside him. “You can be mysterious and charming and maddening later. Right now, just tell me more about your morning. What else happened?”

And he does. He tells you about the way Joshua nearly ran over Jeonghan’s foot with the golf cart. How the coffee at the clubhouse was abysmal. How the sun was too bright but the breeze made up for it. And you listen like it’s the most interesting story you’ve ever heard.

You finish the last few bites of your meal, chopsticks tapping against the empty container as you sit back with a satisfied sigh.

“So,” you say, stretching slightly, “since you’re already here, Mr. CEO—”

His brow arches, amused. “Oh, we’re using titles now?”

You ignore that smug little curve of his mouth. “Since you're already so generously spending time with a commoner like me, mind helping with a few things?”

He eyes you, mock suspicion in his gaze. “Define few.”

You push off the counter and gesture for him to follow you down the short hallway.

“It’s really just one thing. I’ve been putting it off because I like having a functional spine.”

You stop in front of your bedroom door, already bracing yourself for the impending chaos he’s about to witness. With a deep breath, you push it open and point to the far corner of the room.

“That,” you say flatly, “has not moved since I moved in. It’s heavier than it looks and it hates me.”

Seungcheol steps in behind you, eyes landing on the wide, solid wood dresser wedged awkwardly against the wall. He whistles low.

“Yeah, okay. That thing looks like it weighs more than I do.”

You cross your arms, already grinning. “Don’t be dramatic. I just need it shifted a little to the left so I can finally plug in the lamp I’ve had sitting on the floor”

“And you were just gonna… try to do this alone?”

“I tried. Got maybe an inch before I considered calling emergency services.”

He laughs, shaking his head, already flexing his fingers like he’s warming up. “Alright, move aside. Let me show you what those gym memberships are actually good for.”

You step back, arms folded, watching as he tests the weight, then—with alarming ease—shifts the dresser a few inches left, then a bit more, until it’s perfectly centered beneath the window.

“That’s it? That was like, two seconds.”

He turns, feigning a wipe of imaginary sweat from his brow. “You’re welcome, peasant.”

You scoff. “Okay, that’s the last time I compliment your arms.”

The sunlight hits him just right, painting golden streaks across his face and forearms, and for a second, the whole room feels brighter. Lighter.

“You’re trouble,” you murmur, half to yourself.

He catches it anyway, walking back over until he’s standing in front of you again, too close in that now-familiar, deliberate way.

“And you keep inviting me over,” he says, voice low and warm. “What does that make you?”

“Worse than I thought, apparently.”

He grins. “Good.”

And just like that—helping you move a dresser somehow becomes its own kind of intimacy. Domestic. Quiet. Dangerous in all the best, slow-burning ways.

Then something catches his eyes on something behind your desk. He drifts toward it, more curious than anything, his gaze pulled by the small burst of color on the wall.

It’s a collage of sorts, not perfectly arranged, but it has that personal, lived-in charm. Polaroids with slightly smudged ink dates along the bottom, movie tickets curled at the corners, scribbled notes, travel stubs, even a pressed flower or two. 

A few things are clearly sentimental, a few probably meaningless to anyone but you.

But it’s the tiny folded receipt pinned neatly in the corner that catches his eye. Barely noticeable, until he sees the logo.

The bar.

He steps closer, mouth quirking slightly. “You kept this?”

You glance over from where you're fluffing the pillow he nearly flattened earlier. “Hm?”

He taps the pinned slip, and your eyes flick toward it.

“Oh.” You laugh softly, walking over to stand beside him. “Yeah. It felt... significant, I guess. A good story.”

“You keep a lot of stories, huh?” he asks, gesturing to the wall.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “I like remembering things. Even the dumb ones. Even the weird little in-between moments. They make everything feel more real.”

“Where’s the part where you almost got kissed by a stranger pretending to be your boyfriend?”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “You’re lucky I didn’t choose someone taller.”

“I’m lucky you chose me at all,” he says, quiet but clear, not teasing.

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full—warm. Like the pause after a really good line in a movie, one that doesn’t need music or movement to make it matter.

You glance back at the wall, at the receipt, the night that started all of this.

“Guess that night’s part of the wall now,” you murmur. “Part of the story.”

His eyes flick back to you, amused. “So you’re the sentimental type.”

You raise a brow, lips twitching. “Why? That not fit into your little criteria?”

Seungcheol tilts his head slightly, eyes scanning you in that quietly intense way that always makes you feel like you’re being read instead of looked at. His voice drops, warm and smooth.

“I don’t think I ever had a real list.”

You scoff lightly. “Please. Everyone has a list.”

He grins. “Fine. Maybe I thought I’d go for someone less likely to keep bar receipts and concert stubs like museum exhibits.”

You feign offense. “Wow. So judgmental for someone who literally sent me florals with emotional implications.”

“That was strategic,” he deadpans.

“Mm-hmm. And I’m sure flirting with me in front of your friends was all part of some master CEO plan too.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies you for a long moment, something unreadable behind that steady gaze.

From then on, the flowers keep coming. Not every day but often enough that it’s clear there’s a pattern. An intention.

Sometimes it’s a soft arrangement of lilies and baby’s breath that arrives late in the morning with a note scrawled in that clean, all-too-neat handwriting: Don’t skip lunch today.

Other days it’s bold peonies or deep red ranunculus, tucked into a glass vase that seems to match your desk without trying. 

One morning it’s a single sunflower with a post-it: Because you were complaining about deadlines. Sun’s out now.

And in between the deliveries, there are lunches—casual, spontaneous. A text at 11:32 a.m.: You free? I’m craving something spicy.

Or dinner on the way home from work, when you say you’re too tired to cook and he offers takeout. He picks you up like it’s routine, like the two of you have been doing this for years.

He holds doors open, lets you steal bites off his plate, keeps track of which side of the booth you like to sit on. He remembers you hate soggy fries and that you get cranky when you skip breakfast.  And when your wrist started aching from too much typing, a small ergonomic mouse showed up at your office two days later. No note. No message. Just Seungcheol, a few hours later at dinner, asking casually, You get that thing I sent? Like he hadn’t just studied your habits like they were blueprints.

One night, you tease him. “You always feed people this well when you’re trying to win them over?”

He glances at you across the table, eyes warm, steady.

“No,” he says. “Just you.”

And it’s not a confession. Not really but your heart answers like it is. He grins at that—slow and lazy, like he’s been waiting for you to say it.

“Careful now,” you say, voice light, but your eyes don’t leave his, “I might get used to being spoiled.”

He leans back in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the booth, and he gives you that look

“And what exactly would be the downside of that?”

You hum, pretending to consider it, swirling the last of your drink with your straw. “Mm, I don’t know. Expectations. Disappointment. Sudden withdrawal of dumpling privileges.”

He chuckles, low and smooth. “I don’t take things back once I give them.”

You glance at him sideways, the corner of your mouth lifting. “Sounds like a threat.”

He tilts his head, his smile softening. “Sounds like a promise.”

For a second, the noise of the restaurant fades behind the weight of those words—like the hum of conversation, the clink of plates, even the music playing overhead all quiet just enough to make space for the way he’s looking at you.

You feel it, the shift. Again.

And you could say something sarcastic, you could push it away with another joke—but you don’t. Instead, you let the moment hang there, rich and charged.

“You keep this up,” you murmur, “and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink.

“Good,” he says. “That’s the idea.”

You swirl your drink once more, watching the ice clink softly against the glass before glancing up at him with a sly tilt to your head.

“So…” you start, casual—too casual. “How many more dinners like this before the kiss?”

Seungcheol’s fingers pause mid-reach for his glass, his eyes lifting to yours, slow and deliberate. There’s that smirk again—just a shade more dangerous now, edged with the kind of tension you’ve both been dancing around for days.

He leans in a little, arms resting on the table, and his voice drops low. “You keeping count?”

You shrug, the corner of your mouth twitching. “I’m just saying… that first night? You played the part really well. Had me thinking you were the type to go in for the dramatic, sweep-her-off-her-feet, movie-scene kiss.”

“I remember,” he says. “You were looking at me like you were waiting for it.”

Your laugh is soft, quiet. “Maybe I was.”

“So what number is this then? Dinner four? Five? Let’s call it four and a half. One of those was technically just noodles and complaining about work.”

“So what you’re saying is… I’m close.” You lift your glass to your lips, hiding your grin behind the rim. 

“Closer than you think. Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

And you believe him. God help you, you really do.

“You’re really making me wait for this kiss, huh?”

Seungcheol’s lips part, not in surprise exactly, but like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so directly. His gaze drops to your mouth for the briefest second, and it’s subtlebut enough that your heart skips once, hard.

He exhales, and the corner of his mouth lifts like he’s trying not to let it turn into a full smile. “I told you,” he murmurs, “I make things worth it.”

“Yeah, but now I’m starting to think you like the anticipation too much.”

“I do,” he says without missing a beat. “But I like your reaction more.”

Your brows lift. “My reaction?”

“The way you look at me,” he says, quietly now, eyes not wavering. “The way you lean in just a little closer when you think I might—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Just lets it hang there between you, heavy and electric.

“You’re dangerous,” you whisper. Your heart’s hammering now, a rhythm too loud to ignore, and still he doesn’t close the distance. 

“You’re really not going to kiss me,” you say, half a laugh, half a dare.

He tilts his head slightly, like he’s deciding something. Then—

“I will,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “But not here.”

Your breath catches. “Why not?”

His eyes flick to the restaurant around you. “Because when I finally do, I’m not sharing it with a room full of strangers.”

And just like that, your skin is flushed, your chest tight, and you’re no longer thinking about how long it’s been—but how close you are now. How much more you want.

The moment you step out into the night, the cool air brushing against your skin like a sigh, his hand finds yours. No hesitation. No theatrics. Just warm fingers threading through yours like they’ve done it a thousand times.

You glance at him, heart kicking once against your ribs.

He doesn’t look over. Doesn’t need to. His grip is steady, his stride unhurried, and there’s something about the way he holds you—like it’s not even a decision anymore. Just instinct.

When you reach the car, he lets go only to open the door for you. Still without a word. Still with that same quiet, unrushed certainty. He waits until you’re seated, until the seatbelt clicks, before he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s seat beside you.

No questions.

No where to?

He starts the engine and pulls out into the street like he already knows. Because he does. He’s memorized your route home—left turns, shortcut alleys, that one spot where traffic always sucks near the crosswalk.

And for a moment, you sit in the silence of the ride, his hand resting on the gearshift, the lights of the city playing soft across his profile.

You lean your head against the seat, watching him through the slow hum of passing streetlights. “You’re a little scary when you’re this confident.”

“I’m always this confident,” he murmurs, eyes forward, that same grin pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You laugh under your breath. “Cocky.”

He doesn’t deny it. But when he reaches over at the next red light, brushing his thumb across the back of your hand, there’s a softness in it—something that betrays the calm exterior. Something that says: I’m not rushing. But I’m sure.

And it steals your breath more than any kiss might’ve.

=

Seungcheol’s already at his desk when Jeonghan strolls into his office unannounced, like he owns the place. He’s got that look on his face too. mischief bubbling just beneath the surface, like he’s been waiting for this all morning.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up from his laptop. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything yet,” Jeonghan counters, already dropping into one of the chairs across from the desk, far too comfortable for someone who doesn’t technically work in this building.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Jeonghan grins. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll start. One: she completely held her own last night. Didn’t flinch once when Mingyu started rapid-ordering food like he was feeding an army.”

Recalling last night when Seungcheol took you with him for drinks out with the guys. Surprising everyone.

“She’s impressive,” Seungcheol says simply, and this time he does glance up, barely trying to hide the small, proud smile tugging at his mouth.

Jeonghan points. “That. That smile. That’s what I came here for. I knew you were gone the moment she toasted Soonyoung under the table.”

Seungcheol just leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. “He challenged her. It’s on him.”

“And she won. You know what that means? She’s one of us now. And more importantly…” Jeonghan leans in dramatically. “You’re so in it, man.”

“I drove her home,” Seungcheol says casually, but the softness in his voice betrays him.

Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “And?”

“And nothing.”

Jeonghan groans. “You’re seriously dragging this out? You're the most controlled man I know, and even I was rooting for a kiss.”

Seungcheol just smirks. “Told her I’d kiss her when she’s sober.”

Jeonghan stares. Then throws his head back with a groan. “You’re hopeless. Ridiculously swoony and hopeless.”

“I like her,” Seungcheol says, tone low and honest.

And that—that—makes Jeonghan pause. His teasing drops, just for a second. Because when Seungcheol says it like that, not as a joke or a half-guarded confession, but as a fact... it’s real.

He leans back, quieter now. “Yeah. I know you do.”

There’s a beat of silence between them before Jeonghan can’t help himself. “Still. If this ends in wedding bells, I’m officiating. Or, at the very least, giving the toast.”

Seungcheol sighs, already regretting letting him in.

Jeonghan grins again. “Don’t worry. I’ll start writing my speech.”

=

The city blurs past the windows in a soft hum of motion, headlights washing warm streaks of gold across your skin as you talk—casually, openly, like you always do now.

You’re curled in the passenger seat with your legs tucked under you, your shoes kicked off and your fingers fidgeting absently with the soft edge of the blanket draped over your lap. His blanket. The one he insisted on leaving in the car after you shivered just once during a late drive home.

Seungcheol doesn’t say much as you talk, but he glances over often—tiny flickers of attention between the road and you, like he’s memorizing pieces of the moment to revisit later. His left hand rests on the steering wheel, right one easy on the gear shift, the movement of his thumb mirroring the rhythm of your voice. Calm. Comforting.

You’re halfway through rambling about a disaster of a meeting you had that morning when your train of thought stutters.

“Oh,” you say, almost too quickly. “I—actually. Meant to ask you something.”

He hums, a lazy sound that rumbles in his chest. “Yeah?”

You hesitate. Just a second too long. He picks up on it immediately, his gaze flickering your way. 

You’re looking down now, fiddling with the corner of the blanket, suddenly hyperaware of the lip gloss you left in his cup holder and the extra hair tie wrapped around his rearview mirror. There are little bits of you all over his car now. Just like there are little bits of him scattered across your days. 

“So…” you start, trying for casual, but it comes out a little breathy. “There’s this wedding. In a couple weeks. One of my friends from college.”

You chance a glance at him. He’s still driving, still calm, but his head tilts slightly. Listening.

“I kind of... need a plus one,” you go on. “Well, I don’t need one, technically, but everyone’s bringing someone, and—” You bite your lip, nerves buzzing. “I just thought maybe… if you’re free, you could come? With me.”

“You want me to go with you?” he asks, voice low, like he’s checking—really checking—that he heard right.

You nod, trying to keep your voice light, even as your heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels. “Yeah. I mean, you’d probably hate it. Lots of mingling. Dancing. Champagne. Small talk with strangers.”

He smiles a little. “And you want me to be your date.”

You blink at him. “Well… yeah.”

The light turns green. He doesn’t move. Not yet. His eyes are on you, steady and searching, and the longer he looks, the more you feel exposed—in a good way. In a real way.

“I’ll go,” he says finally, with that soft certainty that always makes your chest ache. “Of course I’ll go.”

Your breath whooshes out of you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, eyes on the road now as the car starts moving again. “But only if I get to keep pretending I’m your boyfriend.”

You laugh, startled by how easy he makes it feel, how warm your chest goes at his words. “Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Pretending?”

His grip on the steering wheel shifts. “You tell me.”

And you don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know but because the answer sits somewhere in the middle of your ribs, nestled against every glance, every ride home, every shoulder kiss and every moment he’s chosen to stay.

When you reach your building, he parks without asking for directions. Of course he does. He knows the way by heart now.

As you’re getting out, he catches your wrist gently. “Text me the details,” he says, voice lower now, more serious. “What time. What to wear.”

You nod, and your throat’s a little tight. “Okay.”

It’s one of those perfect afternoons. the kind that hangs suspended between spring and summer, warm without being too hot, a breeze just light enough to make your dress flutter as you wait outside your building.

You’re not waiting long.

His car pulls up exactly on time, and you catch sight of him behind the wheel through the windshield—dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that looks suspiciously like it was chosen to match the color of your dress. 

Your heart kicks up, stupid and traitorous in your chest, because he looks good. Too good. Like the kind of man who belongs on magazine covers, not in your driveway.

And then he steps out.

He smooths a hand down the front of his suit jacket, one brow lifting the moment he sees you. “Wow,” he says, low and honest, eyes sweeping over you with a slow, appreciative gaze that makes heat crawl up your neck. “I knew you’d look beautiful, but... I wasn’t ready.”

You try for casual, but your grin gives you away. “You clean up alright yourself, Mr. CEO.”

He holds the car door open for you without a word, and when you slide in, you spot the little extra things right away. Your favorite mints in the cup holder. A spare hair tie looped on the gearshift. He doesn’t say anything about them, but the details are there—always there.

“You nervous?” he asks at one point, tone light.

You shake your head. “About the wedding? No. They’re the ones getting married. I’m just there to eat cake.”

He smiles. “About me being your date, then?”

You pause, then look over at him with a soft grin. “Not even a little.”

When you get to the venue, it’s like the entire world slows for a second. The moment you both step out of the car and walk in together—side by side, his hand hovering at the small of your back, your arms brushing as you walk—you feel it. The glances. The looks.

You were right. Everyone did bring someone. And yet somehow, you’re the one that people can’t stop staring at.

Because of him.

Because of the way Seungcheol exists in a room like he’s always been meant to be there—quietly powerful, quietly yours.

