#i just debated for like a half hour over whether or not to post this with or without noise and chromatic abberation

[trevor4ever]

if they don't add 2023 kerry to photo mode i'll probably die. badly

[dawntheduckrb]

Someone drew pearl on a wall in the art building lol

[joycrispy]

Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

[sweetcalebb]

Zayne finding the hickeys he left !

⋆˚࿔

The room was quiet, a little too quiet given the fact that a colleague was currently reviewing a post-op complication that spiraled.

Zayne sighed, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. He was listening—or he was trying to, anyway.

But it was hard to focus when just hours earlier you were curled up against his chest, skin-to-skin. You were so tired, barely even half-awake when he accidentally woke you up while getting ready for work and you murmured a soft "good luck."

He shifted in his seat, quickly blinking, as if that might help him concentrate.

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was barely noticeable. Probably because Zayne tended to ignore any personal texts at work. So he left it at that.

But then it buzzed again.

He let out a small breath through his nose before discreetly slipping his phone out of his pocket. It was just to silence his notifications, but when he saw your name, he paused.

Two new notifications.

Zayne's gaze drifted up, then back down. He shouldn't be checking his messages right now, but it was you. With a hesitant tap, he opened your messages.

You: Found your love bites

You: [1 image attached]

His breath hitched.

Hickeys.

Four, to be exact.

His eyes roved over the image, his chest suddenly too tight. Zayne was never one for carelessness. He didn't do things like this, especially when those things seemed so juvenile.

But he'd meant those.

Really meant them.

They weren't there for the sake of being there. No, they were deliberate, something he left behind because he wanted you to remember and that was unnerving.

It wasn't him. It wasn't the composed, rational doctor he'd worked so hard to make of himself. But in that moment, he couldn't help himself to the feeling of your skin between his teeth.

You were sweet. A little salty, too. The kind of combination that made it impossible not to go back for more.

He didn't regret it, he was sorry though.

You'd have to cover up your neck for a week. And God help him, something about that thought made his lips curl up with a smile.

It was barely there—just a soft, subtle smile, there nonetheless.

"Zayne."

He blinked, looking up and smoothly sliding his phone back into his pocket. "Yes?" The quiet smile he'd worn just seconds ago had slipped away, almost like it was never there in the first place.

"You're up."

Zayne cleared his throat. "Sorry,” he uttered, standing up and making his way to the front of the conference table, notes in hand.

You should've been long gone by now. Erased from his mind. He had a presentation for God's sake. But you were still there. Making his cheeks warm and his stomach turn.

<3

It'd been a long day.

Zayne stood outside your door now, one hand inches away from your door—debating whether to knock or not—and a small plastic bag with medical supplies in the other hand.

It was late. The smell of hospital still clung to his skin—clean, but not laundry clean. Sterile clean. Like gloves, soap, and a hint of antiseptic.

Zayne took a small breath, finally knocking against your door. He waited, his hand falling to his side. He didn't even tell you he was coming, just texted that he'd get back to you later.

Now he was here, uncharacteristically... nervous? It was hard to tell for what though. To see you maybe? Or maybe, to see the evidence of what you did to him?

Who knew.

His thoughts quickly melted away when you finally opened the door, looking just as soft as you did this morning. You were wearing a loose shirt you'd stolen from him a little bit ago, pj pants, and some fuzzy socks.

How were you always so... what was the word?—endearing?

Your eyes widened a fraction, raking over his form. "Zayne? What are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were coming."

"I know," Zayne answered, his gaze shifting to the bruises on your neck.

He inhaled sharply.

A quiet warmth bloomed in his chest. It was unbidden, unwelcome. But it was there, no matter how hard he tried to will it away.

He liked them too much.

Way too much.

Zayne cleared his throat quietly before holding the bag out. "I brought this for you."

You glanced down, taking the bag and pulling away from the door to let him in. "What is it?"

"Look inside."

You slowly closed the door behind him, then peeked into the small plastic bag. There was some sort of cream, a few instant cold packs, and a thin cloth.

You glanced back up. "Is this...?"

"For the hickeys." Zayne nodded, his voice quieter now.

You let out an airy laugh. "Zayne.. You didn't have to."

"No, but I wanted to." He gently brought his hand to the underside of your arm. "I'm the one who left them." His eyes drifted back to the purple marks, his chest tightening again.

He looked at you again. Waiting.

You smiled. "It's not a big deal. I can do it."

Zayne's grip on your arm tightened just slightly, almost like a silent plea. "Let me help you."

You hesitated for a second. You didn't mind the hickeys, so why was Zayne making such a big deal about it?

Still, it was hard to even think about rejecting his offer when he looked at you like that—with that odd mix of pleading and guilt and something else you couldn't place.

Eventually, you gave in with a sigh. "Fine."

"Thank you." Zayne guided you back to your couch, taking the cold pack and cloth out.

"It's not a magic fix," he murmured, squeezing the bag and shaking it lightly as he sat down beside you. "But it'll help." He wrapped the pack in the small cloth, then gently pressed it to your neck.

You hummed. "Thank you, Zayne."

He shook his head. "Don't thank me. I gave you these.."

He paused, the word just on the tip of his tongue. Why was this so hard to say? He was a doctor, not some boy who just learned how to leave a mark.

"Hickeys," he finished, his voice quiet.

For a moment, you said nothing. Just watched him, taking in the little furrow of his brows and the hard line of his lips.

Was he always so cute when he was guilty?

"You're cute," you blurted.

Zayne paused, his eyes snapping to yours briefly before going back to your neck. "I'm applying first aid."

"Mm. Cute." You smiled.

Zayne paused again, his lips twitching with a gentle smile. You made it impossible not to mirror the small gesture. How could he when you looked at him like that?

So sweet and soft.

For a brief—very brief—moment, he almost wished he wasn't trying to get rid of your hickeys right now. Wished he'd let them last a little longer.

Just almost.

a/n: sorry this one was longer 😔

[scarletwinterxx]

bend the brake - choi seungcheol imagine

istg i would have posted this days ago BUT I HAD TO RE-EDIT SO MANY TIMES bcs it wont fit here. so finally finalllyyy here you go🫠🤣

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)

The fluorescent glow of the convenience store flickers slightly as you step outside, a bag of snacks in one hand, a cold drink in the other. The streets are quiet, the late hour settling over the city like a thick blanket. You should probably be at home, curled up in bed, but the craving for something sweet had been too strong to resist.

You flip the snack over in your hands, eyes scanning the label, not really paying attention to where you're going.

And then the deafening screech of tires rips through the silence.

Your head snaps up just in time to see headlights cutting through the night, blinding and too close. Your breath catches in your throat, your body freezing in place—

The car stops mere inches from you, the force of its abrupt halt vibrating through the pavement.

For a moment, nothing moves then, the driver’s side door swings open with a sharp click.

A man steps out.

Dressed in black, broad shoulders tense under the dim streetlight. His dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, framing sharp, striking features. Even in the low light, his presence is overwhelming, like a force of nature. His gaze locks onto you—dark, intense, and filled with irritation.

“What the hell were you doing?” His voice is low, edged with frustration.

You blink, your breath still uneven. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Looking?” He scoffs, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “You were too busy staring at whatever’s in your hand to notice you almost walked into a moving car.”

You shrink back slightly, gripping the plastic bag tighter. “I didn’t mean to…”

His jaw clenches, and for a second, it looks like he’s debating whether to say something else. But instead, he just shakes his head. “Be more careful.”

He turns on his heel, already reaching for his car door.

You should just let him leave. This is already embarrassing enough. But before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Um—thank you for stopping.”

He pauses. Just for a second. Then, without a word, he gets into the car, the engine roaring to life. You stand there, heart still pounding, staring after him.

Who was that?

You push open the door to your apartment, still slightly dazed from what just happened. The faint scent of the vanilla candle Jihyo always insists on lighting.

Jihyo is sprawled on the couch, her legs tucked under a blanket, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn resting on her lap. She barely glances up from her drama before doing a double take.

“Why do you look like that?” she asks, eyes narrowing.

You blink. “Like what?”

She points a finger at you. “Like you just saw a ghost. Or like you committed a crime. Did you commit a crime?”

“No! What—why would that be your first guess?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, you do look suspicious. And you’re clutching that bag like it’s your last meal.”

Only then do you realize how tightly you’re holding onto your convenience store snacks. You exhale, finally setting them on the counter before collapsing onto the couch beside her.

“I almost got run over,” you mumble.

Jihyo gasps, sitting up so fast the blanket slides off her shoulders. “WHAT?”

You wince. “Okay, maybe not that dramatic. But this really fancy car came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t looking, and he had to brake really hard.”

She stares at you, horrified. “Are you okay?! Did he yell at you? Wait—was he hot?”

You sigh, sinking further into the couch. “He looked scary.”

Jihyo raises a brow. “Scary how? Like, actually scary or hot scary?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Why are those the only two options?”

“Because that’s how the universe works.”

You groan again. “Jihyo.”

“What? I’m just saying.” She waves a hand. “Did he at least make sure you were okay?”

You pause, remembering the way he had sighed before telling you to be more careful. The brief hesitation before he drove off.

“…Kind of?”

“Did you get his name?”

“No.”

Jihyo pouts. “Ugh, tragic.” Then, after a beat, her expression brightens mischievously. “But don’t worry! If fate wants you to meet your mysterious scary-hot man again, it’ll happen.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the tiny smile on your lips as you retreat to your room.

Fate? Well, hopefully, fate lets you not embarrass yourself next time.

Turns out fate is not on your side at all. Either that or you have a knack at embarrassing yourself.

Balancing a stack of art supplies and teaching materials while pushing open the café door is not your smartest idea. But your kids needed these for their next activity, and you were too stubborn to make two trips.

You shift the weight in your arms, carefully maneuvering your way inside and walk straight into someone.

“Whoa—careful.”

The deep voice sends an odd shiver down your spine, familiar in a way you can’t place right away. You look up, breath catching slightly as you meet dark eyes framed by sharp features and messy black hair.

It takes him half a second to recognize you.

“You.”

Your eyes widen. “M-me?”

His gaze flickers over you, and something shifts in his expression—mild surprise, a trace of amusement. “Yeah. You almost walked into my car the other night.”

Your stomach twists in a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. Of course, fate just had to throw you into his path again.

“I—uh—” You flounder for words, cheeks burning. “I was distracted.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

You glance down, pretending to readjust your grip on the supplies. “Thanks for catching that.”

“You should really work on watching where you’re going.”

You scowl, but it lacks any real bite. “I do watch where I’m going.”

He tilts his head slightly, clearly unimpressed. “You sure about that?”

You huff, adjusting your things. “I was just in a rush.”

He eyes the stack in your arms, then sighs before reaching out and effortlessly taking half of it from you.

Your mouth falls open. “What—wait—you don’t have to—”

“Just tell me where you’re going,” he says, already turning toward the counter. “Unless you want to drop everything in the middle of the café.” You stare at him, completely thrown off by the unexpected gesture.

Who is he?

You follow him toward the counter, still slightly dazed by how effortlessly he took half of your things.

“I—I can carry it myself,” you mumble, though the words come out weaker than intended.

He doesn’t even glance back. “You were barely holding onto them a second ago.”

You press your lips together, feeling your face heat up. The café is comfortably warm, but somehow, standing next to him makes it feel ten degrees hotter. As you reach an empty table, he sets your things down with ease. 

A beat of silence stretches between you before you clear your throat.

“Um… about that night,” you start hesitantly, shifting on your feet. “I—I never really got to say it properly, but… I’m really sorry. For, you know, almost getting run over.”

He leans against the chair, arms crossing over his chest as he looks at you. His dark eyes hold something unreadable, something that makes you feel even smaller under his gaze.

Then, to your surprise, his lips twitch slightly. “At least you admit it this time.”

You duck your head, flustered. “I admitted it before…”

“Mm. Not really.”

You peek up at him, only to find that he’s watching you with mild amusement, as if he finds your reaction entertaining.

The realization makes you even more shy, and you quickly look away, fiddling with your sleeves. “W-well, I mean it. I’ll be more careful next time.”

He hums, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “Good.”

Another brief silence. You wonder if you should say something else, but before you can, a voice calls from behind him.

“Cheol, let’s go!”

You blink as a familiar figure strolls toward your table. Your eyes widen slightly. They know each other?

Seungcheol—Cheol?—glances over his shoulder before turning back to you. “You good with your stuff now?”

You nod quickly. “Y-yeah! Thank you.”

He gives you one last look, then, without another word, he turns and walks off, leaving you standing there, still flustered, still trying to process everything.

As Seungcheol and his friend head toward the exit, you finally let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. But then you notice it. The way the café has gotten quieter. The way people are looking at you.

“…That was Choi Seungcheol, right?”

“Yeah! And Jeonghan was with him…”

“What’s a racer like him doing here?”

You blink, confusion washing over you. Racer?

Your gaze follows theirs, staring at the door as it swings shut behind the two men. The image of Seungcheol’s sharp features, the way he carried himself, the confidence in his stride—it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t just some random guy you almost walked into that night. He was someone. Someone famous. And you, completely oblivious, had apologized to him like he was just any other stranger.

The moment you step into your apartment, exhausted from the day’s events, Jihyo barely gives you a chance to breathe before she’s dragging you onto the couch.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, again” she says, eyeing you suspiciously. “What happened now?”

You sigh, dropping your bag onto the floor. “You remember the guy I almost walked into the other night?”

Her expression sharpens. “Scary-hot guy? Yeah, obviously.”

“Well…” You shift uncomfortably. “I ran into him again today. At the café.”

“And?”

“And then I found out who he actually is.”

Jihyo narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

You bite your lip. “He’s—um. He’s kind of famous?” 

You tell her everything, from that night to meeting him again at the cafe to the stares of everyone there. She blinks. Once. Twice. Then, when realization dawns, she screams.

“YOU DIDN’T TELL ME IT WAS CHOI SEUNGCHEOL? YOU ALMOST DIED UNDER CHOI SEUNGCHEOL’S CAR?!”

You groan, flopping onto the couch. “I did not almost die!”

Jihyo looks absolutely betrayed. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Do you know who he is?”

“I do now!”

“He’s not just famous!” She grips your shoulders. “He’s the Choi Seungcheol! The biggest name in racing right now! Literally the best in the circuit! People would sell their souls just to meet him!”

You blink. “Oh.”

Jihyo groans, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it like it personally offended her. “This is so unfair. People dream about meeting Seungcheol and you—you almost became a headline without even realizing it!”

You groan again, covering your face. “Can you not say it like that?”

She huffs, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. You, the one person in this city who doesn’t know anything about racing, are somehow fated to cross paths with Choi Seungcheol.”

You peek at her between your fingers. “I don’t think fate is the one messing with me. I think it’s you.”

=

It’s the weekend. Your first free day in what feels like forever. 

Your plan? Stay in bed, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, and maybe only move to grab snacks. A perfect, peaceful day of doing absolutely nothing. That is until your bedroom door slams open.

“Get up!” Jihyo’s voice pierces through your sleepy haze.

You groan, barely peeking out from your covers. “Go away.” She does not go away. Instead, she marches over, grabs your arm, and starts pulling.

“Jihyo—what the—”

“You’re coming with me,” she declares, already rifling through your closet. “There’s a party. We’re going.”

You blink, still half-asleep. “Party?”

The bar is already alive with music and laughter by the time you and Jihyo step inside. You barely have a chance to get your bearings before Jihyo is leading the way, greeting people left and right like she owns the place.

“Jihyo!” Someone waves her over, and soon, you’re being pulled into a group of her friends.

As you settle in, ordering a drink and chatting with the group, you remain completely unaware of the set of eyes that have landed on you from across the room.

At a booth near the back, a group of men sits comfortably, drinks in hand, their presence naturally commanding attention. Jeonghan, leaned back with a lazy smirk, is the first to notice.

“Well, well.” He nudges Seungcheol, nodding toward the bar. “Look who it is.”

Seungcheol follows his gaze, and his eyes land on you. You, standing with your friends, laughing at something someone just said, unaware of the attention you’re drawing.

Minghao, sitting beside Jeonghan, raises a brow. “Who?”

“That,” Jeonghan hums, “is our little crosswalk girl.”

Vernon, who’s been sipping his drink quietly, looks over too. “The one from the café?”

“The very one.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, his gaze unreadable. He watches as you take a sip of your drink, eyes bright as you talk with your friends, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve somehow, unknowingly, wandered into his world again.

The conversation flows easily, laughter spilling into the air as the music hums in the background. But eventually, your drink runs low, and you excuse yourself, weaving through the crowd toward the bar.

You squeeze into a spot near the counter, waiting for the bartender’s attention, when a voice speaks beside you.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you here.”

You blink, turning to find a man leaning casually against the bar, there’s nothing immediately alarming about him, but something about his approach makes you instinctively straighten your posture.

You offer a polite smile. “Someone like me?”

He chuckles. “You don’t really look like the bar-hopping type.” His eyes flick over you, assessing. “First time here?”

You hesitate, choosing your words carefully. “Something like that.”

“You should let me buy your next drink, then,” he offers smoothly, setting his glass down. “I can show you around.”

Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol has already risen from his seat.

“I appreciate the offer,” you say carefully, shifting slightly in place. “But I’m good, thanks.”

He tilts his head, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Come on, just one drink. No harm in that, right?”

The bartender finally makes his way over, and you take the opportunity to place your order, hoping the stranger will take the hint and leave it at that. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he’s telling you some grand secret.

“You look a little lost,” he muses. “Let me keep you company.”

Your polite smile tightens. “I’m really not—”

A presence shifts behind you and suddenly, the atmosphere changes.

It’s subtle at first just a flicker in the air, the feeling of something shifting before you can put a name to it. Then, before you even realize what’s happening, a hand lands on the bar beside you. Close, but not touching.

The stranger’s eyes flicker up, his smirk faltering slightly. You don’t have to turn around to know someone is standing there.

And then

“I think you’re the one lost, man”

A voice. Low. Smooth. Amused, but with an edge sharp enough to cut.

You freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head aand meet Seungcheol’s gaze. He’s standing behind you, close enough that his presence is unmistakable but not intrusive.  The man studies Seungcheol for a moment, then exhales through his nose, clearly weighing his options.

“Didn’t know she had company,” he says, raising his hands slightly. “Just making conversation.”

Seungcheol doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. “She’s good.”

It’s not a threat. Not outright. But it doesn’t have to be. The stranger seems to understand that.

Only then do you fully turn to Seungcheol. For a second, neither of you speak. The music thrums around you, the dim bar lights casting sharp shadows across his features.

You clear your throat. “Thanks for… scaring him off, I guess.”

His lips twitch slightly. “I didn’t scare him.”

You give him a look. “You definitely scared him.”

Seungcheol shrugs, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Didn’t like how he was talking to you.”

You blink. It’s a simple statement, but something about it makes warmth creep up your neck.

“…Yeah,” you murmur, glancing down. “I wasn’t a fan either.”

A beat of silence passes before you glance at him again.

“So…” you start, tilting your head. “Do you just happen to be everywhere I go, or…?”

His eyes flicker with amusement. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“I don’t even go anywhere.”

He smirks. “And yet, here you are.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Against my will, for the record.”

“You should stick with your friends.”

You blink, caught off guard by the shift in conversation. “Huh?”

He nods toward where Jihyo and the others are, still laughing and drinking, completely unaware of your interaction.

“If you don’t like dealing with guys like that,” Seungcheol says evenly, “don’t wander off alone.”

You frown. “I wasn’t wandering—”

He gives you a pointed look.

You hesitate, then sigh. “…Fine. Noted.”

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else, just takes another slow sip of his drink. For some reason, you can’t help but smile. A strange guy, a rescue, a drink, and an oddly protective professional racer.

Your night just got a lot more interesting.

As Seungcheol steps away from the bar, making his way back to their table, he can already feel the stares. Sure enough, when he reaches the booth, Jeonghan is the first to speak, leaning forward with a knowing smirk.

