#just a quick doodle of the three of them

[smiling-stel]

TWSB trio doodle (^^)!

U h- don't mind the names of my markers

The dark down marker is actually dark gray, its a liar

[brandnewwave]

cats and uh... close enough to a mouse i guess

[ghosty-schnibibit]

in honor of the halloween season, enjoy this rendering of me looking for one for one of the dogs in the main bedroom of the house i'm currently petsitting for and finding the masked dummy their eight y/o put on the nightstand that absolutely scared the shit out of me

[jobean12-blog]

In Your Arms

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: ~900

Summary: Bucky's been away on a mission and when he returns, you're all he wants.

Author's Note: There are NO spoilers here. Just was so happy to see Bucky and enjoyed Thunderbolts and his beefiness! Those arms...my god. 🫠🔥Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft sweetness, kisses, mentions of minor injuries

The silence in the room is broken only by the soft pitter patter of rain on the large window that overlooks the gray skies blanketing the city. Your book lays limp in your hand as you stare out through the mottled glass, Alpine curled in your lap, warm against your stomach.

You reach for your phone but stop yourself with a sigh. How many minutes could have passed since the last time you checked? Instead, you lift your book and open to your book-marked page, the note he left you sliding down onto Alpine’s fur. You brush your fingers over his scrawled handwriting, smiling at his little doodles and sweet words. Settling back into the couch you start to read again.

“If I didn’t need to kiss you so badly I’d stand here and stare at you forever.”

Your head shoots up and you turn toward the sound of his deep and raspy voice. He leans against the doorframe casually, still in full gear and looking deadly but for the soft smile that pulls at his lips.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The book is discarded in seconds and much to Alpine’s displeasure you hastily remove him from your lap, walking straight toward Bucky.

“Hi.”

“Hiya doll face,” he replies, wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you against him.

Your pulse skitters as you soak in every detail of him. Only one minor cut on his forehead and nothing else, but who knows what’s beneath his gear.

“You’re ok?”

“I am now.” His voice softens to the tone he only ever uses with you as he lowers his mouth.

He kisses you slowly and gently and you lean up to get closer, taking his stubbled cheeks between your palms. With more pressure from his lips, he slides his hand up your back, grabbing the nape of your neck and angling your face to claim more of your mouth. Your fingers slide higher and into his hair.

You feel his abs tense when you press yourself closer and you reluctantly pull back. He frowns, his eyes holding enough promise to make your entire body heat.

“Are you hurt?”

Your hands fall from his face, and you start to work open the buckles of his tack vest. He doesn’t stop you, keeping his hands settled firmly on your waist. You tug it open and rip his black shirt from his pants, lifting it until you can see his skin. There’s a large bruise just under his ribs and you dig your teeth into your bottom lip to stop your gasp, pressing your fingertips softly to the spot.

“Looks worse than it is,” he says softly.

You bend at the waist and kiss his stomach, feeling the muscles shift and flex. As you stand you grab the knife at this waist and pull it free, setting it behind him on the counter. Your hands slide behind his back, fingers curling around the hilt of a second knife that you remove and place down next to the first.

A slow, beautiful smile curves his mouth as he watches you. “Three more.”

Your fingers dance down his thighs, stopping at the hidden pocket on the left side. You carefully reach inside and pull out the third knife. Knowing there must be one in his boot you fall to your knees, your eyes lifting to meet his just in time to see them grow darker.

“I love you like this,” he murmurs.

You lift your shoulder demurely and pluck out the fourth knife in his right boot, sliding slowly back up his body.

“One more,” he whispers, running his knuckles along your cheek.

His gaze drops to your mouth, then skims over your features before his head dips and he brushes his lips to yours.

“No fair,” you whisper against them. “No distractions.”

He smiles but kisses you anyway. It’s soft and quick but still steals your breath.

You recover enough to slip your hands inside his tack vest, feeling around for the handle of the last knife. His own hands begin to wander, one cool and smooth, and the other grazing over your skin in a way that you can feel every callous he’s built from mastering the very blades you’re removing. You shiver in his arms but continue your search, a triumphant smile pulling your lips upward when you find the hidden spot near his ribs where his last knife is safely tucked away.

With practiced deftness you pull it free and set it down with the others then push his vest from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Your lips part to tell him exactly what you want to remove next, but his mouth is on yours before a word gets out.

A gasp catches in your throat at the heat of his skin radiating through the fabric of his clothing and then again when he deepens the kiss, like doing it is more vital than his next breath. Your hands slide over his biceps, fingernails digging into the bulging muscles as his lips slip down your throat, and he whispers, “fuck, I’ve missed the taste of you…the feel of you in my arms.”

[bywons]

ꔫ GO AHEAD AND CRY, LITTLE GIRL ( enhypen )

⌕ where you cry in their arms

pairing. bf!enhypen x f!reader w.c. 1.05k tw/cw. none really genre. fluff sru's note. requested! help i don't think i did a good job with this one ( CATALOGUE?! )

¤ feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated, PLS REBLOG if u like the fic !

LEE HEESEUNG can feel his heart breaking at the sight, his one and only love, his pretty girl sobbing into her hands in front of him, the cause still unknown. but he doesn't waste any time and pulls you into his embrace, your soft plump cheeks strained with tears pressed to his broad and snug chest, salty tears dampening his beige sweatshirt but that's the last thing that he cares about right now. he shushes you, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other softly stroking your back, in the utmost hope that you'll eventually stop crying. cause every tear that spills out of those pretty eyes of yours, it hammers lee heeseung's heart. would press soft kisses on top of your head until you calm down, along with his hug around you closing in tighter. when you calm down, he'll wipe away all the tears and make you a comforting hot bowl of ramen <3

PARK JONGSEONG drops whatever task he's doing, no matter how trivial or significant, and rushes to you the second he hears something as slight as a sniffle from you. and even when he's not close enough to be seen or called for, jay is one call away. has the biggest “and i crumble completely when you cry” energy. literally pulls you into his lap the second he sees the smallest drop of tears on your face. rocks both your bodies back and forth while whispering sweet nothings into your ear, his hand simultaneously working and massaging your scalp. he literally doesn't even stop for a second until your sobs have completely died down, and even then he rocks you both back and forth while whispering about your problems, while you rest in his lap with your hands and cheeks pressed against his warm chest. jay still doesn't return to his aborted work and don't you dare ask him about it, cause you're way more important.

SIM JAEYUN puts on the saddest face with the biggest pout, literally becoming a puppy face. caresses your face and cradles it between his hands, eventually wrapping his arms around your waist. gets so worried when he sees you sobbing, at one point he gets insecure of being a bad boyfriend, always thinks he did something wrong. jake would press soft feathery kisses all over your face and right when you give the smallest upward twitch of lips, he'll literally attack you with tickles! jake just wants to hear you laugh and wants joy to stick to you forever. brings layla to you too <//3 so that all three of you can cuddle together while he just rambles random things to your now sleeping figure.