Introductions start slow. your friends immediately curious, trying to figure him out. But Seungcheol handles them all with the kind of smooth charm that makes you want to simultaneously laugh and melt. 

He’s polite. Warm. Slightly reserved. But he doesn’t leave your side once, and when your hand accidentally brushes his under the table during dinner, he doesn’t pull away.

It’s only when you're both standing off to the side during a slow song, sipping champagne and laughing at the clumsy first-dance attempts on the floor, that he leans down, voice brushing your ear.

“You know,” he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you stop smiling since we got here.”

You glance up at him, heart thudding. “Yeah? Is that a bad thing?”

He meets your eyes. “No. I think I’d like to be the reason behind it more often.”

He holds out his hand. “Come dance with me?”

And with your fingers in his, his suit pressed lightly to your side, his palm warm at your back, you finally stop waiting. Because this, him, was worth every slow, drawn-out second.

You don’t realize how naturally it happens. How easily you lean into him, how right it feels to have your hand resting lightly on his shoulder while his other hand holds your waist, not too tight, but firm.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” you murmur, the tease threading through your voice.

Seungcheol lets out a low laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks down at you. “I had to learn. It was either that or embarrass myself at corporate galas.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “So I’m your rehearsal?”

He leans in, just enough that you feel his breath along your cheek. “No,” he says softly. “You’re the reason I’m glad I learned.”

That shuts you up for a second—not because you don’t have a comeback, but because the way he says it—earnest, grounded—makes your heart stumble in your chest.

“I still haven’t kissed you,” he says quietly, almost like he’s reminding himself. “And you’ve been very patient.”

“Painfully patient,” you whisper back. He smiles, but it’s different this time. Not teasing. Just full of something so genuine it makes your stomach twist.

“But this moment,” he says, pulling you in just a little closer, “this right here… I didn’t want to rush it. You deserve the good kind of build-up.”

You swallow. “So… this is a build-up?”

“Isn’t it?” he murmurs. “Every time I pick you up. Every dinner. Every time you leave your things in my car on purpose.”

“I don’t—” You try to defend yourself, but he grins, cutting you off.

“I like it,” he admits. “I like all of it. Even the fact that your lip gloss has now permanently scented my dashboard.”

You laugh, cheeks warm. “You’re very sentimental for someone who pretends not to be.”

“And you’re very brave for someone who said they weren’t looking for anything serious,” he counters.

That gives you pause. Because he’s not wrong.

You didn’t plan for any of this. But then again, you didn’t plan on walking up to a stranger at a bar just to escape a persistent creep either. And now… now you’re dancing with that stranger at your friend’s wedding while the night curls around the two of you like it knew.

“I still don’t know what we are,” you say finally, your voice lower, honest.

Seungcheol’s thumb brushes your waist gently, like he feels the shift.

“You don’t have to name it,” he says. “Not yet.”

“But you already have,” you murmur, meeting his gaze.

He looks at you for a long second. “Only in my head.”

You smile. “What is it, then?”

His grip on you tightens ever so slightly.

“Mine.” he says.

Just like that the music slows to an end, but he doesn't let go. And when the moment feels just too full, too warm, too close. His hand lifts gently to your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek. And this time, finally, he doesn’t kiss your shoulder.

He kisses you.

It’s soft at first. A gentle brush of lips that speaks less of fireworks and more of certainty like he’s been waiting for just the right moment.

You don’t even realize your hands have slipped up to his chest, anchoring yourself as his other arm wraps around your waist to keep you close. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just the quiet, unspoken truth of it sinking into your bones—that this kiss was a long time coming. T

When you part, barely an inch between you, your forehead lingers against his. Your heart beats like it’s trying to memorize the rhythm of his.

“Finally,” you whisper.

Seungcheol chuckles, low and husky, still close enough that his breath grazes your lips. “Was it worth the wait?”

You tilt your head just enough to press another soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll let you know after the second one.”

He smiles like he can’t help it, like something warm is cracking open in his chest. “Greedy.”

“Very,” you reply without missing a beat.

You don’t even care that you’re standing in the middle of a wedding reception, that people are milling around behind you with cake and champagne and whispered guesses about who you are. None of that matters.

Because he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing that does.

When you got to your building he offered to walk you up. Standing outside your door, your fingers are curled into the lapel of Seungcheol’s suit jacket, your mouth barely a breath away from his when the sound of someone clearing their throat slices right through the moment.

You both flinch, pulling apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

Your mom stands there in front of your apartment door, arms crossed and one brow raised with terrifying precision, the classic mom look of I have questions and you better answer them properly.

She blinks slowly, then turns to Seungcheol with the kind of pointed interest that has your soul trying to escape your body.

“And who,” she says, sweetly, “might this be?”

You swallow. “Uh. Hi, Mom. What are you doing here?”

“I texted. You didn’t answer. So I thought I’d drop off some side dishes I made.” She holds up the container bag like evidence. “Good thing I came, it seems.”

You’re nearly sweating. Seungcheol, on the other hand, somehow still looks calm. Like he didn’t just almost get caught mid-doorstep make-out by your mother.

He straightens, then offers your mom a polite bow. “Good evening, ma’am. I’m Choi Seungcheol. I was just dropping her off after a wedding.”

Your mom gives him a long once-over, then side-eyes you. “A wedding? Interesting. And how long has this Choi Seungcheol been around?”

“Mom,” you groan, but Seungcheol beats you to it.

“Not very long,” he replies easily. “But I’m hoping to stick around a while.”

You gape at him.

Your mom narrows her eyes. “Is that right?”

“If she’ll let me.”

Your mom stares at him another beat. Then to your utter disbelief, she… smiles. “Hmm. Well. At least you’re polite.”

You’re still recovering when she presses the container into your hands. “These are for you. You too, I suppose, since you’re clearly being fed well.”

Seungcheol accepts them with a small bow and a quiet “thank you.”

Your mom gives him one last look, then leans in to whisper (not quietly at all), “She likes flowers. And she talks in her sleep.”

“Mom!”

She pats your cheek and strolls away like she didn’t just commit emotional homicide.

You turn to Seungcheol, mortified. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe—”

But he’s already smiling. Like really smiling. “That was the best first ‘meet the parent’ ambush I’ve ever had.”

Seungcheol’s in his office early the next morning, already settled in behind his desk. His sleeves are rolled up, fingers tapping out a light rhythm on the edge of his desk as he hums a low, tuneless melody to himself.

He’s got that look on his face, the rare kind his staff sees maybe three times a year, a glint in his eyes like he just won the lottery and the stock market. Every so often, he pauses to check his phone, then smiles like someone just whispered a joke in his ear. 

That’s exactly the energy Joshua and Jeonghan walk in on.

“Okay,” Jeonghan says slowly, not even trying to hide the suspicion in his voice. “Who are you and what have you done with our very serious, emotionally constipated CEO?”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Good morning to you too.”

Joshua squints. “Is that... whistling? Are you—tapping your foot?”

Jeonghan drops into the seat across from him and kicks his legs up on the coffee table like he owns the place. “You’re smiling. Like smiling smiling. The last time you were this chipper was when we landed the Tokyo account and you got to yell at someone in perfect Japanese.”

Joshua leans against the wall. “No offense, man, but it’s kind of weirding me out. Is this like… a blood sugar thing? Are you okay?”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, stretching with a soft groan and a big, satisfied sigh. “I’m great.”

“Yeah. We can tell.” Jeonghan raises a brow. “So go on. Tell the class. What happened”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just glances at his phone again with that same soft smile playing at his lips.

Jeonghan and Joshua exchange looks.

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan breathes, sitting up straighter. “It’s her, isn’t it? The bar girl. Your girl.”

Joshua’s eyes widen. “The one who literally drank Soonyoung under the table?”

“She’s not my girl, yet” Seungcheol says quickly—but his voice betrays him with the slightest upward lilt at the end, like even he doesn’t believe himself.

Jeonghan leans forward, both elbows on his knees. “So what happened last night? Because whatever it was, you’re acting like a man in love.”

“I am not in—” Seungcheol stops himself, mutters something under his breath, then groans as he runs a hand over his face. “You two are insufferable.”

“Did she finally kiss you?”

“Technically,” Seungcheol replies slowly, “I kissed her. But only after she asked for the third time.”

Jeonghan lets out a bark of laughter. “Took you long enough, Romeo.”

“It wasn’t about taking my time,” Seungcheol mumbles, and then lowers his voice, more to himself than to them. “I just… didn’t want to screw it up.”

There’s a beat of quiet.

Joshua softens. “You like her.”

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Yeah.”

Jeonghan’s watching him, a little differently now. Less teasing, more thoughtful. “It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“She asked me to be her plus-one to a wedding,” Seungcheol replies, then glances at them, almost shy. “And I met her mom.”

Joshua and Jeonghan practically explode.

“You what?”

Seungcheol winces. “It wasn’t planned—her mom showed up at her apartment with side dishes and caught us on the doorstep. Thought I was her boyfriend or something.”

Jeonghan is beside himself. “And you survived? No wounds? No emotional damage?”

“She liked me.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Joshua says. “We’re done for. He’s in too deep.”

“Send help,” Jeonghan deadpans, placing a hand over his heart. “Our friend is gone. Replaced by this domestic, well-fed, love-struck clone.”

“I’m not love-struck.”

“You’re literally glowing.”

Seungcheol shakes his head with a small chuckle. “Shut up.”

But he’s still smiling.

Seungcheol’s phone buzzes once, then again—your contact lighting up on the screen. His hand darts for the phone almost too eagerly, thumb swiping before the second ring finishes.

“Hey,” he answers, voice dropping into something soft and familiar, like the two of you are already alone in a room and not with Jeonghan and Joshua both watching like hawks from a few feet away.

You laugh softly on the other end. “Hi. Sorry, are you busy?”

“No,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve got time.”

Jeonghan mouths liar and Joshua smirks.

“So, I was gonna text, but my mom insisted I call. She’s making dinner tonight and… well, she asked if you’d like to come?”

His heart skips in a way he’s not used to—it’s not nerves exactly, more like… something warm curling in his chest. He stands slowly, pacing to the side of the office, back turned as if it’ll make the conversation any more private.

“You sure?” he asks, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not,” you assure him. “She literally made enough for an army and said, and I quote, ‘tell that polite boy to come hungry.’”

He chuckles, unable to help himself. “Guess I can’t say no to that.”

“Seven okay?”

“Perfect.” He smiles again, stupid and wide and absolutely forgetting that he is not alone.

“I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Yeah,” he says, still in that soft tone only reserved for you. “Looking forward to it.”

The call ends. He stares at the screen for a second longer before pocketing his phone, already mentally rearranging the rest of his day.

Then he turns around.

Joshua is grinning like a fox. Jeonghan has both hands folded like he’s praying. “Okay. Let’s try that again. You’re not love-struck?”

Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair, the soft grin on his lips refusing to fade. “She invited me to dinner. Her mom’s cooking.”

“Oh my god,” Jeonghan groans dramatically. “That’s domesticity. That’s serious.”

“You’re doomed,” Joshua chimes in cheerfully. “Next thing we know, you’ll be asking us to be groomsmen.”

“Shut up,” 

You’re halfway through setting the table when the doorbell rings, and your mom, already at the stove with her sleeves rolled up, waves you off with a knowing smile. “He’s early. That one’s got good manners. Go let him in.”

You smooth down your shirt, trying not to look too eager, but your feet are already hurrying toward the door.

When you open it, Seungcheol is there dressed in that casually polished way that makes it look like he stepped off the cover of a weekend magazine. Button-up sleeves rolled just once, watch peeking out, hair slightly tousled like he ran his fingers through it before he knocked.

And in his hands?

Two bouquets.

You blink. “Are you trying to start a flower shop?”

He grins, lifting both arrangements slightly. “One’s for you.” He holds out the first—soft colors, delicate petals, your favorites, of course. “And the other’s for your mom.”

You take the bouquet, inhaling the sweet scent with a tiny smile before stepping aside. “She’s going to love that. You just earned, like, ten extra points.”

“I’m trying to rack them up,” he says lightly, stepping in and revealing the dessert box in his other hand. “Also, I may or may not have picked up your favorite. You know… just in case.”

You glance down and immediately light up. “You remembered?”

“Please,” he scoffs playfully. “You’ve only ranted about it, what, three times? Of course I remembered.”

You laugh as you lead him inside, his shoulder brushing yours in that easy, now-familiar way. Your mom peeks out from the kitchen, and her smile grows when she sees the extra bouquet.

“Oh, you charmer,” she says warmly, walking over to greet him. “Flowers again? You’re going to make all the other boys look bad.”

Seungcheol offers her the bouquet with both hands and a small bow. “I figured last time I came empty-handed, so I had to make up for it.”

Dinner’s warm and loud, your mom doing most of the talking while Seungcheol listens, chimes in with small jokes, and praises her cooking so sincerely she beams every time he opens his mouth. He’s relaxed here, blending in like he’s done it a hundred times, and somehow that’s the part that gets you.

Later, after helping clean up and exchanging stories with your mom, the two of you step out into the cool night air.

He walks beside you in silence for a moment, then glances over. “So... still thinking about replacing me with someone from a crime documentary?”

You laugh. “I don’t know. That guy probably wouldn’t have brought dessert and flowers.”

He nudges you gently. “Damn right.”

You turn to him, slowing a little on the steps outside your building. “Thanks for coming tonight.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

And there’s that pause again—that loaded, quiet moment. You can feel it, humming between you. All the things unsaid but understood. No labels, no big declarations. Just gestures and quiet moments and the space he fills beside you like he’s always belonged there.

You lean in and kiss his cheek. He’s already smiling before your lips brush his skin.

“Don’t make me wait forever, Mr. CEO.”

He grins, eyes flicking to yours. “Patience, pretty girl. I’ve got a plan.”

And somehow, you believe him.

The moment you step back inside, your mom's perched on the couch like she never moved. She's got a cup of tea in hand and a look on her face that immediately makes you nervous—too calm, too unreadable, which only ever means she’s up to something.

Seungcheol follows behind you, quietly helping carry the dessert box into the kitchen, but before either of you can pretend the evening is winding down smoothly, your mom speaks up—tone light, but very deliberate.

“So…” she starts, gaze sliding over to Seungcheol like she’s just making small talk, “are you gonna marry my girl, or what?”

You nearly choke on air. “Mom!”

“What?” she shrugs, totally unbothered. “You’re both at the right age. You like each other. He’s handsome, polite, he brings flowers and dessert. I don’t want to wait another five years for grandchildren.”

“Oh my god—” you groan, half-burying your face in your hands.

But Seungcheol? Not flustered. Not even close. In fact, the traitorous man has the audacity to smile. A slow, confident one that only makes your embarrassment worse.

“Well,” he says, glancing at you before looking back at your mom, “if she keeps letting me stick around, who knows?”

Your mom raises a brow, then nods approvingly. “Good answer. You’re growing on me more and more, you know that?”

Seungcheol laughs, and you’re halfway to combusting. “Okay! Time to say goodnight, this interrogation is over,” you declare, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the door.

“Bye, Mom,” you grumble over your shoulder.

Your mom just waves, clearly pleased with herself. “Bye, future son-in-law!”

Seungcheol chuckles under his breath all the way down the hall. When the elevator doors close, he glances at you, amused. “So… how long do I have before she starts dress shopping?”

You glare up at him, still pink in the face. “Don’t you dare encourage her.”

“Too late.” He leans a little closer. “But if it helps…” His voice dips, teasing. “I am starting to like the sound of it.”

The elevator hums quietly as it takes you both downstairs, your hand tucked into Seungcheol’s without thinking. You walk him out to his car, the evening air crisp and still, soft with city quiet. He unlocks the door, but neither of you moves just yet.

“I’m just warning you,” you say, voice teasing, glancing up at him through your lashes. “Next time you come over, she’s not going to be asking if you’re marrying me.”

“No?”

You shake your head, grinning. “Nope. She’s skipping right ahead to asking when you’re giving her a grandchild.”

He chuckles low in his throat, eyes twinkling. “That so?”

“I can see it already,” you continue dramatically, “She’ll be standing in the kitchen, apron on, casually stirring soup while dropping 'So when’s the baby due?' like it’s small talk.”

Seungcheol leans against the car, folding his arms, that amused smile never leaving his face. “Well… we have kissed now,” he says, playful but soft. “I guess that means I should be prepared for her to start knitting booties.”

You swat his arm, trying not to laugh. “You’re too comfortable with this.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” he replies easily, gaze settling on you in that way that makes your heart skip and stumble all at once.

Seungcheol shifts closer, one hand brushing your hip before resting there, gentle but sure. “And hey,” he says, voice low, “about that kiss…”

Your breath hitches, and before you can even answer, he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours—slow and deliberate, nothing rushed, like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again.

He pulls back only slightly, close enough that his nose still brushes yours. “Still got more where that came from.”

You manage a breathless laugh, fingers curling in the front of his shirt. “Dangerous man.”

He grins. “Only for you.”

When he finally slides into the driver’s seat, you linger by the open door. “Text me when you get home.”

He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Of course I will.”

You step back, watching as he pulls out of the lot, his hand lifting briefly in a lazy wave. And as you head back to your apartment, you already know: your mom’s going to be impossible next time.

You barely make it three steps into your apartment before your mom, still lounging in the living room like she owns the place (she kind of does, considering she brought over food and stayed uninvited), looks up from her tea and levels you with that look.

Not smug. Not surprised. Just deeply, motherly knowing.

“Oh,” she says, setting her cup down with an audible clink. “I see what this is.”