Seungcheol doesn’t react, just takes a slow sip, gaze flicking toward the bar where you’ve rejoined Jihyo and your friends, seemingly unaware of the conversation happening across the room.

Jeonghan hums, following his gaze. “She’s cute.”

Seungcheol shoots him a look. “Don’t start.”

Jeonghan grins. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Minghao leans back, watching him curiously. “What’s the deal with her?”

Seungcheol exhales through his nose, setting his glass down. “Nothing. Just a familiar face.”

Jeonghan snorts. “A familiar face you’ve run into three times now.”

Vernon glances at Seungcheol. “Fate?”

“Coincidence,” Seungcheol corrects.

Jeonghan nudges Minghao. “He’s in denial.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Jeonghan just smirks, eyes flickering back to you across the room. “Maybe.” He tilts his head. “Or maybe we’re just paying attention.”

Jeonghan barely leans forward, a teasing glint in his eyes, before he starts, “But she’s really cute, so if you’re not interested—”

Seungcheol’s gaze snaps to him. Sharp. Instant. Jeonghan doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Seungcheol’s stare shuts him down. Minghao raises an eyebrow, glancing between them.

Jeonghan, ever the troublemaker, tilts his head slightly. “Oh?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer. Just holds his gaze. For a second, the tension lingers.

Then Jeonghan chuckles, leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender. “Alright, alright.”

Seungcheol doesn’t respond this time, just shifts his gaze back to the bar where you’re still standing, laughing at something Jihyo said, completely unaware of the conversation that just took place across the room.

The cool night air is a relief after the warmth of the bar, the buzz of conversation and music fading into the background as you stand on the sidewalk with Jihyo.

She leans against you slightly, humming to herself. She’s not completely out of it, just tipsy enough to be giggly, swaying lightly as she scrolls through her phone.

“You good?” you ask, steadying her when she wobbles.

She grins up at you. “Perfect.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting your grip on her arm. “Uh-huh. Sure you are.”

Your group had started heading home one by one, slipping out with quick goodbyes, and now it’s just the two of you waiting for a cab. 

Jihyo hums again, tapping at her phone. “Ugh, the wait time’s so long.”

“We’ll just have to be patient,” you sigh, rubbing your arms against the slight chill.

You don’t notice the familiar figures stepping out of the bar behind you.

Jihyo sighs dramatically, resting her full weight against you. “You’re so warm. You should let me borrow your body heat.”

“Or, and hear me out, you could stand on your own two feet.”

“No fun,” she whines, wrapping an arm around you in a lazy hug. “This is why you need a boyfriend. Someone to carry you when you’re drunk.”

You scoff. “I’m not the one who’s drunk.”

She ignores you. “You’d be so cute with a boyfriend. Someone big and strong.” She giggles. “Like one of those K-drama leads who act all tough but secretly—”

A throat clears behind you.

You both freeze.

Slowly, you turn your head. And there, standing a few feet away, is a group of some familiar and unfamiliar men. Seungcheol. Jeonghan. And two you’ve never met before but you’re assuming are their friends.

You blink.

Jihyo blinks.

Then

“Oh, shit,” she gasps, a little too loud.

You immediately slap a hand over her mouth. “Jihyo—”

She pries your hand away, eyes wide as she leans in close, whispering (badly), “Why didn’t you tell me they were right behind us?!”

“How was I supposed to know?!” you hiss back, mortified.

Meanwhile, the guys just stare, the silence between both groups growing increasingly awkward. Jeonghan, of course, is the first to break it.

“This is entertaining,” he muses, crossing his arms. “Don’t stop on our account.”

You groan, wanting the sidewalk to swallow you whole. “We’re done talking.”

“Oh, no, no—please, continue,” Jeonghan grins. “Something about K-drama boyfriends? Big and strong?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I hate this.”

Jihyo, suddenly regaining her confidence, narrows her eyes at them. “Wait, why are you guys here?”

Vernon shrugs. “Same reason you are. Leaving.”

“You followed us,” she accuses.

Minghao snorts. “You were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. We walked out and saw you.”

“…Oh.” Jihyo deflates.

Seungcheol, who’s been quiet this whole time, finally exhales. “You two waiting for a cab?”

Jihyo nods. “Yeah, but the wait times suck.”

He glances at his car parked nearby, then back at you. “We could drive you.”

Jihyo perks up instantly. “Really?” You shoot her a look. “No, that’s okay—”

She elbows you. “We should say yes.”

“Jihyo,” you grit out, horrified.

“Think about it,” she whispers. “Free ride. Faster than waiting.”

Then Jeonghan, because he’s the worst, leans in slightly. “Unless you don’t trust Seungcheol’s driving?” Your eyes dart to Seungcheol. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

You purse your lips. “I never said that.”

“So you do trust him?” Jeonghan smirks.

You scowl. “I didn’t say that either.”

Jihyo groans, gripping your shoulders. “Oh my god, just say yes so we can go home!”

Jihyo grabs your arm in a vice grip, pulling you slightly away from the guys, though her balance is… questionable at best. She leans in, eyes wide, and whisper-shouts, “He’s a good driver! He’s very famous and hot! SAY YES!”

You freeze. She thinks she’s whispering. She’s absolutely not.

The silence behind you is deafening. You close your eyes, inhale sharply, then turn your head only to find all four men staring at you. You want to die.

Jihyo, still blissfully unaware, gives you another shake. “Why are you not saying yes?! He’s right there! He knows how to drive! He’s a racer! Do you know how many girls would kill to be in this position?!”

You force a strained smile. “Jihyo.”

“What?!”

“They can hear you.”

A beat of silence. Then—she smiles, nods, and says, “Good.”

And then she turns back to you, whisper-shouting, “So now that he knows, say yes.”

Seungcheol sighs. “Get in the car.”

Jihyo beams. “See? Told you.” You shoot her a glare but begrudgingly follow Seungcheol toward his car.

You hesitate for a second, eyeing the car. Maybe if you move fast enough, you can slip into the backseat next to Jihyo and avoid—

Click.

The sound of a door opening. You turn your head and—of course—it’s Jeonghan, holding open the front passenger door with a perfectly innocent smile.

“After you,” he says smoothly.

You narrow your eyes. “I was going to sit in the back.”

He tilts his head. “But that doesn’t make sense, does it? You’re the guest, you should take the best seat.”

“I don’t—”

Jihyo, behind you, shoves your back. “Just get in!”

You shoot her a glare before reluctantly sliding into the passenger seat, cheeks burning. Jeonghan shuts the door behind you with an annoyingly satisfied look before moving to take his own seat.

Jihyo plops into the back, sighing in content. “This is nice. I could get used to this.”

You swear you hear Seungcheol let out the faintest chuckle. And then, without another word, he starts the engine—trapping you in a car with him, your tipsy best friend, and the most annoying man alive.

in the backseat, Jihyo is completely at ease. She hums along to the radio, legs crossed, looking like she’s being chauffeured. Next to her, Jeonghan has that smug little smirk the one that says he’s enjoying this way too much.

And then there’s him. Seungcheol, eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, jaw set in quiet focus. 

You shift awkwardly, clearing your throat. “Uh… thanks. For, you know… driving us.”

He nods slightly. “It’s fine.”

You nod too, staring straight ahead. “Cool. Yeah. Fine.”

Another pause and then Jihyo ruins everything. She leans forward between the seats, squinting at the dashboard. “Wow. This car is nice.”

Seungcheol hums. “Thanks.”

“What’s the top speed?” she asks, poking at random buttons.

You slap her hand away. “Stop touching things!”

“I just wanna know!” she pouts. “What’s the fastest you’ve ever driven?”

“Not answering that,” Seungcheol replies flatly.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t need to know.”

Jihyo huffs, slumping back. “Boring.”

You sigh in relief, thinking that’s the end of it but of course, Jeonghan isn’t done. He props his chin on his hand, looking over at you. “You still don’t know who he is, do you?”

“I—uh.” You fumble. “I mean. Jihyo kind of told me?”

Jihyo snorts. “I did not ‘kind of’ tell you. I screamed it at you.”

Jeonghan grins. “So? What do you think?”

You blink. “What do I think about what?”

Seungcheol exhales quietly. “Jeonghan.”

But Jeonghan ignores him, still watching you expectantly. “About him. Y’know. The Choi Seungcheol.”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling like you’re walking into a trap. “Uh… cool?”

Jeonghan leans closer. “That’s it?”

“What else do you want me to say?!” you exclaim, flustered.

Jihyo, still tipsy but ever the enabler, chimes in: “You could mention that he’s hot.”

You whip around. “Jihyo!”

“What? It’s true!”

You slap a hand over your face, groaning. “I hate you.”

The car rolls to a smooth stop outside your apartment complex, and you exhale, relieved to finally escape this nightmare.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say quickly, reaching for the door handle before anyone can make this worse—

But, of course, Jihyo beats you to it.

She dramatically stretches in the backseat. “Ahhh, that was nice. Good company, smooth ride—” she winks at Seungcheol through the rearview mirror, “—great driver.”

You slap her thigh. “Get out.”

She laughs but obliges, pushing the door open and stepping out. You scramble out too, making your way onto the sidewalk, fully prepared to run but then Jeonghan’s window rolls down.

“Hey,” he calls out. “Try not to get hit by any cars this time, yeah?”

You glare at Jeonghan. “I hope you stub your toe when you get home.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “You’re cute when you’re mad.” And with that, the car pulls away, leaving you standing there, cheeks burning, as your best friend drags you toward your building laughing all the way.

As soon as the car pulls away, Jeonghan casually switches seats, sliding into the passenger seat with a content sigh. Seungcheol, jaw tight, doesn’t even look at him.

“…Are you mad I called her cute?”

Seungcheol’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan grins, turning to face him. “It’s an honest question.”

Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. “Drop it.”

Jeonghan tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “So that’s a yes.” Seungcheol doesn’t respond, gaze fixed on the road.

Jeonghan, delighted, leans closer. “You are mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Seungcheol says flatly.

Jeonghan hums, unconvinced. “Hmm. Sure. Not mad. Just gripping the wheel like you wanna break it.”

Seungcheol ignores him.

Jeonghan watches him for a second longer, then smirks, leaning back in his seat. “You know,” he muses, “she is really cute.”

Seungcheol exhales, long and slow, like he’s summoning every ounce of patience in his body.

Jeonghan grins. “Relax, man. It’s not like you’re jealous or anything.”

Seungcheol’s jaw clenches. “I said—”

“Uh-huh.” Jeonghan props his chin on his hand, looking way too pleased with himself. “Don’t worry. I’ll be nice.”

=

You’re comfortably settled at your desk, working on some lesson plans for your class when Jihyo bursts into your room, nearly giving you a heart attack. Before you can even react, she shoves her phone into your face.

You blink, leaning back. “What—”

She jabs at the screen. “This!”

You squint at the display, confused until you realize what you’re looking at. Choi Seungcheol’s Instagram profile.

Jihyo crosses her arms, looking at you like she just caught you. “So this is what you’re denying yourself?? Explain to me why you are not all over this man.”

Your brain bluescreens. You quickly shove her phone away, face burning. “Shut up!”

She sighs dramatically. “Babe, if it were me who bumped into him that night, best believe I would not have come home.”

You groan, covering your face. “Jihyo—”

“I mean—” She swipes to another photo, this time of him in his racing suit, looking stupidly good. “Look at him. He’s got that whole broody, ‘I’ll ruin your life but in the best way’ vibe.”

She shakes her head in awe. “That jawline should be illegal.”

She grins. “Admit it. You think he’s hot.”

You make a strangled noise. “I’m going to bed.”

Jihyo cackles, watching as you dive under your blanket in pure defeat. “Oh, babe,” she sing-songs. “You’re so done for.”

Despite Jihyo’s endless teasing and your absolute denial, the days pass and nothing happens. No accidental run-ins. No mysterious black car pulling up at the right moment. No smug Jeonghan popping out of nowhere to torment you.

You’re just at the convenience store, minding your business, waiting in line with a basket full of snacks, when you hear it

“Yeah, Seungcheol’s overseas for the big race.” Your ears perk up.

“Oh, right,” another guy says, grabbing a drink from the fridge. “Dude’s been training like crazy for this one. He’s got a good shot at winning.”

You stare blankly at the row of gum in front of you. He’s not even in Korea?

One of the guys chuckles. “I saw a clip of the press conference. He looked so serious, man. Like, no distractions, all business.”

“Hah, that’s Choi Seungcheol for you.”

You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling very silly because here you were, half-expecting some dramatic encounter, maybe another near-death experience (not that you wanted one), or at the very least, something. You pay for your things, walk out of the store, and absolutely do not check your phone for race updates.

It starts with a simple search. Just one harmless search. You’re curled up in bed, snacks within reach, telling yourself it’s just curiosity. And yet the moment you hit enter, you realize you’ve made a grave mistake.

Because there he is.

Choi Seungcheol.

Not just one picture, but thousands. Articles, interviews, highlights from races, candid photos at events. He’s everywhere.

You stare, entranced.

This is the same guy who caught you almost getting run over. The same guy who watched you squint at a menu like an old lady. The same guy who bought your coffee without a word.

You’re still deep in your self-inflicted spiral, scrolling through every article and picture you can find. And then you see it.

The latest update.

Choi Seungcheol Wins International Grand Prix!

You find yourself smiling a little. You don’t even know this guy properly, but still… it’s nice to see.

Then you scroll down. And stop.

Because there’s a picture of him not with his team, but with a girl. She’s standing close to him, a hand on his arm, smiling up at him while he looks at her.

Oh.

You stare at the image, a weird, sinking feeling settling in your chest. She’s stunning. The kind of gorgeous that makes you feel like you should sit up straighter, fix your hair, do something. 

You quickly exit out of the tab, tossing your phone onto the bed like it burned you. What did you expect? Of course someone like him would have a girlfriend.

A few days passed. Not that you’re sulking. You’ve decided to move on. You’ve accepted reality. Choi Seungcheol is just a passing encounter in your life. 

It’s fine. What’s not fine is this stupid bag of snacks that won’t open.

You frown, wrestling with the plastic as you step out of the convenience store, fully focused on your struggle. You huff, gripping it tighter, about to really go for it when

A loud honk blasts through the air.

You freeze.

The next second, the sound of tires screeching fills your ears. A bright flash of headlights and then a strong hand grabs you, pulling you back just as a sleek black car zooms by. Your breath catches. Heart hammering, you slowly lift your gaze to the person who just saved you

And your brain short-circuits.

Because standing there, gripping your wrist, looking at you like you’re the single biggest headache in his life is Choi Seungcheol.

Fresh off his international win. Back in Korea. And very much here. “Seriously?”

You blink up at him, mind racing, struggling to process the fact that he’s here. Right in front of you. 

"Seriously?" he asks again. Before you can even think of a response, another voice speaks behind Seungcheol, and you turn just in time to see Jeonghan

“Oh my god,” he lets out a laugh, looking between you and Seungcheol. “Again?”

“I—” you start, but Jeonghan just shakes his head, looking at Seungcheol. “Be honest. Is she actually in danger all the time, or do you just have some weird sixth sense for when she’s about to get hit by something?”

Seungcheol scoffs, finally letting go of your wrist. “I don’t have a sixth sense.”

Jeonghan tilts his head. “I don’t know, man. That’s twice now. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were her personal bodyguard.”

“I—I wasn’t paying attention,” you mumble, gripping your stupid snack bag tighter.

Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“I was distracted—”

“With what?” he snaps. “Your life flashing before your eyes?”

You scowl, shoving the bag toward him. “This wouldn’t open!”

Seungcheol stares at it. Then at you. Jeonghan bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god,” he wheezes, doubling over. “You almost died over potato chips?”

“I wasn’t going to die—”

“You weren’t even looking,” Seungcheol cuts in, eyes narrowing. You freeze, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. 

You swallow, suddenly feeling small. “I—I didn’t mean to…”

His jaw tightens, but he exhales, shaking his head like he’s trying to let it go. “Just—be more careful.”

You nod, looking down at your feet. Jeonghan, sensing the shift in mood, clears his throat. “Anyway,” he drawls, clapping a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Before you fully commit to your new job as her official savior, can we go? I’m running on fumes, man”

Jeonghan grins. “We can drop you off”

Seungcheol glares at him. “Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan shrugs

You hold up a hand, shaking your head frantically. “I—no, it’s okay! I was just—”

Jeonghan grins wider. “See? She didn’t say no.”

Seungcheol sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you.”

Jeonghan slaps his back. “That’s fair. Now, come on, mystery girl. Let’s get you home in one piece”

And before you fully process what’s happening, you find yourself being pulled toward the car—toward another unexpected run-in with Choi Seungcheol.

Fate, it seems, isn’t quite done playing with you yet.

You don’t know how this happened. One second, you were nearly flattened by a car (again), and the next, you were being dragged by Jeonghan who apparently has no concept of personal space or asking for permission.

Now, you’re in the backseat of Choi Seungcheol’s car, clutching your still-unopened bag of chips like it’s your last lifeline.

“So, really, where were you looking?” he asks, turning slightly to glance at you. “Because if I was about to get hit, I’d at least want to see it coming.”

You glare at him. “I told you. The bag wouldn’t open.”

Jeonghan laughs. “I still can’t believe that’s what almost took you out. You know they put little notches for easy tearing, right?”

“...Not all of them work.”

Jeonghan sighs, shaking his head. “Natural selection is really out here working overtime.”

Seungcheol, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly exhales sharply. “Jeonghan.”

“What?” Jeonghan grins. “I’m just saying, it’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

You sneak a glance at the rearview mirror, catching his reflection. He looks… tense. One hand on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the road.

You wonder if he regrets stopping for you. Your stomach twists. It’s stupid, but you still feel a little weird about it. And now, sitting here, in his car, after all that unnecessary sulking? You feel… even weirder.

You shift uncomfortably, fingers fidgeting with the chip bag. You barely know these guys. One of them is a literal international racing champion, and the other is his unreasonably charming best friend. Meanwhile, you’re just… you. A kindergarten teacher who almost got flattened over snacks

The contrast is almost laughable.

“…You good back there?” Jeonghan’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You blink, realizing you’ve been sulking again. “What? Yeah. Totally fine.”

Jeonghan smirks. “Uh-huh. You definitely look fine. Real picture of peace and happiness.”

You scowl, but before you can respond, Seungcheol speaks up his voice calm but firm.

“Jeonghan. Shut up.”

Jeonghan grins. “Ohhh. He’s using his serious voice.”

Seungcheol sighs, gripping the wheel tighter. “I should’ve left you on the sidewalk.”

“And yet,” Jeonghan says smugly, “you didn’t.”

Seungcheol glares at him. You feel like you’re witnessing a very old, very repetitive argument.

“Anyway,” Jeonghan continues, ignoring the daggers being stared into his skull, “since you’re so fine, tell me—how do you feel knowing you’re currently in a very expensive car, sitting behind a very famous race car driver?”

You hesitate. Then—

“…I feel like I should’ve taken the bus.”

Jeonghan bursts out laughing. Even Seungcheol’s lips twitch slightly, though he hides it well.

“Alright,” Jeonghan chuckles, shaking his head. “I like you.”

You don’t know why, but your face warms a little at that. You ignore it, focusing instead on the bag in your hands. Your stupid, unopened bag of chips. The red light feels like it’s taking forever to change.

With a sigh, you look at Seungcheol. “Can you open this?”

For the first time since you got in the car, he fully turns his head to look at you. His expression is blank.

“Seriously?”

You pout. “It won’t open.”

Seungcheol stares for another second before muttering something under his breath. Then, with one hand still on the wheel, he takes the bag from you and effortlessly tears it open with zero struggle.

You stare. He hands it back without a word, eyes back on the road.

Jeonghan looks between the two of you, then shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Ohhh, this is gonna be fun.”

You hesitate for a second, fingers tightening around your newly opened bag of chips, before finally mumbling, “Congratulations, by the way.”

It’s so quiet that you’re not even sure he hears it

“…Thanks,” Seungcheol says after a beat, voice softer than before.