PARK SUNGHOON takes a bit of time to process the scene in front of him when you break into sobs, don't get him wrong but he's just disheartened at the sight of your tear stricken cheeks and red puffy eyes. if he's still foreign to it, it would take him some time to approach you in your sobbing fit but if not he's quick to act. but eventually picks you up and makes you sit in front of him at the edge of the bed. if you don't want to talk it out then he'll pull you closer until your heads’ on his shoulders, his hands creeping up beneath your shirt to draw random doodles on your back while you calm down in his embrace <3 sunghoon definitely kisses your cheeks a lot, until you're giggling from his kisses, and then and only then is he relieved. makes sure to ask what was wrong after.

KIM SEONWOO almost cries along with you, the soft and choked sounds of your sobs and your salty damp cheeks overwhelms him. immediately wraps you in his embrace, practically burying you in it. with glossy eyes, he tries to shush you up with an accompanied series of kisses to your cheeks, forehead and lips. when you're crying away in his arms, he'll play with your hair, braiding them only to untangle them and braid them again. gives you all the comfort in the world; he even brings your favourite plushies— that he won for you at the arcade— to you and wraps you in the warm, thick duvet. he giggles at the cute scenario in front of him, before tackling you in his arms and bombarding your face with soft kisses. definitely eats mint choco with you later.

YANG JUNGWON being the reserved and calm man(leader too) he is, he would hand you a glass of water immediately when he sees streams of tears flow down your cheeks. doesn't waste a second after that, wiping away your tears from your cheeks and pulling you into his embrace, stroking your back in a soft rhythm which makes your eyes flutter close. the smell of his cologne is mellow, which drives your nerves slowly and calms you down in his embrace. jungwon hugs you tighter and presses occasional kisses to your shoulders and forehead, just to let you know he's still here, all ears to listen to whatever's wrong. lays down with you, his head resting still upon his chest, listening to the soft thumps of his heartbeat through his grey sweatshirt while he asks you what's wrong. his caresses don't stop even for a second while he lays with you, listening to your heart.

NISHIKURA RIKI ‘s heart melts when you break down like that, #2 at the “and I crumble completely when you cry” energy, don't ask me why. but our boys’ not nervous at all! he loves his girlfriend dearly and always has a trick up his sleeve whenever the smallest inconvenience comes across. rushes to you and hugs you so tight that at one point you swore you couldn't breathe. that is when riki thankfully lets you off his grip and pulls you closer, until your back is pressed to his chest. now it's time for nishimura riki to pull his trick out! girlfriend 101: when y/n's crying, show her cute cat videos. your have died down soon enough after riki holds his phone before your eyes, a random cat compilation video playing. he doesn't forget his cuddles though, literally becomes plush to you while you both stream cat videos that whole day.

© bywons, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

(📌) :: TAGLIST IS OPEN! @euncsace @fleumiu @leaderwon @dimplewonie @yrhome @heartswonn @jwonistic @aaa-sia @ashtxrie @kgneptun @lilacnini nets! @/k-labels

[absdollievu]

Come Stay Awhile

Olderrich!abby x babysitter!reader

Warnings: abby is in her early 30’s, reader in in her late 20’s

The rain had started just as you turned up the long, winding driveway, the heavy drops tapping against your windshield as you squinted through the gathering gray. You’d seen pictures of the house online — it was part of the job offer — but pictures hadn’t done it justice.

It wasn’t just a house. It was a mansion.

Wide, tall, and built in clean modern lines, with sharp stone paths cutting through immaculately trimmed gardens. You swallowed hard and parked by the front steps, nerves chewing at your stomach.

You were just the babysitter. Nothing more.

Right?

The door swung open before you could even knock.

There she was — Abby Anderson herself.

Early 30s, taller than you remembered from the interview, broad shoulders filling the doorway like a wall you wouldn’t mind running into. She wore a loose black sweatshirt and joggers, her hair pulled into a low bun, a pen tucked behind her ear like she’d been signing important papers and forgot about it.

“Hey,” she said simply, voice low and casual, but her eyes were sharp. “You found it.”

You managed a smile, feeling a little like a lost cat she was about to shoo off her porch.

“Yeah. Thanks for…uh, hiring me.”

She stepped aside and gestured you in with a quick flick of her hand. “Come on. You’ll get soaked.”

The entrance smelled like lemon cleaner and new wood. Everything gleamed: dark floors, wide staircases, tall glass windows.

You stood there dripping water onto an expensive rug and feeling about two inches tall.

Abby shut the door behind you and tilted her head slightly. “You bring your stuff?”

You nodded and jerked a thumb toward your beat-up car. “Yeah. It’s, uh, not much.”

“Good.” She grabbed a set of keys from the little table by the door and tossed them to you.

You almost dropped them.

“I’ll show you where you’re staying,” Abby said, like it was no big deal.

Like you weren’t about to live inside her literal palace.

⸻

The guest house was somehow even nicer than any apartment you’d ever lived in.

It was detached from the main building, had its own kitchen, a little patio, even a washer and dryer. Abby helped you carry your stuff inside — three trips, even though you insisted she didn’t have to.

The whole time, you tried not to stare.

At the way her forearms flexed when she lifted.

At the little frown she got when she was concentrating. At how young she really looked when she wasn’t all buttoned-up in work clothes.

By the time you finished unloading, your nerves had cooled a little. Abby leaned against the doorframe with a bottle of water in her hand, surveying your sad little pile of belongings.

“You’ll fit in,” she said with a smirk.

You laughed, grateful she didn’t seem to mind how out of place you were.

⸻

Weeks passed.

You fell into a rhythm: school drop-offs, play dates, dinner prep.

Her kid was easy — smart, funny, quick to latch onto you like you were the coolest person alive. Abby kept her distance at first, always polite but busy. Always somewhere else.

But sometimes, you caught her watching.

At breakfast, when you made her daughter laugh so hard milk came out her nose.

At bedtime, when you sang low to get her kid to sleep.

At the kitchen table, when you doodled silly comics on homework papers.

Those moments were fleeting. Always broken by a phone call, a meeting, a door shutting upstairs.

Until that one night.

⸻

It had been a long day.

Soccer practice. Science fair projects. Grocery runs.

You were dead on your feet, tying your shoes by the door, about to head back to the guesthouse.

“You want a drink?” Abby’s voice came from behind you.

You froze — laces half-tied, one foot still raised.

Slowly, you turned.

She was leaning against the kitchen island, holding two glasses — whiskey already poured.

Her hair was down for once, messy from running her hands through it. Her sweatshirt sleeves were pushed up, veins standing out against her forearms.

She looked… normal. Soft. Tired in a way that made your chest ache.

You hesitated. You weren’t sure why.

It was just a drink.

Right?

Your heart thudded. You smiled, small and unsure but real.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love one.”

Abby’s mouth twitched like she wanted to smile too — but didn’t let herself.

You crossed the kitchen and took the glass from her, fingertips brushing hers for half a second longer than necessary. Neither of you pulled away first.

It was quiet.

The house hummed around you.

The storm still whispered against the windows.

For the first time since you arrived, you realized you weren’t scared of Abby anymore.

Not even a little.