“What’s what?” you ask, walking past her, pretending to be busy as you head toward the kitchen.

But she doesn’t let you off that easy. She turns in her seat and calls out—voice just a touch singsongy.

“You love the guy.”

“What?” You laugh, unconvincing. “I don’t—what? That’s a lot, don’t you think?”

She stands, follows you to the kitchen like a shark who smells blood—or in this case, feelings.

“I’ve been watching you all day. You were smiling at your phone like a teenager,” she says, opening the fridge like she owns that too. “And when he came over? You lit up like someone plugged you in.”

You open a cabinet just to have something to do with your hands. “He’s just… nice.”

“Oh, no. Not just nice. He’s thoughtful. Respectful. Tall. Brings flowers. Carries dessert. Helped you move furniture. That man looked at you like you’re the only person on the planet.” She shuts the fridge. 

“And you my sweet girl, you looked right back like he hung the moon.”

You groan, leaning against the counter. “You really don’t pull punches, huh?”

She smiles, proud. “I’m your mother. It’s my job to see through the nonsense.”

The smile that crept onto your face when Seungcheol kissed you tonight is still there. You feel it even now, this warmth that’s settled behind your ribs. It’s soft and terrifying and real.

And when you look back up, your mom’s just watching you with that soft expression, the one that says she’s been waiting for this kind of happiness to find you.

You sigh, eyes rolling, voice barely above a murmur. “Fine. I like him.”

She raises a brow.

“Okay,” you grumble. “I really like him.”

Her smile widens as she turns back toward the living room. “Took you long enough.”

=

The phone barely rings once before he picks up, voice warm and low like honey over gravel.

“Hey, baby.”

You swear your brain short-circuits for a second. The word hits you with a quiet thud right in the chest, catching you off guard even though you should be used to it by now. 

“Hi,” you say, a beat late, already smiling into the receiver. “Okay, I forgot what I was gonna say for a second.”

There’s a soft laugh on his end, the kind that rumbles just under his breath. “That’s a good sign.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warm. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

You lean against the kitchen counter, heart still doing that embarrassing little flutter. “I was just calling to see if you were gonna be busy later… I was planning to cook dinner.”

He goes quiet for half a second. Not because he’s hesitating—just because you know he’s already rearranging his whole evening in his head.

“Do I get to watch you cook?” he asks, voice lighter now, teasing.

You smirk. “That depends. Are you just gonna stand there looking pretty and touching nothing?”

“Depends. Can I taste-test?”

You scoff. “You’re just in it for the food.”

“Not true,” he says, soft again now, “but it is a very nice bonus.”

You pretend to sigh. “So… does that mean you’re coming?”

“I’ll be there,” he says without skipping a beat. “Tell me what time and I’ll bring wine.”

The ease of it makes your chest feel full, like the kind of full that wraps around your ribs and stays there.

The knock on your door is right on time—because of course it is. You’re still smoothing down your shirt when you open it, and there he is.

Wine in one hand. Flowers in the other. And that stupid smile on his face that already has you forgetting whatever it was you were about to say.

“Hi,” you breathe, just a little breathless at the sight of him. He’s in a casual button-down, sleeves rolled, hair a little messy like he ran his hands through it on the drive over. He looks good. Too good.

“For you,” he says, lifting the bouquet

“You really don’t have to keep bringing these every time, you know.”

“I know,” he says easily, already slipping out of his shoes and placing the wine on your counter. “But I like watching you smile when I do.”

You open your mouth to come up with a witty response, but it never makes it out. Because he’s suddenly in your space arms curling around your waist as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

Clingy. He’s so clingy tonight. And you love it.

“You okay?” you murmur, hugging him back.

“Just missed you,” he replies against your hair, like it’s that simple.

“You’re really not gonna let me cook, are you?” you ask, laughing as you try to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Nope.” He grins, chin resting on your shoulder. “This is a hostage situation now.”

“You’re clingy.”

“You love it.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. “I do.”

That earns you a kiss to the cheek. Then the temple. Then your neck. He’s shameless tonight. Unapologetically soft. 

You try to cut up onions, but his arms stay wrapped around you the entire time, body warm at your back, like he can’t stand to be even an inch away. By the time dinner’s ready, he’s seated too close at the table, knees brushing yours under it, foot tapping against your ankle.

And when you pass him a bowl, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away. Just holds it for a second longer, thumb brushing your wrist.

“I could get used to this,” he says softly.

You smile, eyes locked with his.

He’s standing at your sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, strong hands buried in soapy water. Your purple apron is tied securely around his waist. your apron, the one with little hearts embroidered along the hem and a faint stain from that time you spilled sauce and never quite got it out.

You’re halfway through wiping down the counter when you glance up and pause, arms frozen mid-motion. Because this scene in front of you is almost too much.

Choi Seungcheol, your moody, broody, suit-wearing, don’t-mess-with-me CEO, is currently humming under his breath while washing your dinner plates in a heart-covered apron like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You wrap your arms around his middle from behind, chin pressed against the back of his shoulder. He pauses.

Then smiles, water still running as he leans back just slightly into your hold. “You done cleaning?”

“Mostly,” you hum. “I just needed a break to admire this sight.”

He chuckles, voice low, the sound vibrating through his back and into your chest. “What sight?”

“You. Domestic. In my kitchen. In my apron.”

“You mean your very fashionable, extremely purple apron?” he says, glancing down at it with mock seriousness.

“Mhm. It suits you.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah,” you say, drawing out the tease. “You look like the type of man who says things like ‘dinner’s ready, honey’ and then washes the dishes without being asked.”

“If you wanted to brag to someone, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

=

It’s a little surreal, stepping into the bar again after all these months.

The lighting’s still dim, the music low and pulsing in the background, familiar laughter echoing from the same corner booth the guys always seem to claim. Only this time, there’s no desperate escape from a stranger’s attention, no half-baked plan to use the intimidating guy in the corner to save yourself.

This time, you’re walking in hand-in-hand with him.

Seungcheol is dressed down, a fitted black tee and jeans that still somehow manage to make him look unfairly good. His hand is warm in yours, thumb drawing absent little circles on the back of your palm as he greets the guys already mid-round of drinks.

Jeonghan spots you first, grinning like he’s been waiting. “There they are! The king and queen have arrived.”

You roll your eyes. Seungcheol just chuckles, guiding you into the booth beside him. His arm slides across the back of your seat, casual and easy, but his fingers find your shoulder and rest there, grounding you like always.

It’s comfortable—normal, now.

You catch Joshua glancing between you two, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Kind of wild to think it all started here, huh?”

You raise a brow. “What, the bar?”

“The act,” he teases, nodding toward Seungcheol. “Captain Broody pretending to be your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, nudging Seungcheol playfully. “Right. That little performance.”

“Wasn’t much of an act,” he mutters, just quiet enough for only you to hear.

You turn your head, surprised—and he’s already looking at you, eyes dark and soft under the warm glow of the bar lights. You swear you feel it in your stomach, that little flutter you still haven’t quite gotten used to.

He leans in closer, voice a little rougher. “What? Don’t tell me you forgot.”

You arch a brow, teasing. “Forgot what?”

“That you strut your way right up to me. All wide-eyed and bold like I wasn’t five seconds from leaving.”

“Oh please,” you grin. “You loved it.”

His smile widens. “Still do.”

The music dips into something slower, something smoother. Around you, the bar hums with noise, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar. But in this moment it’s just you and him.

He tugs you gently, pulling you into his side until you’re almost in his lap. You go easily, leaning into him, resting a hand on his chest.

“So,” you say with a smile, tilting your head up, “is this the part where you tell me you’re no longer my pretend boyfriend?”

He pauses like he’s considering it, then leans in until his lips are barely a breath away from yours. “Mm... maybe.”

You lift a brow. “Maybe?”

He kisses you then, slow and sure, like there’s nothing pretend about it. 

Like there never was. 

His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he pulls away just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“I’m not your pretend anything,” he whispers. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

You smile, cheeks warm, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

“Well good,” you say, heart fluttering, “because I’m pretty sure my mom already considers you family.”

He laughs, the sound low and unguarded, and kisses you again—just because he can. And you kiss him back—because it’s him.

And because this time, there’s no act, no games.

Just the two of you—right where it all began.

[xplicitviewz]

Ex-husband!Eren who knocks on your door at the scheduled time to pick up your kids, 7 and 3 year olds. He was about to hit the call button when you opened the door dressed up and ready to leave- Wait? Dressed up to go where?

“You look beautiful.” He comments, not hiding the fact he was checking out his wife, yes his wife. You were after all still his, even though legally you weren’t. “I’ll go get the girls.” You nod getting ready to shut the door when he stops it, “Can i uh- use the bathroom? Yea I gotta pee real quick.” He lies offering you that damn ‘up to no good’ smile.

Rolling your eyes, you step aside, “Make it quick, I got somewhere to be.” Eren walks in and heads to the guest bathroom where he knew from instinct. You and Eren had been together for a while, got married a year into the relationship. You got pregnant a year later and bought a house together. There was’t really an exact reason why you guys got divorced, other than the fact that work and life just caught up to the both of you guys. Constant arguments, no time for each other, lots of cancelled dates, etc. The spark was dying, but in your eyes, there was no longer a spark. You were drained of being home all the time everyday, same thing. The cancelled dates- the dates you were looking forward to- was really the last straw.

Eren ended up giving everything to you, the house, the car, the savings, after all, it’s all for you and your kids. He felt like shit when he heard your feelings after being served divorce papers, apparently your ‘one last chance’ was when he cancelled the getaway you set up for the two of you because he had to go on a bullshit business trip. (One he didn’t even want to go to in the first place.)

You made your way up to the girl’s room seeing that your 7 year old is watching tv while laying next to her sister, who is sleeping. “Hey baby girl , daddy’s here.” You smile at her and squat down next to them. It was already about to be 7:30pm and you had to leave by then. Eren told you he was going to be a bit late but he’ll be there.

“Mommy can I finish the movie please?” Your daughter ask you with puppy dog eyes. You’ve seen the movie a thousand times so you know it’s about to end, “Okay sure, I’m gonna go finish getting ready in my room okay?” You tell her with a small smile. She nods and looks a back at the tv. You get up and head to grab a small blanket to put over your two girls.

They already had dinner and a bath just waiting for Eren to come. As you go to leave the room, you run into Eren, who was waking down the hallway to the girls room. “She wants to finish the movie, join her if you’d like.” You tell him as you open the door to your room and sit on the vanity to finish up your makeup.

You reach for your phone to text your friends would be a little late to the dinner plans but you were still going.

“Where are you off to?” You hear Eren say from behind you. You glance in the mirror and see him leaning against the door. It had been a while since he stepped foot in the once shared bedroom, he smiled at how you decorated it.

“A hot date.” You reply grabbing your mascara and putting it on, still watching him, more so his reaction. “Do they know you’re married?” Eren steps closer, still leaving space between you two.

“We’re divorced.” You roll your eyes, closing the mascara and grabbing the blush and your fluffy brush, “besides I doubt they’d care even if I was.” You add admiring how good you look in the mirror.

Eren eyes scan your seated body. The backless black dress you were wearing, how good your back looks. How soft your skin looks, when you lean forward to make sure your lipliner is good. He gets flashbacks of your arch when bouncing on his dick. He sucks in a breath and looks away, every part of you looks good. He’d probably get off just watching you bend your knee to place it on the couch from the floor. He is down bad. He misses you bad. It had been almost a full 2 years since your divorce date. No one could ever compare to you, he gave up after the second date (his friends forced him to go on). They simply weren’t you. His plan? Win you back as a gentleman would or win you back by fucking you so good you remember.

Good thing he can do both!

It was those sweet words that suggested your daughter to watch another movie before they left (she ended up falling asleep right next to her sister). Those same sweet words that led you guys to share a kiss, well it was supposed to be a simple kiss. Darn those sweet words that had your dress coming right back off as he led you to your shared bed. The same ones that convinced you to let him stay tonight, maybe forever.

“Shit baby.” Eren moans into your ear, his dick sliding slowly back in you. He holds you from under your knee with one hand and his other hand is under chest, holding your boobs while he fucks you from the side. Your back pressed against his chest while he kisses your neck, leaving marks he wants to be visible, moaning and licking your skin.

You mouth was ajar, one hand up tangled in his hair, holding him close, the other reached down your body as you massaged his balls slowly, moaning and begging for more. “D-don’t stop.” You whimper out wanting this to never end.

“Fuck, I miss you so much, want you back.” He whimpers when you give his balls a small squeeze, still fucking you pussy, juices from you gushing all around his dick, squeezing him tight when he hits the right angle. “You still wanna go out?” He taunts in your ear, nipping at the shell.

“N-no, wanna stay here- ohh- with y-you.” you pathetically whimper, feeling your thighs tremble in his hand, “missed you so much.”

“Pussy so perfect, miss her too.” Eren mumbles in your ear before kissing it, then he closes your legs together, and sits up, placing your legs on one of his shoulders. He kisses your ankles while he starts moving again. Not once did he slip out of you.

Your hands move to your ass, spreading it so he could see just how wet you are for him, hear it too.

“You hear that?” He bites his lip, his thrusts becoming rougher, “She misses me too.” He smirks as he spreads your legs wide, putting you in the meanest mating press, and fucking you.

He spent the first few rounds making love to you all over again and again, but this time, he’s gonna fuck you so good you remember. Remember everything and question why you even wanted a divorce, why you insisted you guys needed one.

“Shiitt Rennie.” You whine at the change of pace, using an old nickname as you try to push against his hips. “Uht uh mama, you can take it, lemme hear you say it.” He grunts not stopping, not even for a second.

He’s in so deep hitting every point inside you. Like a man on a mission. You cry out when he slams down once really hard in the most pleasurable way possible before he goes back to the pace he was doing, “You heard me baby,” he stares you down. You half-lidded lustful eyes flicker up at him, “I-I can take it-t fuuck, please Rennie.” You plead feeling your 3rd orgasm coming in fast.

“You wanna cum?” He taunts changing his angle again, your eyes roll back as you nod your head fast. “Who you belong to then?”

“Y-you!” You cry out.

“Who?” He asked again, “Come one baby you can be a little louder than that. The girls won’t wake up, I turned the tv up a bit.”

“F-fuck, youu.” You answer moaning out louder.

“You? Who’s you? Did I fuck you dumb already.”

“I belong to y-you-nnghhEren. To Eren. E-eren, you you you.” You babble out as he hits your sweet spot on and on. Your vision blurs, eyes rolling as he kept going, increasing the pace. He leans down capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into each other, breaking the kiss over and over.

Your arms wrap around his neck pulling him closer as he digs his fingers in the back of your thighs, your walls flutter around him, sucking him in full. There was a sudden shift in the air, one you both noticed. Eren’s pace slowed but still rough thrust hitting you deep in your womb, his body weight dropped onto you as you both stared into each others souls, “Marry me again, please mama, n-need you.” He murmurs softly against your lips. “Promise you everything will be different, I don’t want anyone else but you-fuck please baby please.” He begs, whimpering, his hip still passionately moving against yours. You were too fucked out to say anything else, “yes, yes Eren, need you, fuck please, wanna cum baby.”

“Yeah.” He moans moving slightly faster angling his hips differently, hitting deeper spots causing your moans to raise an octave, nodding, “yes.”

He kisses you deeply and slowly, his hips moving faster and rougher. Your back arches against his chest, moving your lips against his, accepting his tongue in your mouth, sucking on it slightly until you feel your orgasm crash over you. Eren rolls his eyes at the sounds you are making for him, the only sounds he ever wants to hear as he chases his own release. “Make me a mommy again, want you to fill me up baby.” You whimpered against his lips a very dangerous sentence. Eren’s dilated eyes snap back to your fucked out ones, “Can’t waste it then okay.” He grunts lifting his head to move it towards your neck, sucking it.

“I w-won’t.” You whine as he nips at sensitive spot, moving your head to the side. Eren starts fucking you ruthlessly, not caring about the bed hitting the wall or squeaking crazy. He doesn’t even hear it, just you, the sounds of you. He pushes your legs impossibly down more as he feels his dick twitch inside your greedy drooling fluttering pussy, his knees buckling as he came, moaning your name.

Eren sits up and pulls out to the tip before fucking his cum back in you slowly, watching how you suck him up with ease, feeling how your sensitive pussy is fluttering around him, “fuck baby.” He breathes out, wiping the sweat off his forehead before leaning down to kiss you again, this time a slow one, an “I miss you” kind of kiss. You accept whimpering softly as he pushes his dick deep inside you, resting there.

“Still wanna go out.” He teases pulling away slightly? You roll your eyes smirking, “shut up.”

*not proofread*

I have many of these in my drafts so yea

I also appreciate all the likes and reblogs omggggg <3333

And comments, I love replying to the few I got, so fun so fun

Okay well enjoy as usual, until next time 😎

Sylus mini

Nerd!armin x reader x boyfriend!eren

[rafesteddy]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝

𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙶𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: dom!rafe, possessive!rafe, softbf!rafe, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, icky “boy talk” at the beginning (not by rafe), protective rafe, boys tease the reader when she's not there, they see a picture of her in lingerie, they start a video of rafe and the reader having sex but rafe takes it from them, ownership kink, kissing, unprotected public p in v, butt plug, praise, cum tasting, wet and messy, squirting, cockwarming

All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! After a few drinks at a hockey party, Rafe gets teased about what a good girl you are, but Rafe knows the truth 💋

Reader's POV:

The basement of the hockey house is alive, post-game with a rowdy crowd. Cheap keg beer spills from red SOLO cups, the packed basement wall to wall with a mix of jerseys and ugly sweaters.