“Cute girlfriend, by the way.” It just slips out.

Jeonghan, who had just taken a sip of his drink, makes a sudden choking sound. “Oh—oh my god.”

Seungcheol’s fingers twitch. You freeze, realizing what you just said, how you just said it, and immediately regret everything. You look up only to find Seungcheol’s eyes in the rearview mirror, dark and unreadable.

“…What?” His voice is flat

You clear your throat, trying to play it off. “The girl. In that picture. Looked… cute.”

Jeonghan, recovering from his near-death experience, turns fully in his seat to look at you, a wicked grin stretching across his face. “Oh wow. This is amazing.”

You glare at him. “What?”

“So, you did look him up.”

Your soul leaves your body. Seungcheol is still silent. 

“I—no—I just—” You scramble for a response, but Jeonghan is already grinning like the devil himself.

“You did.” He laughs, clapping his hands together. “Oh, this is good. This is so good.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, face burning.

“I mean,” Jeonghan continues, completely ignoring him, “I knew you weren’t completely oblivious, but this confirms everything—”

“Jeonghan.” This time, there’s a warning in Seungcheol’s tone. Jeonghan raises his hands in surrender, but his smirk remains.  You, meanwhile, are trying very, very hard to disappear into the seat.

Seungcheol finally glances at you again, eyes unreadable. “It’s not what you think.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The picture.” His fingers drum against the wheel. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Your breath catches slightly, but you quickly school your expression into something neutral. “Oh. I mean—I didn’t—” You clear your throat. “I wasn’t assuming anything.” Lies.

Jeonghan is watching the exchange very closely, eyes flicking between the two of you with amusement.

“Right,” he drawls. “And you totally weren’t sulking when you saw it, huh?”

Your soul leaves your body for the second time in five minutes. Seungcheol sighs, shaking his head. You, meanwhile, are seriously considering rolling out of the moving vehicle.

=

It’s Friday afternoon, and you’re in the middle of prepping lesson plans when your phone buzzes. You glance at the screen.

Seungcheol: Do you have plans this weekend?

Your heart does a little skip. Which is dumb. You ignore that.

You: Why?

Seungcheol: Race this weekend. Sending you a pass if you want to come.

You: Can Jihyo come?

Seungcheol: ...Do I have a choice?

You snort. Nope. He sends an exasperated-looking emoji. Then: Fine. I’ll send two.

You grin, typing back. Thanks, Cheol :)

Seungcheol leans against his car, phone in hand, watching as the dots appear and disappear on his screen. When your reply finally comes through, he stares at it for a second.

Thanks, Cheol :)

His grip tightens on the phone. The hell was that?

His brows furrow. He wasn’t expecting a nickname. Or the stupid little smiley face. He exhales, running a hand through his hair. 

“You look stressed.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw as Jeonghan appears beside him, sipping an iced coffee like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

Jeonghan peeks at his phone screen, then grins. “Oh? You invited her?”

“Mind your business.”

Jeonghan just laughs, patting his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see her. She’s cute.”

Come the day of the race. You clutch the pass in your hand, eyes wide as you stare at the sectioned-off area in front of you.

Jihyo whistles lowly beside you. "Damn. You got connections."

You elbow her. "I do not."

She smirks. "Oh, but you do—VIP passes, babe. Not just regular seats. VIP."

You’re still trying to process it. You thought maybe some decent seats but no. This is practically in the pit area, near the teams, where you can see the racers up close.

You fidget with the hem of your sundress, trying to keep it down as the wind playfully tugs at the fabric. Jihyo had insisted you wear it, claiming it was perfect for today. And sure, it’s cute, but you’re not used to wearing something like this.

Your eyes follow the cars as they weave and speed around the track, and even though you can’t see his face, you somehow know which one is Seungcheol. He drives with such control, such confidence it’s ridiculous. It’s nerve-wracking, but thrilling at the same time. When the checkered flag waves, signaling the end, the crowd erupts in cheers.

Seungcheol won.

Then someone is standing beside your seat. He glances at a clipboard, then at you. "Mr. Choi asked me to bring you down to the pit."

"Wh—" You blink. "Me?"

The guy nods. "Yeah, you."

She gasps dramatically. "Oh my God, you’re getting the main character treatment."

You glare at her. "Shut up—"

"Come on." The team member jerks his head toward the entrance leading down to the pit area. "He’s waiting."

Jihyo shoves you forward. "GO, OH MY GOD."

You stumble, gripping your dress, and follow behind the guy as he leads you down. The pit area is loud. 

"Hey." You turn at the sound of his voice. Seungcheol is standing a few feet away, unzipping the top half of his racing suit, revealing a black sleeveless undershirt. His hair is messy from the helmet, and he looks like he just stepped out of an action movie.

Your brain empties.

"Hi."

One of the other racers whistles. "Cheol, why didn’t you tell us you had a good luck charm?"

Seungcheol glares at the guy, and he immediately shuts up. He turns his attention back to you, eyes scanning your expression. "You okay?"

You nod way too quickly. "Yes."

His lips twitch, like he’s holding back a smile. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Y-Yeah!" You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to compose yourself. "It was… really cool. Kind of scary, but mostly cool."

A beat passes. He watches you for a moment before he shifts slightly closer. "You sure?"

You swallow hard. "Yeah." 

Before you can say anything else, someone calls his name from across the pit. He sighs, glancing toward them, then back at you.

"Good."

Just as Seungcheol turns to leave, one of his team members hands him a jacket—a sleek black one with his name embroidered on the front. 

The wind picks up right at that moment, making your dress flutter. Seungcheol exhales, a small shake of his head, then without warning he moves closer. He holds out his jacket.

"Here."

"W-What?"

He lifts a brow. "You keep fidgeting."

"But—"

"Just take it." His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate, your fingers twitching at your sides. "But won’t you need it?"

"I’m fine," he says simply. "You, on the other hand, are obviously cold."

The sleeves are way too long, and the jacket itself is so oversized that it practically swallows you. But the moment you wrap it around yourself, a wave of warmth washes over you—both from the fabric and the fact that it’s his.

Seungcheol watches you pull it tighter around yourself, then nods in satisfaction. "Better?"

You nod frantically, voice barely above a whisper. "Y-Yeah."

He smirks slightly. "Good."

Then, before you can even process what just happened, he turns around and walks away leaving you standing there in the middle of the pit, drowning in his jacket, and burning with embarrassment.

By the time dinner ends, it’s late, the streets quieter as most of the city starts winding down for the night. One by one, the group starts heading out. Vernon and Minghao take off first, and Jeonghan lingers only long enough to throw one last smirk your way before disappearing too.

Then it’s just you, Jihyo, and Seungcheol standing outside the restaurant.

Jihyo stretches, humming in satisfaction. "Alright, how are we getting home?"

Seungcheol pulls out his keys. "I’ll drive you."

Jihyo, ever the social butterfly, starts the trip off chatting about the food, the restaurant, Jeonghan’s nonsense but after a few minutes, she slowly starts dozing off. By the time you reach the highway, she’s out cold, head slumped against the window, completely knocked out.

So now, it’s just you and Seungcheol. And the silence.

You shift in your seat, sneaking a glance at him. He’s focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily against the gear shift.

You clear your throat. "Thanks for the ride."

"Did you have fun?"

"Huh?"

He keeps his eyes ahead. "The race. The dinner. The whole thing."

You hesitate. Then, feeling a little shy, you nod. "Yeah. It was fun."

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. "Good."

The rest of the drive was quiet. You're lost in thought when suddenly you hear him,

"We’re here."

You blink and sure enough, the car is parked right in front of your apartment complex. You don’t even think. You just unbuckle your seatbelt, practically launch yourself out of the car

"Thanksfortheridegoodnight!" Then you shut the door behind you, making your escape.

Seungcheol watches, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his chin. His lips twitch.

From the passenger seat, Jihyo stirs, barely cracking an eye open. "She’s so down bad," she mumbles sleepily.

Seungcheol huffs out a quiet laugh.

=

The week had been brutal.

You loved your job but spending all day surrounded by energetic little humans could be exhausting.  And now, finally, finally, you had a moment to yourself. Which was why you were out again, wandering the quiet streets, enjoying the cool air.

And before you even realized it—

You were calling Seungcheol.

He picked up on the second ring.

"Where are you?" His voice was low, direct.

You blinked. "What?"

"You don’t usually call," he said. "Where are you?"

"Oh, um." You rubbed your arm, glancing around. "I’m just out on a walk."

"Alone?"

You frowned. "…Yeah?"

Seungcheol sighed. You could practically hear him shaking his head. "Of course you are."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Stay there. I’m coming to get you."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, what—"

Click. He hung up. You stared at your phone. "…Did he just—"

Before you could even process it, headlights approached from down the street.And there he was. You blinked. Then blinked again.

"How did you—"

Seungcheol gave you a look as he rolled down the window. "You take the same route every time."

You blinked again, your brain still catching up. "I—what?"

"That’s dangerous, by the way, Someone could easily figure that out."

You stared at him. "You just did."

"Exactly. Get in the car."

You huffed, rubbing your temples. "I was just taking a walk."

"And now you’re taking a ride," he countered smoothly. "C’mon, before I get out and make you."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "You wouldn’t."

Seungcheol unbuckled his seatbelt.

Your eyes widened. "Okay! Okay!"

You hurried to the passenger side, pulling open the door and climbing in. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he deadpanned, putting the car back in drive. You sat there, hands tucked into your lap, the hum of the car filling the silence. 

You swallowed. "So, uh… now what?"

Seungcheol flicked his turn signal on, eyes still on the road. "Dunno. You tell me. You’re the one who called."

You bit your lip. "Right. About that."

He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

You hesitated, suddenly regretting all your life choices. "It was an accident."

Seungcheol scoffed, amused. "That’s a lie."

You groaned, throwing your head back against the seat. "Okay, fine! I just—" You sighed, watching the streetlights blur past. "I guess I just wanted to talk to someone?"

"Rough day?"

"More like a rough week," you muttered, rubbing your eyes. "The kids have been so hyper lately, and I’ve just been so tired. But it’s not even a bad tired, you know? It’s just a lot sometimes."

Seungcheol hummed, a small nod. "Yeah. I get it."

"You do?"

"Mhm." His grip on the wheel tightened slightly. "Racing’s fun. I love it. But there’s always a pressure to be on top, to perform well. Sometimes it gets overwhelming."

Seungcheol sighed, stretching out one hand before gripping the wheel again. "I go on night drives when I need to clear my head."

You stared at him, something clicking into place. "That’s why you knew my route."

He smirked slightly. "Guilty."

"I take walks, you take drives. Same thing, different speeds."

"Guess so." A comfortable silence settled between you. You glanced out the window, watching the city lights glow in the dark.

"Hey, Cheol?"

"Hm?"

"…Thanks."

You glanced at him again, blinking. He was focused on the road, but his grip on the wheel had tightened just slightly. 

"For your information, I survived just fine before, you know. And i take different routes like the convenient store"

Seungcheol scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. "You almost got ran over because you were too busy sulking over a picture of me with a girl and almost died"

You choked. "I— What—"

He smirked. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

"I was not sulking!"

"Right. Totally explains why you looked like you were mourning when we saw you"

You groaned, peeking at him through your fingers. "Okay, but seriously. Who was she?"

"Told you already. A model for the brand we were promoting."

You pursed your lips. "And you just let people think she was your girlfriend?"

"Why would I care?"

You blinked at him. "Because rumors like that spread?"

"And?"

You stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "And they can cause misunderstandings!"

"Only if you believe them. You believed them?"

Your face heated again. "N-no!"

He smirked. "So you were sulking for no reason."

"Oh my god, I’m jumping out of this car."

Seungcheol laughed, shaking his head. "You’re so easy to mess with."

You scowled at him, but your heart was doing that weird thing again. You ignored it, sinking into your seat with a grumble.

"Whatever," you muttered. "I survived just fine without you, anyway."

Seungcheol didn’t say anything to that, just tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. A few seconds passed before he muttered, almost too quiet for you to hear

"Yeah. But I still worry"

=

It was just another normal day or at least, that was what you thought.

You were on your way back from grabbing lunch when you passed by a group of girls near the coffee shop. You weren’t intentionally eavesdropping, but the name Choi Seungcheol caught your attention.

"Did you see the pictures?" one of them gushed, holding up her phone. "He looks so good."

"I know, right?" another sighed dreamily. "And the model is there again. I swear, they have to be dating."

Your step faltered.

"She literally flew out just for the event," one of them continued. "If that doesn’t say girlfriend, I don’t know what does."

"They look so good together."

"I bet they’re just keeping it private."

You stared down at your drink, suddenly losing your appetite. Of course the rumors were back. Of course. You weren’t even sure why it bothered you so much. It wasn’t like Seungcheol owed you an explanation. He could date whoever he wanted.

You shook your head, scolding yourself. It doesn’t matter. It’s not your business. And yet, as you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel like a rock had settled in your stomach.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

Seungcheol.

You debated ignoring it. You weren’t in the mood. But your thumb betrayed you, swiping to answer.

"What."

There was silence on the other end. You never greeted him like that. Usually, it was your usual bright, shy "Hello?" or a nervous "Hi." But this? This was new.

"...Are you okay?" he finally asked, voice slower than usual, as if testing the waters.

You sighed, pushing open the door to your workplace. "Yeah, I’m fine. Why?"

"You sound—" he hesitated. "Different."

"I’m busy," you muttered, balancing your drink in one hand as you fumbled with your things. "What do you need?"

Seungcheol didn’t reply immediately. You could feel him trying to figure you out, and for some reason, that made you more annoyed.

"I was just calling to check on you," he finally said.

That caught you off guard. Your grip tightened around your phone.

You huffed. "I’m good. Enjoy your event."

You weren’t sure what this feeling was, but damn, it felt good to be glaring at everything.

The printer that took forever? Glare. The kid who knocked over their juice box? Squint. Your coworker asking if you were okay? Tight-lipped smile that was anything but a smile.

Maybe it was childish. Maybe you were overreacting. But at this point, you didn’t care. You didn’t even know why you felt so off. It wasn’t like you and Seungcheol were anything.

Meanwhile, across town, Seungcheol was still staring at his phone, completely thrown off. He wasn’t used to hearing you like that. You were always soft-spoken, shy, a little hesitant—but never cold. Never distant.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself.

"That," came Jeonghan’s amused voice beside him, "was a very pissed-off woman."

Seungcheol shot him a look. "She said she was fine."

Jeonghan snorted. "And you believed her?" He leaned in, glancing at the phone. "What did you do?"

"Nothing," Seungcheol bit out, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah? Well, she clearly thinks otherwise," Jeonghan mused, nodding toward the crowd of cameras flashing in the distance. "Think it’s the rumors?"

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened. The articles, the fan speculation, the model that everyone kept trying to link him with. He never paid them much attention before.

But you… you might have.

"She knows it’s not like that," he muttered.

"Does she?"

You had just clocked out of work, exhausted, ready to take the bus home and forget about the ridiculous thoughts swirling in your head. But then you saw it. A familiar black car parked near the bus stop.

Hard to miss. And even harder to miss was the very famous racer leaning casually against it, hands in his pockets, watching you like he was waiting for you.

Then, the annoyance you’d been holding in all day came rushing back. You stomped over, stopping right in front of him, arms crossed tight against your chest.

"What do you think you’re doing?" you demanded, eyes narrowing.

Seungcheol barely blinked, like he had expected this reaction. "Picking you up."

"Why?"

"Because you hung up on me," he said simply, pushing off the car. "And you sounded mad."

"I'm not mad," you scoffed, which was a total lie, and he knew it.

"You’re always bad at lying, but that was just embarrassing." The confidence. The nerve. You wanted to stomp your foot like a child. You glare at him, arms still crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground. 

Seungcheol watches you, then takes a slow breath, like he’s surrendering. The cocky smirk fades just a little, his posture shifts, and this time, when he speaks, his voice is softer.

"Let me take you home." Not a demand. Not an assumption. A request.

Your glare wavers, just a little.

It’s annoying, really, how easily he throws you off. Just a second ago, you were ready to fight him in the middle of this parking lot, but now? Now your heart is doing that stupid thing again, beating way too fast just because he asked instead of told.

You purse your lips. "You didn’t have to come all the way here."

"I know."

"You’re busy."

"Not right now."

You shift on your feet, fingers gripping your bag strap. You know you should just say no, get on the bus, and pretend none of this is affecting you. But Seungcheol is still standing there, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

"...Fine," you mumble, looking away.

He opens the passenger door for you, and for some reason, that makes your face heat up more than it should. For a while, he doesn’t say anything neither do you.

You keep your eyes trained on the window, stubbornly refusing to look at him. The tension sits heavy between you, thick enough to choke on.

Eventually, you sigh. "Just drop me off."

Seungcheol exhales sharply through his nose. "You’re mad."

You scoff. "I’m not mad."

You huff, annoyed at his calmness, annoyed at how he isn’t even trying to argue with you, and most of all, annoyed at how that bothers you more than it should.

After a few minutes, Seungcheol speaks again, voice low and even.

"Are you gonna tell me why you’re mad, or do I have to guess?"

You scoff. "I already told you, I’m not mad."

He hums like he doesn’t believe you. "Right. And I’m a kindergarten teacher."

You roll your eyes, ignoring the way your lips almost twitch at his sarcasm. "I’m just tired."

"Tired of what?"

"Everything."

The silence stretches again, filled only by the occasional honk of a passing car and the low music playing from his stereo. The red light ahead slows him down, and when the car comes to a stop, he finally turns his head, fully looking at you.

"You heard something, didn’t you?"

Your fingers tighten around your bag strap. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, like he’s trying to be patient. "You’ve been acting weird since this afternoon. And now you won’t even look at me."

You swallow, feeling trapped. He isn’t wrong. You had heard something—those girls talking, mentioning the rumors, the event, the model. And even though it shouldn’t have affected you, it did but there was no way in hell you were about to admit that.

"It’s nothing," you mutter. "Can we just drop it?"

Seungcheol studies you for a long moment, then makes a sound in the back of his throat—something between frustration and resignation.

"How can I make it better if you won’t tell me?"

You shift in your seat, unsure how to respond. "What?"

"You heard me," he says, sparing a quick glance at you. "If something’s bothering you, tell me. I’m not a mind reader."

"It’s not—" You start, but the words tangle in your throat.

Seungcheol sighs, running a hand through his hair before resting it back on the wheel. "Look, I don’t know what people said, but if it’s about that event, the model, or whatever rumor’s floating around, just ask me."

"Why does it matter?"

"What?"

"Why does it matter if I believe the rumors or not?" You glance away. "It’s not like we—" You stop yourself before you can finish.

The air shifts. Seungcheol doesn’t immediately respond, and when you glance back at him, his expression is unreadable. You regret speaking at all.

"It matters," he finally says, voice quieter. "Because it’s you."

Your breath catches. The words settle deep in your chest, making your heart stutter. You don’t know what to say. And he doesn’t push you to.

Later, you’re just getting your lunch ready for tomorrow to bring to work when Jihyo comes stumbling out of her room

"YOU NEED TO SEE THIS!"

"Jihyo, what—"

"Just look!" she insists, shoving the screen toward your face.

You blink, squinting as your eyes adjust to the brightness. It’s an Instagram story.

Seungcheol’s Instagram story. It’s just a simple black background with white text:

Don’t believe everything you hear. The rumors aren’t true.

That’s it. No explanation. No clarification. No dramatic reveal. Just a straight-to-the-point denial.

Jihyo, however, is losing her mind. "OUT OF CHARACTER BEHAVIOR! THE CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, POSTING ON HIS MAIN?!?"

"What—" You’re still processing.

"WHAT?!?" Jihyo gapes at you like you’ve just declared the sky isn’t blue. "BABE, THIS MAN NEVER POSTS. EVER."

"Maybe he just wanted to clear things up—" you start, but Jihyo flails.