You were scared of yourself — of how easy it was becoming to want her.

And across the countertop, Abby was realizing it too.

The way her throat bobbed when she swallowed.

The way her gaze kept dropping to your mouth when you talked about nothing and everything over the next few hours.

The way she leaned in when you laughed, like she couldn’t help it.

Something shifted that night — quiet, seismic, undeniable.

Neither of you said anything.

But when you said goodnight, Abby’s hand lingered on the edge of your sleeve, as if she almost reached for you.

She didn’t.

Not yet.

⸻

From that night on, everything between you and Abby changed.

Slowly.

Steadily.

Sweetly.

And maybe — if you were both brave enough — it wouldn’t stop.

⸻

After that night, Abby didn’t start showing up at your door with flowers or make grand gestures.

No — it was quieter than that.

It was the way she lingered at the doorway after you put her daughter to bed, sitting at the kitchen island while you finished cleaning up.

It was the way she started asking about your day — not the polite “how was it” of a boss, but the genuine curiosity of someone who wanted to know you.

It was the way she smiled now — small, almost shy, not the tight professional one she used to give.

The slowest burn you’d ever lived through.

And you?

You started finding reasons to stay a little longer after your shifts.

You laughed at her dry jokes until your insides hurt.

You kept catching yourself looking at her — at the crinkle of her eyes when she laughed, the way she always absentmindedly cracked her knuckles when she was thinking.

You were screwed. Completely, irrevocably screwed.

⸻

It was almost two months later, on another rainy night, that it all came to a head.

You were curled up on the couch in Abby’s massive living room — her daughter already fast asleep upstairs — flipping through some mindless movie on TV. Abby wandered in, holding two beers.

“You look dead,” she said with a small smirk, dropping onto the other end of the couch.

“Feel dead,” you mumbled, gratefully accepting the beer.

You sat there in silence for a while, the muted light of the TV flickering across the room.

You could feel her across the couch — the warmth of her body, the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

Half an hour passed.

Maybe more.

You didn’t know anymore, the beer softening the edges of the world.

At some point — you didn’t even realize when — you shifted sideways, curling your knees up and resting your head against the back of the couch. Facing her. Watching her.

She was already looking at you.

Something pulled taut between you.

Tight. Breathless. Dangerous.

Abby set her beer down with a quiet clink.

Her hand flexed against her thigh like she was fighting herself.

And then — her voice, low and rough:

“You’re good with her.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Your daughter?”

Abby gave the smallest nod.

“You’re good…with me too.”

Your heart stopped.

Dead quiet.

You opened your mouth, searching for something to say, but Abby was already moving — slow, careful, deliberate.

She shifted closer.

Not much — just a few inches.

“You make this place feel like home,” she said, voice raw.

Your chest ached so hard it hurt.

Without thinking — without giving yourself time to doubt — you closed the distance.

Leaning in.

You stopped a breath away, giving her a chance to pull back.

She didn’t.

Instead, Abby’s hand came up — rough fingers curling behind your neck — and she kissed you.

⸻

It wasn’t a soft kiss.

It wasn’t sweet.

It was starving.

Years of loneliness and longing crashing all at once.

A kiss that said I didn’t think I’d ever have this.

A kiss that said I’m scared to want you but I do anyway.

You gasped against her mouth, and she swallowed it hungrily, her other hand gripping your hip like she was terrified you’d slip away.

You didn’t.

You stayed.

Pressed closer.

Kissed her back like you’d been waiting for this exact moment since the second you stepped onto her front porch.

⸻

Later, much later, you lay tangled together on the couch.

Her sweatshirt smelled like clean laundry and rain.

Her fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along your spine.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

You didn’t need to.

Because sometimes, when something breaks open inside you — something heavy and beautiful — you don’t rush to fill the silence.

You let it bloom.

And lying there against her chest, you knew:

this was just the beginning.

⸻

[latenighttalkinqwp]

hey girl! could u do a fic of compilations of reader and Paige being the cutest couple on the court or off the court

maybe even both?👀

love ya💕

americas favorite couple : a thread

1. warm-up welcome

before every game, you and paige have a pre-game ritual — she always finds her in the stands, gives a quick wink, and mouths, “let’s get it.” it’s subtle, but it’s your thing, and it never fails to get paige locked in.

2. you being her personal hype woman

no one hypes paige up like you. whether it’s a no-look pass or a step-back three, youre the first one jumping up, screaming, and filming the replay like a proud mom and a cheerleader rolled into one. very much draft paige vibes!!

3. “he just comes runnin over to me”

after every game, win or loss, paige sprints over, wraps you up in a sweaty hug, and plants the softest kiss on your cheek. it's always wholesome, never over the top — just the perfect, real-life sports movie moment. the tiktok edits are always top tier

4. matching moments

you guys definitely got matching customized sneakers with little doodles only they understand — a tiny heart here, initials there, maybe a date inked in. very subtle, but you can tell there's a whole love story within the shoe. people beg for them to be released 24/7

5. makeshift date nights

while other couples do dinner and movies, you and paige are in the gym. you get rebounds for her, and critique her form ( even if you have no clue what you’re talking about ) . you guys play 1v1, trash talk, and fall for each other all over again .

6. lazy days

off the court? you guys will be in oversized hoodies, making silly tiktoks, dancing terribly (but together), and giggling at random animal videos. you definitely cook dinner for each other, and cozy up on the couch and binge netflix

7. good luck notes for away games

every now and then, paige finds a folded note in her shoe before an away game you couldn’t make it to— which usually says something like “God’s got you, and i’m cheering you on from the couch!” she doesn’t say anything, but her smile walking on the court lets you know that she found it.

8. not so secret clothes swap

you always manage to wear her warmup hoodie like it’s designer, geno eventually gave up on trying to ask paige where hers was. in return, paige somehow ends up in your hoodie post-game, smelling like ariana grande compared to her usual cologne.

9. post game interviews

in the post game conference, paige will somehow always find a way to bring up ‘her girl’ and make it known how much she is thankful for you ( while looking dead at you )

10. “i want a relationship like this”

whether it’s holding hands walking out of the arena, supporting each other through injuries, or just being each other’s safe space after a tough loss, you and paige prove that the best kind of love is the kind that shows up — on the court, off the court, and always.

- thank you so much for reading all the way through! click here to see my masterlist

- this was SO fun to write ( im so sorry this request took me ages anon, im terrible at remembering to write 😭 ) i loved this so much, keep the reqs coming !

[bombiikki]

𝖇aller ⸝⸝ 𓂃₊ ⊹

⋆˙⟡ — non idol!haerin x fem!reader

♯ 𝖘ynopsis : you weren’t really interested in basketball, even though your best friend was the star player. but, you got dragged to one game and now you’ve somehow ended up stuck between a sketchbook and a shy basketball player who doesn’t know how to flirt back.