Rafe kicks his feet up, relaxing on the oversized couch with the boys, half-watching some hockey game as they shoot the shit. “Damn,” Alex groans, his wicked smirk glowing in the light of his phone. He zooms in on the screen, smiles, and tosses his head back.

“Jesus Christ,” Kemper hums as he looks at the message Alex got, lifting his phone to “snap” a picture of his—just givin’ Alex hell. “Get outta here,” he shoves him away with a laugh.

“She looks better in that jersey than you,” Kemper shoots back.

“No shit,” Alex pulls it up again, adjusting himself a second later. “She stole my jersey yesterday… Sent me that pic as a congratulations, I guess,” he smiles proudly.

“Where’s Max?” Kemper asks, eyes scanning your group before looking over the back of the couch into the crowd.

“Left about five minutes ago with Lexi,” Rafe adds. “He’s gone for the night.”

“Lucky bitch,” Kemper mumbles against the lip of his can before draining his beer.

“You that desperate, Kemp?” Rafe taunts, lifting an eyebrow in his direction, half-hiding his smirk with his drink.

“Fuck you, Cameron,” he clips as he crumples up his can, tossing the empty drink at JJ. “It’s his fuckin’ fault,” he gestures to Maybank, giving him the finger. “He stole her.”

“Stole her my ass. She wanted me. Not my fault either. You're a goalie, man. Maybe you could switch positions and get pussy from time to time-”

“I get pussy!” Kemper cuts JJ off, cracking another beer open.

“Sure you do,” Rafe taunts, just stoking the fire. Attention naturally falls back to him, the boys ramping up to knock him down a peg. He stretches his big arms along the back of the couch, just waiting for the shit-talking to start.

“Yo, Rafe,” Alex calls out, and Rafe snorts out a laugh, rolling his eyes at the predictability.

“Yeah, man. Get on with it,” Rafe chuckles between sips of beer.

“What about your girl? How long has it been… three, four, five months?” Alex slurs.

“Since what, bud?”

“Since what?” He barbs, mocking Rafe like he knows the first thing about you. “Since you got your dick wet. What do you mean, ‘since what’?

The group erupts in laughter, Rafe's lips curling into an amused smile. He doesn't bat an eye— not hurrying to respond, either.

"She's perfect; that's all you need to know," he replies smoothly. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his hair before turning it to the back.

"Come on, man," another chimes in, clearly not letting it go. "That’s it… That’s all we’re gettin’? Is it that fuckin’ bad?”

“M’sorry, Rafey,” Kemper chuckles, shooting him a crooked look.

The teasing continues, but Rafe just leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares them down, the picture of calm confidence. “You guys have no clue what you’re talkin’ about,” he speaks, his voice calm and smug.

“Sure we don’t,” Kemper laughs. “You tuck her in after the game or what?”

“She’s around here somewhere,” Rafe smiles, glancing at his phone again before setting it on the counter. He smiles to himself, recalling how you sucked his dick on the car ride home from the game; the man fucking you five inches from your life in the shower when you got back.

As much as you loved the side he showed you when no one was watching—soft and sweet. He loved the side of you that no one else got to see as well… filthy and insatiable, your sex drive giving Rafe a run for his money. Rafe didn't need to defend you—or himself. He knows the truth.

“What are you thinkin’ about, Cameron?” JJ asks, catching Rafe smilin—your boyfriend shrugging before he takes a swig of beer.

“None of your fuckin’ business, Maybank,” Rafe laughs.

The conversation drifts back to the topic of conquests, JJ bragging about the girl he snuck on the bus on the last away game, the two fuckin’ in the backseat all the way home.

Rafe’s phone lights up, buzzing on the coffee table. The screen with your name plastered on the front of it shines like a beacon.

"Uh oh,” Kemper pipes, “lover boy's got a text?”

Rafe unlocks the screen and smiles, spreading a little wider. “What the fuck?” He clips as Alex picks the phone out of his hand.

"Let's see what kind of cute little texts your girl sends, huh?” His voice trails away as he looks at the screen, wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open as he catches you in nothing but black lace.

"What?" The others clamor, pushing towards Alex to get a better look.

”C’mon,” Alex whines as JJ plucks the phone off his hands, taking it for himself.

“Goddamn,” Maybank groans as he zooms in.

“Enough, man. What the fuck,” Rafe scoffs as he reaches for it. JJ quickly slides his finger across Rafe’s screen, skimming through the camera roll to find more.

Before Rafe can grab it, JJ lofts it to the next boy, slightly out of Rafe’s reach. Kemper flicks his fingers as well, his eyes doubling when he finds something new.

"Fuckkk, there's a video!" He responds excitedly, one hand gripping the phone, the other extended, fighting Rafe off as he tries to get the device back.

Your sweet moan rips through the phone’s speakers, sending the boys into a frenzy. Rafe's easygoing expression changes in an instant. His smile remains in place, but a razor-sharp edge of possession colors his movements as he stands up, snatching the phone back before they could play any more than a few seconds.

“You like that?” You breathe—your soft, sultry voice echoing faintly through the device before Rafe locks his phone.

The group falls silent, eating their words, struck dumb and speechless as they see a side of you they didn’t imagine existed.

"Like I said," Rafe drawls as he pops another beer, "you've got no idea what you're talkin’ about."

Before the boys can recover, a voice breaks through the haze. “Hey, baby,” you hum. All eyes shifting to you.

The group turns together, watching you step toward the party; your beautiful eyes lock on Rafe’s. He shifts slightly, extending a hand, quickly pulling you onto his lap with a smile. You drape your arm around his neck, Rafe’s arms dressing around your waist, his eyes matching yours, making your stomach flutter.

"Ready to go, baby?" You ask playfully, your intentions for the rest of the night clear in your tone.

“Always,” Rafe smiles as he wets his lip, leaning in for a kiss.

He doesn't hesitate, following you through the crowded hallway, his hand resting on the small of your back to keep you close. The two of you climb the stairs, ducking under tacky Christmas decorations and weaving around people playing beer games at the kitchen table.

Rafe grabs two Coors, popping open one for you and one for him. He sets it down and grabs you by your waist, lifting you onto the counter, moving between your thighs, tilting closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart. You know that?” He asks, his voice low and sweet.

“So are you, baby.” You lean in, pressing a tender kiss against his lips.

“Would you kill me if I told you they saw that picture you sent me?” He asks.

“Rafey…” You laugh gently against his lips, pecking at them again. “You’re givin’ away all my secrets, baby.”

“M’sorry-”

“ I don’t care,” you smile, gently brushing your lips against his. “Let ‘em know what a slut I am for you…”

“You are, aren’t you, princess?”

“Mhmm,” you hum against his lips before sucking off the bottom, making him groan against your lips.

“… You still wearin’ it, baby?” He drawls.

“You told me to be a good girl and keep it in... What do you think?” You flirt.

“Fuckin’ love you,” he hums.

Rafe wraps his arm around you, lifting you off the counter, pulling you through the packed living room: bodies upon bodies, wall to wall, the air thick with heat and booze—music blares from the speakers, pulsing in your chest.

Rafe crashes down on his favorite chair, the two of you snuggling up in the dark corner. His big hands slide up your thighs immediately, gripping your hips as your lips meet.

“I’m the luckiest man here,” he hums as his hands shift your ass, squeezing tight. One of his hands falls lower before rising again, drifting under your skirt.

Rafe rubs his fingers over your pussy, teasing your entrance over your lace panties, soaking them thoroughly. His rough hands trace up your ass, pressing against the plug, making you whimper against his lips.

“Mmm… Good girl,” he breathes. Rafe draws back enough to meet your gaze, making chills run down your spine. "You got no clue what you do to me,” he hums.

Your fingers scratch into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe you should show me.”

His eyes fall to your lips—his lusty smile spreading, matching your own. Rafe moves closer, burying himself in your neck, kissing higher and higher. His heavy breathing hits your ear, making your pussy throb. “Right here…” Rafe mumbles. “Let me put my cock in, princess.”

“You’re gonna fuck me right here?” You giggle dizzily, making him chuckle as well, pulling you in tighter.

“You gonna let me?”

“You know I will…” You coo.

“Thought so… Fuckin’ though? Maybe that's a little risky, even for us. You're just gonna keep me warm for a while…” He lies.

“That’s it?” You ask teasingly as you slip your hand between the two of you, cupping his stiff bulge, making him moan in your ear.

“What—you want more?” He taunts, giving it right back to you.

“I always want more,” you whisper. You slip out of his lap, turning around, facing the crowd, the lot lost in their own worlds. Rafe grabs your chin and turns your face, claiming your lips as he adjusts, pulling his pants down enough to release his aching cock.

His thick dick slaps against his shirt. You reach behind your back, wrapping your hand around him, stroking slowly. Rafe throws his head back on the chair, letting you work him in your fist, thumb skimming over his fat tip. You look over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you put it between your plump lips, sucking it clean.

Rafe lifts your skirt slightly, pushing your panties to the side. You rise slightly as Rafe seizes his dick in his big hand, swirling around your soaked hole. You claw at the armrests, listening to Rafe hiss out a breath as you sink on his long cock inch by inch.

“Shit,” you whimper as you release your hands, fully sat, adjusting your skirt, feeling Rafe throb inside you.

He moves closer, wrapping strong his arms around your body, tucking himself in your neck. “Pussy’s just made for me, baby,” he breathes, hot against your neck.

You look out into the crowd, but no one is the wiser. Rafe turns your face again, pushing his lips against yours. Your clench around his cock, and he moans against your lips. His hands shift along your body, brushing over your tits, moving down your stomach, slipping just under your shirt.

He presses down on your stomach, making your thigh draw in. “M’so fuckin’ deep,” he whispers as he pushes again, making you gasp against his lips as he feels his own cock.

Rafe’s other hand moves lower, his two long fingers finding your clit over your clothes. Your eyes scan the crowd; the two of you are still in the clear as Rafe starts spiraling his fingers on your sex.

You know you should stay still, not wanting to give yourselves away, but you can help but circle your hips ever so slightly, grinding your wet cunt on Rafe’s lap with his cock buried so deep.

Rafe grabs your hips, his biceps, and forearms, flexing as he pulls you down as hard as he can, making your nails drive into his skin to keep from crying out as he splits you apart. Your head falls forward from the pressure between your thighs.

Your wetness drools from your tight hole, wetting the place between the two of you, making you both a sticky mess. He lifts your hips slightly, fucking up into your slick center, making your eyes roll back.

Rafe belts his arms around your waist, pulling you into him again as you feel your pleasure about to erupt; pussy tightening around him.

“Me too, baby. Me too,” he pants. “Do that thing you were doin’, huh? Grind f’me. Make a fuckin’ mess,” he mumbles. You roll your hips into him, panting against his lips, not caring who sees at this point, more concerned with your pleasure and his.

Your movements start to get sloppy as you lose control. Rafe grabs your hips, coaxing you to the edge. You gush around his cock, creaming and cumming with him, swallowing each other's moans between deep kisses.

The two of you breathe rapidly against each other's lips, little whimpers falling from yours in sensitivity as you feel his pulsing cock move deep in your guts, his cum and the plug making you feel incredibly full.

Rafe pulls you back on his chest, the two of you exchanging sweet kisses as you come down from your bliss. You giggle against his lips, and he smiles against yours at what the two of you just did. You’re shameless display of affection doing nothing but bringing you closer.

He helps you off his cock, buttoning up his pants before guiding you to stand. Before you can step away, he binds his arm around you, pulling you in, lips finding your neck. A sharp gasp and a throaty moan leave your mouth as you feel a loss.

“Why don’t we say goodnight to the boys and head to bed, yeah?” He asks as he tucks the butt plug in his back pocket. You feel the sensation of his warm cum slipping out of your puffy hole and your ass, dripping down your inner thigh. “I wanna be leakin’ out of you when we do, princess.”

[wheneverfeasible]

Based on this post by @jadewritesficshere

Steve looked at himself in the mirror from all angles. Maybe, even just a year ago, he might have squashed all of this down and pretended he was just like any other All American white boy in a Midwest state. Except a year ago he still carried the baggage of his failures and was trying to be someone he was not.

And then Robin Buckley, with her ‘You Rule, You Suck’ board, entered his life.

Now, he was able to fully appreciate how much he had never been able to get Eddie “the Freak” Munson out of his head. He might have played it off had this situation never arose, might have been able to keep his lies to himself secret, but…well. It was a good thing Vickie’s locker had been right next to Eddie’s.

Admittedly, he did feel a little guilty about using the lip gloss that Nancy had left at his place, but then she had let him borrow some before back when he worked at Scoops, so really…was it that bad?

He just hoped that Eddie liked the taste of strawberries.

If Steve was lucky enough to find out.

So here he was, fifteen minutes early, waiting to meet Eddie in the band room after school. He’d never been here, obviously, but he’d managed to sneak into the place Robin and Vickie frequented quite often. Luckily there were no other band geeks hoping to use the free time to practice their instruments…or their instruments—he never realized how fucking horny band geeks were before Robin spilled all that gossip. He should have cast his net wider in high school.

Anyways, Steve got himself ready, trying to pose himself perfectly against an abandoned desk, legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned back on his hands to push out his tits, or whatever guys had, accentuating the thickness of his thighs as well. He’s got this.

And then the handle was turning and there’s Eddie, glancing behind him to obviously make certain he wasn’t being followed and no one is paying attention to him—he must know that the room is used for more than just music practice too—before finally turning to face his supposed secret admirer as he closed the door.

Only to freeze when he caught sight of Steve, face draining of color. Steve was across the room in an instant, hand keeping the door shut where Eddie had turned and immediately tried to open it again, leaning into Eddie’s space with a small smirk.

“What’s the rush, Munson?” he murmured in a tone he hadn’t had to use in a while, letting his eyes drag over the dumb Dungeons & Dipshits club shirt Steve couldn’t wait to get his hands under. His eyes drifted lower, thinking of other things he’d like to get under. When his eyes finally made their way back up to Eddie’s face, the dude’s face was tinged pink.

“Ha-Harrington,” Eddie said with a small stutter, eyes darting frantically to the hand keeping the door closed. The metalhead cleared his throat, stiffening his spine as he seemed to gather himself, though he crossed his arms defensively across his chest. “Is this some sort of sick joke? Got you buddies hiding around here somewhere waiting to jump me?”

Steve softly snorted. “While I’ve had a threesome before, I’m not really interested in a gangbang. Besides, darling, I’m not super keen on sharing,” he purred, reaching out with his free hand to lightly brush through the curly hair at Eddie’s shoulder, twirling a strand with a smile.

To his credit, Eddie didn’t flinch, though he did frown severely. Even still, his eyes dropped to Steve’s lips for the briefest moment, which Steve took as a win. “What the hell, Harrington?”

Steve chuckled, moving to lean his shoulder against the door instead, since it allowed him to pop his ass out a bit. “You got my note, didn’t you?” A little fib since it wasn’t technically his note that Robin had accidentally slipped into Eddie’s locker, but whatever. “I wanna take you out on a date. Right now, if you’d let me.”

Eddie blinked at Steve like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. “I know I have hair like Wheeler, but you do know I’m a dude, right? I have a dick.”

“You’re a musician, yeah?” Steve said, ignoring that for a moment to lean in closer, trailing the hand from Eddie’s hair down his arm. “Then I bet you’re really good with your hands.” He let his eyes drop to them meaningfully. “I bet those fingers can reach all sorts of places. Bet you know how to get the best sounds with them.”

When Steve looked back into Eddie’s face, it was flushed a bright pink this time, his mouth dropped open slightly in shock. Steve took the opportunity to press his fingers under that sharp jaw to close it with a soft click.

“Bet you’re talented with that mouth too.” And, okay, normally he wouldn’t be quite so forward with a girl, but Eddie wasn’t a girl. Things were a little different here. He had a feeling Eddie would appreciate the direct approach too. “You know, I’ve done a bit of singing myself. I’d love to show you my talent as well.”

Eddie let out a huff of breathless laugh of disbelief as he took several steps back into the room, holding his hands up. “I don’t know who put you up to this, man, but—”

“No one put me up to it,” Steve interrupted. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since high school and I would be the idiot of the century if I didn’t ask such a pretty boy like you out on a date.”

“No one thinks I’m pretty, Steve,” Eddie said with another nervous laugh, grabbing his hair to cover his mouth in embarrassment.

“Then everyone else has to be the idiot. You’re gorgeous, Eddie.” Steve let his gaze drop again, taking in all of Eddie’s lithe form. “You’re hot as fuck and I should have asked you out on a date years ago. Sorry I don’t have flowers with me, but if you let me take you on a date, I’ll buy you whatever flower you want.”

“D-dude, what even makes you think that I’m…you know,” Eddie said, eyes darting around as though searching for another escape route.

“Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t have checked out my ass back in high school.” Eddie looked terrified again, which wasn’t Steve’s intention. He was supposed to be charming for Pete’s sake…whoever Pete was. He stepped forward, holding his hands out to show that he was without malice. “I promise I don’t mean any harm, Eddie.”

“No? Former Keg King and head cock of the roost Steve Harrington just asked Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson to an empty classroom to ask him on a date? Am I really supposed to believe that?” Eddie scoffed, arms once more wrapping around himself.

“I checked you out too, you know,” Steve murmured. “I think I did even before I realized that guys could be an option.” He licked his lips, tasting that hint of strawberry, but it had the desired effect of snapping Eddie’s gaze to them again as well.