"CLEAR THINGS UP?!?" She throws her arms up. "HE COULD’VE LET HIS AGENCY DO THAT! HE NEVER ADDRESSES RUMORS. EVER."

You chew on your bottom lip, scrolling back to look at the post again. It’s true—most celebrities would ignore baseless gossip, or let their team handle it. But Seungcheol? He chose to say something himself.

Before you go to sleep, your inner demons won and dialed his number.

The phone barely rings twice before he picks up. "You’re not mad anymore?"

"What—"

"You called me, figured that means I’m out of the woods."

You hesitate, picking at the hem of your sweater. "I wasn’t really mad…"

"No?"

"I mean—" You huff, flopping back against your pillows. "I don’t know. It was annoying, hearing people talk. Seeing things that weren’t true. It just felt… I don’t know. Weird."

Seungcheol, of all people, probably knows what it’s like to have strangers talk about him like they know every detail of his life. To have people assume things, spread stories that aren’t real. It makes your irritation feel almost… silly in comparison.

"I saw your post," you mumble after a moment. "You didn’t have to do that."

"I know."

You frown at your ceiling. "Then why?"

"Because I didn’t want you to deal with it."

Your breath catches. It’s such a simple statement, said so casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t just Seungcheol, famous racer, untouchable to the world—but someone who noticed when you were uncomfortable. Someone who actually cared.

"…Oh."

"You’re really easy to fluster."

Your face burns. "I— That’s not—*"

"Are you blushing right now?"

"I am not blushing—*"

"You totally are."

"I—" You groan, rolling onto your side. "I should hang up on you."

There’s a grin in his voice when he adds, "Goodnight, trouble."

You hang up. And then promptly shove your face into your pillow, because what the hell is he doing to you?

He laughs under his breath when you hang up. Not because he’s teasing you but mostly because he can hear how flustered you were. How you probably rolled onto your side, buried your face in your hands, maybe even kicked your legs a little in frustration.

And it’s adorable.

It’s been a long time since someone reacted to him like that. Since someone called him without any agenda, just because they wanted to talk to him. Since someone didn’t treat him like Choi Seungcheol, the racer, but just… Seungcheol.

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. His phone is still in his hand, your name staring up at him from the call log. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

=

You don’t know how you ended up here again.

One moment, you were just going about your usual routine, and the next, you were somehow standing in the middle of a VIP section at one of Seungcheol’s races.

This time, it’s just you. No Jihyo. No buffer. The area is packed with celebrities. All of them seem so effortlessly put together, exuding a confidence you can’t even begin to fake.

And then, suddenly a strong arm wraps around your waist. Before you even have a chance to react, you’re pulled against a firm chest, warmth pressing against your side. You don’t need to turn your head to know who it is.

Choi Seungcheol.

“W- Wait, wait… where are we going?” You struggle slightly, but he doesn’t let go.

“Somewhere else,” is all he says.

You don’t know what’s more overwhelming the way Seungcheol is leading you away, the weight of his arm still firm around your waist, or the fact that people are definitely watching. The moment he starts walking, it’s like the entire event slows down just to focus on the two of you. 

“Seungcheol,” you hiss, trying to tug yourself free, but his grip doesn’t budge.

“Just keep walking,” 

Your heart is pounding. “People are staring.”

“So?” He finally stops once you reach the edge of the track, right where his car is waiting, gleaming under the floodlights.

His expression is unreadable. “You don’t want to be seen here or something?”

Your throat dries. “I wasn’t—”

He tilts his head. Just slightly. “Why?”

You shift on your feet, feeling unbearably seen. “I don’t know.”

“You really don’t know?” The weight of his stare has your pulse stuttering. 

“I just...” you start, then hesitate, voice soft, “I don’t know how I fit in this world of yours.”

Something in his gaze shifts. His fingers flex at his side. Then, just loud enough for only you to hear, he says,

“You don’t have to. I’ll fit my world into you” 

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you for a second longer before his hands find your waist again, then he gives a light squeeze, almost reassuring. Almost like a promise. 

Before you can process it, he’s already shrugging off his racing jacket and casually throwing it around your shoulders.  He lifts a hand, already signaling to someone.  Within seconds, a staff member appears, all professional smiles. 

“I’ll take you somewhere more private to watch the race, Miss.”

Miss. Oh. You’re that girl now.

It’s the final lap when you step outside again.  

The roar of the crowd is deafening, a mix of cheers, camera flashes, and the hum of engines still cooling down. You barely register what’s happening before Seungcheol is out of the car, helmet off, hair a sweaty mess but he doesn’t even care. The moment he spots you, he reaches for you without hesitation.

A startled yelp escapes your lips as he twirls you around effortlessly, his laughter vibrates against you, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.

"You did it," He grins, eyes gleaming under the bright pit lights.

"Of course I did. Had something good to race for."

Jeonghan, standing a few steps behind, clicks his tongue. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just won more than a race, Choi"

Seungcheol only smirks, throwing an arm around your shoulders for a brief second before finally walking toward his team. And even as the celebrations begin around you, you can’t shake the feeling that, somehow, everything has changed.

You just got home after the race, staring at the ceiling trying to take everything in when suddenly

“OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD!”

You whip around to see her clutching her phone like it holds the secrets of the universe. She looks at you, then back at the screen, then at you again. “Babe. You need to see this.”

“What now?”

Wordlessly, she shoves her phone toward you, and your breath catches. It’s Seungcheol’s latest Instagram post. The first picture isn’t of his trophy. It’s not of his car. It’s not even just him.

It’s you and him.

A candid shot. His arm still slung around you from earlier. The caption is simple:

"A good day."

The second photo is of his team, the third of his car, and the fourth—finally—is of him actually holding his trophy. But it’s too late. Everyone has already seen the first picture.

Jihyo is vibrating. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?!”

Seungcheol posted you. Not a soft-launch, not a story that disappears after 24 hours—an actual post. A permanent, undeniable statement.

You clutch the phone, heat creeping up your neck. “He—he’s actually insane.”

=

Weeks passed and things settled in just right, He calls or drives you around when he’s not busy. Often he finds himself taking slow walks with you. 

Meanwhile you usually text after work or just before you go to sleep. None of it feels forced, or too much too fast. Just you and him, on your own pace. 

Today Seungcheol has another race, and while the crowd is as hyped as ever, something feels slightly off.

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not there. The race went well. Another win under his belt but as soon as the post-race interviews start, he can already tell where this is going.

“Seungcheol, congratulations on another victory! You’ve been on an amazing streak lately. How do you feel?”

He adjusts the cap on his head, exhaling slightly before offering the standard answer. “Thank you. The team’s been working hard, and I couldn’t have done it without them.”

“And, of course, I have to ask… Fans have been buzzing about your recent post. The picture from your last race—it wasn’t just of you and your car, but someone else as well. A mystery girl. Care to comment?”

Seungcheol doesn’t react immediately. He just tilts his head slightly, thinking. He could shut this down in an instant. Give them a short, clipped answer, move on.

But he doesn’t really want to.

He glances to the side, as if considering his words. “She’s someone important to me.” His tone is relaxed but firm, leaving no room for doubt.

The interviewer leans in slightly. “So, are you confirming the dating rumors?”

“I’m saying I posted what I wanted to post. People can take that however they want.”

The interviewer raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So you’re not hiding her.”

Seungcheol gives a small smirk. “Never said I was.”

The response is vague—intentionally so—but it’s enough to send the media into a frenzy. Tthe thing is he doesn’t need to explain it to anyone else. He knows who you are to him.

Seungcheol steps off the interview platform, pulling his cap lower over his face as he walks through the paddock. The post-race adrenaline is still buzzing in his veins, but his mind is already shifting elsewhere.

Then he sees you.

For a second, he thinks he’s imagining it. You weren’t supposed to be here. You had work, a full schedule, a whole list of reasons why you couldn’t make it today.  And yet, there you are, standing just past the pit lane, scanning the crowd.

He slows his steps, blinking, wondering if maybe the exhaustion is making him see things.

But then you spot him. And suddenly, you’re moving. When you got closer, he reaches out his hand finds the curve of your waist instinctively, his grip firm, steady, as if making sure you’re actually real.

“What are you doing here?”

You hesitate for a second, slightly breathless from hurrying over. “I—”

And that’s when he notices you’re still in your work clothes. Something in his chest tightens.

“I couldn’t just not come,” you finally say, voice quieter now

Seungcheol watches you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with zero hesitation, he pulls you closer not caring who’s looking.

“You should’ve told me you were coming,” he murmurs, his hand pressing against the small of your back.

You laugh softly, like you can’t believe him. “Would you have let me surprise you if I did?”

He huffs, amused, forehead almost touching yours now. “Probably not.”

Then, just loud enough for only you to hear

“But I’m glad you did.” His grip on your waist tightens just slightly before he leans in, slow and deliberate, giving you more than enough time to pull away. But you didn’t. 

So he closes the distance. The warmth of his lips grazes your cheek but then, at the last second, he shifts ever so slightly. The corner of your lips.

The touch is featherlight, barely there, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. Enough to send a shock of awareness through your body. 

“Oops,” he murmurs, voice amused, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes when he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze.

Your face is burning. “Oops?” you echo, scandalized, voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol grins, all too pleased with himself, before he tugs his cap lower over his eyes and casually tucks you further into his side.

“Too late now,” he muses, leading you away as more cameras flash in the distance. “Might as well give them a show, right?”

You have a feeling this isn’t the last time he’s going to pull something like this. You can’t help but glance over your shoulder, the flashes still going off, the murmurs growing louder.

“Cheol,” you hiss, tugging lightly at his hold. “You do realize what you just did, right?”

He doesn’t even slow down. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, like he’s making sure you don’t slip away. “Yeah,” he says, entirely unfazed. “What about it?”

You gawk at him. “You kissed me.”

He laughs. A real, genuine laugh, not the teasing one he usually gives you. He tugs his cap lower again before guiding you around a corner, finally stepping out of the media’s direct line of sight.

“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing,” he muses.

You scowl. “I’m acting like someone who wasn’t expecting that in front of hundreds of people.”

His steps slow, his teasing smirk softening into something unreadable. “Would it have been different if we were alone?”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t let you answer right away, though, because suddenly, the door to the team’s private area swings open, revealing Jeonghan leaning lazily against the frame, arms crossed.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, eyes flicking between you and Seungcheol. “The internet is about to explode, you know that?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. Seungcheol, however, just sighs, like he knew this was coming.

=

It had been a few days since The Kiss—as Jihyo so dramatically called it—and the media was still buzzing. Your social media (which you barely used) had gained a suspicious number of new followers, and even your coworkers had started looking at you differently.

But the strangest part? Even the kids were catching on.

“What are you doing here?” you mumble the moment you see him in the lobby of your work

“Bringing lunch.”

You stared at the containers. “For… me?”

“For everyone,” he corrected, smirking. “Figured your kids might like a treat. And you’ve been too busy to eat properly, haven’t you?”

Your coworker let out a dramatic sigh. “Where do I sign up for a man like this?”

You ignored them, still trying to process the fact that Choi Seungcheol, famous race car driver, was standing in your workplace like this was a totally normal thing to do.

Meanwhile, one of the kids had wandered in, stopping short when they saw Seungcheol. Their mouth fell open.

“OH MY GOSH,” they shrieked, running back out. “GUYS, HE’S REALLY HERE!”

Within seconds, a stampede of tiny humans came rushing in, swarming around Seungcheol with wide eyes and excited whispers. Seungcheol crouched down, meeting them at eye level. “You must be her students,” he said with a grin.

The kids giggled. One particularly bold little girl tugged at his sleeve. “Are you her boyfriend?”

Seungcheol just laughed, ruffling the nearest kid’s hair before handing you one of the food containers. “Eat,” he said, his voice softer. “You’ll need the energy for all the explaining you’re about to do.”

Later you sighed as you slid into the passenger seat, tossing your bag onto your lap. Seungcheol was already watching you, a smug little grin playing on his lips as he leaned against the steering wheel. He was waiting.

“…Not a word,” you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Oh? Nothing to say? Not even a thank you for the food?”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “Thank you. Now drive.”

He didn’t move, still looking way too pleased with himself. “So… ‘Are you her boyfriend?’” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, clearly enjoying himself. “That was a good one.”

You, on the other hand, seethed in silence. Then, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“You didn’t answer though.”

“Hm?”

“When they asked if you were my boyfriend,” you clarified, staring out the window. “You didn’t really answer.”

“Does it bother you?”

You hesitated. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

You felt his gaze shift to you for a split second before turning back to the road. He was so annoyingly calm, like he wasn’t the least bit fazed. Meanwhile, you were seconds away from combusting.

“It’s just—” You struggled to find the right words. “You could’ve denied it outright.”

Seungcheol made a soft hum, like he was thinking.

“Could’ve,” he admitted. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. “And why not?”

This time, he did glance at you, his expression unreadable. “What if I didn’t want to?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “You’re cute when you’re worked up.”

“Choi Seungcheol.”

At that, he sighed, but there was amusement in his eyes when he glanced at you. “I just meant exactly what I said.”

“That you didn’t want to deny it?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s—” You fumbled for words. “That’s not an answer.”

He let go of the wheel with one hand to shift gears as he smoothly changed lanes. “It’s an answer.”

“No, it’s not. It’s cryptic and vague and you’re doing it on purpose.”

He chuckled again, but this time, when he spoke, his voice was softer. “You really don’t get it?”

You hesitated, the way he was looking at you making you squirm. “Get what?”

Seungcheol was quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the road. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply.

“I like you.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“Wait—” Your head snapped to him, eyes wide. “You—what?”

He was still looking ahead, but you could see the small smirk on his lips. “Did I stutter?”

You were reeling. “But—you never—”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“It was not.”

“I kissed you infront of hundreds of viewers, you’re the first face they see the moment they look up my profile and I’m not being obvious?” he chuckles 

You stared at him, absolutely at a loss for words. He liked you? Seungcheol—the ridiculously famous racer, the one who was so effortlessly confident, the one who had somehow made a place in your life before you even realized—he liked you?

“Wha—how—why??”

Seungcheol let out a small laugh, glancing at you before turning back to the road “Are you asking me how feelings work?”

“Yes! No! I don’t know!” You were spiraling. “You’re—you’re you! And I’m just me—how does that even make sense?”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “You think it doesn’t make sense?”

You groaned, sinking into your seat. “I mean, you’re a famous racer, Cheol. You could have anyone.”

“Could doesn’t mean want,” he said simply. “I want you.”

You were malfunctioning.

Seungcheol glanced at you again, smirking at your stunned expression. “That enough of an answer for you?”

You stared at him, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

Seungcheol wanted you.

There was no teasing in his voice this time, no cryptic answers or vague implications. Just a clear, straightforward confession that had your brain struggling to keep up.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you immediately shut your mouth.

Seungcheol chuckled. “That’s a first. You’re speechless.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, pressing your hands over your face.

He laughed, clearly thoroughly entertained by your reaction. “No, you don’t.”

=

On weekdays, you were just you. Going to work, wrangling kids, taking your usual walks at night. But on weekends? That was a whole different story.

It was like you were living a double life. One moment, you were worrying about snack schedules and nap times, and the next, you were standing in the middle of a race pit, surrounded by roaring engines and a team that now knew you by name.

Like today.

“Here comes our good luck charm,” one of the team members called out when they spotted you walking in.

“I don’t know where you guys got that idea from.”

Jeonghan, who had been leaning against the car with his arms crossed, smirked. “Maybe because every race he’s had since meeting you, he’s won?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your face warmed. “Pretty sure that’s because he’s good at what he does, not because I’m standing here.”

Seungcheol appeared then, casually throwing an arm over your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “Don’t be modest. You are my good luck charm.”

And just like that, your heart did an embarrassing little flip. Seungcheol’s hand is warm in yours as he leads you through the bustling pit lane, it all fades into nothing when he turns to look at you.

That boyish, handsome smile of his appears, the one that makes your heart stumble over itself. “Stay here, okay?” he says, squeezing your fingers gently.

You nod, swallowing. “Yeah, okay.”

His gaze lingers, scanning your face like he’s committing every detail to memory before a race. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He grins, lifting your joined hands just slightly before finally letting go, heading toward his car. And even as he walks away, helmet in hand, you can still feel the warmth of his touch lingering against your skin.

“Cute,” Jeonghan drawls, suddenly appearing beside you like he always does

You nearly jump out of your skin. “God, can you not?”

He smirks, arms crossed as he watches Seungcheol get into his car. “I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

Jeonghan hums, tilting his head. “You know, I’ve never seen him like this before.”

You glance at him. “Like what?”

“You didn’t see him before you got here—he was all serious, barely speaking. But then he saw you, and suddenly, bam, he’s smiling like an idiot and holding your hand in front of the whole team.”

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he adds, “I give it two more races before he fully caves.”

You frown. “Caves?”

“Into admitting he’s in love with you.”

Seungcheol, who had been adjusting his gloves and getting ready to step into his car, catches your gaze just before ducking inside. And then—he winks.

Jeonghan lets out a low whistle beside you. “Oh, never mind. I take it back. I said two races, but at this rate?” He gestures vaguely toward Seungcheol, who is now in his car, looking entirely too smug. 

“I’d give him until later.”

After the race, which he won again, he still insisted to drive you home despite saying you can just catch the bus since he must be tired. 

He parked the car but you notice the street is a little farther from your building. You step out a little confused but taking his hand anyway. His palm is warm against yours, steady and sure, and you let him guide you down the quiet street.

“Where are we going?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away, just keeps walking, his fingers absentmindedly squeezing yours like he’s grounding himself. Then he stops, looking around.

It takes you a second to realize where you are. The dim glow of a streetlamp flickers slightly, casting long shadows over the pavement. It looks different now—quieter, less chaotic—but you recognize it immediately.

“This is where—”

“Where I almost ran you over,” Seungcheol finishes, turning to you with a small smile. “Yeah.”

“Why… are we here?”

His gaze flickers to the ground before meeting yours again. “I don’t know, I just—after the race, I kept thinking about how everything started. And I ended up driving here.”

“You almost hit me with your car,” you point out, trying to lighten the mood, even though something about the moment feels heavier than that.

Seungcheol huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Not exactly the best first impression.”

“And yet here I am, getting into your car willingly.”

“Here you are.”

A beat of silence passes between you, the weight of unspoken words lingering in the air. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re stepping closer. The streetlamp flickers again, casting a warm glow over his face. His eyes search yours, as if waiting for something. 

And then, in the place where you first met, where he almost ran you over, Seungcheol lifts a hand to your cheek, his touch hesitant but deliberate. His fingers brush against your jaw, his touch featherlight, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He leans in slow, giving you every chance to pull away. But you don’t.

And then, finally, finally, his lips meet yours.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s testing the waters. But when you don’t push him away, when you let out a quiet breath against his mouth, he presses in a little more. It’s warm, gentle.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting. Like he’s been wanting to for a while now. Your hands grip his jacket instinctively, grounding yourself as your knees feel dangerously weak. 

When he finally pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. His thumb strokes your cheek, and he exhales a soft laugh.Seungcheol chuckles, tilting his head slightly so he can press a quick kiss to the corner of your lips, then another, as if he can’t help himself.

“Were you mad at me when we first met?” you ask him jokingly

“No”

“Liar,” you tell him

Seungcheol laughs, the deep, rich sound vibrating through his chest. His arms are still loosely wrapped around you, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your waist.

“Annoyed?” he repeats, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe a little.”

You scoff, pushing at his chest lightly, but he doesn’t budge. “See! I knew it.”

He smirks, eyes glinting under the streetlights. “But I was mostly surprised. You just walked off without a care in the world after almost getting run over.”

“What was I supposed to do? Stand there and cry?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, but maybe at least look back? Maybe acknowledge the handsome guy who almost ended your life?”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “Handsome is subjective.”

He gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “That hurts.”

You laugh, shaking your head, and Seungcheol watches you, his smile softer now. His fingers brush against yours before he intertwines them together, his grip warm and steady.

“I wasn’t annoyed at you,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter, more thoughtful. “But you did leave an impression.”