𝖈ontains : just a whole lotta fluff, baller!haerin, artsy!reader, minji the matchmaker, also minji being a real flirtatious friend, jealous haerin(?), shes js confused, idk she also js doesnt want to homewreck, except it was js all a misunderstanding

𝖜ord 𝖈ount : 6.9k

𝖆uthor's 𝖓ote : this is js a short lil fluff one shot as an apology for that angst spidey!r fic 😓😓and also cuz the idea has been in the corner of my mind for like a while now! i was gonna draw haerin for this fic too but then i forgot im rlly ass cheeks at realism and also traditional art...... this is like also js a quick midnight whip up so ya FIRE

the buzzer screamed like something feral, sharp and electric in your ears.

you flinched—only a little—clutching your sketchbook tighter against your ribs as a blur of jerseys exploded onto the court. sneakers squeaked in wild rhythm, like they were trying to beatbox, like they had something urgent to say and no time to say it. the ball bounced sharp and fast, like a second heartbeat you could feel in your teeth.

you didn’t know the rules. couldn’t name a single play. but still—you liked the chaos. liked the movement, the noise, the electricity of it all. it was loud, sure, but it was alive.

and there was minji, right in the center of it, grinning like she had the whole damn game wrapped around her finger.

you snorted. of course she was thriving.

her ponytail cracked behind her like a whip as she darted past someone twice her size and made a shot that sent the crowd into an explosion of cheers. she turned as she jogged back, pointed directly at you, and winked.

show-off.

“you better cheer for me,” she had told you earlier, arm slung lazily over your shoulder. “i’ll be watching.”

“why would i cheer for you?” you’d asked with a smirk. “you’re not even my favorite player.”

her jaw had dropped. “rude. disrespectful. hurtful.”

“and yet,” you’d said, flipping a pencil behind your ear, “you’ll still buy me a slushie after you win.”

“...i hate how well you know me.”

you didn’t care much about the sport. that hadn’t changed. but you came because minji asked, and because she was your friend—your irritating, dramatic, endlessly flirty best friend who you matched beat for beat. your banter was practically its own sport.

you found a seat near the back of the bleachers, where the noise felt like it was buzzing just beneath your skin. people shouted and whooped around you, but you weren’t watching them.

you cracked open your sketchbook, flipping past familiar doodles and half-finished pieces. maybe you’d draw the ceiling. maybe some rando in the front row. maybe you’d just watch minji and roast her later.

and then—you saw her.

number fifteen.

you didn’t know her name, but it didn’t matter. she was the kind of girl you noticed right away. not because she wanted you to—she didn’t strut or smile or perform for the crowd. no, she moved like she didn’t care who was watching. like her thoughts were three steps ahead of everyone else on the court.

she wasn’t flashy, not like minji. she didn’t smile much. didn’t even talk, from what you could tell. she moved with this sharp, quiet precision that made you lean forward, made your fingers twitch toward your pencil.

she was... cool. not the curated, instagram kind. the accidental kind. the kind that just was.

smoke, you thought. that’s what she was. not fire like minji—smoke. calm and clever and a little bit dangerous.

you stared. and then you started sketching.

your pencil moved fast, carving out the slope of her shoulders, the line of her arms as she jumped. you caught the way her hair slipped loose from her ponytail, how it curled damp against her forehead. you sketched the look on her face—concentrated, unreadable.

god. she didn’t even know she was captivating. that was the worst part.

you leaned back a little, tapping your pencil to your lip, grinning to yourself.

minji made another shot and pointed at you again, her grin bright and smug.

you pointed your pencil back at her, raised your brows, and mouthed, “mid.”

she gasped like she’d been physically wounded and nearly tripped over her own feet trying to yell at you.

you laughed, turned the page slightly, and went right back to sketching number fifteen.

you drew her over and over—her reaching, her landing, her turning with barely-there glances. you didn’t even know what position she played. you just knew she made the court look like a stage.

and you liked her better than the game.

by the time the final buzzer rang, your sketch was nearly done. rough, fast, but good. and it felt like her. sharp edges. soft shadows. something untouchable, but real. something that made you feel like you knew her a little—even though you didn’t.

not yet.

the team huddled together on the court, shouting and laughing and slapping each other’s backs. minji blew you a kiss. you caught it with exaggerated flair and stuck your tongue out.

she motioned for you to come down.

you hesitated—just long enough to glance at the sketch in your lap. then you stood.

sketchbook in hand, smirk on your face.

you didn’t just walk toward the court.

you stalked toward something you already knew you wanted to claim.

you made your way down the bleachers with easy steps, sketchbook hugged to your chest like it was carrying something holy. the crowd buzzed around you, warm with leftover excitement, the court still echoing with stomps and laughter.

minji spotted you the second your foot hit the gym floor. her smile stretched wide—too wide, like she was planning something.

“look who came running down to see me,” she purred, pressing her cheek dramatically against yours. “can’t stay away, huh?”

you rolled your eyes but leaned into it, your smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “you’re literally sweating all over me.”

“aw, i knew you liked it.”

you snorted, elbowed her gently in the ribs. “down, casanova.”

from across the court, number fifteen was watching. not openly. not obviously. but her gaze flicked toward you and lingered. just for a moment. long enough to notice how close you and minji were standing. long enough for her to blink and look away like she hadn’t been staring at all.

your eyes followed her as she leaned down to grab a water bottle, her movements quiet and neat. she didn’t speak to anyone. just sat, elbows on her knees, eyes on the floor.

“hey,” you murmured, still watching. “what’s number fifteen’s name?”

minji raised a brow. “asking for a friend?”

“sure,” you said dryly, “a very attractive, extremely talented, devilishly charming friend.”

she cackled, loud and wicked, tightening her arm around your shoulders. “you’ve got a little crush, huh?”

you tilted your head, smirking. “you jealous?”

her mouth dropped open. “you—no! i mean—wait, why does that actually hurt a little—”

“you flirt with everyone, min. it’s bound to catch up to you eventually.”

“okay, rude.”

you both laughed, easy and unbothered, wrapped in the kind of closeness that came from years of teasing each other into the dirt and calling it love.

minji finally nodded toward haerin. “her name’s haerin. she’s kinda... judging-cat energy.”

“judging-cat energy,” you repeated. “you’re just saying that because she hasn’t smiled at you.”

“no, seriously. she’s super quiet. barely talks. always has this blank little face like she’s judging everyone. but once she gets used to you...” she trailed off, thoughtful. “she’s actually really nice. in a weird, ‘i’ll sit beside you in complete silence and somehow it’s comforting’ kind of way.”

you looked back at haerin.

yeah. that sounded about right.

“she’s not anything like me,” minji quickly addded

“thank god.”

“hey!”

you grinned.

“want me to play matchmaker?” she offered, nudging you gently. “i could go full cupid. set the scene. light a candle. fake a sprained ankle, make her carry you to the nurse’s office.”

“no, don’t worry about it min,” you said, slowly. “i got this.”

she blinked. “oh?”

“i mean, come on.” you wiggled your brows. “look at me.”

“unfortunately.”

you stuck your tongue out at her and pulled away, your sketchbook tucked under your arm. your fingers were buzzing. not from nerves, exactly—more like anticipation. you weren’t the type to hold back when something felt right. and haerin, quiet and unbothered and ridiculously beautiful in the way an overcast sky is beautiful, felt like something worth chasing.

you stopped in front of her, just a few feet away. she looked up, eyes slow and steady, sweat-damp hair clinging to her temple.