“What, you wanna get dicked down by the king freak?” Eddie lightly sneered. “Really fell that far, Stevie?”

“What can I say, you’re easy to fall for,” Steve said with a wink, slinking his way slowly closer. That seemed to shut Eddie up, his face turning that lovely shade of dusty pink again. “But if you need me to fall further…”

Steve smirked as he dropped to his knees in front of Eddie, who gulped thickly enough that it was audible. He reached out to grab Eddie’s fingers, bringing them to his lips as he looked up at the older boy through his lashes.

“Because I am more than willing to worship Hawkins High’s one true king,” he whispered, pulling out all the stops as he brushed his lips over Eddie’s knuckles in a soft kiss. He had a feeling that a theatrical man like Eddie would appreciate some theatrics himself.

And appreciate it Eddie seemed to do, judging by the first honest look of awe on his face as he stared down at Steve. Like he was maybe starting to realize that Steve meant everything he was saying. Eddie drew in a deep, shuddering breath, before releasing it with a small smirk of his own.

“Is that so? And what does that make you, Steve? My dashing knight, ready to obey my every command?” Eddie murmured, turning his fingers in Steve’s hold to slip under Steve’s chin, his thumb brushing just under his glossy bottom lip.

Steve shivered at the touch. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Eddie, if it gives me the honor of taking you out on a date.”

“Well,” Eddie breathed. “You do look good on your knees.” He leaned in, bending down to bring his lips to Steve’s ear, his hair curtaining around them. “Do you look just as good on your back?” he whispered.

Steve grinned, bringing his other hand up to hold on to Eddie’s hip. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, Munson,” he murmured back. “So what do you say? Go on a date with me? I promise to treat you good. And then you can treat me very, very bad.”

Eddie flushed again, but he was smiling as he pulled back enough to look down at Steve. “That a promise, Sir Harrington?”

“Wanna seal it with a kiss?” Steve grinned.

It turned out, Eddie did like the taste of strawberries.

Later, when he learned the truth about the note mishap, Eddie laughed so hard he cried, but he didn’t waste any time in thanking Robin for her little blunder. After all, without it, he never would have gotten his first (and hopefully last) official boyfriend.