“Oh?”

He nods, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “Yeah. I don’t normally go around remembering people who almost get hit by my car.”

“Well,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for not running me over, I guess.”

“Anytime.”

Seungcheol presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head before simply continuing to walk, your hand still firmly in his. He doesn’t say much, but he doesn’t need to. His grip on your hand is enough. 

The way he slows his pace to match yours, the way he swings your hands slightly between you casual, effortless, like this has been a habit for years.

You glance up at him. “You do this often?”

He hums, tilting his head toward you. “Do what?”

“Take late-night walks,” you say. “You seem… natural at this.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Not really. Usually too exhausted after training or races.”

“So why are you doing it now?”

He squeezes your hand lightly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Because you like them.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You don’t know how to respond to that. 

How do you respond when someone like Seungcheol, who has an entire world waiting on him, cheering for him, chasing after him, chooses to slow down just to walk with you?

You tug on his hand, making him stop mid-step. He blinks at you, a little confused but patient, his thumb still brushing against your skin.

“What?” 

“You’re…” You hesitate, suddenly shy. “You’re really unfair.”

His brows furrow. “Huh?”

You huff, letting go of his hand to cross your arms instead. “You just—” You motion vaguely toward him. “You do these things, say these things, and then expect me to just… hust be normal about it?”

You groan, turning your face away, but he just leans in, amused.

“You’re blushing,” he teases, voice low, warm.

“Shut up,” you mumble. You bite your lip to stop the smile threatening to form, but Seungcheol sees it anyway.

“This,” he murmurs, voice quieter now. “This is worth more than any trophy.” 

He remembers the first night. The near collision, the way you glared at him, completely unafraid. The way he should have just driven off but instead found himself watching you walk away, something inexplicable settling in his chest.

Then came the second meeting. The bar, the stranger who had gotten a little too close, and the way he stood up without thinking. He hadn’t even known why he did it then.

And then, the countless moments after. The dinner where you sat across from him, red-faced and shy but undeniably present in a way no one else was. The quiet phone calls, the late-night walks. The race where he had looked up into the stands and seen you there, fidgeting in your sundress, not quite used to this world of his but still showing up.

He remembers the moment it hit him. 

The night he couldn’t stop thinking about you. When he realized it wasn’t just amusement. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name but felt all the same. 

And fate, as if conspiring against him, kept bringing you back.  

Again and again, until there was no denying it.

“You were never supposed to happen to me. I didn’t think I had time for this. For… you. But somehow, no matter what I did, I kept finding you.”

Your breath catches, lips parting in surprise. You don’t know what to say, but maybe you don’t have to because Seungcheol is already stepping closer, already looking at you like you’re the finish line he’s been chasing all along.

Seungcheol has spent his entire life making calculated moves. On the track, in his career, in the way he approaches every decision with precision and control. He’s built his success on strategy, on knowing exactly when to push forward and when to hold back.

And yet, here he is, standing on the very street where fate first threw you into his path, admitting defeat not in the way he ever expected, but in the way that matters most.

Because for all his careful planning, he never planned for you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever let anything just… happen to me before,”

“And now?”

His lips curve, not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—something softer, something unguarded. “Now, I think I want to see where this takes me.”

The weight of his words settles between you, heavy with meaning. He, a man who has always dictated his own path, is choosing to let fate take the wheel.

And as he pulls you closer, the city moving around you, the distant hum of life filling the air, you realize—maybe this was always where you were meant to end up.

[prettygirl-gabi]

The Quiet Side of Me

Pairing: Sarah Strong x Reader

Fandom: Women’s College Basketball

Summary: there’s always a quiet side… always

🏷️: @paigeshirleytemple , @cowboybueckers , @unknowgirlypop , @yailtsv , @nicebellee , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld , @jadasogay , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani , @elswhore , @italyyy , @lightsgore , @private-but-not-a-secret , @aubreygriffin , @issilovesherself , @graceeeeeesblog , @sayurireidotcom

It was KK’s idea to host the team movie night in our dorm, which made sense considering she had the projector, the LED lights that changed color with the bass, and, well… me.

“Y/N, you’re literally the life of every room. If we’re gonna do a movie night right, we’re doing it here,” KK had said, practically tossing a bag of kettle corn at me like it was a done deal.

And she wasn’t wrong.

Most of the time, I am the loud one.

The one telling stories with dramatic hand motions, cutting into every silence with a joke, throwing pillows or snacks across the room like I’m on a talk show set instead of a college dorm.

I bounce from couch to bean bag to floor like I’m made of pop rocks and soda.

But not tonight.

Not when Sarah’s here.

And apparently… that was new for the team.

The evening started as chaotic as usual. Azzi showed up first with a giant tote of snacks and a Bluetooth speaker already playing SZA.

Jana came in right behind her and screamed when she saw that I’d made lemon bars again.

“Y/N, you did not! You literally know I’m trying to cut sugar!”

“Which is why I made a double batch,” I grinned, winking at her. “One for your fridge, one for tonight. You’re welcome.”

She hugged me like I’d saved her life.

KK was setting up the projector while Ice and Allie debated over whether we should start with Mean Girls or Rush Hour 2.

Ayanna walked in wearing a onesie with rubber ducks on it and immediately tried to convince Morgan to trade spots on the floor for her bean bag.

And Sarah? She slipped in quietly through the chaos, hair damp from her post-practice shower, wearing her UConn sweats and a hoodie I’d stolen from her twice already.

“Hi,” I murmured, low enough for just her.

Her hand found mine as I stepped back into the hallway to let the others fight over the playlist. She didn’t have to pull—I was already leaning into her.

“Hi,” she said softly, eyes crinkling.

I kissed her cheek and tugged her toward my bed in the corner. There was an unspoken agreement: that was our spot tonight.

I didn’t even think about the switch in me until halfway through Rush Hour 2.

My head was resting on Sarah’s shoulder, her arm wrapped securely around my waist, fingers tracing small circles through my hoodie (hers, again).

We weren’t talking.

We didn’t need to.

My legs were draped over hers, our socks tangled up like we’d been fused together since birth.

And I was quiet. Peaceful.

My friends, however, were… not.

“Wait, wait, pause it!” KK yelled from the floor, throwing popcorn at Allie, who was holding the remote.

“Did you see the way Jackie just flipped that table?! That’s me every time coach calls on Jana to shoot from the arc in drills.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Jana groaned from the floor. “You’re just mad I got more reps than you last week.”

“You did not—”

“I have the stats, don’t make me bring receipts,” Jana grinned.

Azzi cackled from the bean bag chair next to Ice, and Ayanna tossed a gummy worm at someone—it might’ve been me, honestly, I couldn’t tell.

And through it all, I just… stayed where I was. Leaned into Sarah, eyes fluttering half-closed, tracing the stitching on her sleeve with the pad of my thumb.

It was like all the noise faded the second her arm came around me.

A beat later, KK’s voice cut through the room like a siren.

“Wait. Wait a damn minute.”

Everyone looked over.

I didn’t move.

KK sat up from the pile of pillows she’d claimed, turning around to stare directly at us.

“Is Y/N—quiet?”

Heads turned. I could feel it—eight pairs of curious eyes shifting toward me and Sarah on the bed.

“Bro,” Ice whispered. “She hasn’t made a single chaotic comment in like… twenty minutes.”

“That might be a record,” Allie added.

“No cap,” Ayanna said. “She didn’t even react when Chris Tucker goes ‘Do you speaka any English? DO-YOU-UNDERSTAND-THE-WORDS-THAT-ARE-COMING-OUT-OF-MY-MOUTH?’—that’s her favorite quote!”

Jana gasped. “Y/N. Babe. Blink twice if you’ve been possessed.”

I slowly lifted my head from Sarah’s shoulder and blinked exactly twice.

The room lost it.

Sarah laughed quietly beside me, her arm tightening around my waist. “I don’t think she’s possessed,” she said calmly. “Just comfortable.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes at me, grinning like she’d just unlocked a new level in a video game. “Ohhh. I see how it is.”

“Yeah?” I said, voice hoarse from not speaking for a bit. “What do you see?”

“This domestic cuddly version of you. Quiet Y/N is a whole new player.”

“She’s only like this with Sarah,” Morgan chimed in. “I’ve never seen her go mute in the presence of chaos before.”

Sarah smirked, pulling me a little closer. “She’s not mute. Just… mellow.”

“She turns into a lapdog,” KK said. “Like a golden retriever that got hit with the sleepy spell.”

“I am not a lapdog,” I muttered, though I was actively nuzzling into Sarah’s shoulder while saying it.

Everyone collectively went, “Awwww.”

It wasn’t like I was hiding it. It’s just… when I’m with Sarah, it’s different. The world quiets. I quiet.

And for someone who feels like they’re constantly on around people, always expected to be the funny one, the loud one, the lightning rod—it’s a gift.

Sarah never asks me to perform. Never expects me to be anything but what I am in the moment.

Sometimes that’s wild and dramatic.

And sometimes, it’s just this: me in her arms, half-asleep by the second act of the movie, breathing in sync with the rhythm of her chest.

“You guys act like I’m a whole different person,” I said lazily, still nestled against Sarah but now halfway peeking out from under her hoodie like a turtle.

“Because you are!” KK said, laughing. “Normally you’re throwing popcorn and quoting TikToks. Tonight you’re just… cuddles and sighs.”

“I like her like this,” Sarah said, looking down at me with a softness that made my stomach flip. “She’s extra snuggly.”

Azzi fake gagged. “Okay, I’m gonna need you two to take that cuteness down like ten notches.”

“Nope,” Sarah said, completely unbothered.

I grinned into her shoulder. “Sorry, Z. No refunds.”

Ice grabbed her phone. “This moment needs to be documented. Everyone say ‘Y/N has a soft mode’ on three.”

“Do not post that,” I said, lifting one finger in warning.

“Too late,” Jana said, already air-dropping the photo to half the room.

“Sarah unlocked secret Y/N,” Ayanna teased. “Like a bonus level with cheat codes.”

“Quiet mode, activated,” KK said, doing a fake robot voice.

“All right,” I said, sitting up just enough to glare at them all. “You laugh now, but just wait ‘til I bring feral Y/N back for next week’s Uno tournament.”

“Promises, promises,” Allie sang.

Sarah pressed a kiss to my temple. “You’re cute when you threaten people.”

I flushed. “Don’t encourage me.”

Eventually, the teasing died down, and the movie played on. By the time Rush Hour 2 ended, Azzi and KK were arguing over the next pick, and most of the team had started migrating toward the snack table for round two.

I stayed where I was—tucked into Sarah like gravity had chosen her over the floor.

She rubbed my arm gently, voice quiet in my ear. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Better than okay. Just… recharging.”

She smiled at that. “I like quiet you.”

I peeked up at her, smiling. “I like that you don’t need me to be anything else.”

“You never have to be,” she said simply. “You’re enough—loud or soft, center of attention or asleep in my lap. I love all of it.”

I didn’t say anything at first. I just buried my face in her hoodie again, the weight of her words settling warm and slow in my chest.

Then, softly: “I love you too.”

From the kitchen, someone yelled, “We heard that!”

I flipped them off without even looking.

Sarah just laughed and kissed my forehead.

And maybe they were right. Maybe I did have a “quiet mode.”

But if that mode only unlocked with Sarah—if it meant I could just exist, soft and small and whole—then I was okay with that.

Actually? I loved that.

And Sarah?

Well, she never once tried to turn the volume back up.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

                 -Thank You For Reading!💚💙

                             -prettygirl-gabi✨️💗

[sleepyjuice]

Omg wait imagine when JJ notices you like messing with his rings, he gets a fidget ring that you can spin whenever you're bored(I have one and they're rlly fun lmao)

ahhhh yes!!! I didn’t even know this was a thing lol!!!

jj debated on whether he should let you pick out a fidget ring for him, or if he should just get one and have it be a surprise for you.

He decided to go with the latter, figuring that you would want to pick him out another one at some point.

You had arrived at the chateau after a long day of work, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed with your boyfriend. Working two doubles in a row was not for the weak.

“Hey sweet thing, how was work?” jj sat up from his spot on the couch as you swung open the door, kicking your shoes off and setting your purse on the counter as you made your way across the room to your boyfriend who had waited up for you as you didn’t get off work until 11.

You sighed as jj pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you close.

“Oh, just peachy.” You grumbled, exhausted from spending 12 hours using your ‘customer service voice.’

“Mm,” jj hummed as he pressed his lips to your neck, leaving little kisses up and down the skin, “I’m just glad you’re home now, baby.”

You tilted your head, a smile tugging at your lips before you placed your hands on his chest, softly nudging him back a bit.

“I feel gross right now. Wanna shower with me?” You asked, and jj wasted absolutely no time before swooping you into his arms and carrying you into the bathroom as you giggled.

“Yes, ma’am.”

After a nice shower that basically just consisted of the two of your groping each other the entire time, you ended up in bed.

You finally felt yourself fully relax for the night as you lay your head on your boyfriend’s chest after a post shower quickie, your half naked bodies pressed against each other.

You instinctively reached for jj’s hands, taking ahold of the closest one in reach to you, sighing as you gently played with his fingers, already feeling your eyelids grow more tired by the second.

You were practically seconds away from sleep, at this point just lazily messing with his rings when you moved to another one of his fingers to toy with his ring when you realized it just fucking spun.

That woke you right up.

“What is that?” Your eyes shot open, immediately looking down at his fingers in your hand, finally noticing that he had a new ring.

You thought you had somehow broken one of his rings or something, but upon spotting the new one, you gently gave it another little push and it spun again, your eyes shooting over to jj now.

He couldn’t hold in his laughter at your reaction, mentally patting himself on the back for his decision to let it be a surprise for you, your reaction was both hilarious yet also warmed his heart at the same time. He always felt like both emotional and material wise, he didn’t have much to offer. Though as your relationship progressed, he began to rewire some of his toxic thoughts about himself, learning more about the good things about himself that his brain never allowed him to acknowledge.

“You like it?” He laughed, already knowing the answer.

“It’s uh, it’s a fidget ring. Basically just a regular ring but it’s actually designed to be played with and stuff.” He explained, watching you with a satisfied grin as you continued to play with it.

“Did you get this for me?” You asked him, and you swore your heart was about to explode. This was genuinely one of the most thoughtful things anyone has ever done for you.

“Course I did,” he kissed the top of your head, “you’re always playin’ with my rings, thought I’d get one that’s more fun, y’know?” He chuckled softly as you continued to mess with it.

“Oh my godddd..” you giggled, tilting your head to kiss his lips repeatedly, only pulling away because you both kept laughing.

“I’m glad you like it, baby.” He hummed, pulling you even closer to him.

“I love it.” You smiled contently against his chest.

“So, you must really love when I play with your hands, huh?”

[circusofthelastdays]

mage hand & graded papers

warnings: MDNI, NSFW, post epilogue, afab fem reader, inappropriate use of mage hand, gale uses mage hand to get you off while grading papers.

You traipse into Gale's study, a thin robe adorning your body, loosely tied. Hair falls over your shoulders, the strong scent of your lavender soap wafting through the house. A bath would help, was the assumption in your mind. Maybe some relaxation would quell the ravenous need for your husbands touch, you thought.

Yet here you stand, the aching feeling of arousal pulsing in your core as you lean against the doorway to his study. You eye him from behind, debating on whether or not you would bother him. It's clear that he's busy- he's been working for hours. You stand there watching him, hunched over his desk, reading glasses on and quill in hand. Papers are scattered across his desk, ones you can only assume are his students.

Even the sight of him like this has your current arousal ever growing, and your face heating up. "Gale, are you almost done?" you ask him, knowing that if he turns around to face you it'll be clear why you want to know.

"No where near, I still have about twenty papers to grade." He answers you, not even bothering to look away from the paper he is marking up with red ink.

Your lips curl into a frown, "oh, that's fine- I'll just uhm... I'll go cook dinner or something I suppose."

You step back from the doorway, not wanting to disturb his work any further. Still, you can't help but stand there and observe him a bit longer with a yearning look.

Gale turns from his desk when he hears the defeat in your voice, pulling his reading glasses down the bridge of his nose to get a good look at you. He sees the flush on your face, your half tied robe, and the way you try to subtly squeeze your thighs together while standing there.

"Come here, my love." He says, directing you with a pointed finger to come to his side.

Without hesitation, you go to his side, expecting that you'll be getting what you so desperately crave. Gale, however, has other ideas. He gently grasps your arm, and pulls you down onto his lap.

"Sit here with me, for just a bit?" he says, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your neck after. He picks up his quill again, dipping it in red ink, and looks back down at the papers he is grading, paying no mind to you fidgeting on his lap.

So you do as he asks, despite how much you desire to do more, to have him touch you in anyway. And oh, what you would give to have him take you against his desk... you can't help but squirm in his lap at the thought of it. You sit there silently for awhile, watching him grade papers and listening to nothing but his breathing and the scratching of his quill against paper. He places more chaste kisses on your neck and shoulder every so often, effectively worsening your arousal, and you know damn well he's doing this on purpose.

At least twenty minutes have passed before you hear him utter anything, but you can't quite catch what is was. "Hmm? What was that?" you ask, trying to get Gale to repeat what he said.

"Oh nothing, dear," he says, with a cheeky smirk on his face that you cannot see. "just mumbling about these papers."

A moment passes, and then you feel a light brush against your leg. However, you think you must be imagining things. Both of Gale's hands are hard at work above the desk. You feel it again, more apparent this time as it trails up your thigh, and pulls at your robe.

You quickly look down, and realize what's happening. A shimmering, blue, and sheer hand is the culprit. The incantation for mage hand, that must've been what Gale uttered.

"Gale?" you speak his name in a questioning tone, facing heating up at the implications of this situation, "what are you doing?"

"Isn't this what you wanted, my love?" He says, controlling the hand to pull open your robe so your body is on display for him, proceeding to trail the sheer hand over your breasts, and down to your hips.

The hand ghosts over your wet cunt, collecting some slick- a shiver runs down your spine, and your head falls back onto Gale's shoulder. "You're a fucking tease."

"Am I?" he replies, this time making the hand touch you with more purpose. It glides over your folds, before hooking two fingers inside whilst simultaneously circling your clit with its translucent thumb. "I'm just giving you what you crave."

"You know damn well this isn't what I had in mind..." you start to complain, but the hand speeds up, expertly touching you exactly how you like it. Your lips part, a slew of needy whimpers and whining spilling out of you, as your poised nature comes crumbling down.

"Hush, now. I'm still working." Gale chides, in a tone that is clearly meant to taunt you further. However, he himself makes no move to touch you, he only adjusts the reading glasses on his face and goes back to grading the papers on his desk. Yet, the translucent hand continues its ministrations, so his concentration is not entirely on his work, no matter how much he pretends it is.

You try to be quiet, really, you do. Though the situation at hand makes it incapable to do so, especially since the mage hand seems to double down on it's efforts the more you squirm and choke down moans in attempt to be quiet. He's messing with you, threatening your resolve and challenging your ability to follow instructions.

Gale's left hand strays away from his work, and wraps around your waist to keep you from moving around, "Stop squirming, dear. You're distracting me."

It cannot be helped though, you're too far gone. Pleasure is building in your core as the mage hand doesn't seem to let up, merely moments away from tumbling over the edge. You're practically panting with need, the occasional moan of your lover's name included in the lewd sounds that fill the room. You can't tell what's more sinful, the sound of your wetness or the muffled sounds of ecstasy that slip off your tongue.

Gale chuckles quietly at your muted whimpers and feeble attempts to stay quiet for him- he dares to hush you for a second time. "Shh, you're okay..." He says, but there's something about the way he says it, his tone sensual, and with a sloppy kiss placed against your neck. It has you positively reeling.

The cord tightening within your stomach finally snaps, and the pleasure becomes overwhelming. Gale's name falls off your lips like a chant, like it's the only word you can remember. The translucent hand continues its onslaught, working you through the waves of your orgasm, Gale holding you still on his lap until your body is spent. He groans at the sight of you, unable to ignore his own arousal now.