“hey,” you said, voice light but sure.

haerin blinked. “…hi.”

“you were really good out there,” you said, nodding toward the court. “you play like it’s easy.”

a pause.

she tilted her head like she hadn’t quite heard you right. she sort of looked like a cat hearing a strange sound. her brows drew together just the tiniest bit. she pointed to herself with a questioning glance. 

“…me?”

you bit back a smile. “well, yes. you.”

her ears went a little red. it was cute.

and then you opened your sketchbook and turned it around so she could see.

haerin stared.

her eyes flicked over the page—over herself, sketched in movement, caught mid-jump, mid-breath, mid-magic. your pencil had caught the furrow in her brow, the way her fingers curved, the exact way her ponytail swayed behind her. it was rough. rushed. but it was her.

“you—” she said, and then stopped.

you raised a brow. “what? don’t like it?”

“no!” her voice pitched higher than she meant it to, and she winced. “i mean. yes. i mean—” she coughed. and then—very softly, very awkwardly—she said, “you… did this? for me?”

“yes, for you,” you said, like it was obvious. because it was.

she looked down again, blinking rapidly. her ears were pink. her entire posture had shifted—smaller now, somehow, like she didn’t know what to do with her limbs. she rubbed the back of her neck. tried and failed to speak again. finally settled on—

“…cool.”

you laughed, flipping the sketchbook back around. “you’re terrible at flirting.”

she looked personally offended. “i wasn’t flirting.”

“exactly.”

she opened her mouth, then closed it again, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts.

you scribbled something quickly on the bottom corner of the page, tore the drawing from your sketchbook, and held it out to her.

“here,” you said. “keep it.”

she reached out like she thought it might vanish if she moved too fast. her fingers brushed yours. they were warm and a little shaky.

before she could say anything else—before her brain could short-circuit—you were already walking away, your grin hidden beneath the swing of your hair.

haerin looked down at the drawing again.

and there, scribbled in your quick, looping handwriting at the bottom corner:

text me sometime. xxx-xxx-xxxx.

her fingers curled around the paper, her heart stumbling somewhere stupid in her chest.

haerin hadn’t let go of the drawing all night.

she took it home carefully, like it might crumble if the wind touched it wrong. she didn’t fold it. didn’t dare roll it. she held it flat against her chest on the bus ride home, fingers curled tight around the paper’s edges, heart thudding like a loose drum in a quiet room.

it wasn’t just good. it wasn’t just flattering.

it was… seen.

the kind of seen that made her throat close up a little, like maybe someone had figured her out. the way you sketched her—quiet but alert, all elbows and sharp turns, the way she melted into the game without saying a word—it felt like you knew. like you’d been watching with something other than your eyes.

and there, at the bottom, your number.

she stared at it like it was a dare.

that night, after everyone else in her house had gone to sleep, haerin lay on her stomach with the drawing beside her and her phone in her hand. her room was dark but soft, a tiny lamp glowing in the corner. 

she opened her contacts. stared at the empty “name” field.

she hesitated. then typed: 

art girl

and below it, your number—just sitting there, glowing softly in her dark room.

her thumbs hovered over the keyboard. she typed:

hi. it’s haerin :)

then deleted it. then typed it again. then stared at it like it might bite.

she didn’t want to send it. not yet. not until she was sure.

she thought about your smile. the way you looked at her when you said, you’re really pretty and play well. the sketch. the soft curve of your laugh. and then—

then she thought about minji.

she thought of you laughing with minji. that casual, familiar way you leaned into her. the playful smirk she gave you. the hand around your waist. the banter that felt easy and built on something old.

haerin’s stomach twisted.

she couldn’t do that. couldn’t throw herself between something that looked like love—even if it wasn’t love. 

minji was her friend. one of the few who understood the rhythm of basketball, who stuck around even when haerin didn’t talk much. minji had defended her in practice when someone called her a ghost. had looped an arm around her once and said, you don’t gotta talk. just ball.

haerin would never try to mess with that. not even for you.

so she deleted the text. shoved her phone under her pillow and closed her eyes like that would quiet her heart.

the next game came faster than she expected.

you were there. you were always there now, like something warm and steady. sketchbook balanced on your knees, pencil dancing in your fingers. she caught sight of you once—only once—but it sent her pulse into overdrive.

so she didn’t look again. didn’t wave. didn’t smile.

not until she could be sure. not until she could ask.

and after the game, when you lingered by the edge of the court, eyes scanning the sea of jerseys, she slipped past the benches and vanished into the locker room like a ghost.

but minji? minji was already watching.

she found haerin five minutes later, crouched by the water fountain like she might disappear into the floor tiles if she stayed still enough.

“okay,” minji said, voice light but dangerous. “what was that?”

haerin blinked at her. “what?”

“don’t play dumb with me. y/n was waiting. you saw her. you did that little pretend-you-didn’t-see-anything shuffle you always do when you panic.”

haerin frowned. “i didn’t panic.”

“right,” minji said, leaning against the wall like she had all day. “and i’m not devastatingly hot.”

“you’re not,” haerin mumbled.

minji gasped. “how dare you. slander.”

haerin cracked a small smile but looked away.

minji narrowed her eyes. “seriously though, what’s up with you? you’ve been all squirrelly since last game.”

haerin stiffened. “no i haven’t.” 

“...okay,” minji said, folding her arms. “then why’d you run off after the game? y/n was looking for you.” 

haerin blinked. looked away. 

minji tilted her head. “wait—are you ignoring her?” 

“i’m not ignoring her,” haerin said quickly. “i just—i thought you two were… y’know. together.” a pause.

minji stared at her. blinked. then burst out laughing—loud and delighted, like this was the funniest thing she’d heard all week.

“oh my god,” she wheezed. “me? and y/n?”

haerin looked down. “…you’re close.”

“we’re always like that, because she’s my best friend. we flirt for fun. it's a bit—a hobby. it’s called performance art.”

haerin’s face was burning. “i just thought…”

“you really thought i’d keep flirting with other girls if we were dating?” minji made a dramatic face. “y/n would murder me. no trial. straight to jail.”

haerin tried to look casual, failed spectacularly. “…i wasn’t sure.”

“you thought i was gonna be like, ‘hey haerin, nice drawing you got from my girlfriend’?” minji said, nearly doubled over from laughing. “god, you’re so tragic.”

haerin rubbed the back of her neck, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor like it held the secrets of the universe. “i just didn’t want to mess anything up.”

“haerin,” minji said, gently this time. she nudged her shoulder. “you’re not messing anything up. if anything, you’ve been ghosting someone who clearly likes you. that’s the real crime.”

haerin winced. “i didn’t mean to ghost. i just… panicked.”

minji hummed. “you panic a lot, huh?”

“only when people draw me like i’m something worth looking at.”

that made minji pause. her teasing softened into something warmer.