Who did, in fact, look entirely too good on his back.

~~~~~~

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-weirdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: yandere, kidnapping, captive reader, noncon, somnophilia

follow up to this part one

gn reader

Yeah, he kidnaps you within the same day…

He knows it isn’t inherently right, but he can justify it! You see, if anyone else were to find out your technique, you’d be in a lot of trouble—and by trouble, he means certain death or worse.

You’re a paradox. If he’d reported his find to the elders, they’d surely have sent assassins, given how terrified they are of the unknown—and you’re worse than an unknown—you’re a threat to jujutsu’s very foundation. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d make weapons out of your body until nothing was left of you—just think about it—a bullet made from your flesh would have the instant power to disintegrate a curse on the spot. Or worse, they’d keep you alive and locked up somewhere, feeding you only to drain you of a dozen blood bags per day—like a farm.

Yes, this was better for you—with no one knowing of your existence except him. He’s the only one who can keep you safe.

Of course, you think he’s crazy. And he doesn’t blame you. You were just abducted by a stranger in the streets who not only insists that you’re an anomaly but wears a blindfold and claims to be a wizard out to protect you from people who would harvest your blood. Yeah, he wouldn’t believe him either.

The whole situation is messy, but at least you’re alive.

He gives you your own room. Of course, he’s not out to make you uncomfortable. You have your own room, bed, and bathroom, which is where you spend most of your time.

He can’t blame you for that, either. He won’t force you to spend time with him even though he wants to. But he’s not entirely innocent either—watching you through the cameras in the ceiling. It’s funny, but even on tape, you’re crystal clear. It’s calming to watch. Everything else makes his eyes hurt, hence the blindfold—but even that is but a dull salve. You’re the cure.

You warm up to him after a month or so. You come out of your room. He can tell you’re looking for weak spots to escape from, but you won’t find any. He’s gotten better at reading you now—having busied himself learning the language of your body looking at you without your knowledge. He only feels slightly guilty about it.

He can’t stop thinking about touching you, though. It really doesn’t have to be much—he’s never really been much of a playboy, despite people’s assumptions. Women and men have never been all that appealing when what he sees is everything they’re trying to hide. Though he has tried it a few times, he usually just takes care of it on his own if he needs to.

He's needed to a lot in the past weeks. But he promises himself he won’t force you into anything. That wouldn’t be fair.

You start talking to him another month later—actual conversations aside from the usual swearing or claims to let you go. No, you begin asking questions about the jujutsu world. He can’t tell if it’s because you’re curious or seeking information that might aid in your escape or if it’s simply a ploy to lower his guard, but it’s clear you still think he’s delusional. Either way, he doesn’t mind humoring you. He even tries demonstrating limitless for you, holding different objects as well as himself midair—but you seem convinced he’s just some talented crook. You’ve seen more compelling magic acts before, you say. He laughs.

He'd show you something more convincing, but you can’t see cursed spirits even with special glasses as the curse imbued into the lenses disrupts the moment you put them on, so to you, it’s the same as wearing fakes. In a way, curses don’t exist in your world. He’s tested it out a few times—simple flyheads, just to see what happens, and wow… It’s actually kind of scary how they just crumble upon contact with you—no residuals or anything left to prove that they were ever even there.

The only way to prove it to you would be to let someone else get mangled in front of you. Of course, it would only look like a body getting warped beyond recognition by the air—but he’s sure at that point, you’d no longer be able to assign normal logic to it. Not that he’s going to do any of that. He doesn’t really need you to believe him after all. It wouldn’t change anything. In fact, he prefers you don’t know. The jujutsu world is an ugly one—he doesn’t mind sheltering you from it.

Another four months in, and you’ve gotten comfortable. Well, it’s been half a year, so it’s taken its time, but still, he’s happy to have gotten there. You’re at the point where you ask him for things unrestricted—hobby stuff like books and paints and groceries. 

You’d taken to baking and cooking rather early on, which was great as his kitchen was practically in pristine and unused condition. He can’t blame you for growing tired of his unhealthy food habits—microwave dinners for the most part, other times leftovers he brings home from restaurants, otherwise just candy and pastries. You’d refused to make him anything in the start, but you’d soon caved when you realized he could just as simply refuse to bring you the ingredients. You’re now the designated cook of the house. It’s cute, like having his own little housewife.

Your guard has also dropped. You no longer flinch away when he’s close. Not that he allows himself to touch you improperly—just a little—a few accidental rubs here and then, brushing along you in passing, blaming it on the blindfold even when he can hear your feet pad along the floors in the utter silent emptiness of his house. And other innocent things... laying his hand on your head when he reaches for a glass in the cupboard above you, telling you he wouldn’t want you to hit yourself—brushing your back with his chest and his crotch on your rear. It can’t hurt—it only barely touches and just for a few seconds.

It makes him feel like a filthy drug addict, though. Desperate for a fix, then only wanting more once it’s gone…

He’s been coming to your room to watch you sleep almost every night. You don’t know. You’d be more wary of him if you did. But no, you’re under the impression he’s just some poor, disillusioned man who’s otherwise harmless. You don’t know, and he aims to keep it that way.

It’s for your sake. Just the same as you don’t know curses exist, you needn’t know of the cursed thoughts simmering within his head either. So, he does it for you. To spare you.

That’s what he tells himself when watching you obliviously drink the crushed pills he’s been feeding you for the last many months.

He’d reached his breaking point much sooner than he thought—just after he swore against it, actually. Limiting himself only seemed to make him ever more in need of you. But it was to be expected—he’s never been too good at abiding by rules. He’s always felt above them—even those he sets upon himself.

He’s happy you’ve warmed up to him when you’re awake now, too, utterly unaware you’ve been more than accommodating in your sleep.

Of course, he feels bad! But what you don’t know won’t hurt you.

Besides... give or take a few more months, and you’re bound to invite him into your bed at some point. It’s only natural—humans require contact and will accept what’s available to them. He’s only early in taking what he knows you’d give him sooner or later anyway.

You have no way of knowing how long you sleep, no windows, no watch—no idea you sleep more than half a day every night—half of that time spent with him.

He’d only spooned you at first—his bare hands laid in reverence against your soft skin, reveling in your heat while cuddling into you. It had been nice, but ultimately not enough. He’d resorted to undressing after a while, lying there naked—but still, doing nothing but holding you—skin-to-skin. That, as well, had only been enough for a while—now keeping a hand on you while tugging himself in the other. It seems that every indulgence he allows himself only serves to make the need within grow deeper. You rivet his entire body ablaze like nothing else… and he has this undying feeling pounding in his chest and throughout his body, down to his throbbing dick, that being inside you is going to feel like nothing he's ever felt before.

And you're so cute down there—pretty on his fingers—welcoming. Kissing there makes his candy addiction go to waste. He’s convinced burying his face between your thighs is where he belongs. Right there, smothered in the warmth with your taste flooding his mouth. He could die happy. 

And fuck if it doesn’t look like you need his cock inside you once he pulls away—spit-slicked, swollen, and fluttering for him—crying to be filled and fucked. 

The little sounds you make as he enters you are the sweetest sounds he’s heard in his life—pretty little mews and sleepy moans as he fills you out until you’re neatly settled around his base and fuck—he’s already cumming, melting within the surrounding cloudy warmth. 

It doesn’t stop him from remaining hard. 

Dropping his weight atop of you, he smothers you like a duvet—bodies pressed perfectly against each other as he kisses every and any part of you he can reach, snapping his hips in short thrusts deep within—sucking your lip while sinking his fingers into the plume of your haunches, lapping up the spit from within your mouth like a well granting all his wishes.

He cleans you up after—wipes you down, and frets over the bruises left on you, hoping you won’t read too much into how sore you are. Leaving the crimescene just as it had been before, then kisses you good night.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[luveline]

coworker!james and readers first kiss pretty pretty please? with cherry on top? i love these pining idiots in love so much!

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

“What are you doing?” 

A warm voice and a warmer hand pressed to your shoulder. You hide the mug under your palm and look up, finding yourself face to face with a grinning James. 

His glasses make his eyes a little smaller than they are in actuality. Closer, you can see all the different shades that surround his pupils, and his hedging of dark lashes, so dark it’s like he’s wearing makeup. 

“Nothing.” 

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” His hand remains on your shoulder, a brand as the other grabs at a torn corner of a packet you’d failed to throw away. Your lips part in horror, but he can’t be stopped now. “Um, excuse me, lovely girl, but you wouldn’t know what this is off, would you?” 

“Me?” 

“You, yeah.” 

“Um…” You squint at the packaging in mock confusion. “No, don’t think so.” 

“Well, there’s one way to get to the bottom of this.” 

He moves his hand, for which you’re thankful and disappointed at once. It had been close to a hug, that warmth lingering as James opens the kitchen cupboard and sorts through tens of boxes before pulling down a hastily returned cardboard box. ‘JAMES’ has been written across it in bold sharpie. 

He slips out a hot chocolate sachet from the box and compares the scrap he’d found to the corner. They are, unfortunately, an exact match. 

“Where do you get the audacity?” he asks plainly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“So what’s that, then?” 

“It’s nothing,” you say, sliding the mug further away from you both. 

There’s a silence. James puts the box back in the cupboard and peers at you where you’re curling in on yourself. He’s trying to intimidate you, at least for fun, something weighted and smiley about his gaze as he slides his arm between you and the counter. “If it’s nothing,” he says quietly, “then show it to me.” 

You angle your face up to explain yourself. He’d looked sad, tired even, and you’d hoped making him a cup of hot chocolate would cheer him up. Things between you lately are clearly different, not just to you but to everyone around you. All your interactions feel watched. James’ hand curling against your waist doesn’t even feel new, it just feels firm. 

A big hand, his thumb pressing into your soft stomach. 

Your breath catches as he moves you out of his way. 

“Is this my mug, too?” he asks, all tension draining, your relief a quick breath. (Your disappointment somewhere hidden beneath it.) “You’re the cheekiest girl alive. Shame on you.” 

You give him a strange look. He can’t ignore it, you’re too obvious. 

“What?” he asks, nudging the mug back toward your hand. 

For a second you…

“I’m just kidding,” he says, his eyes widening the longer you remain speechless. “You don’t have to panic. I’m joking, I don’t care.” 

“I was making it for you,” you say. 

James’ brows relax. “You were?” 

You give him the mug, and you don’t know what to do, what can you do? If you linger he’ll work out what you’re thinking, he has a detector for all your most embarrassing thoughts, you’re sure of it. You nod emphatically and weave around him without another word. 

“Y/N,” he says to your back. The door handle is cold in your hand. You almost walk straight into it. “Y/N, wait a second!” 

You turn around, weary of a scene. “I’m fine,” you say, startled by his reaction, “I just need a minute.” 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“I’m fine.” You summon your most convincing smile. Your heart bends against your ribs. “Really.” 

You leave him standing in the kitchen, nonplussed, rushing out of the main part of the office and down the two flights of stairs. Out past the receptionists, down the concrete steps, where you stop at the bottom, and sit down hard. 

What are you doing? 

Where can you go? You can’t go anywhere. James is going to know exactly what it is that made you react like that, is going to realise you have feelings for him entirely outside of the common realm. And you’ll have to keep sitting at your adjacent desks pretending it’s not true. 

Why would he do that to you? His hand on your waist turning you toward him, your faces much closer than they’d ever been. James must know that’s an intimate touch. 

He’s messing with you. 

You spend five minutes glancing out at the car park before he comes to join you. It’s awful that you know that it’s him. The wind blows in pangs against the side of your face. 

“I’m really sorry,” James says, sitting on the second to last step beside you, a strange lack of space between your two bodies. “I didn’t mean to do that to you. To freak you out.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I really didn’t. I know I’ve messed with you before, but you were looking at me like…” 

You rub your eye, a migraine brewing behind it. “Like what?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. Like that.” 

“How was I looking at you?” 

“I don’t know. Like I– Like I broke your heart.” He laughs ‘cos it’s stupid, but his laugh peters off strangely. 

“James, you were looking at me like you were…” What’s unsaid stays heavily between you. 

He looks off to the side, his hand coming up behind his hand to scratch his hair. Curls pull and plink as his fingers comb through them, he’s rough, but the lengths of his hair are shiny under what little of the sun floods through the cloud cover above. You watch him, stomach aching for an answer, some confirmation, but the more you look the less sure you are that you need it. Everything you feel for him wells to the surface. It’s hot, and urgent, and it’s getting too much for you to hold alone. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits quietly. 

“James,” you say, wanting him like a palpable wound. Wanting him to need you too. “James,” you say again, putting your hand on his thigh carefully. 

He covers it instinctively. “What?” he asks. 

“Please, can I…” 

His eyes bore into yours, and follow your gaze when it tips down to his mouth. 

The skin between his brow creases with one deep wrinkle, his full lips twisted into a heart-hurting frown as he leans in. You close your eyes before he can close his own, waiting for him, to kiss you and to get this tugging yearning dealt with, but he doesn’t kiss you. His breath warms your lips and he turns to you completely, but he doesn’t kiss you. 

You want it so badly, you tip your chin up and press your lips to his. Terrified of him, because you really are in the palm of his hand now. It’s worse than when he hated you. 

He has the power to be a thousand times more cruel than he ever had before as you kiss him softly. 

James kisses back a second too late. He’s giving in to it and you’re pulling away, pins and needles in your hands. “Wait,” he says, his voice a shade of longing you’ve never heard, your eyes flashing open at the same time. His hand leaps for your waist. “Wait, please.” 

His fingers press into the dough of your side, holding you still, butterflies alive and riveted under his hand. 

You close your eyes on a whim, and he kisses you soundly. His lips part against yours to encourage a similar movement, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side and your noses smudged together. “Please,” he murmurs against your lips. 

You kiss him back like he kisses you. Soft, open-mouthed. 

His hand comes up to your face, pulling you forward, desperate to keep you close as he sighs against your mouth, the sound a vibration you feel at the back of your throat. 

Please, he’d said, like he wouldn’t get another go. 

Please. The tie on you snaps. 

You kiss him like you’ve never kissed anybody, hoping it isn’t just another obvious trick. 

[theywantedplayer]

MastersList

PromptList

You and Luke had been arguing for the past 20 minutes in the living room of his apartment. Jack was somewhere hiding, not wanting to get involved or make things worse between his brother and you.

The argument was draining you more than you realized. What most people didn’t know about the young, up-and-coming star defenseman for the Devils was that he was an overthinker and, at times, incredibly insecure. Tonight, the team had decided to go out to a bar after the game, with some of the guys bringing their girlfriends along. You had agreed to join Luke, hoping to spend time together.

You knew Luke was a social guy when it came to his teammates, and especially when he started drinking, he could go up to anyone and make a friend. It was honestly one of your favorite things about him. But tonight? Tonight, he barely spent any time with you. You ended up sitting in a corner booth with Nico and a couple of other teammates. There were times you couldn’t even spot Luke in the bar because it was so packed. You talked to Nico for most of the night, laughing and hearing embarrassing stories about Luke from before you moved to New Jersey.

You thought you were just having fun, getting to know your boyfriend’s teammates. What you didn’t know was how pissed off Luke was going to be when you both got home.

“How do you think I feel, looking at my girlfriend flirting it up with my captain?” he snapped at you.

You both had gotten home about an hour ago. Most of the alcohol had left Luke’s system, but he was still tipsy, which meant he had no filter.

“I wasn’t flirting, Luke!” you shot back, your patience wearing thin. “You left me alone all night. I don’t know anyone on your team except for you, Jack, and now Nico! So excuse me for trying to talk to someone.”

Luke groaned, running his hand down his face in frustration. “Come on, Y/N. If you really wanted to find me, you would’ve come and gotten me at the bar. But newsflash—you didn’t. You stayed there with Nico.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Do you really think I would flirt with your captain in front of your whole damn team, Luke?”

“How can I not think that? It sure as hell looked like it,” he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air.

His face was flushed from the alcohol, and his hair was messy from running his hands through it.

“But that’s not what happened,” you said, your voice trembling with frustration. “Nico and I were talking about you! He was telling me about all the embarrassing stuff you did before I moved here.” You threw your hands up, mimicking his earlier gesture. “And God forbid I learned about his family and what it’s like in Switzerland.”

There was a long, heavy silence between you two after that. You knew that Nico would never do something like that to Luke, and Luke knew it too. But the thought of you talking to the hotshot captain of the New Jersey Devils made him feel insecure, and he couldn’t handle it.

Finally, Luke met your gaze. The scowl on your face was clear, and he knew he had crossed a line. He opened his mouth to apologize, but you cut him off before he could say anything.

“Honestly, Luke, fuck you for thinking I would cheat on you like that. I’ve given you no reason to think that,” you snapped. “Do you think I get pissed when we go to bars after you guys win a game, and all these puck bunnies are all over you? Yeah, of course, I get fucking jealous. But I trust you. Why can’t you trust me?”

Luke opened his mouth but remained silent. You took that as him shutting you out. His stubbornness stung more than the words he had just said.

“You know what? Never mind. I’m going to bed,” you muttered, shaking your head and turning to walk down the hallway to your shared bedroom.

“Wait, no, stop.” You heard Luke call after you. Sighing out of annoyance, you felt your body freeze.

“What, Luke?” you asked bluntly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” His voice was quieter now, filled with regret. You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his words. Slowly, you turned around to look at him.

“You’ve given me no reason to think you’d cheat on me. No reason at all. And I’m ashamed that I thought that. And I know it’s no excuse, but look at you, Y/N…” He groaned, his voice breaking slightly. “Fucking look at you, and look at me. In my mind, it makes no sense. I just always think you could do better. I have no idea what I’m doing in life. All I know is hockey. You’re in university, supporting yourself, having a job, and you actually know where you’re going. I have no fucking clue,” he admitted, his voice raw.

You were genuinely shocked. Did Luke really think you were too good for him? Was that what this was about?

“Luke, I think the exact opposite. I think you're way too good for me,” you said softly, wanting him to understand your feelings. “But I still don’t treat you like that.”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, his head hung low in guilt. “And it’s no excuse. I was drinking, and I let my emotions get the best of me. I’m kicking myself for it right now.”

When you first started dating Luke, you were surprised by how he handled arguments—he always owned up to his mistakes. He never let things fester, always wanting to sit down and talk things out. He was nothing like your exes, and that was because you were too important to him to let something stupid end your relationship.

There was a brief silence, but you both felt the anger fading. It was Luke who spoke first.

“I’ll let you be alone tonight. I get it. I’ll sleep on the couch or crash with Jack if he’ll let me,” he said, shaking his head in frustration at himself.

You sighed deeply still hurt and Luke could see that on your face “No, Luke. You’re not sleeping on the couch. This is too stupid for you to be sleeping on the couch. Just come to bed.”

You smiled at him, and he was clearly taken aback by your words. You waved him over, signaling him to come to bed.

He immediately walked over, pulling you into a tight hug and kissing your forehead.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He squeezed you tightly before letting go, allowing you to lead him to your bedroom.

[woso-story]

Overprotective

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The Barcelona training facilities were alive with their usual energy—players chatting, balls bouncing on the field, the rhythmic clang of weights in the gym. You had retreated to a quieter corner of the gym to do your light stretches, the only exercise you were allowed these days. It had been like this since you and Alexia learned you were pregnant: no strenuous activity, no risks.

Alexia had been over the moon when the two of you found out about the baby. From the moment the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, she had become fiercely protective, to the point where it sometimes felt like she was wrapping you in bubble wrap. She insisted on doing everything for you—chores, errands, even the smallest tasks, like tying your shoes. It was sweet but also exhausting.

Today was no different. Alexia was somewhere else in the building, busy with media obligations, but you could almost feel her presence hovering even in her absence. She had made it very clear to your teammates to keep an eye on you, and you knew they were taking their mission seriously.

As you eased into a stretch, Aitana and Ingrid walked over, their expressions curious and warm.

“How’s it going?” Aitana asked, settling onto the mat beside you.

“And how’s the little one?” Ingrid added, her eyes flicking briefly to your baby bump with a smile.

You grinned at them. “Everything’s perfect. The baby’s doing great, and I’m feeling good, really.” You paused for a moment, then leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s just… Alexia.”

Aitana immediately chuckled, exchanging a knowing look with Ingrid. “What’s she done now?”

“She’s always hovering,” you said, your voice tinged with affection and exasperation. “She’s so worried something will happen that she won’t let me do anything. And she’s got all of you spying on me too, hasn’t she?”

Ingrid raised her hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Guilty as charged.”

Aitana smirked. “She’s worse than your shadow. I’m surprised she’s not hiding behind the weight rack right now, watching you.”

The three of you burst out laughing, though you quickly glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting Alexia to appear out of nowhere.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door opened, and Alexia strolled in. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto your group, narrowing slightly. “What’s so funny?” she asked, crossing the room toward you.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, smiling up at her.

She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, crouching beside you and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You okay? How’s everything?”

“Perfect,” you assured her, standing up and resting a hand on your bump.

Before Alexia could press further, the gym doors burst open, and a whirlwind of chaos swept in. Pina, Patri, and Mapi barreled into the room, laughing loudly and spraying water at each other with their bottles.

“Be careful!” you called out, but they were too caught up in their antics to hear you.

It happened in an instant. Mapi, not watching where she was going, accidentally bumped into you as she dashed past. You stumbled backward, falling back to the mat. It wasn’t serious—just a minor tumble—but it was enough to send Alexia into full-on mama-bear mode.

Alexia was by your side in a heartbeat, her face a mixture of fear and fury. “What were you thinking?!” she snapped, her voice ringing out like a thunderclap.

Mapi froze, her face draining of color. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Go away,” Alexia cut her off, her tone icy. “All of you. Go be reckless somewhere else.”

Pina and Patri grabbed Mapi’s arm, pulling her toward the door. Mapi looked devastated, glancing back at you with wide, guilty eyes.

Once they were gone, Alexia turned her full attention to you, her hands trembling slightly as she checked you over. “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?”

“Lex, I’m fine,” you said gently, placing a reassuring hand on hers. “It was just a little stumble. Nothing happened.”

“No,” she said firmly, helping you to your feet. “We’re going to the medical room, just to be sure.”

At lunch, you followed Alexia into the cafeteria. You immediately spotted your usual table, where Mapi, Ingrid, Aitana, Frido and Esmee were sitting. Mapi looked miserable, her shoulders hunched and her gaze fixed on the table. But as you headed toward them, Alexia steered you to an empty table instead.