The mage hand finally dissipates out of existence, and you think you're done, as you lean back onto your husband's chest.

"ah, ah-" he chastises you, before hastily pushing the papers to the side of his desk, as well as the ink that spills across them. The spilled ink is a problem for later, he could not care less. "I'm not done with you just yet..."

He hoists you onto his desk, and spreads your legs, trailing gentle kisses up your thighs. A needy growl escapes him as he licks a stripe across your soaked cunt, before his lips continue the path up your body to their rightful destination.

"Work can wait," Gale's lips connect with yours, with desperation and heat, passion coursing through him. As he pulls away, he grabs hold of your chin, and gently coaxes you to make eye contact, "I need you more."

check out my masterlist for more like this!

[myeyebagsaredesigner]

Imma open my mind abt Tim Jason and Duke to you every day now I fucking love them.

Jason, Duke and Tim are almost 24/7 hours on Face Time, talking? No, just being, they're in the same room but still face timing cuz Duke likes to post those "24 hours again with twins 🔥" or smth like that, and sometimes they even talk to eachother through their sleeps

Tim and Duke having a whole ass conversation while sleeping on facetime and Jason is just there laughing when he gets home from patrol at night

Tim and Duke team up to mess with Jason even if they know he'd answer it while awake cuz its just fun.

Jason and Tim are out patrolling together while telling Duke whats happening even thought he's asleep

Even when they are with their respective partners they are on a call [Thought no voice nor camera open] and they just sometimes chime in to say smth abt the convo and leaves again

Tim and Duke also love to use Jason as a pillow

Ah yes, the classic "on call but could easily not be", the times of true friendship. They definitely do that. I don't see how they WOULDN'T!

I feel like it would be a very comforting presence for them, y'know? Like, no one has to be on the call and no one usually has anything that's necessary to talk about, yet they stay on the call because they want to.

The first time Tim stays on call with them overnight, he's very pleasantly surprised. Like, the call has been pretty silent for the past 15 minutes, aside from the background noise coming from Jason's patrol and the light snores from Duke's end. Jason finally goes home and Tim thinks he's probably going to hang up, but Jason just takes his phone with him into the bathroom and turns off his camera.

Something along these lines, I think

Tim: *Internally debating whether he should hang up or not*

Jason, getting home: "Gotta shower.. sleep."

Tim: "Yeah, I should probably, like, do my skincare."

Jason: "'Kay." *Takes phone into bathroom and shuts off camera*

Tim: ..interesting

Jason eventually gets out of the shower and turns his camera back on, just to throw himself into bed and knock out. Tim is left with a weird feeling of 'this kind of makes me happy and wanted in an interesting way, didn't know I could feel that' and goes to bed.

Jason would definitely sleep in, and Tim and Duke would do that think of 'hey Jason, stay sleeping if..' knowing fully well he's still asleep. "Jason, stay sleeping if you think I'm awesome." "Jason, don't say anything if I'm your favorite." "Jason, stay quiet if I can have the last yogurt." Jason does not like this. He will wake up to a half empty closet and a raided fridge, and they'll show him videos they took of him sleeping through their questions as "evidence."

I think it'd be funny if when Jason and Tim are patrolling, they talk to Duke without even realize it. Like they start narrating things they're doing and talking their thoughts through, not because they think they need to tell Duke, but because they subconsciously want him to know and just have a weird urge to narrate themselves. They understand each other, so it's not weird. The other bats are very confused. They make Jason do a blood test one day to test for possible poisons because on patrol he said "I am now loading my gun" while doing just that. They think he has some sort of truth serum. He does not.

They're all so used to being on call with each other, so they never get startled or caught off guard when someone speaks over the phone. It's normal for them, but not for the people around them.

Like, Tim will be silently working on the Batcomputer with Bruce looking at some files or something. Jason randomly sneezes and Bruce almost goes flying out of his chair. He hears Duke mock him with an "achOo" and turns to Tim, who's eyes haven't left the screen. He didn't even know them three were that close. Didn't even know they spoke to each other often. He peers at the screen and sees Duke walking down the isle of a grocery store and Jason's camera off, but he gapes at the call time of 17 hours. He can't imagine why they would be on call for that long if they aren't even talking.

Jason will be with Roy, who's absolutely done with this. He always forgets Jason is on call until Duke or Tim mumble something random and he always gets scared. Jason will say something, and he'll go to answer, only to realize he was talking to the phone.

Duke is sitting on the bus, and the people around him silently peer over to look at his phone. There's two other people on the call, one of them who looks like he'll pass out any minute, and the other who's only showing half his face while he scrolls on his phone. The bus people think they're trying to break a world record. They're sure they have already won.

Since they're on call literally all day, I'm sure their phones are always charging. Like, if they're lounging around the apartment or something it's plugged in to the wall. They carry around packs of portable chargers with them wherever they go. It's a bit.. much.

AND YES!! PILLOW JASON!!

Yes to all physical affection in general, but not the "normal type?" They don't go up to each other and exchange hugs or anything, but they're like always in contact whenever they're physically around each other. Jason will drape himself over them if they're sitting in a chair. They like it, it feels like a weighted blanket. Duke will always be leaning against someone. Sitting back to back, a hand on the shoulder, leaning against their legs when he sits on the floor in front of the couch. Tim will just start poking them. Duke is sitting next to him trying to eat breakfast and he's being rapidly poked in the cheek. Jason's ears are always red because Tim likes to pull at them when he's bored. He'll knock his forehead against their shoulders.

They always find a way to fit on the same couch. Accidental kicks to the face, awkwardly places limbs, an elbow in the side. They are not deterred. It's comfortable in it's own way. They'll all lay on the floor sometimes. Dick walks into the Batcave one day and sees them laying on the mats. Jason is on his stomach, Tim's head is on the back of his shoulder with his arm draped across his back. Duke is laying on Jason's thigh and is hugging one of Tim's stray legs. They're passed out. Dead asleep. Dick doesn't know the last time he saw Tim sleep. He lets it be after a quick picture.

I love them <3

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter fifteen

Summary: After the sudden deaths of her mother and grandmother, y/n is forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke her heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, she vows to get to the bottom of her former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what she’s expecting.

a/n: Will I remain posting regularly? That remains to be seen by everyone, myself included....Because every single time I say something, I end up accidentally not posting for weeks. Anyways, enjoy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.7k

Two nights later, all Bruce could think about was that Alfred had been right. 

He should have told y/n the truth while he had the chance.

“Where are you going?” 

A full day had passed since y/n found the picture in the elevator, and she half-expected Bruce’s voice to be a dream when she turned around. She hadn’t slept much, except for a brief few hours where her body literally had shut down and forced her into unconsciousness. Fear was her constant companion, but now, when she turned to see Bruce standing behind her with his arms crossed, anger cut through the fog of fear like a spear of flame. 

She mirrored his stance and crossed her own arms. “I’m going to let it slide since we’re all stressed, but try to boss me around again and see what happens.” 

Both of their jaws were clenched tightly shut. 

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. She could practically hear the words come out of his mouth, That’s not an answer. 

“I asked Gordon to come up,” she finally said, caving, though the anger still simmered below the surface. The nerve that Bruce Wayne had to barely be home, to barely care about her, and still try to boss her around all the same. She was this close to punching him in the face or pushing him down the stairs. Or maybe she would pour ice cubes in his bed next time he was asleep. “And if you’re going to bother me every single time I’m next to the fucking elevator, think again.”

Bruce relaxed marginally, completely ignoring her barbed comment–which was probably for the best. She had no energy left to really fight, anyways. 

Most of that energy had gone towards a preliminary article she had just submitted about the Gallo family. She hadn’t released any details about her involvement with them, merely reporting the fact that they were trying to make a move on Gotham. 

She had debated doing the article at all. Was it better to pretend like nothing was happening? Was it better to keep her head down and wait for it to resolve itself, whether because of Gordon and the Batman or through the Gallos finally getting to her? 

But then she realized that the people of Gotham deserved the truth, or at least as much of it she could get away with. She was already a target, but she didn’t need everyone else knowing that. 

So she had simply decided to send an article to print that Gotham was on the brink of another mob takeover, just like all of the business with Falcone and Maroni and everyone else who had corrupted their city. 

If only half of the city shared her views, y/n knew that they wouldn’t be happy with someone else trying to worm their way into their city. Gotham might be a shithole, but it was their shithole. 

The moment she had hit send, it had hit her. 

She didn’t want to be a sitting duck. She wanted to do something about it. She wanted those bastards gone. She wanted the work Bella Real and the Batman and cops like Gordon had done in the last year to stick–or at least have the chance of doing so. 

She had called Gordon, told him she wanted to talk over some things, that she needed company anyways. 

And now there she was, staring down the man who had broken her heart, waiting on Gordon to arrive on the elevator behind her. 

“Gordon and I are going to have a private conversation,” she said pointedly as the elevator doors slid open behind her. 

“Y/n,” Gordon said in greeting, but she still didn’t turn around. She and Bruce were still in the middle of their standoff. “Mr. Wayne. Good to see you again, at least under more…normal circumstances than last time.” 

She raised an eyebrow at Bruce. She could tell he wanted to argue, wanted to stick around and stick his nose even further into her business. But after a long silence, he inclined his head and said, “Detective,” before turning and disappearing back the way he had come. 

Once Bruce was safely out of earshot, she gave Gordon her full attention and said what had been on her mind the past couple of hours. Or, if she was being completely honest, the past several days.

“I want you to use me as bait, and I don’t want you to argue about it. I want you to help me actually figure out how to get rid of these motherfuckers.” She crossed her arms again for good measure.  

Gordon sighed, long and loud. She expected an argument or a lecture or a combination of the two. But instead, all he said was, “We better bring our other friend into this discussion.” 

–

“Absolutely not,” was the very first thing the Batman said when she laid out her plan. 

“Yeah, well, as I like to point out to certain other people in my life, you’re not the boss of me. I’m going to do something stupid with or without your help, because I am fucking sick of this. Alright? I can’t live like this.” She shivered as a particularly brutal gust of wind cut through her. 

They were on top of the signal tower. She and Gordon had decided together that it was easier to smuggle her out than it would be to smuggle Batman in. Besides, she didn’t want those two parts of her life mixing. God forbid Bruce find out what she was up to. She was arguing with him enough already. 

Not to mention the fact that she didn’t want to disappoint Alfred, or cause him any more stress than she already had. 

The smuggling had taken a willing female detective–a nice woman in her late thirties name Lori Ayers–trading places with y/n. They were relatively the same height and build luckily enough, and Detective Ayers was already assigned to the security on Wayne Tower. An outfit switch, a fake detective badge, and lots of praying later, and there they were. Y/n had asked Gordon and Ayers if she could have a gun, but both of them had practically shouted no in her face. 

Gordon held up his hands, ever the peacekeeper. “Listen, man, I’m not saying we should put her in any unnecessary danger, but–” 

“The whole idea is unnecessary danger!” The Batman cut in. His voice echoed in the darkness of the night around them. 

Gordon continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “–but all I’m saying is that we aren’t any closer to catching these guys. None of us are. So if we can do something we know will draw them out…why not do it?” Gordon gave her a wry look. “And, like she said, it’s probably better to have us for backup before she does anything stupid on her own.” 

Y/n gave Batman a triumphant look as if to say See? I’m right. 

She studied him while he worked his jaw in annoyance. Was he sick of looking out for her? Because she was certainly sick of needing to be looked out for. She wanted to end it. 

“Fine,” he said, the word a growl he spat out. She tried to resist pumping her fist in the air, she really did. He gave her a Look with a capital L that had her lowering it immediately. “But let me just–let me follow this last lead, alright? If it doesn’t pan out, we’ll make a plan. Give me tonight before you do anything stupid.” 

She nodded eagerly. “Great, fine. I needed to get out of the house anyway.” Gordon was also giving her a Look. “What?” she said a bit defensively. 

“You’re awfully upbeat for someone who wants to offer herself up for bait to the mob.” He raised one dark eyebrow above the frames of his glasses. 

She shrugged. “Well, I have cabin fever, so this helped my mood immensely. Plus, the end is in sight. It’s about to be over, one way or another.” 

Later, when she thought back to that moment, she would wonder if she had jinxed it. Or maybe she was simply jinxed all along, one thing leading to another, leading to its inevitable end. Leading to the only possible way it could play out. Her luck, ever since stepping foot back in Gotham–and even before then, ever since Alfred had knocked on her apartment door–had been nonexistent. 

“One last lead,” Batman repeated, holding her gaze steadily for once. Something ran through her like an electric current at that look. Like he was trying to tell her something. 

“One last lead,” she said, crossing her heart for good measure. “I promise I’ll be good.” 

Gordon chuckled like he didn’t quite believe her. “Alright, let’s get back.” 

“I’ll follow you,” Batman said, interrupting her thoughts of how she was going to get Gordon to sneak her past Bruce and Alfred both. She hadn’t told either of them she was leaving, and she didn’t want to think about what they would say to her if they found out. It would only make her life that much harder. 

Her ride back with Gordon was mostly quiet. 

“Where did you get this fake badge anyways?” she asked when Wayne Tower’s doors finally came into view. She toyed with it, noting all the ways it looked like the real deal. Maybe she could hold onto it…just in case. 

“Confiscated it from a kid caught forging all kinds of stuff, including badges she used to get classified materials.” 

She. Interesting. Sounded like somebody y/n would like to hang out with. 

She didn’t say any of that out loud, however. All she did was hum and put the badge back on her belt. 

“And no, I won’t give you her name,” Gordon said. Their eyes met and they both laughed in tandem. 

“Fine, fine. I might be able to find it on my own anyway.” She winked. 

They parked in an alley where Gordon or the other detectives on stakeout duty usually parked. As they stepped out into the cold air, Gordon’s phone rang. 

“Just a second,” he said, stepping further towards the mouth of the alley. “I have to take this. Don’t move.” He pointed at threatening finger at her. She held up both hands in surrender. 

He needn’t have worried–the sound of an approaching motorcycle reached her ears as Batman pulled into the alley behind them. The noise reverberated off of the building walls for a moment before abruptly shutting off. Gordon locked eyes with him, inclined his head, and then answered the phone while striding towards the street ahead. 

“So,” she said casually to Batman as he stood broodily in the shadows. “Think I could have been a detective in another life?” She struck a little pose in her smart, borrowed business suit and trench coat, imagining the fake badge glinting in the low light. 

Batman made a noise that could have been a scoff or a laugh. “Sure, except you would have been fired for repeatedly breaking the rules. And laws.” 

She laughed delightedly. “You’re probably right.” She definitely had chosen the only profession that suited her nosiness and penchant for getting into trouble, something Bruce had pointed out years ago. 

“I’m definitely right.” 

They were closer together than she expected, the toes of their shoes almost touching. She wasn’t sure how that had happened. It was if they had both been drawn in by the other’s gravity, invisible and inevitable. He stared down at her for a moment before, of course, turning his face away. 

“There you go again,” she murmured as she memorized the line of his jaw. “Scared to look me in the eyes.” She reached out and poked his stubbled cheek gently. He froze, but didn’t make a move to step away. 

“I’m scared for you,” he said in an equally soft voice that sent shivers over her skin. “I don’t want you to have to offer yourself up. I don’t like thinking that I might not be able to keep you safe.” 

Y/n felt each of his words sink into her like rocks in a deep lake, sinking down and down and down until they settled at the bottom, heavy in her stomach. She was staring up at him now, their breath mingling, and he was finally, finally looking back. 

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. 

Instead, she did the next best thing. 

She stretched up onto her toes and kissed him. 

He went so still she immediately knew she had overstepped–and had overstepped badly. She quickly pulled away, face on fire, eyes straining to find anything to look at other than the rejection in his eyes. Stupid, that was so stupid. Just because he wanted her safe didn’t mean that he wanted her to kiss him. 

But before she got too far, his gloved hand caught her arm and tugged her closer. And then he was kissing her.

She inhaled deeply, her stomach doing somersaults in a way it had never done before. She was flying above Wayne Tower yet still somehow firmly rooted to the ground. It was like she could finally breathe again and yet somehow she was gasping for breath. His lips were gentle. One of his hands cupped her elbow while the other splayed across her upper back. She wished he had his gloves off, like that moment in another alley on another night. She wanted to feel his skin against hers. 

Then he was gone, a full step away. 

She couldn’t help it–her fingers traced her lips in a daze. 

They were staring at each other, both breathing slightly heavier than they had been before. 

“Alright, let’s go,” Gordon called from behind her somewhere. She couldn’t bring it within herself to care if he had seen or not. Her and the Batman were still staring at each other, in their own world, a seismic shift between them. 

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice low and raspy with want. 

“Be safe,” was all the Batman said as he watched her go. 

Gordon didn’t look at her like he had just seen them kissing, but she felt as if it were written all over her face. 

“Crime never sleeps,” he said to her as they walked the short distance to the doors. His head was constantly swiveling, searching for danger, and she knew a certain vigilante was watching from the shadows as well. 

Her entire body was electric, every nerve ending on fire, heat settling in her face and chest and lower, too. 

For once, she wasn’t wondering about who the Batman was. Her mind had been rendered totally blank by one kiss. She wasn’t even thinking about how he wasn’t Bruce Wayne, like every other kiss of her life. 

Instead it simply felt…right. 

She blinked and they were somehow inside. 

“Blake, can you escort Detective Ayers upstairs? I have to go to a crime scene.” Gordon gave Blake a long, searching look. Y/n knew that the moment the security guard looked up, he would recognize her. 

Sure enough, he did. His face did something complicated before he realized what Gordon said and stammered out, “S-sure. This way, Detective, um, Ayers.” He hit something on the computer keyboard, scrambling, having to hit whatever button it was a second time. 

“See you later,” Gordon said to her, the words full of meaning. 

She turned towards him and nodded. “Goodnight.” 

It felt stupid, pretending to be someone else in the lobby of her home, but they still didn’t know who had breached security two nights earlier. She knew it was better to be safe than sorry, but Blake knew who she was. What was to stop whoever worked for the Gallos from recognizing her as well? She imagined their pub, Maverick’s, covered in hundreds of stalkery photos of her. 

Gordon waved over his shoulder as she and Blake stepped into the elevator. As soon as the doors slid closed, y/n relaxed a bit. Everything was almost over. 

And she had kissed the Batman.

A smile grew on her face before she could stop it. 

When she glanced up, Blake was watching her. 

His upper lip and his hairline were beaded with sweat and he was much paler than normal. 

“Are you okay?” she asked, wondering if maybe he was sick. Something in her gut shivered with warning. 

“I’m so sorry–” he said, the words choked. “I’m so sorry. They have my sister.” 

That’s when she saw the glint of a needle in his hand.

Next Chapter

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[averycutesalamander]

i have extremely neutral opinions about SMAUs (social media AUs) but i just thought about what Boothill's role would be in one and im kind of losing my mind about it.

his account handle is @.silvergunshura and he literally only posts clumsy nature photos and occasional pics of his gun. a handful of videos that are just the sound of the wilds. never puts any captions or tags on his posts. extremely long unacknowledged absences with no schedule. double-digit amount of followers at an absolute maximum. absolutely no interaction with his audience. or anyone else on the platform actually. quite frankly he doesn't pay any attention to his following in the slightest. bro simply cannot be bothered. for all he cares he is sending these photos to the void and there are no other users on the platform.

and then he posts one (1) video of him at the shooting range nailing bullseyes left and right like it's nothing. barely half of his body is in frame and most of his face is covered by his hair. someone with a decent following shares it and his entire fucking profile EXPLODES because people will NOT stop talking about how hot he is and it kinda snowballs from there. people go through his entire backlog only to find ZERO other posts with his face or body in them. the best they get is little snippets of his arms. people are frothing at the fucking mouth trying to figure out who he is and nobody knows because he literally hasn't said a single word in his entire posting history. people make theory posts, which obviously gets more people invested in this new mystery. his comments are filled with people speculating about who he is and what the fuck he's doing. someone posts a massive spreadsheet detailing all of the identifiable locations in his posts, and they're literally all over the galaxy. immediately afterwards they're cancelled for some vague allegations about them being a shady intelligentsia guild member guilty of multiple human rights violations and everybody completely forgets about the spreadsheet.