“well, maybe she sees something you don’t.”

haerin shrugged. “she doesn’t even know me.”

“okay, but she saw you on the court and drew you like it mattered. you know how rare that is? that’s not ‘just flirting.’ that’s something.”

haerin didn’t respond. her heart was pounding too loud. she thought about how carefully you’d held your sketchbook, how your eyes tracked every movement like you were learning a new language.

“to think y/n could pull,” minji said, grinning widely. “this is really adorable. were you jealous of me?��

“no,” haerin muttered. “just… confused.”

“well, it’s time to get un-confused,” minji said, clapping her on the shoulder. 

and then haerin said, very quietly, “well, i saved her number.”

“oh?” minji perked up like a cat catching movement. “what’s she saved as?”

haerin mumbled it into her hoodie.

“what was that?” minji leaned in, grinning like the gremlin she was. “say it louder, rinnie.”

“…art girl,” haerin muttered, ears bright red.

minji made a loud, delighted noise. “you’re so done for. this is perfect.”

haerin let out a little laugh, half shy and half suffering. “i’m not good at this.”

“you don’t have to be,” minji said. “she likes bold, yeah, but she also likes sincere. just be awkward and real. it’s cute.”

haerin side-eyed her. “you sure?”

“haerin,” minji said, deadpan. “she gave you her number. me, she gave an eye-roll and a sarcastic thumbs up. trust me, you’re winning.”

haerin thought about the way your fingers danced when you talked. the way you’d looked at her, not just like she was interesting—but like you already knew the shape of her. like you’d memorised it.

“…okay,” she said, voice small but firm. “okay. maybe i’ll text her.”

minji beamed. “that’s the spirit.”

haerin glanced down at her phone again, thumb hovering just above your contact. the name still read art girl, and she smiled despite herself.

she didn’t text you that night.

but the drawing was still taped up on her mirror, right where the sunrise would hit it. and this time, she didn’t look away.

three days had passed. no text. no “thank you.” no “hi.” not even a single emoji.

you told yourself it was fine. 

people get drawings all the time. people forget. people get busy.

maybe she’d lost your number. maybe her phone was broken. maybe—god—for all you knew, she was on a secret government mission and couldn’t risk communication. you laughed at that one, but it came out hollow.

but you were trying hard not to lose it.

your sketchbook stayed open on your desk. the page you’d drawn her on was long gone, but your fingers kept tracing shapes that looked like her. cat eyes. soft hair. shoulders that curved inward like she was always listening to something the world couldn’t hear.

maybe she hated it. maybe she laughed. maybe she threw it away the moment you walked off.

you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter.

but it did.

your phone sat beside you, screen off, but it felt loud in the silence.

you tried to read. tried to draw. tried to nap. nothing stuck.

finally, with a dramatic sigh, you threw yourself down next to minji on the floor of her room and groaned into her pillow.

“what now,” she said, not even looking up from her phone.

you rolled over, face smushed. “she hasn’t texted me.”

minji paused. looked down at you. then dropped her phone and flopped backwards like someone had shot her in the chest. “oh my god. again with this.”

“i’m being ghosted, minji.”

“you are not being ghosted,” she said, eyes closed. "well, not really.”

“she’s shy, okay?” she continued. “she probably stared at your number for an hour and panicked.”

“she didn’t have to panic,” you muttered, flopping beside her. “i literally handed her a compliment on paper.”

minji peeked one eye open. “...you’re spiraling, huh?”

“a little,” you mumbled. “maybe a lot.”

“dude,” minji said, patting your arm like you were on your deathbed, “haerin thought you and i were dating. she’s emotionally constipated. give her a sec.”

you blinked. “wait. she thought we were—”

“yes,” minji said, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “apparently i’m so charming that our friendship reads as romantic. tragic, really.”

you snorted. “we do flirt a lot.”

“we flirt like siblings,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “which makes her confusion even funnier.”

you didn’t answer, just stared up at the ceiling.

minji sat up, grabbing her phone again. “she likes you, you know.”

you sighed. “how do you know?”

“because she saved you in her contacts as art girl.”

you turned to look at her in utter disbelief. “what?”

“oops,” minji grinned. “was i not supposed to tell you that?”

before you could respond, your phone buzzed beside you.

your heart stopped.

you stared at the screen like it might disappear if you breathed too hard.

unknown numberhey it’s haerin i liked the drawing and the compliment

you sat straight up, heart punching your ribs from the inside.

you reread the message five times. and then again. it was short. simple. but somehow, it made your chest feel like it had bloomed.

minji peeked at your face. “...did she finally text?”

you nodded slowly.

minji threw a hand in the air like she’d won the lottery. “hallelujah.”

and that’s how it started.

just some quiet messages on a thursday night.

art girl ure welcome! i meant everything i said btw u played really well last game too. haerin thank you i was nervous i didn’t see you after the game. art girl yeah…. cuz u disappeared. haerin oh. yeah.. i panicked.

you both laughed about it—digitally, awkward little “lol”s that somehow felt real.

and then the days kept moving, but slower now. gentler.

the texts trickled in like rain on windowpanes.

you talked in the quiet hours, when everything felt softer and words came easier. she once asked if you always sketched during games. you told her you only drew what caught your eye.

she didn’t say anything to that for a few minutes. and then—

haerin oh. thank you.

you started sending her your drawings. not just of her, but little things too—crumpled shoes, soft sunsets, a half-drawn cat in a box.

she sent back songs. calming piano pieces, sleepy vocals. sometimes she sent blurry photos of her actual cat, who always looked like he hated her.

haerin he loves me he just doesn’t know how to show it art girl relatable

one night, just past midnight, she sent a picture of your sketch. taped neatly to the corner of a mirror, edges curling just a little.

haerin i put the drawing on my wallit catches the morning light

you didn’t know what to say to that so you sent a little heart. just one.

and she sent one back.

neither of you said it. not out loud. not yet. but it was there—in the way she asked how your day went, in the way you sent a picture of your chipped pencil and said it was her fault.

art girl breaking pencils over you smh haerin sorry :( should i buy you new ones? art girl only if u walk into the art store like “which pencil says i like a girl but i’m also painfully awkward” haerin oh… i think that one might be sold out

you smiled into your pillow. everything about her made you feel like you were drawing in the margins of something bigger.

then, one quiet afternoon, your phone lit up with a new one.

haerin there’s a game friday you know… if you wanna come no pressure

as if you hadn’t been at every game since the first.

you grinned.

art girl yeah. i’d love to.

and maybe you were imagining it—but you could almost feel her smile through the screen.

the gym felt louder this time.

maybe it was the crowd, packed tighter than usual, voices bouncing off the walls like thunder. maybe it was the pep band, snare drums rattling through your ribs. maybe it was just your heart, thudding steady and stupid in your ears.

you stood near the bleachers, sketchbook tucked under your arm like a shield, trying not to fidget. the air smelled like polished floors and sweat and sugar from the concession stand. it buzzed with something electric.

and then you saw her.