Knowing there was no point in arguing, you let her lead you there. The medical staff did a thorough check-up, confirming that everything was perfectly fine. Alexia let out a long sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging as the tension drained from her.

---

“Alexia,” you said, exasperated, as you set your tray down. “What are you doing?”

“We’re sitting here,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

You sighed, trying to stay calm. “You can’t stay mad at Mapi forever. It was an accident. She didn’t mean to bump into me.”

“She should know better,” Alexia said sharply, her fiery gaze meeting yours. “You could’ve been seriously hurt.”

“She’s your best friend,” you reminded her gently. “And she feels awful. You know she’d never hurt me or the baby on purpose.”

Alexia didn’t respond, her jaw tightening. Frustrated, you grabbed your tray and stood up.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her tone sharp.

“To sit with my friends,” you said firmly, walking away before she could stop you.

When you sat down at your usual table, Mapi didn’t even look up. You placed a hand on her arm, and she finally met your gaze.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “Really. I’m fine, and the baby’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mapi whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You smiled at her reassuringly. “It was just a little accident. Don’t worry about it.”

That afternoon, Alexia found you outside with the others. “Ready to go home?” she asked, ignoring Mapi, who was standing beside you.

Slowly, the tension began to lift, and soon you were all laughing at one of Frido’s jokes. You noticed Mapi glancing nervously at Alexia from time to time, and you leaned over to whisper, “She’ll come around. She’s just… a little intense right now.”

---

“Actually,” you said, “Ingrid, Esmee, and I are going to the mall. You can drive Mapi home.”

Alexia opened her mouth to argue, but the look you gave her stopped her in her tracks. Begrudgingly, she agreed.

The car ride was tense at first, but eventually, Mapi broke the silence. “I’m really sorry, Alexia. It wasn’t on purpose. I’d never want to hurt her or the baby. I’ll be more careful in the future. Please don’t be mad at me.”

At a red light, Alexia finally looked over at her best friend. She could see the genuine distress in Mapi’s eyes, and her own anger began to dissolve. With a deep sigh, she said, “It’s okay. I overreacted. I was just scared. I know you’d never hurt her on purpose.”

Mapi nodded, relief washing over her face. “Thank you.”

When Ingrid dropped you off at home later, you found Alexia on the couch, watching TV. You sat down beside her, and she immediately pulled you into her arms.

“We’re good,” she said simply, resting her chin on your head.

You smiled. “So my plan worked.”

Alexia chuckled, placing a hand on your baby bump and rubbing it gently. “You’re sneaky.”

“I love you,” you said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Even if you’re a little overprotective sometimes.”

“I love you too,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Both of you.”

And in that moment, everything felt perfect again.

[velvetseahorse]

Astrology Observations pt 2: Ketu Nakshatra

Ketu natives struggle with attaching and relating to others from a young age. They are more observers than willing participants, showing little interest in faking emotions to make others feel comfortable or match the energy in a room. People tend to notice the detached behavior of Ketuvians and may judge them for it. Consequently, Ketu individuals may feel pressured to fake emotions. For Ashwini, there is a greater effort to fit into societal norms than for Magha and Mula. Ashwini is a Deva Gana (divine) nakshatra, making them appear more grounded and approachable. In fact, they often possess a mystic aura that leaves people astonished rather than intimidated unlike Magha and Mula, both of which belong to the Rakshasa Gana (demonic). Magha and Mula can come across as aggressive, potentially alienating others they have more of an intimidating but pulling energy. However, Ashwini’s efforts to “fit in” are often unsuccessful. Striving to meet societal expectations can cause more harm to the Ashwini native, leading them to suppress their feelings. This suppression sometimes results in self-destructive behaviors, as Ashwini individuals feel like they are constantly hiding their true selves. All three Ketu nakshatras: Ashwini, Magha, and Mula are quite rebellious, refusing to conform to expectations. In fact, they may deliberately disappoint others to challenge the emotional attachment to success or failure. I recall a memory of myself competing in a local festival competition, where I was winning. My family was cheering and hyping me up, but for some reason, this made me uncomfortable as it felt egoistic. So, I gave up on purpose and let the other child win, feeling happier doing so. My family was disappointed, but I didn’t care. I use to also walk away during social gatherings not to purposely be rude or anything but I felt the need to return to myself and when I would flash a smile people seemed to be uncomfortable. (I’ve read somewhere that ashwini smile can be creepy because it’s falsely exaggerated)

• Ketuvians have a natural inclination towards spirituality due to their detachment from material matters. This detachment allows them to deeply face and sit with their inner selves, often leading to a sense of emotional distance from their surroundings. For Ketu natives, expecting anything in return is rarely a priority. However, this sense of detachment creates a void within them, leading them to unconsciously drain both material and spiritual energy from others in an attempt to fill it. In the end, this process provides little fulfillment for them, yet the act of draining itself brings them a sense of pleasure, rather than the material rewards they seek. I would recommend that people with Ketu influence engage in a creative hobby. Creativity comes naturally to them, as it is not influenced by expectations of rewards or fear of judgment. Ketuvians thrive when they create because it serves as the most authentic form of self-expression.

• A physical trait I’ve observed among people with Ketu nakshatra is not just their sleepy, penetrating gaze but also their very thick, dark, wild hair. Among all the 3 naks, their hair stands out which can appear thick, long, and bushy, often seeming to have a mind of its own. Their hair is typically on the darker side, very full, almost as if you could get lost in it. It often appears unkempt, as though they haven’t brushed it or just rolled out of bed. However, there are moments when their hair is styled, and that specific hairstyle becomes synonymous with the Ketu native. For example, Mula ☽ Amy Winehouse is well-known for her messy, vintage updo. Ashwini ☉,Magha ↑ Conan O’Brien has a signature hairstyle, his wild, iconic hair often referenced as a significant part of his brand, with people constantly mentioning it. Ashwini ☽ Pamela Anderson popularized her famous messy bun, which many struggle to recreate. Lastly, Magha ☽ Aaliyah with her signature side-swoop that covered her right eye became so popular and mysterious that false rumors spread, suggesting she was concealing a glass eye.

• You’ll find that many Ketu natives are involved in niche forms of media and alternative subcultures such as goth, punk, and grunge. They are drawn to styles that often include silver chains, black clothing, distressed fabrics, and DIY fashion pieces they design themselves, reflecting anti-establishment attitudes. In fact, you can observe a strong presence of musicians within these subcultures who have Ketu nakshatras. Notable examples include Lydia Lunch (Ashwini ☽), Robert Smith of The Cure (Ashwini ☉,), Nick Cave (Magha ☽), Joe Strummer (Magha ☉, and ☽), and Paul Simonon (Mula ☽) of The Clash. Other influential figures include Layne Staley of Alice In Chains (Magha ☉,), Jim Reid (Mula ☉,) of The Jesus and Mary Chain, Iggy Pop (Ashwini ☉,), Lou Reed (Magha ☽), and Penelope Houston (Mula ☉,) of The Avengers, as well as Tom Waits (Mula ↑).

(In my research, I also noted the presence of Mercury nakshatras within these subcultures, along with Krittika nakshatra. This tracks well, in my opinion, as these nakshatras are often rebellious, individualistic, and intensely creative.)

• A consistent romantic or close platonic pairing I’ve noticed among Ketu nakshatras is with Mercury nakshatras. Mercury and Ketu nakshatras sit at the Gandanta point, where the water signs transition into fire signs a point of spiritual transformation and awakening. These nakshatras seem naturally drawn to each other, but their interactions are often karmic and toxic. However, both individuals learn significant lessons from these relationships. Interestingly, it’s typically the Mercury nakshatra that initiates and drives the relationship. The Mercury native teases and provokes the Ketu native to get a reaction, but the Ketu person doesn’t give in easily. A personal anecdotal of mine, I was friends with an Ashlesha woman when I was outpatient at a mental institute, she was dating a Magha man She would do risky things, like experimenting with taboo drugs or even stealing from him, just to push his boundaries. At first, he didn’t react much, but over time he started to secretly enjoy her rebellion. Eventually, he joined her in taking drugs, and they even engaged in ménage à trois. Things escalated until she became pregnant, and both developed a drug addiction. Interestingly, their relationship grew stronger before it began to deteriorate. She made efforts to get clean, but he continued using. Despite this, he remained an active and supportive father. However, every time he returned to her life, she would relapse, so they eventually broke up. Both went to rehab, and their lives took different yet positive turns. She pursued higher education and earned a bachelor’s degree, while he began doing voluntary counseling for kids struggling with addiction. They are now great co-parents. Ketu nakshatras are also frequently seen dating Venus nakshatras or moving within their social circles. Typically, Venus nakshatras stick to other Venus nakshatras because of their elitism, but they occasionally connect with Ketu nakshatras and sometimes even Sun nakshatras. Ketu is the most raw primal self and Venus is the refined accumulation, @venusiastro has a great post about it in much depth here.

Notes on ashwini native

Taylour Paige - Ashwini ☽

Jaime King - Ashwini ☉

• Ashwini Nakshatra’s deities, the Ashvini Kumaras, are described in Vedic texts as twin gods who ride a golden chariot. They are the Physicians of the Gods, renowned for their powerful healing abilities, including rejuvenation, making the old young again, and even bringing the dead back to life. It is said that the Ashvini Kumaras were highly skilled in Ayurveda, the original system of healing, and that they revived Sage Dadhichi. Because of this connection, natives of this nakshatra often possess a youthful appearance that carries into old age. Their faces tend to retain a childlike quality, even with wrinkles, giving them an ageless charm. This childlike quality, however, can lead others to judge them as naïve. In fact, the Ashvini Kumaras themselves were not taken seriously because of their youthful demeanor, and many assumed they were incapable due to their playful attitude. Similarly, Ashwini natives often feel the need to prove themselves to others despite their incredible talents and capabilities.

•Ashwini is always on the go and dislikes staying in one place for too long. They are the type to embark on road trips or even live without a permanent home, as they have a deep fear of feeling trapped. This restless nature is connected to their affinity with transportation and traveling, not only in the material sense but also between different realms or planes of existence. In the material world, Ashwini natives are often drawn to motorcycles or horses; like cowboys or members of motor gangs because these symbolize freedom and movement. They prefer to be freeloaders on their own journey but often enjoy traveling with a companion, as their deity is a pair of twin brothers. Ashwini’s primary symbol is the “horse’s head,” representing strength, movement, freedom, and endurance. This nakshatra is driven by a constant urge for movement, both physically and spiritually.

•Ashwini natives struggle to stay still or be patient. Because of their restless nature, they often leave tasks or projects unfinished, constantly seeking excitement in something new until that excitement burns out. They are highly independent and confident in their skills and abilities, which makes them resistant to being told what to do. Their stubbornness often leads them to ignore others, even pretending those people don’t exist. This is an inherently rebellious nakshatra. As children, Ashwini natives were purposefully defiant sneaking out or running away, sometimes with no apparent reason other than to experience the thrill of it. Personally, I’ve found myself in situations, like sitting in class or walking home, imagining what it would be like to leave my life behind and nearly acting on it. When Ashwini natives mature, they become more intuitive and insightful about the correct path to follow. However, those who haven’t evolved yet often act recklessly, doing whatever they please without truly understanding their actions. While Ashwini natives may not always finish tasks, they never give up easily. This nakshatra is incredibly resourceful. Despite a lack of discipline, Ashwini natives possess endurance and resilience. Once they master discipline, they can achieve anything they set their minds to.

• Ashwini natives are highly sensitive and easily overstimulated, with minds that are constantly racing. The symbol of the horse’s head conveys sensitivity, alertness, and an ever-present readiness. Ashwini is the first nakshatra within Aries, which, in Vedic texts, represents the head of Kala Purusha (the eternal being). The head is central to all bodily functions as it houses the brain, a concept made somewhat ironic by Ketu’s association with being headless. This connection emphasizes Ashwini’s mental impulses, making it a highly impulsive nakshatra. Ashwini natives also make excellent leaders. The Sun (Surya), associated with leadership, is exalted at its highest point in this nakshatra. In numerology, the Sun is represented by the number 1, while Ashwini is the first nakshatra. Vedic texts describe Surya as constantly moving and rising on a chariot drawn by seven horses. This ties directly to Ashwini’s symbol of a chariot and the number 7, which is ruled by Ketu. Horses, an animal associated with Ashwini, are emotionally intelligent yet fidgety and restless traits reflected in Ashwini natives. Horses are also known for their stamina, abilities, and speed, which connect to Ashwini’s shakti or power: “to attain things quickly.” This nakshatra is the fastest among all nakshatras, and as a result, Ashwini natives are often blunt, direct, and quick to get to the point. They dislike long-winded conversations and can become irritated when others fail to communicate efficiently. Ashwini individuals are fast thinkers, quick talkers, and even quick runners. For instance, I remember racing all the boys in my elementary school during recess and winning.

•Ashwini natives are deeply compassionate towards animals. Many individuals with this nakshatra (myself included) have a natural affinity for caring for animals, especially strays. They often take in sick or injured strays and nurse them back to health, Even the most aggressive animals eventually warm up to their kindness and care.

•You cannot tame Ashwini. They are like wild horses—sensitive yet aggressive and cautious. As I mentioned before, they deeply value their independence, which is one of the driving forces behind their highly individualistic nature. Ashwini natives often feel as though they stand out from others, and they sometimes sense that they possess unique talents. This is true, as Ashwini tends to have a pioneering attitude and spirit. This nakshatra is strongly connected to the original creative spark, as Vedic texts associate it with Ketu’s primordial creative potential. However, this creative energy is so intense and overwhelming that it can be difficult to harness and control much like Ashwini natives themselves. One of the weaknesses of this nakshatra is its tendency to act on impulse, attempting extraordinary things without proper evaluation. However, when Ashwini natives learn to slow down and approach their ideas with more consideration, they become true pioneers. Ashwini natives often emerge as inventors or “the first” to achieve something, and people frequently look to them for answers. However, their journey is not without challenges, as they often have to prove themselves. Others may feel the need to humble Ashwini natives, perhaps because of their boldness and confidence.

•Ashwini natives lifestyle choices often resemble those of hippies. They may live in a van or other transport vehicles, no stable job, embracing a free-spirited, go-with-the-flow attitude (often accompanied by a love for marijuana).They tend to eat vegan, have an interest in herbs, and maintain a very laid-back demeanor. Ashwini natives can also be deeply involved in activism and politics, often emerging as powerful political leaders. However, their intensity can lead to making a significant social impact, whether for better or worse, as they are willing to go to any lengths to achieve their goals. (For example, consider Malcolm X, who had an Ashwini ☽, or Hitler, who had an Ashwini ☉.)

•Ashwini natives can be tricksters, often playing with illusions. This trait ties to their deities’ story, where ancient texts recount how Indra warned Dadhichi not to teach the Kumaras Brahma-Vidya (the knowledge of creation), as their occupation placed them outside that realm. Indra threatened to cut off Dadhichi’s head if he disobeyed. When Dadhichi shared this with the Kumaras, they devised a clever plan. Using their incredible skill, they removed Dadhichi’s head and replaced it with a horse’s head. After Indra eventually cut off the horse head, the Kumaras restored Dadhichi’s original human head.

•I’ve observed that Ashwini natives have bright, radiant eyes, regardless of their color. It’s as if the sun is reflecting in its most powerful and raw form. This nakshatra is associated with the Ashvins, the gods of the dawn, and their eyes resemble the striking ambience of the dawn sky.

• Red and black are Ashwini’s theme colors (the nakshatra color is blood red). Whether it’s red lipstick or clothing paired with dark hair and darker garments or red, this color palette complements them beautifully.

•Ashwini natives, with their strong Ketu influence, have the innate ability to detach from the physical world, which allows them to transcend boundaries and connect with higher spiritual realms. This detachment gives them the ability to enter and exit their body at will, a key trait that allows them to access profound healing abilities, both spiritual and medical. Their intuitive healing is often centered around a deep connection to the etheric and energetic bodies, allowing them to sense and manipulate energy in ways that others cannot. This spiritual detachment also grants them heightened clairsentient (feeling) and clairaudient (hearing) abilities. They may receive intuitive messages or insights through their senses, such as hearing things others do not or feeling the emotions and energies of those around them. These abilities make Ashwini natives highly sensitive to their surroundings, but they must learn how to refine and discipline these gifts to fully harness their potential. Without proper self-control, their sensitivity can become overwhelming or scattered. In order to master their abilities, Ashwini natives need to engage in spiritual practice, which helps them ground themselves and refine their intuition. Through meditation, self-reflection, and healing practices, they can learn to navigate their advanced perceptive skills. This discipline will also enhance their capacity for self-healing, as they can better understand their own energetic blockages and clear them.

Notes on Magha natives

Eva Green - Ashwini ☽ Magha ↑

Wyntor Gordon - Magha ☉, Mula ☽

• Magha is deeply connected to Pitra Loka, the realm of ancestors, which ties the nakshatra to the afterlife and ancestral guidance. This connection imbues Magha natives with a sense of respect for their heritage, tradition, and the spiritual wisdom passed down from generations before them. The symbolism of Magha often revolves around endings, death, and mourning, reflecting the process of transformation that occurs after death, both in the physical world and spiritually. Magha natives are not only influenced by the idea of death but are also tasked with channeling the energy of their Pitris (ancestors), who are seen in Vedic texts as protectors and nurturers of humanity. The elder energy associated with Magha comes from this ancestral connection, giving natives a wisdom that feels ancient and timeless. This is reflected in their aesthetic choices like vintage clothing, gothic aesthetics, and worn-out pieces, often oversized, especially suits. This style can reflect the idea of both embracing the past and holding onto something that endures beyond time. Their look may carry a sense of nostalgia or reverence for history, much like their reverence for their ancestors. Additionally, sunglasses are an intriguing detail in the styling of Magha natives. Since the eyes are ruled by the Sun, Magha’s co-ruler, and Ketu deals with what’s hidden, sunglasses serve as a way to shield the eyes from direct visibility. This style element not only creates a sense of intrigue but also connects to their desire to maintain a sense of privacy or inner world Interestingly, I’ve also noticed Ashwini natives embracing sunglasses, which might be due to their own connection to Ketu , Sun and the desire for some form of distance or protection.

•Magha natives are indeed eccentric,(it is a nodal nakshatra after all) The Ketu rulership and Their connection to the Sun imbues them with a strong sense of purpose, often manifesting in a unique and unconventional personality. They are deeply drawn to exploring and expressing their individuality, sometimes in ways that challenge or defy societal expectations. This can make them appear mysterious or intriguing to others, as they seem to balance their rebelliousness with a deep respect for tradition and responsibility. Their ability to maintain a strong sense of duty, while also pursuing their own path, creates a dynamic where they seem both grounded and unpredictable, operating outside the conventional norms.

• Magha natives are also psychically sensitive, often experiencing prophetic dreams or gaining insight from the deep unconscious. Their ability to tap into these deeper realms allows them to perceive information that others may miss, sometimes giving them glimpses of the future or hidden truths. They are aware of their sensitivity and may even cultivate it, allowing their intuition to guide them in their life decisions. In contrast, Mula and Ashwini natives may not always be as aware of their own psychic abilities.

•While Magha is a Ketu nakshatra, and Ketu is inherently separative and disassociating from the material world Magha itself is quite active in the material realm. This paradox exists because Magha is a dutiful nakshatra, deeply tied to social responsibilities, status, and the preservation of tradition. Magha natives often feel a sense of duty towards their community or heritage, and they take their responsibilities seriously, striving to uphold their legacy and make their mark in the material world. However, Magha’s rebellious streak inherited from Ketu emerges in its challenge to authority and conventional structures. While they engage in the material world, they are not easily controlled by external forces or expectations. Their rebellious nature often manifests in their refusal to conform to authority, whether it’s societal norms, hierarchical systems, or traditional rules. This makes Magha both deeply connected to the world around them and simultaneously disconnected from its oppressive forces.

• Magha natives often feel a deep connection to the past, and this is reflected in their affinity for older, nostalgic items like typewriters, record players, and handwritten letters rather than modern conveniences like text messages. They value tradition and often hold onto physical objects that evoke a sense of history, reflecting their respect for ancestral legacies. Their love for the past is tied to their desire to remain rooted in something timeless, rather than being swept away by fleeting trends.They also pride themselves on being independent and introspective, often cultivating a deep sense of self-awareness and self-reliance. This introspection extends to their interest in the occult sciences and psychology, fields that allow them to explore the deeper workings of the mind and the mysteries of the unseen. Magha natives are not only drawn to uncover hidden truths about the world but are also fascinated by the complexities of human nature and the psyche. Their connection to both the past and the unseen realms makes them uniquely equipped to navigate the spiritual and material worlds.

•Magha natives often have voices that are deep, haunting, and gritty like they’ve smoked a pack a day. These voices carry a raw, almost preachy quality that can feel intense and captivating. The haunting tone can linger with you. Magha natives like Nick Cave and King Krule exemplify this with their powerful, commanding voices that have authority and emotional depth. Their sound is evocative, drawing you in with a sense of vulnerability and intensity. A similar voice can be found in Mula ↑ Tom Waits, whose gravelly, weathered voice carries a unique rawness. Other Gandanta nakshatras, like Ashlesha ☉, Revati ☽, and ↑ Louis Armstrong, also share this gritty, haunting vocal quality. Anja Plaschg (with Revati ☉ and Ashlesha ☽) and Bill Skarsgård (with Ashlesha ☉) in Nosferatu similarly possess voices that carry a dark, magnetic energy that is intense yet strangely mesmerizing. These voices feel untamed and primal.

•Magha’s shakti, “the power to leave the body,” reflects its unique ability to access deep states of consciousness, sometimes akin to a trance or temporary death. This capacity for profound detachment is referenced in some old Vedic tales, where the nakshatra is described as the heat generated by the speed of a shift in the field of consciousness. It implies that Magha natives can experience altered states of awareness that transcend the physical realm. A great example of this influence can be seen in Magha ☽ native David Lynch, who embraced Transcendental Meditation (and has his own program that teaches this method) This practice is said to allow individuals to effortlessly tap into unlimited reserves of energy and creativity qualities that are also central to Magha’s essence. Magha natives are often able to access deep, limitless wells of inspiration, channeling them into their work and life. This transcendental quality is characteristic of the nakshatra’s connection to ancestral wisdom and the ability to harness spiritual and creative energy.

•Magha natives naturally attract attention with their regal and commanding appearance. The symbol of Magha is a royal chamber containing a throne, signifying dignity, authority, and a connection to ancestral pride. Interestingly, many Magha natives are often photographed sitting in chairs or thrones, exuding a majestic aura that aligns with this symbolism. Take Magha ↑ Eva Green, in the photo above for example.

Notes on Mula natives