Boothill posts a single blurry photo of his hand feeding a chipmunk and people lose their goddamn minds. he follows this up an hour later with a photo of the same chipmunk sitting on his shoulder that is somehow even blurrier than the last and it briefly trends on the front page. a week later he uploads a video of him playing a harmonica by a campfire, once again barely in frame, lit only by the flickering fire. people brighten the video in a desperate attempt to get a better look at his face, but there's nothing identifiable. someone posts a slightly unhinged video examining the tiniest pixels in every screencap of him that they can find, claiming that he's definitely a halovian because of some extremely blurry details, and you technically can't deny it as a possibility because there are no clear shots of where his halo or wings would be. naturally this severely divides fans, and several other theories about his species pop up over the course of a few days. many people are called morons from all sides.

the REAL drama comes when he posts a picture where he's holding what looks suspiciously like an extremely precious meteorite-formed gem that was stolen during a private IPC auction two weeks ago. this post is also notable because it's the first time he's used a caption and it's literally just "lol". naturally people quickly connects the dots and realize that he's BOOTHILL, that crazy motherfucker with the vendetta against the IPC, and why the fuck is he posting nature photos and videos of him feeding birds and shit. silvergunshura fans are instantly divided by discourse about whether or not it's ethical to be a fan. "silvergun fans dni" and "silvergun antis dni" become staples in the bios of people invested in the drama. a bunch of fans start using his substitute swears, and whether or not this is ironic is extremely debatable. the business of cyborg modifications has a moderate boom. anti-IPC sentiments have a notable increase, but now the people doing serious exposés and earnest discussion about the humanitarian crimes of the IPC that are concealed from the public are constantly called simps. there's a brief stint with a handful of Boothill copycat crimes that are all solved within the week.

people unsuccessfully try to hunt down any other potential socials to no avail, but this does spawn a massive wave of fake accounts on a million different platforms, which obviously successfully baits a ton of people. the drama gets even spicier when the moderators shut down his account. one of the mods gets doxxed by an outraged fan. even more fake accounts pop up. Boothill comes back less than a week later as @.silvercowboy244 like nothing happened. his returning post is a crooked picture of a sorta weird looking tree, and he's pointing toward the top left of the frame. the caption is just "bird?" and nobody can figure out what the FUCK that's supposed to mean, because there's no bird visible in the picture, nor is there a bird nest in the tree. conspiracy theories and decoders are immediately chomping at the bit trying to figure out if it has some kind of secret meaning.

tons of people try to use his posts to pinpoint his location for clout or the bounty money or to find him in person and beg him to let them give him head, but he never posts them exactly when they're taken, and nobody can figure out what the fuck logic he's using to pick his next destination. there's an IPC investigation. his accounts keep getting banned but he keeps coming back like a cockroach. dedicated fan archives are made to preserve all of his shitty photos. he never acknowledges any of the drama.

if you're fortunate enough to know Boothill personally and you ask him about all of that weird shit with his socials, he just shrugs and says, "yep, i keep gettin' locked out. can't remember passwords for shirt." if you ask him what he thinks of all the drama surrounding his online presence, he gives you the most bewildered expression you've ever seen on his face. "what the fork are you yappin' about?? what do you mean i got "band" ?? disk horse??? docksing???? i think you've got a few screws loose buddy" and he promptly forgets about the entire ordeal and goes back to posting blurry nature pictures like literally nothing happened.

edit: here's part two-ish lol

[azucarmorena97]

Take Love (Jungkoook Love Story || Pt.1 Stranger)

It's interesting, really- how well one remembers their first love. The small details, insignificant in the moment, are the ones a person most misses in their absence. No matter how you try to keep him out of your head (and boy, do you try), you can't help but let your thoughts go to him. In your most quiet moments, the one who calls to you most...

"Jungkook," You whispered, unable to raise your voice any louder. This time, he did not turn around to face you. He did not backtrack. He did not make justifications for you.

This time, his head hung low as he turned and walked away from you for the last time.

A/N: This is a reimagining of an old FF I posted years ago on my old MonstaX Tumblr/Wattpad. It originally "starred" Wonho (pre-split from MX #OT7foreva) and I wanted to reimagine it with one of our BTS Boys <3 Enjoy!)

I think of you often; when the nights drag on and I lay next to the stranger I married. When my toes are curling as my hand remembers the spots you used to kiss...that's when your name is just on the curl of my lips.

I saw you once last year with a woman I didn't recognize. My heart felt like it would burst in my chest...like I'd found a long lost piece of my soul. You held a basket as she examined two different containers of oatmeal. You whispered something in her ear, your smile wide and childlike- just as I remember- and she rolled her eyes.

I wonder what you said to her...though it it was anything like what you used to say to me, it definitely deserved an eye roll, and maybe even a punch to the arm. You always liked being naughty in public.

I wanted so desperately for you to see me. I even debated on whether or not I should "accidentally" run into you, though when I glanced at my son who was sitting in the cart, I decided against it. How would I ever be able to explain...and then, you disappeared into the nest aisle; once more, I'd lost my chance to say something...anything.

"Mom, can I have a Caprisun?"

I look down at my son's sweet almond eyes and I smile. He looks like me, and yet, so much like his father, it's ridiculous.

"Kookie, I told you, you've already had way too much sugar."

He groans and gos back to the living room to play with Beeo, his favorite stuffed bear. I smile as I watch him leave, and then turn my attention back to the pot on the stove.

My smile fades when I hear the turn of the door knob. Namjoon walks in, setting his brief case down before taking his shoes off and setting them to the side.

"Appa!" My son runs to him, throwing his arms around Namjoon's legs.

My husband gently peels Kookie off of himself and shoos him away, "I'm tired, son."

I roll my eyes, though I'm careful to bite my tongue, choosing not to pick a fight so early in the evening, and especially not in front of my son.

"It smells good," Namjoon says plainly, walking over to the cupboard to get himself a glass.

He goes to the pantry and takes out a bottle of scotch, "When will it be ready?"

"About an hour."

He pours th scotch into his glass and picks it up, "I'll be in my study. Text me when it's done."

I hear his footsteps get further and further, then the door to his study clicks closed.

"Why is Appa always tired?" My on walks up next to me and leans on the counter.

"Appa works hard for us. It's tiring," i turn the heat down to let the pot simmer, and then I wipe my hands on my apron.

Kookie's eyes are low and hold a tinge of sadness.

"Hey," I bend down to meet his eye level and I take his face between my hands, "You wanna watch cartoons while we wait for dinner to be ready?" I ask.

His eyes light up, making me smile once more. "Okay, but I get to choose!" He takes my hand and pulls me with all his might to the living room, where I set next to him on the couch as he flips through the channels to look for a show he likes.

I stare at him, taking his rounded features and half moon eyes- nothing he took from me.

"Kookiee, do you know I love you?" My fingers play with his black hair and he smiles up at me.

"I love you too."

Dinner is tense, though not much more than usual. Namjoon eats in silence, staring at his phone, while Kookie and I exchange details about our day. Occasionally, Namjoon glances up at me with disdain in his eyes but I'll either ignore him or return the same expression. My son excuses himself after he dinishes his food, taking his plate to the sink and leaving the dining room to go play. Now, it's only Namjoon and I left at the table.

"I'm going to Chicago this weekend," He dabs at the corners of his mouth.

I push my salad around on the plate with my fork, "How long?"

"Just the weekend, possibly Monday as well."

I nod and stand up, motioning for him to pass me his plate.

He has business trips often, though I'm not sure how much business he actually gets done, what with all the time he spends at upscale clubs and bars. I've found countless conversations on his phone with many different women before, to the point where I don't even bother digging anymore. It no longer even hurts me...if it ever did.

I run the sink, waiting for the water to fill up the pots I'd used, my back turned to Namjoon. I feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist and his drunken breath on my neck. I'm disgusted but I don't show it.

"Wash dishes later," He says, moving his hands up to my breasts and squeezing. I close my eyes for a moment, trying my hardest not to push him off.

"'Joon, I uhm, I gotta get these dishes done. You know I don't like dishes in the sink."

He scoffs and drops his hands immediately from my body, backing up and shaking his head, "Nevermind."

He reaches into the pantry once more, this time, taking the entire bottle to his study with him. My heartbeat steadies and I sigh in relief. The last time we had sex was about...six months ago, and the time before that was also six months.

The day I saw you, I went out and bought myself a set of lingerie. Red; your favorite color. And then, I went home to my husband. My nails gently trailed the back of his neck, the hairs on his entire body standing on end; it'd been so long since we'd slept together.

He excitedly undressed me, clumsily smashing his mouth onto my body. He's rough, but not in the way that you are...you're purposeful with every movement, precise with every single stroke of your tongue- like a painter to a canvas. But this? This is...sloppy. Too fast, too short.

It's always better when I close my eyes. When I close my eyes, I can imagine that it's you ripping the skimpy, red lace from my body. I can imagine it's you making love to me.

I turn the kitchen light off and walk over to Kookie's play room.

"Kookie, you have about an hour before bed. Brush your teeth and put on your pajamas. Then you can come back and keep playing for a little while longer."

He sighs, "Okay..." then walks past me to the bathroom.

I walk into my bedroom and pull out my pajama set, feeling the tiredness setting in. I examine the bags under my eyes in the mirror for a moment. I'm only twenty-seven, but I feel haggard and old. Used up.

"Good God," I mutter.

"Done!" Kookie walks into my room to show me that he'd completed the task I set before him. He smiles widely, careful to show off how white his teeth are.

I smile, "Alright, love. Go."

He runs back to his play room and immediately, I hear the crashing and smashing together of his toys. I laugh, my heart feeling so full of love for that little boy.

Namjoon, on the otherhand, crashes and stomps into the bedroom, halfheartedly unbuttoning his dress shirt as he collapses onto the bed, drunken sleep overtaking him. I glare at him for a long while, then decide on picking up my pajamas and just changing in the bathroom instead.

When I come back, he's completely sprawled across the entire bed, fully dressed but completely knocked out, his snores filling the room.

"Of course."

I take some blankets out of the hall closet and go set them up in the guest room. Though I'm pissed off that he took over our bedroom, I'm glad to be able to just sleep alone. Anything is better than having to sleep next to that man.

"Mommy, why aren't you sleeping in your room?" Kookie asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes while standing in the doorway. I jump slightly, scrambling for some reason to give him,

"Mommy's back just hurts, my love," I lie.

He frowns; I'm almost positive he's learning how to tell when I'm lying, though he never calls me out on it.

"Come on," I pick him up and his arms wrap around my neck as I walk him over to his room and put him in his bed.

"Mommy, why aren't you happy?"

His question takes me by surprise, and I'm unsure of what to say.

"Sometimes you smile, but your eyes are still sad," He continues.

A knot forms in my throat but I maintain my composure.

"Just know, I'm always happy when I look at you," I gently press his little nose with my index finger and he smiles.

"Alright, go to sleep, Kookie," I say sternly, sending him back down the hall.

He gets to his door, resting his hand on the knob, "Good night, mama."

"Good night, my love."

My heart feels heavy as I replay his words in my head, and I lay restlessly, staring out into the dark. Tears are welling up in my eyes, but they don't fall. They pool together and cloud my vision, but I can't muster the strength to lift my hand up to wipe them away.

You kissed my cheeks with fervency, collecting my salty tears with your lips. Your hand cupped the side of my face and turned it toward yours. With our foreheads gently pressed together, you closed you eyes, though I kept mine open- I just didn't want to forget this moment. "It hurts me when you cry..." You whispered as your lips floated just above mine. Our noses were touching, and our hands followed.

"Then please...make it stop," I closed my eyes and leaned in.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The alarm startles me out of my sleep and I groan, picking up the phone and shutting it off. I sit up, scratch my head, and stare at the floor for a few minutes. The dream is still vivid in my brain and I want to savor it before it slips from my memory... though the drams always leave behind a distinct feeling of emptineess.

"Kookie...Kookie, wake up," I shake his little body gently awake and his eyes finally open slightly. That boy can really sleep.

"Come on, it's time to get ready. I left your clothes on your chair- get dressed and come to the kitchen for breakfast."

He groans and sits up, "I don't wanna go to school, mama."

"And Appa doesn't wanna go to work and I don't wanna have to cook, clean, and run errands but we do it because we have to. Get up now, please."

I put a bowl of dry cereal out on the table and leave a glass of milk out for him to pour into the bowl. About fifteen minutes later, Kookie drags his feet all the way to his special chair (the only one with a booster seat), the laces on his shoes dangling, as he still has yet to learn how to tie them. I sigh, kneeling down to do them for him as he quickly shovels Captain Crunch into his mouth.

I've tried so many times to teach him how to tie his own shoes, but nothing I do seems to help. Then Namjoon promised him he'd teach him, which of course, he never did- now, Kookie refuses to learn, adamant that his dad will teach him.

"Alright, hurry. The busu comes in about-" I look at my watch and gasp, "Five minutes!"

I scramble to gather his backpack and jacket.

"Okay my love," I drag him down the font steps and get out to the sidewalk just in time to meet the little school bus out on the curb.

"Okay, mommy. I love you," He yells as he walks up the stairs and thee doors close behind him. I sigh and rest my hands on my hips, watching the bus drive down the street and then turn out of sight.

By about ten AM, the cleaning up around the house is done, I've tossed a load of Kookie's laundry into the wash and I'm grabbing my keys and wallet. I briefly check my face in the mirror. My hair is whild and I notice the crust in the corners of my eyes. I haphazardly scrape it away and shrug.

"Eh, this will just have to be good enoug."

Closing the door behind me, I put my key in the ignition and turn, but nothing happens. I try again and still nothing.

"Please, please, not again," I whine as I hear continuous clicking noises.

"Ugh!" I slam the steering wheel, my mind going immediately to Namjoon.

I pick up my phone and scroll to his name in my contacts. Immediately, mu fingers are flying on my screen.

𝘔𝘦: 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘞𝘌𝘌𝘒𝘚 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘦𝘱𝘵 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴!!!!!!!

I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and away his reply.

𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘰𝘰𝘯: 𝘚𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘥? 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺? 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘯.

I'm full of frustration at his text. From the second we got married, he was a useless, sad excuse for a man. What I'd really like to do is drive up to his office and hit him with my car-

"Can't do that if my car's dead though, can I!?" I scream.

I try the key a few more times but have no luck.

"Great," I mutter.

I angrily slam the car door and lean against it as I look on my phone for a mechanic that might come to fix my car.

I walk into the house, continuing to scroll through a few different mechanics before I find one that fits my price range, "Friggin' finally."

The line rings a few times and then a raspy voice answers, "Hitman Autoshop and Mechanic, this is Hitman, how may I help you?"

"Hey...Hitman," I say, furrowing my brows at that obviously made up name, "I seem to be having some trouble starting up my car."

"Alright, could just be needing a jump then." "I think I may just need a whole new battery. This has been happening for weeks already."

"Alright, ma'am. And are you at a residence or a place of business?" He asks.

"I'm at my own residence," I examine the chipped nail polish on my fingers.

I never have time to do my nails anymore.

"Okay, great. If you send me your name and address, I'll be able to send one of my guys out there to take a look at your vehicle."

"Thank God- and how much would that be?"

"Well, to just go and inspect it is free, but what you pay may vary depending on what the problem is with the car."

I nod, "Alright then."

I send over the address and then hang up. A breeze wafts throughout the house, sending a light shiver through my body. I decide to turn on the coffeemaker and change into a big fine-knit sweater. I'm still shivering as I sit in the living room, waiting for the call from the mechanic.

After about twenty minutes, my phone vibrates against my thigh and I take it out of my pocket. The number I'd called ealier shows on my screen and I quickly answer, "yes?"

"Hello again, Ma'am. My guy's outside."

"Alright, I'll be there in a second," I jump up from my seat on the couch and quickly slip on a pair of Converse, not bothering to tie them. Maybe my son and I have one more thing in common.

I open the door and walk down my porch steps. One the sidewalk is in view, I focus my eyes to look for the mechanic, "He better not rip me off," I mutter.

And then, my heart stops.

The front pieces of his black hair falls forward as he looks down at his phone, plump pink lips pursed; the top of his oil-stained jumpsuit is tied around his waist. He's leaning against my car.

I stand there for a few moments, my heart going from full stop to full speed. I can practically hear it beating in my chest, along with the ringing in my ears.

I slowly walk out of my front gate that I'd left open when I'd gone into my house earlier, and it isn't until I'm a good ten feet away frim him that I'm able to finally speak, "Jungkook?"

He jumps slightly, quicky looking up from his screen.

When he sees me, his lips part and his breathing shallows. He slowly gets up off my car and lets his arms fall at his sides.

We stare at each other for a long time, the silence palpable between us.

"Y/n..."

His voice cuts though me as he says my name, just above a whisper.

A/N: Sorry I've been MIA, I've been having a really hard time feeling inspired. I know I still have other pieces ppl have been waiting on but for now, here's this one.

[rafeysvenicebitch]

‿‿‿‿Celebrity Crush Realized‿‿‿‿

•Chapter 2•

It was nearly midnight, and you were in bed half-heartedly working on a discussion post for your online class when your phone buzzed. You expected another TikTok from Sam or Ari sending you a cursed meme, but instead, Drew’s name lit up your screen.

💗Drew💗(Hollywood’s Finest Man): What are you doing right now?

Your brain short-circuited for a moment. Was this real? You blinked at the message, rereading it twice to make sure you weren’t imagining things. Then your phone buzzed again.

Ari 💣(3 Bad Bitches): Y/N, You’ve been silent for 3 hours. U good?

Sam💜: she’s dead from all that flirting last night. Btw, Y/N, u texting him or not?

Ari💣: If u don’t text him, I will. Don’t test me.

You couldn’t help but laugh at your overzealous friends.

Y/N (3 Bad Bitches): Not dead. Just got a text from… Drew.

Ari💣: NO. WAY.

Sam💜: Proof or it didn’t happen.

Y/N: I’m serious. He just asked what I’m doing rn.

Ari💣: WHAT DID U SAY?!

Y/N: Nothing yet. I was about to ask y’all for advice…

Sam💜: Girl. It’s Drew Starkey. U just say ‘yes’ to wtv.

Ari💣: Unless it’s illegal. Then ask us first.

You switched back to Drew’s text, typing nervously.

Y/N: Not much, just catching up on homework. Wsp?

His response was almost instant.

💗Drew💗(Hollywood’s Finest Man): You wanna go for a ride? I’ll pick you up in 40 minutes so You can get all pretty for me.

Your jaw dropped. You scrambled to screenshot the exchange and send it to the group chat.

Y/N (3 Bad Bitches): HELP.

Ari💣: “YOURE GONNA RIDE DREW STARKEY?!

Sam💜: AS U SHOULD. But pics or it didn’t happen.

Y/N: NOT LIKE THAT. He has a motorcycle.

Ari💣: Lame. But also HOT. Go. Now.

Sam💜: Do not flake. I repeat: DO. NOT. FLAKE.

Forty minutes later, you were outside your apartment, fidgeting with your rings then switching to your necklace. You wore a simple Navy Blue sports shirt and black sports leggings. Drew rolled up on a sleek black motorcycle, looking like he’d stepped out of a movie. His black leather jacket gleamed under the streetlights, and his smile was enough to make your knees weak.

“Hey,” he said, pulling off his helmet. He whistled,”Damn, you look amazing” he got off the motorcycle and approached you,”You ready?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “I guess so. But, uh, this is my first time on a motorcycle, so… if I fall off, that’s on you.” You giggle nervously.

He laughed, handing you a helmet. “You won’t. I’ve got you.”

You climbed on behind him, your arms awkwardly hovering until he said over his shoulder, “You’re gonna wanna hold on tighter than that.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, and before you could second-guess yourself, he revved the engine and took off.