haerin, already in uniform—shoulders squared, ponytail swaying as she jogged across the court. her jersey was a little too big, hanging loose over her frame, but she moved like it didn’t matter. like the fabric belonged to her. like the court was hers too.

you raised a hand in a small wave.

she glanced up.

and her eyes caught yours.

for a second, she froze.

you smiled, unsure, and lifted your hand again—smaller this time, soft at the wrist, like you were saying hi without trying to startle a bird.

and then—slowly, almost shyly—she smiled back.

it was small. but it was real. and it hit you like a ripple in still water.

next to her, minji caught it. saw the whole thing. she elbowed haerin hard in the ribs, grinning wide. haerin stumbled, scowled, and shoved her back with a face pink enough to match the team’s colors. minji winked. haerin rolled her eyes like she regretted everything.

and then the whistle blew.

the game began.

haerin moved the way she always did—quiet but commanding, like her body knew the choreography and her mind was already three steps ahead. she cut across the court, passed sharp, pivoted like gravity couldn’t quite catch her.

but tonight… there was something different. there was something new in the way she drove toward the basket, the way her eyes flicked to the stands just before each shot. a quiet urgency. like she was trying to say something without words.

because you were there. and she knew it.

when the final buzzer rang and her team took the win, the gym erupted—cheers rising like fireworks, stomps shaking the bleachers. players swarmed each other, arms thrown over shoulders, sweat-slicked and glowing.

but haerin didn’t linger.

she ran a towel over the back of her neck, nodded once at something minji said, and then slipped away toward the locker room with her head down and heart racing.

you waited outside the hallway, just a little past the “authorised personnel only” sign, pretending you weren’t pacing. the sketchbook was still against your chest. your palms were damp.

you told yourself it was no big deal. but your hands said otherwise.

when haerin finally appeared, she looked like she hadn’t expected you to still be there.

her hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends. her face flushed from the game. jersey half-off, draped over one shoulder. her expression flickered from surprise to something softer—nervous, maybe.

“hey,” you said first, voice quiet. “you were amazing.”

haerin smiled, breathing still a little shaky. “thanks.”

the hallway was warm and a little too quiet. you could hear the muffled echo of the team celebrating in the locker room behind her. but here, between you two, the air felt fragile. like glass.

she looked at you for a long moment.

really looked.

and in that moment, it felt like she was memorising something. the set of your mouth, the line of your shoulders, the way your fingers curled around your sketchbook like it held your whole heart inside.

“i’m… really glad you came,” she said finally. “and, um. thanks again. for the drawing. and the texts. and everything.”

you tilted your head slightly. “you don’t have to keep thanking me.”

“i know,” she murmured, looking down. “i just don’t know what else to say.”

you smiled, gentle and sure. “you could say yes.”

her eyes flicked up. brows furrowed. “to what?”

you lifted the sketchbook slightly. your fingers brushed the corner. “to letting me draw you again. maybe not during a game this time.”

haerin blinked. her breath caught just a little.

“somewhere quieter,” you added, careful. “maybe… over coffee?”

her ears went pink instantly. her hands tensed like she’d been bracing for something—like maybe she thought you’d ask for too much or see too much—and instead landed in something soft. something good.

she looked down, laughing once under her breath, shy and disbelieving. then she looked up again, steadier this time.

“yeah,” she said. “you can draw me again.”

you stepped just a little closer, not too much, and your fingers brushed hers—barely there. not a grab, not a hold. just a hello in skin.

neither of you moved away.

and in the soft space between your hand and hers, in the hallway full of fluorescent light and leftover noise, it didn’t matter that you didn’t know what came next.

it only mattered that she’d said yes.

you met at a little coffee shop tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. the kind of place that felt like it had always been there—weathered signs, chipped mugs, chairs that wobbled just enough to be endearing. it smelled like cinnamon, warm bread, and steamed milk, like someone had bottled up a rainy day and left it there to steep.

a bell jingled overhead when you walked in, soft and cheerful. the barista behind the counter had sleepy eyes and too many pins on her apron—tiny frogs, tiny ghosts, a crooked heart that said “meh.” she barely looked up from the register, but the music playing low through the speakers—some lo-fi beat wrapped in jazz—seemed to greet you anyway.

and there was haerin.

she was standing awkwardly near the pick-up counter, holding two drinks with both hands like they might slip right through her fingers. her hoodie was slightly too big, her hair pulled back but already falling loose, and her eyes darted from her shoes to the menu to the people behind her, like she was trying to be invisible in plain sight.

your heart did something soft.

you walked over, easy steps, and took the drink from her gently.

“you remembered my order,” you said, a little impressed, a little surprised.

haerin blinked at you like she hadn’t expected you to speak. “you texted it to me.”

you grinned. “still counts.”

she blushed, lips twitching, and you could feel the nervous energy coming off her like heat on asphalt. jittery, warm, a little messy. you didn’t mind. you just nodded toward the small corner table by the window, half-lit by the pale afternoon sun.

“come on,” you said, soft and certain. “i’ve got a new sketchbook.”

she followed with the hesitant shuffle of someone walking across a floor they weren’t sure would hold. like every step might be too loud, too much. you didn’t look back—you just knew she was there by the quiet footsteps, the awkward hover before she sat down.

the drinks sat untouched for a while.

she fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie. picked at a thread. the collar was crooked. her shoulders were tense.

you flipped open your sketchbook, pencil already in hand, and glanced at her.

“you okay?” you asked, voice low, light.

haerin sat up straighter too quickly. “yeah,” she said. “just. nervous.”

you tilted your head, pencil pausing mid-air. “why?”

she stared at you like you’d asked her to solve world peace in five seconds.

“you’re…” she gestured vaguely in your direction, hands fluttering and then falling. “you’re, like… cool.”

you blinked. then laughed, loud and real.

“cool?”

“yeah,” she mumbled, looking away. “like, you’re good at talking. and drawing. and existing.”

you smiled, sharp and amused. “you’re good at basketball. and looking like a stray cat that wandered into gym class.”

her head whipped toward you. “is that a compliment?”

“yeah,” you said, smirking. “it is.”

she blinked slowly, lips parting like she had something clever to say back. you could see it—her brain pulling a sentence together, lining up the words like bricks, getting ready to build some kind of reply.

“you’re…” she started. then stopped. then tried again. “you have… really nice hands.”

you glanced down at your own hands, then back at her.

“…thank you?” you offered, unsure if that was meant to be flirting or a medical observation.

“for drawing,” she added quickly. “because of how they… you know. move.”

you stared at her.

“you’re horrible at this,” you said gently.

“i know,” she groaned, and dropped her face into her hands. her ears were red. she peeked at you through her fingers like a kid playing hide and seek.

you laughed, already sketching.

it didn’t take long—just a few quick lines, a soft curve for her shoulders, the way her hands pressed against her face, the slouch of someone wishing for invisibility but too cute to disappear.

you turned the sketchbook so she could see.

haerin peeked again. stared. groaned louder. “oh my god.”

“you’re cute when you panic,” you said simply.