Beatrice Dalle - Mula ☉ Magha ↑

Anjelica Houston - Mula ↑

•Mula is deeply connected to the concept of the root, as its name and symbol both relate to the foundation or the deep core of something. Just as roots lie hidden beneath the surface of the forest, this nakshatra embodies the idea of digging deep to uncover what is concealed or not immediately apparent. Mula natives have an innate drive to get to the very essence of things, whether that involves unraveling mysteries, exposing hidden truths, or understanding the underlying structure of existence. This relentless pursuit of the core reflects Mula’s connection to transformation, as true growth and rebirth can only occur by addressing and understanding the roots.

•Mula has a profound interest in deep knowledge, often delving into the occult and exploring the unknown or unseen. They possess an innate understanding of hidden truths and are drawn to unraveling mysteries that others might overlook. You’ll often find Mula natives in private or niche libraries, completely immersed in studying various topics, from complex theories to alternative ideologies, anything that challenges or contradicts material reality. Their thirst for knowledge goes beyond surface-level understanding, as they are committed to uncovering the roots of existence and the deeper workings of the universe.

• The deity of Mula is Nritti, the goddess of dissolution and destruction. Her name translates to “calamity,” reflecting her association with chaos, endings, and dismantling illusions. In some Vedic texts, Nritti is described as a destructive demon, while in others, she is referred to as Alakshmi, the opposite of Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth, abundance, and prosperity. However, it’s important to note that while Nritti embodies destruction, it is not without purpose. Her nakshatra represents the highest point of material accumulation, which acts as a foundation for the beginning of spiritual awakening. Mula’s energy dismantles attachment to the material world, paving the way for transformation and the pursuit of higher consciousness. This duality of material success and spiritual liberation is a defining characteristic of Mula, making it a nakshatra of profound growth and evolution through intense trials.

•Mula natives often come across as apathetic, showing a disinterest in certain moralities or societal norms. However, this seemingly “depraved” outlook can be strangely liberating. they lack self-doubt, and their sharp wisdom, whether conscious or subconscious, often helps others reach higher states of awareness. Mula natives are known to underplay even the most intense life events with sarcasm or dry humor, a coping mechanism that can put others off. Their approach to situations, coupled with their intense and impulsive nature, may result in behaviors that shock or intimidate people. Mula is a nakshatra of extremes; hard, sharp, and dreadful—reflecting the destructive aspects of Ketu. This sharpness, while harsh, is often necessary to trigger awakenings and spiritual transformations. Mula’s intensity, combined with its raw, unapologetic energy, can intimidate others even when no harm is intended.Take Keith Richards, for example, a Mula☉ native. Many people find him intimidating because of his dark, shaggy hair, deep eyes, and brooding presence. Despite his appearance and history of addiction, he defies the typical rock star stereotype. Unlike many of his peers who chased the party lifestyle and fleeting relationships, Keith has been married to the same woman since the ’80s and showed deep care for the mother of his first two children until her passing. While other rock stars indulged in reckless pursuits, Keith’s grounded loyalty and respect for the people in his life set him apart. Those who know him often describe him as surprisingly sweet, proving that Mula’s sharpness hides a deeper, more sincere core.

•Mula has a tendency to cut off anything or anyone they don’t deem useful. Being part of the butcher caste, they embody the energy of severing ties and eliminating what no longer serves a purpose. This reminds me of their alternative deity, Kali, who is often depicted with her tongue out, holding a decapitated head. Mula is deeply tied to destruction, but this destruction is not without purpose; it paves the way for regeneration and transformation, even if the process feels harsh or ruthless. I’ve found that Mula natives naturally crave the deconstruction of the superficial. There’s a deep yearning within them to annihilate illusions, driven by an intrinsic feeling of emptiness. This emptiness motivates them to break through falsehoods, either to experience their own rebirth or to guide others through karmic transformations. Their shakti lies in the power to ruin, destroy, and break things, paving the way for profound change and renewal.

•Mula is also associated with intoxication and smoking, a trait I’ve noticed with other Ketu nakshatras as well. I believe this connection stems from Ketu being headless, leading to an oral fixation as a way to seek stability or stimulation. Additionally, there’s something mystifying about smoke clouding your face, giving the impression of being “not there,” which aligns perfectly with Ketu’s inherent sense of detachment and otherworldliness.

•As I mentioned before, natives with Ketu nakshatras often have notable hair. Mula natives, in particular, tend to have smooth, silky black hair that is almost reflective. Mula is associated with Sage Pulasthya, whose name translates to “having smooth hair,”. Another notable physical trait among Mulas is gap teeth.

• Mula natives possess a peculiar magnetism that can completely consume you. No matter how intimidating they may seem, you can’t help but feel drawn to them. Mula is associated with being surrounded by the galactic center of the universe, often referred to as a black hole. Like a black hole, Mula natives have an irresistible pull that draws you in.

Thank you for reading, a reminder that these are my observations from both personal experiences and what I’ve read from vedic text. sources: The Book of Nakshatras by Prash Trivedi & Barbara Pijan Lama Jyotisha site.

[siilent-wanderer]

Little Things

Summary: Jimin never thought she’d fall for the little things — adjusting stray hairs, shared smiles, and the quiet warmth of Y/N’s laugh. But as their bond deepens, those small moments turn into something much bigger, leaving Jimin hopelessly captivated by the person who’s always been right there.

Genre: FLUFF, minor tension and jealousy

Word Count: 2k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader

A/N: read Stuck With Yu here

The SM practice room had seen its fair share of drama — sweat-soaked nights, creative differences, and the occasional ego clash. Y/N and Jimin had checked all those boxes in the early days.

Jimin couldn’t pinpoint when exactly her initial irritation toward Y/N had begun to shift. Maybe it was when she caught Y/N making the other members laugh during grueling rehearsals. Or when the younger girl, despite her quiet confidence, stayed back to practice even after the others had left. All she knew was that she had Minjeong to blame (or thank, for ditching them at the very last minute).

Whatever the reason, Jimin knew one thing: Y/N had always intrigued her from the start.

Weeks after the amusement park date, Jimin couldn’t help but replay moments of that night in her head — the quiet intensity of Y/N's smile, the way her eyes sparkled under the fireworks, and the warmth of her presence that lingered long after they had parted ways.

But things didn’t change overnight. They still danced around their feelings, unwilling to risk disrupting the rhythm of their friendship or the dynamic of the group.

“Your timing’s a little off in the second verse,” Jimin had pointed out one evening during practice.

Y/N had blinked at her, then grinned. “I thought you were too polite to call me out like that now.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk. “I’m polite, not blind.”

From then on, there were moments — a playful rivalry during choreography drills, subtle jabs in vocal warm-ups — but somewhere in between, they began to balance each other out.

Jimin found herself staying late with Y/N to refine harmonies, and the younger girl started helping Jimin find the exact balance between leadership and letting loose.

The shift was subtle. It began with small, almost imperceptible changes.

Y/N had a habit of scratching her head when she was nervous or trying to figure out a dance move. One day, without thinking, Jimin reached over and gave her a light tap on the head. “You’ll go bald if you keep doing that,” she teased.

The next time it happened, Jimin's hand lingered, her fingers briefly smoothing over Y/N’s hair before she pulled away. Neither of them said anything, but the touch became a habit whenever the others weren't around.

One night, however, Jimin found herself sitting on the floor near Y/N as the group chatted idly about their upcoming schedule. Without thinking, her hand reached out to gently detangle a strand of Y/N’s hair.

The room went silent for a beat.

“Are you seriously combing my hair right now, unnie?” Y/N asked, amused but slightly embarrassed.

Jimin froze, her hand midair. “What? I— no! I wasn’t!”

Aeri and Minjeong burst into laughter, and even Yizhuo, who had been quiet most of the night, couldn’t hide her giggles.

Y/N just smiled, brushing it off. But the small moment left Jimin feeling oddly exposed, like her feelings were bleeding through the cracks she’d tried so hard to keep sealed.

One particularly rough week, the weight of back-to-back rehearsals and recording sessions finally caught up to Y/N. She stumbled into the dorm, her shoulders slumped and her expression drained. Without thinking, Jimin opened her arms.

Y/N hesitated for half a second before stepping into the embrace. Jimin’s arms tightened around her, and the younger let herself melt into the warmth.

“You’re okay,” Jimin murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll get through this.”

Y/N didn’t say anything, but the way she clung to Jimin spoke volumes.

It wasn’t long before eagle-eyed fans began to notice something curious in behind-the-scenes videos and candid photos. While Minjeong and Yizhuo usually struck goofy poses and Aeri radiated energy, Jimin's gaze often lingered on Y/N. There was a softness in her eyes, a quiet admiration that stood in contrast to her usual composed demeanor.

In one viral clip from a behind-the-scenes vlog, the group was backstage, killing time between performances. Yizhuo was animatedly recounting a funny mishap from rehearsal, and Y/N was laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. Jimin, seated nearby, wasn’t joining in the laughter. Instead, she was watching Y/N with an expression that spoke volumes — her lips curved in a small, involuntary smile and her eyes brimming with warmth.

Fans flooded the comments:

“Karina’s so whipped for Y/N, I can’t 😭” “did anyone else notice how jimin just stares at y/n like that?? my heart!” “bruh idk what this is, but i’m shipping it already”

Then there was the infamous candid photo that circulated after the group’s outdoor photoshoot. The members were on break, sitting on picnic blankets. Y/N had her hair tied up messily, laughing at something Minjeong had whispered to her. The laughter lit up her entire face, carefree and radiant. In the background, just slightly blurred, Jimin was mid-sip of her water bottle — but her gaze was locked on Y/N. The look in her eyes was unguarded and soft, a stark contrast to her usual composed expression.

Another clip that sparked a frenzy was from one of their practice room lives. The group was chatting casually with fans when Y/N fumbled her Korean, prompting Aeri to jump in and tease her in English. Y/N retaliated by throwing a small cushion at Aeri, who ducked dramatically, sending the rest of the members into fits of laughter. Jimin, though, didn’t even seem to register the joke. Instead, the camera caught her subtly reaching over to adjust a stray hair falling into Y/N's face, her touch gentle and unthinking.

Fans were quick to notice:

“jimin brushing y/n's hair away… do you SEE the domesticity??” “Y/N: chaos Karina: supportive mom mode engaged” “someone pls check on yu jimin. she’s fallen and can’t get up 🥺”

Sharing dorms meant they saw each other constantly, but Jimin never tired of Y/N's quirks — her midnight ramen cravings, the way she hummed off-key while brushing her teeth, the little notes she left on their whiteboard.

However, sharing dorms also meant having to share Y/N with three other girls, and none tested her patience more than Aeri. It wasn’t intentional — Aeri’s easy humor and the fact that she and Y/N were both fluent English speakers naturally drew them together. Whether it was late-night dance practices, trading inside jokes or bonding over playlists they created for each other, their bond seemed effortless. Jimin often found herself biting back irritation when she’d walk into the practice room to see Y/N sprawled out on the floor, laughing at something Aeri said, making Jimin’s stomach twist in a way she didn’t want to name.

“Y/N, let’s practice the harmonies again,” Jimin called out after a water break.

But Y/N was already tangled in a playful tug-of-war with Aeri over a water bottle. Aeri won, earning an exaggerated groan from Y/N and another round of giggles.

Jimin’s lips thinned, her tone sharper than she intended. “Kang Y/N, focus. We’re behind schedule.”

Y/N blinked, her smile fading as she nodded. “Sorry, unnie. Coming.”

The tension lingered throughout rehearsal, and Jimin couldn’t ignore the tightness in her chest whenever Y/N’s attention wandered back to the Japanese member.

Later that evening, the group gathered in the dorm's common area. Aeri and Y/N were seated on the couch, heads close as they scrolled through Aeri's phone. Their occasional bursts of laughter made it impossible for Jimin to focus on the script in her lap.

“Aeri-ya, you should probably give Y/N a break,” Jimin said casually, though her voice held an edge.

Y/N looked up, confused. “Unnie, we’re just—”

“It’s getting late,” Jimin interrupted, standing abruptly. “We have an early call time tomorrow.”

Aeri raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, while Y/N’s expression flickered with hurt before she masked it.

Jimin retreated to her room, pressing her palms to her temples. She didn’t know what annoyed her more — Y/N’s easy closeness with Aeri or her own inability to control her emotions.

Later that night when everyone had gone to bed, Jimin found herself pacing the dorm’s kitchen, trying to calm the strange emotions swirling inside her. She was startled when Y/N walked in, a glass of water in her hand and a curious expression on her face.

"Unnie," Y/N called, leaning against the counter. “Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?”

Jimin stopped pacing and turned to face her, trying to school her features into neutrality. “Acting like what?”

“Like you’re mad at me,” Y/N said, crossing her arms. “Or Aeri unnie, for that matter. Did something happen?”

Jimin hesitated. She wasn’t mad, not really. She just… couldn’t explain why seeing Y/N and Aeri together made her feel like this.

“I’m not mad,” Jimin muttered, her voice quieter now.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Then what is it?”

The older girl opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of how to put her feelings into words.

Y/N tilted her head, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “If you’re so worried that someone will snatch me up, why don’t you just confess to me right now?”

Jimin froze, her lips parting as if to respond, but no sound came out. Y/N’s teasing smirk faltered when she noticed the way Jimin’s jaw clenched, her eyes darting away. The silence that followed was heavier than she’d expected, tension thick in the air.

“I-I was kidding, unnie,” Y/N said softly, her voice losing its edge. “You don’t have to—”

But Jimin was already standing, her movements abrupt. “Let’s talk outside,” she said, her tone firm but quiet.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard, but followed Jimin as she stepped out onto the balcony. The night air was crisp, and the city lights below shimmered like scattered stars. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the hum of the distant traffic filling the silence.

Jimin leaned on the railing, her hands gripping the cold metal as if grounding herself. “You’re right,” she said finally, her voice barely audible. “I don’t like it when you’re that close with Aeri.”

Y/N tilted her head, watching her. “Why?”

Jimin exhaled shakily, the breath visible in the cool air. “Because every time I see you with her, I feel like I’m losing you. And that scares me.”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, her teasing demeanor completely gone. “Unnie…”

Jimin turned to face her, her eyes raw with emotion. “It’s not fair of me, I know. You’re allowed to be close with whoever you want. But I—” She paused, her voice cracking slightly. “I can’t help it. You’re the first person I think about when I wake up, and the last before I fall asleep. I’ve been trying to ignore it for so long, but it’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

For a moment, Y/N said nothing, her lips parted as if to respond but no words forming. Then she stepped closer, her hand brushing against Jimin’s on the railing. “You should’ve just said so earlier,” she murmured, her lips curling into a soft smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, unnie.”

Jimin’s breath hitched as Y/N leaned in, her warmth cutting through the cold night air. The city lights twinkled below them, a soft breeze weaving through the balcony and making Jimin shiver slightly. Without thinking, Y/N tugged the blanket off her own shoulders and draped it over both of them, their faces mere inches apart.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Jimin whispered, her voice trembling as she gazed into Y/N’s eyes.

The younger girl’s grin widened, her hand now fully covering Jimin’s. “I could say the same about you.”

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in shared warmth, the faint glow of streetlights and the hum of distant traffic adding a quiet magic to the moment. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, Y/N leaned back slightly and quipped, “So, does this mean I’m officially off the market?”

Jimin laughed softly, the tension melting away. “Yes. And Aeri is definitely going to hear about this.”

Y/N snorted, pulling Jimin back inside. “Good luck with that, unnie. She’s going to say she saw this coming from a mile away.”

And as they settled on the couch, still cocooned in the shared blanket and each other’s warmth, Jimin couldn’t stop the quiet happiness bubbling in her chest. For the first time, everything felt exactly as it should — Y/N beside her, the cold night shut out, and a future that felt just a little brighter.

A/N: it was def quite smthn arranging all of my thoughts for this one (had too many ideas) but I loved writing whipped (and jealous) jimin saur much. hope you enjoyed this one!

[pomefioredove]

Hi! I love your writing style, especially how you portrait Rook, it's just how I imagine him💜

Could I request for Rook, Vil, Floyd and Azul reacting to reader calling them "love" or something affectionate for the first time? Maybe with reader realising and imploding on the inside?

Of course no pressure, I eat anything you write anyway!

-🔥

GUYS THESE PROMPTS. and thank you so much <3 I like thinking I do a good job 😭

summary: accidentally calling them "love" type of post: headcanons characters: floyd, azul, rook, vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu, fluff!

𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

it's a quick slip of the tongue, one he might not have even noticed if he was distracted by anything else

unfortunately, today it's you that's caught his attention, and so he hears and processes every honeyed word with startling accuracy

"Could you pass me that pencil, love?"

wait. that's not what you'd said in your mind

the embarrassment is immediate, and you would have apologized if not for the big grin on his face

he goes on to brag about it to everyone for the rest of the day

...or week

however long it takes for that fuzzy feeling to wear off him

of course, at that point, he'll find you and pester you until you say it again for him

you never did get that pencil.

𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐥 𝐀𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

perhaps your unfortunate habit of verbalizing your subconscious thoughts has finally come around to punish you

you're in Azul's office at the lounge, and he's explaining something about budgeting

you don't... quite understand, but he seems pretty pleased with himself, so you're happy for him

"I'm so proud of you, love,"

congratulations, you broke him

he forgets everything he said and everything he was about to say

and he just stares

his face burns a bright shade of red, and for a moment he looks around the room as if he's searching for somewhere to hide

you feel bad right away, and make an attempt to explain and apologize, though your own embarrassment makes everything you say unintelligible and even more embarrassing

after a moment of watching you stammer he just shushes you

"I appreciate the compliment. Just give me a warning next time... there will be a next time, won't there?"

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

intentional or not, he's been waiting for this moment

it's late, you're tired; Rook had been dragging you around campus all day, showing you his favorite "people-watching" spots

by the time he walks you back to Ramshackle, you're happy, but completely drained

(being around Rook tends to do that)

you're too sleepy to even realize the words coming out of your mouth until it's too late

"Thank you again. Good night, love,"

his reaction is immediate

he launches into a very long soliloquy about his feelings towards you, what a wonderful day it was, and how he treasures your relationship no matter how you define it

already has some petnames of his own for you ready to go

amour, chou chou, chéri, miel, cœur...

prepare to never hear the end of this

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

Vil is actually quite used to being called all sorts of lovely things

...albeit, mostly by his fans

and if it were anyone else calling him their love, he wouldn't have even noticed

but hearing it in your voice immediately catches his attention

the sentence is so simple, of course you would've missed it. he'd simply been giving you some advice, and...

"Okay. Thank you, love,"

he would have teased you for it (lovingly, of course) if not for the fact that it made him feel flustered

him. flustered!

he stares at you until you realize what exactly you'd just said to him, and then, understandably, you freak out

trying to backtrack won't help, neither does trying to explain, or apologizing

after a moment of letting you struggle, Vil just laughs

"My, my. Don't worry yourself, I take it as a compliment. But we'll have to work on your confidence some more, won't we?"

[tteokdoroki]

tw ! slight age gap, reader is older, cheating, fingering, smut.

hello going on a business trip or to a conference, escaping your mundane life and the marriage that brings you nothing.

you’ve really gone on this trip to get away from your dead bedroom and the spouse that treats you like nothing more than a money maker.

which leads you to having a chance encounter with bakugou at the bar of the hotel your conference is at. you remember him from one of the panels — he’s young for this field of work but incredibly handsome, has brilliant red eyes that draw you in like magnetising poles, he makes you laugh and from your belly too. he’s everything your current spouse is not, there’s a spark inside you that you haven’t felt in years and bakugou knows it too. he makes you feel beautiful and seen and all he’s done is buy you a drink with a sour olive in it.

you find yourself stumbling behind him after one too many drinks, katsuki guiding you back to your hotel room — the good man that he is. you’ve both got panels to attend tomorrow morning at 9am sharp. it wouldn’t be wise to spend the rest of the night basking in booze and one another’s company. but when you get the door, failing to slip your key card into the slot — the blonde’s hand touches yours to help you get it in and all sense of logic is lost.

you no longer feel drained by mundane life waiting for you back home, you no longer think of your boring spouse in currently sleeping in your marital bed where they fail to make you feel loved. from the moment katsuki’s hand had touched yours, all you could feel was electricity, the longing and the wanting you’ve been desperately craving.

his lips drag sweep across your skin in heated motions and they find pleasure spots you’re not sure you even knew existed. bakugou’s fingers map out every inch of your body as though he may never touch you again, they dip past the forbidden band of your a-line skirt and write secret promises of pleasure against your clit because you’re married and the both of you know this is wrong.

one touch turns into another, dull and thick fingers stretch you open and graze your g-spot with an ease your spouse could never find. you e never felt this good, your lashes flutter against katsuki’s neck as he holds you to his chest and finger fucks you to the high heavens…because you’re just a hardworking woman who hasn’t had her pussy ruined in a long time, not like you deserve. he grins when you cream on just two of his fingers, such a good girl, so easy to please.

“such a pretty girl… such a hard worker ‘n no one to take care of you,” the blonde purrs into your ear before pushing you into the plush pillows and blankets below. there’s a gravel in his voice that raises at the heartbeat between your legs, not to mention the perfect view of him loosening his shirt and tie above you. “s’that why you’ve fallen into bed with the youngest guy here. ‘cause i got what it takes t’keep up with ya, yeah? make you feel better than that poor excuse of a fuck you got back home?”

bakugou grins slow and sexy when your hips rise from the bed on instinct at his words and he kisses you just to reward you, a poor touch starved little thing. its hungry and sloppy and messy and somewhere in the mix of his tongue wrapped around yours and your hands in his hair — the blonde has ripped through your stockings and slipped his aching, dripping slick cock past your quivering entrance.

he feels like home inside you, feels you up to the brim and sends your eyes rolling back into the depths of your skull. every stroke is calculated, every piston of katsuki’s meaty girth purposive and intentional — crafted to make you see stars with every jolt of your body up the bed. you can’t go back to regular old life after tonight, you won’t be able to go back to the way things were without picturing bakugou’s tie hanging loosely above you and hearing his deep moans echo throughout your mind.

that night you leave marks on one another that you’ll be hiding for weeks, smiling at when no one is looking, reminiscing the sinful experience shared in this very hotel room. there’s too much passion in the room for this to just remain a one time thing, too much emotion behind the act saliva swept lip lock or love bite left below the line of future clothes to be worn.

you know that you won’t give katsuki up especially when he kisses you as you cum together, thick white seeping between your swollen and ravaged folds.

you’ll do anything to be underneath bakugou like this again, even if it means planning fake business trips every other weekend to get away from your spouse and get fucked to the high heavens by your young hot colleague.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai & recommend elsewhere.