The ride was exhilarating. The cool night air rushed past you, and the city blurred into streaks of light. Drew navigated through the streets with ease, his confidence making you feel safe despite the speed. He didn’t say where you were going, and you didn’t ask.

Eventually, he slowed down and turned onto a quiet, winding road that led to an overlook. When he finally stopped, the view took your breath away. The city stretched out below you, sparkling under the night sky.

“You okay?” Drew asked, helping you off the bike.

“Okay?” you said, laughing. “That was insane. I can’t believe people do this all the time.”

He leaned against the bike, watching you with a soft smile. “It’s my favorite way to clear my head. I figured you might like it.”

You sat on a nearby bench, and the two of you fell into easy conversation. He asked about your favorite late-night snacks, debated whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza, and even admitted his For You Page was mostly filled with dog videos.

When the conversation drifted to music, Drew pulled out his phone. “What’s your playlist like?”

“Please don’t judge,” you said, taking his phone to cue up your favorite songs.

“I can’t promise that, Angel,” he teased, but when Intergalactic Janet (A/N:GO LISTEN) started playing, he nodded approvingly. “Okay, you’ve got taste.”

By the time he dropped you back at your apartment, it was well past 2 a.m.

“I had fun tonight,” you said, pulling off the helmet and handing it back.

“Me too,” Drew replied, his voice soft. “Let’s do it again sometime.”

As you climbed the stairs, your phone buzzed.

Ari💣 (3 Bad Bitches): SO??

Sam💜: Did you survive? Are you still on the bike? Is he shirtless??

Y/N:

Ari💣: LIVING UR BEST LIFE.

Sam💜: No thirst trap. I’m disappointed.

Y/N: Shut up. It was perfect.

Sliding into bed, you replayed the night in your head, a smile tugging at your lips.

Taglist: @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @rafesheaven @blackynsupremacy @httpsdrewstarkey @drewstarkeybroughtmehere @drewstarkeyswife622 @esquivelbianca @klauslovemepls @kundaquarius @memoirofasparklemuff1n @p45510n4f4shi0n @rafesheaven @whinyangel @

[emnesoi]

FIFTY TO SIXTY THOUGHTS NOW

aaaa scary

ok i will comply but only because now this is a bit instead of just random

fuck i just knocked my phone over while i was taking off my headphones

i should take out the trash

tea is cool they should make more tea

oh right i was getting drunk i totally forgot and i have half a spiked drink at my desk

i wish my teddy bear would sit up well but the ds's between its legs mean it falls over a lot due to how the leg joints work

wow i have three ds's on this desk right now that's weird

my friend left her pocketknife over and i should really give it back to her

it's a really nice pocketknife but i dont wanna use someone else's pocketknife so i should ask her where she got it

fuck coming up with 60 thoughts is hard

i need to take more instant photographs i have one i took of a friend's tsukihi plush on the bulletin board over my desk

why did i say "friend" you know exactly who im talking about

is it weird that i have a bulletin board over my desk

theres a little shelf under that bulletin board and on it i have two 3d prints, one of a marker switch from myst and one that's a lithophane of the cover of the downward spiral by nine inch nails and i think it's interesting that despite the fact that i asked a friend to print the lithophane years before i got a 3d printer you could reasonably assume i printed both of them

wow that was a thought that took way too much time to expalin

theres a lot of guitar maintenance equipment at my desk which is weird cuz i typically do that stuff at my couch rather than here

jesus christ theres too much stuff on my desk

i dont even need this string winder cuz there's a better string winder literally right next to it

i think ive used that tuning pipe like once

theres also an ace ring right next to them and i think that's funny

when i bought this flashlight i was debating whether to get this pretty decent one or a really fancy expensive one and a friend said "get the expensive one and brag about it on r/flashlights" which immediately convinced me to get the pretty decent one

i also have a set of security screwdriver heads at my desk which my dad got for me and i remember him telling me that he went to the hardware store asking for security heads and they scoffed and went "if you could just buy those they wouldn't work" so he went home and bought two sets off the internet and i thought that was funny

i hope you're reading this in the tone of Jory in that one episode of the ten minute power hour where Arin sits him on his lap and painstakingly grills him about his favorite pokemon and it gets really awkward

wow that sounds really weird when i describe it like that

fuck im not even halfway done

if i had a nickel for every thought im gonna post here i would have $3 which isnt very much money

i got a humidifier recently because it's really dry in my room and im not used to anything in here moving besides me so i keep seeing the stream of fog fog out of the corner of my eye and going AH ! INTRUDER !

that's not a bespoke thought for this thread i posted that on a discord server earlier today does that still count

it's annoying how i have to turn off my vpn whenever i try to go on rateyourmusic because it thinks im trying to ddos them or something

i dont even rate my music i just go there to get an overview of what an artist's most liked albums are so i can get into them easier

that's why im getting into current 93 through sleep has his house rather than thunder perfect mind despite the fact that i think literally everyone except rym agrees that thunder perfect mind is better

though now that i look at it they're only 0.01 off so its not like that discrepancy is that weird

with all of the bonus tracks bandcamp has, thunder perfect mind is as long as swans' soundtracks for the blind and i think that's funny

long albums are cool and i should listen to more of them, some of my favorites that ive listened to recently can't fit on a cd

it's funny that "fitting on a cd" is my criterion for "long" when i havent been an active cd collector for quite a while, i guess that just kinda wormed its way into my brain

oh we're getting enough text in this post to make the editor lag that's scary i hope it'll be good for another 23 thoughts

hey 23 is the number of thoughts i had last time i commented on how many thoughts i needed to post

shit, no it wasn't, it was 26, i really should have checked

wow i hope this is interesting to read

how many words is this at this point i need to check

it's 875 as of that last thought not including bullet points, i think that's more than the number of words ive written for my actual writing in the past few weeks

since pages hold around 250 words that means you would need four pages (ceiling) to write as much as i had written by thought 41

will people understand what i mean when i say "ceiling" i hope so

i wonder how many words this will be when im done

i think i can estimate with that other word count

since 41 is roughly 2/3rds of 60, that means that the amount of words this will have at the end will be 875*1.5 which is 1312

holy shit that's the based number

i lied it's 1312.5 i just rounded it down so it would be the based number

wow it's REALLLLY starting to lag now i wonder if the text editor's unoptimizedness is exponential for some reason

at this point im in the 50s and you asked for 50-60 so i could reasonably stop here but i kind of already committed to 60 so i can't really

i wonder if this is what you expected when you sent this ask

probably not but i mean i don't know what else you could have expected, maybe just me brushing this off aloofly

i wish i had more money so i could buy more music

it's kind of weird that i buy music right like whenever i talk about this to people theyre like oh i just use spotify or youtube or whatever but im weird and neurotic and like owning things too much

it is so laggy now that sometimes ill make a typo and then correct it and then only see all of that happen like 10 seconds later

i wonder if it's weird that i can correct typos without actually seeing what i typed like i just Know

oh shit im nearing the end now i gotta make this count

i wonder what "making this count" means in this context like how would i make the final thought "epic" theyre just thoughts this has been a total stream of consciousness it's not really building to anything

kitty nyaaaaan

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dana Liebelson at The New Republic:

On a chilly February evening at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts in Washington, D.C., Victoria Canal, a 26-year-old singer-songwriter, was more nervous than usual before her performance. President Donald Trump had recently purged a chunk of the cultural hub’s traditionally bipartisan board—you can guess which types he targeted—and installed himself and several MAGA compatriots in their places; they, in turn, elected him as chair. Canal had debated whether to perform but ultimately decided to go ahead with the show. Two days before she was scheduled to play, she announced she would be donating her fee to a trans equality group in an Instagram post that dared the new guys to cancel her performance. When they didn’t, she began to consider an even bolder act of protest. “Literally, up until the moment I [walked] out onstage, I was on the phone with my lawyer,” Canal said. “Everybody was kind of advising against it.” Undeterred, after she finished her free set, she walked away from the grand piano, grabbed a T-shirt with plain block lettering—ANTI TRUMP AF.—pulled it over her dress, and took a bow. Members of the audience, aside from a few scattered booers, gave her a standing ovation.

The response online was less enthusiastic. As video of her performance spread on social media, Canal’s Instagram and other platforms were bombarded by Trump supporters and hundreds of comments a minute, attacking everything from her disability and her weight to her gender expression and her sexuality, she said. (Canal is queer, Latina, and was born without a right forearm.) “It became clearer and clearer,” she told me with a sigh, “that that audience”—the one at the Kennedy Center that stood and applauded her—“doesn’t represent America.” For more than half a century, the Kennedy Center has made a priority of representing the rich diversity of American culture and has regularly celebrated artists of color and LGBTQ+ performers. That mission was thrown into doubt the moment Trump and his cronies took over its board. Now, the arts center would serve as a weapon in the president’s war against cultural elites. Transforming—and MAGA-ifying—the arts have emerged among the president’s more surprising second-term priorities during his first 100 days: Even as the Trump administration has moved quickly to decimate federal agencies and defund top universities and museums, it has not targeted the Kennedy Center and the National Endowment for the Arts with the same gusto, though the Kennedy Center has seen a handful of layoffs. What has emerged instead are at times bewildering gestures toward a more insidious goal: not just chilling art deemed “liberal” and fostering right-wing arts institutions, but establishing a Trump-aligned power base through which to rival the diversity of American culture. Trump has depicted the Kennedy Center as a crumbling building that he will return to its former glory. Never mind that he has offered few ideas for doing so and has spoken about his plans with his trademark blend of grandiloquence and vagueness. “We’ll make a lot of changes, including the seats, the decor, pretty much everything,” he promised a group of reporters in March. He justified his takeover via social media by claiming that he would put an end to drag shows and “ANTI-AMERICAN PROPAGANDA.” (The Kennedy Center hosted thousands of events last year; among them a drag story hour for queer and trans youth and a Mamma Mia! disco-themed drag brunch.) Art, in other words, is not a politically unifying force; it’s just another chance to score shots against wokeism and force liberals to get in line.

The National Endowment for the Arts, which awards tens of millions in grant money each year, could be an even more consequential front in the administration’s larger fight for cultural supremacy, if the administration doesn’t try to kill it, which had been proposed during Trump’s first term. (“Art can survive and thrive without public funding,” urged a recent briefing paper from the libertarian Cato Institute, citing such examples as Gone With the Wind, Harry Potter, and Shakespeare.) In compliance with executive orders issued by Trump shortly after he was sworn into office, the NEA began asking grant applicants in February to certify that, if selected, they won’t promote “gender ideology,” as such projects are ineligible, or operate “illegal DEI” programs. “Do the historical posters of Rosie the Riveter promote DEI? Does the art of Romare Bearden promote DEI?” questioned Paulette Granberry Russell, president and CEO of the National Association of Diversity Officers in Higher Education, which sued the administration in February over the anti-DEI order. The NEA had dropped the certification requirements amid ongoing litigation, but the changes have already discouraged some LGBTQ+ artists and allies from applying for grants.

There’s little ambiguity over the kind of art the administration doesn’t like. But what kind of art does it support? In early February, the NEA indicated that projects celebrating the anniversary of the Declaration of Independence would get funding priority, a promise that disappeared from the agency’s website shortly after it prompted confusion and mockery. (The theme had previously been “encouraged” under President Joe Biden, which is the language now.) At the Kennedy Center, meanwhile, Trump and his allies have espoused a cultural vision that is as inscrutable as it is crowd-pleasing: Christmas, country music, Luciano Pavarotti, Cats. A mix of artists who support the president and performances he personally likes is certainly very Trumpian, but is this really what the president meant when he promised the center was “going to have some really good shows”? [...] Unlike the Kennedy Center, whose bipartisanship Washington chummily respected, the NEA has long been a target for conservatives, who have decried it as a waste of taxpayer money and a hotbed of immorality. But over the decades, the agency has withstood numerous attempts to defund it and scandals over the occasionally controversial art (see: Piss Christ) and consistently provided vital support to artists across the country. Many of those artists are alarmed over the latest attempt to police the agency.

Donald Trump’s campaign to Trumpify the arts and entertainment world, as seen with the Kennedy Center being MAGA-fied, is nothing short of an attack on anything not aligned with MAGA World.

[dontspillthefrijoles43]

Can I take care of you? (Drabble #2)

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Nothing major, just fluff and self care, haircare, Attempted use of he/they pronouns( writing practice)

(A/N: Thought of this after rush of finales week- 0 stars would not recommend exams. But just the thought of hair care, plus this semi alt canon/canon complaint with Leo character design, and boom this comes along.

Btw the pictures are all from pintrest, I edited the last one bc i don’t know how old it is and I want to respect op privacy. It is one of my references for Leo character design. I am inconsistent with a face claim.

Anyways, I'm still editing the new chapter before I post, hoping to get it out soon asp. Hope you all enjoy this small fic.)

Likes 💟, Reblogs🔁, and comments 💬 are very much appreciated

—

“Can I do your hair?” The question comes out of nowhere.

Leo paused mid-way through equations he had been scribbling, for the past hour. Maybe if Annabeth had considered a little bit of realistic psychics instead of complex design, but that’s beside the point.

He considers. Trying to understand. What’s wrong with his hair? Why is she asking? I mean it’s been a couple of days or two since they sat down and did a routine. 

“Umn…I dunno Cariño. I mean I just got this last equation. If I lose track I could…” They start, but can see her face shift. A mild annoyance. Is she mad at him? His lips thinned a bit. “I mean, I don't know if you want to get through all the frizz and tangles. Plus I have a bit of a tender scalp and all. And I know I’m not real good with sitting still—“

“Hey,” Breisa interrupts with a small breath, holding onto his swivel chair. Trying to break through his word stream. “I’m only asking if you want to. You don’t have to.” She’s holding his jaw, stroking his cheek gently with her thumbs.

“Ya se.” He smiles a bit. Still feeling a bit guilty. “I just…it’s so much time to spend on me. Plus working and all that. Do you really want to deal with me?”

She stops stroking his cheek, “Nada de eso.” She lets them meet her gaze. “You think too much about it. I’m not offering so I can deal with you. I’m offering because I want to.”

Breisa kissed his forehead, “Besides, Amorcito. I think you need a break.” She emphasized—looking at the stack of design sketches, blueprints scatter with equations, and trinkets half built with smudges of oil. 

Leo blinked owlishly. Looking at the mess on his desk. Then back at her.

He shrugged with a small sigh, “Meh. Why not?“

— 

“Cariño, tell me again. Why are there so many products?” Leo asked as she wrapped a towel around his neck. 

She scoffed out a playful laugh,“¿Has visto tus rizos?”She plucked a hanging strand from his forehead. “I’m gonna need prayer, coconut oil, and anything I can find to handle these.” 

Leo pouted, “It ain’t that bad.”

“How many times of day do you condition? Comb? And how do you deal with buildup?” She tested the water a bit to make sure it was warm. 

Their  silence was an answer. 

“Que pensé.” Breisa teased softly, taping his shoulder so he knew to lean his head back into the bathroom tub. “Good temperature?” 

Leo felt the warm water run through his scalp, his body still— debating whether or not it was sensory overload. It was not. “Good.” 

“Mind if I?” Breisa hovered her hands over his hair. 

Leo nodded, “Go ahead.”

She let her fingers sink in his curls. Using the hose, making sure to rinse out the first layer of buildup. 

He jolted a bit, the water giving him a tickling sensation. But his shoulders slowly eased down. 

She massaged his neck and shoulders. Seeing how he almost involuntarily closed his eyes, with a small quirk of his lips. 

She ringed out his hair after a while, scrunching out the heaviness of the moisture. Leaving his hair damp, she reached for the shampoos. 

“What are we feeling, guapo? Strong smell, herbal, or fruit?”

“Herbal.” Leo said quickly. Not at all needy from the lack of her touch. 

Breisa noticed, as always. “Okay.” She said snorting softly. She grabbed the old spice shampoo, making sure it was shampoo. 

Not cause of the countless times she mixed the conditioner with the shampoo, because the bottle looked the same. 

She uncapped, drizzled some in his hair, and began to massage from the base of his neck up. Gently tugging the deep tangles apart. Also trying to lather out enough of the second layer of buildup. 

As she focused on this. Leo was already lost by her movements. The small twitch became a dazed smile. His head tilted to follow the motion of her hands. Their body was completely laxed by her touch. 

He wasn’t even bouncing his leg, or fidgeting with the seat. Just completely in her care. A safe bubble.

As Breisa rinsed out his hair again, she rubbed his cheek affectionately. Lather his curls once more with herbal conditioner. Threading her fingers, while using a good brush to get the knots out. Repeat rinsing through his scalp. And squeezed out the excess water from the strands. 

“Do you have a particular style you want?” She sectioned their hair with the teeth of a comb and clips to separate his curls evenly. 

“Hmn?” They hummed, coming out of his buzz. Like Briesa washed out all the stress from their brain. He noticed her waiting for him to answer. “Oh, well…It’s kind of long huh?  Whaddya think, twists or braids? Maybe Coils? Natural?”

“I could if I had my trimmers.” Breisa considered. “It takes too long with the length. And I know you get angsty when your hair  is being tugged in different directions.”

“Only if you do it wrong, Cariño.” Leo drawled with a sly grin, almost cheeky. “I mean you’ve tugged before, those times  I didn’t really complain—“

“Ay ya!” Breisa swatted his shoulder with the comb,  burning with embarrassment. “I’ll do coils. Okay? Is that fair?” 

“Still gonna pull my hair?”

Another swat to their shoulder as they snorted. 

She then made sure each section was held up just right. Before she reached for leave in conditioner and cream.

With another hair tool she began to stylize his hair: combing it again, applied conditioner cream mix, twirled it into an even coil, and scrunched a section with a Cotton t-shirt. 

A repeated the process with each section. While managing to massage the back of his neck. Taking a small five minute break every now and then. Cracking her wrist from the process. Giving him extra kisses for being patient. 

 And admiring how his hair was coming along. It started to gain shape. Each scrunch added to the cloud of softness.

Finally she came up to the front section, facing him. Breisa could see the dopey grin across his face. Completely enamored with her. 

When she reached for the last few strands that crowned around his head like a halo. She felt his lips touch her wrist. 

“I’m not done you know,” Breisa muttered tenderly.

Leo kissed her wrist again, “M’know.” A few more pecks along her pulse. “Just giving you a pre-thank you.”

She kissed above his head for the hundredth time that day. Fixing the last strand. “Need me to defuse it?”

“No need.” Underneath her fingers his curls began to heat up. 

“Wait.” He stopped warming up like a furnace. 

She grabbed the coconut oil, rubbed it across her fingers and palms. Carefully and intentionally trying to cover as much of his scalp and roots. Just enough so it’s hydrated and healthy for his scalp. “Okay.”

Leo leaned against her shoulder and sighed dreamily as they warmed up. “Keep playing with m’ hair?” 

“Is that my thanks?” Breisa teased. 

He huffed, “You offered?”

She tugged on the tuff below the nape of his neck. “Bed?” 

Leo nodded against her shoulder, with a peck on her neck. 

Breisa giggled, picking him up, and leading him to the twin size comforter. 

She sank into the memory foam mattress, letting him rest his head on her soft middle. He was already a dead man, feeling content and pleasure beyond elysium, omeyocan, and any other version of heaven.

When Leo felt her palm splay on his neck and her fingers ruffled his curls to the fluffiest texture. He melted like butter….No worse… he melted with puppy love. The kind they never publicly embarrassed themselves with. That was only for her to see.

Thrummed with affection, he mumbled, “When I’m drowning in stress, you know how to press out all the frizz and wrinkles from my head.”

“You should let me take care of you more often.” Breisa murmured as he looked up at her. She shifted and met his lips with a tender embrace. 

Wordlessly Leo agreed, moving up to her shoulder. Dozing off without a care in the world, just lucky to be in her arms. As Breisa gently combed through his well done coils with her own eyes growing heavy with sleep.

—