“you’re evil.”

you just smiled, tilting your head. “you came anyway. even though you were nervous.”

she peeked again—smiled too, small and crooked like a cracked window letting sunlight through. “yeah. i did. of course i did”

and you kept sketching.

she took a sip of her drink finally, holding it with both hands like it might fly away. her fingers tapped the side of the cup. she talked a little more when she forgot to be afraid. asked you about your art. laughed—soft and surprised—when you made some dumb joke about baristas being underpaid therapists.

you caught her staring once, then again. both times, she looked away so fast it was like her eyes had slipped without asking. but you didn’t call her out. you just smiled into your cup. kept drawing.

once, your knees bumped under the table and neither of you moved away. the space between you stayed close, like an almost-touch waiting to happen.

maybe nothing else needed to happen yet. not a kiss. not a confession.

just this.

two drinks gone warm. a sketchbook half-filled. quiet laughter. a clumsy compliment hanging in the air like a balloon.

she was here. and so were you. and something soft was blooming between you—slow and awkward and bright as spring.

and it felt, gently, like the start of something good.

the gym smelled like sweat, floor polish, and popcorn again.

it was the same as it had been that first time—same buzz in the air, same thunder of sneakers against hardwood, same too-loud whistle that made everyone flinch. the drums pounded steady in the corner, and the crowd moved like one big animal—roaring, clapping, jumping to its feet.

but it all felt different now.

because haerin was down there and you were here. and she kept looking up at you.

you sat in your usual spot near the bleachers, sketchbook open, pencil resting loose in your fingers. you hadn’t drawn anything yet. you were too busy watching her. not like before, not in that tentative, curious way. now it was more like you couldn’t look away.

haerin was not subtle. not even a little. every time the game slowed, every time the ball was passed to someone else, her eyes flicked up to the stands—searching, landing, softening.

and you were always there, smiling back.

once, you caught her mid-stare and raised your brows. she startled like she’d been caught doing something scandalous. turned bright red. nearly tripped over her own feet trying to look casual.

it was hopeless. she was hopeless.

minji caught the whole thing—every lingering glance, every soft little smile.

she didn’t even slow down as she passed behind haerin, just clapped a hand on her back and muttered, “maybe try blinking before you sprain your neck, lover girl.”

haerin stiffened.

“this is a basketball court, not a rom-com!” minji called over her shoulder, spinning just long enough to shoot haerin a grin that was all teeth and trouble.

haerin looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

you, however, laughed so hard your pencil slipped and left a crooked little scar across the page. you didn’t even try to fix it.

they won, of course. haerin always played like her heart was on fire when you were watching.

and this time, when the final buzzer echoed through the gym and the team piled onto each other in a messy, cheering knot—haerin didn’t run off toward the locker rooms.

she jogged straight toward you.

her cheeks were flushed, jersey clinging to her skin, hair a little wild from the game. she looked like she’d sprinted the whole way—not just across the court, but maybe across every inch of hesitation she’d ever had.

you stood, sketchbook tucked under your arm, mouth opening to greet her, but she beat you to it—awkwardly holding out a sports drink with both hands like it was a fragile offering.

“for you,” she said, breathless.

you blinked. took it. the bottle was sweating in your palm.

“…this is red-flavored.”

“it’s cherry,” she mumbled, already wincing like she knew how ridiculous it sounded.

you smiled, warm as summer. “thanks. romantic.”

“i try,” she said, then winced again. “actually, no. i really don’t. i suck at this.”

you reached up without thinking, fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. it stuck slightly to your skin. she froze.

it was the first time you’d touched her like that in public.

and she melted.

“okay, pause the moment!” minji shouted from the side, clutching her chest like the lead in a soap opera. “i lit this flame. where’s my parade? where’s my statue?!”

you turned toward her with a groan. “you want a thank-you card or something?”

“please. minimum. scented paper. cursive font. glitter optional but encouraged.”

haerin made a strangled sound and buried her face in your shoulder. you didn’t move.

“you’re warm,” she mumbled against your shirt.

“you’re sweaty,” you replied.

“sorry.”

“i don’t mind.”

and you didn’t.

because even if haerin still fumbled her words, still blushed at every compliment, still handed you drinks instead of flowers—she was trying.

and she was yours.

she peeked up at you again, eyes big and soft and a little dazed.

“you’re really pretty,” she said suddenly, like it had escaped without permission.

you blinked. “oh?”

“just… yeah.” she shrugged, helpless. “i forgot how to say it in a cooler way.”

you laughed, chest warm. “that was the cooler way.”

haerin smiled back, bashful and blooming.

somewhere behind you, minji let out the loudest sigh known to mankind.

“you two are so painfully soft it’s giving me a cavity. i’m gonna sue.”

you turned, eyebrows raised. “for what?”

“emotional damages. excessive yearning. public displays of mutual pining without a license.” she crossed her arms, looking smug. “this is a hazard zone. i need goggles just to witness it.”

haerin groaned into your shoulder. “can we ban her.”

“nope,” minji grinned. “i’m the reason this is even happening. i’m like—your mutual friend matchmaker side character with main character energy. i deserve royalties. or at least a drink.”

“fine,” you said, flipping open your sketchbook. “here. your reward.”

you handed her a ripped-out page. a very unflattering sketch of minji mid-yell on the bench, mouth open, arms flailing like a muppet on fire.

she stared at it. blinked.

“wow,” she said flatly. “i look like a dehydrated pterodactyl.”

“accurate,” haerin mumbled.

“i’ll treasure it forever,” minji declared, already folding it and stuffing it into her jacket like it was a love letter.

then, without warning, haerin snatched your sketchbook and flipped it open to a fresh page.

you blinked. “uh. what’re you—?”

“hold still,” she muttered, squinting at you. “i’m gonna draw you now.”

“...have you ever drawn anything before?”

“no,” she said, already making a mess with the pencil. “but how hard can it be?”

minji leaned over her shoulder, peering at the chaos. “oh no. it’s already a crime.”

you waited patiently—kind of—for haerin to finish. after a few minutes of suspicious scribbling and dramatic pencil snapping, she handed the sketchbook back.

you looked down.

you had a potato for a head. your hands were just circles with lines sticking out. and, for some reason, your eyes were drawn angrily huge.

“what… what am i doing in this drawing?”

“drinking the red-flavored sports drink,” she said proudly.

“...why am i crying?”

“artistic interpretation,” she replied, crossing her arms.

minji looked over and howled. “it’s modern. it’s abstract. it’s tragic romance meets vitamin deficiency.”

you smiled anyway. folded the page gently, tucked it between the others like it was priceless.

because honestly? it kind of was.

haerin looked at you with her usual red cheeks and wide eyes. “sorry it’s bad.”

“no, it’s perfect,” you said. “definitely going on the fridge.”

“you don’t even have a fridge.”

“then i’ll buy one. just for this.”

minji threw her hands up. “and i’m the dramatic one?”

haerin laughed—really laughed, bright and unguarded—and you leaned a little closer, the buzz of the gym fading into background noise.

and maybe it wasn’t some fairytale moment. maybe it was awkward and loud and ridiculous. but it was yours. and it was perfect.

haerin nudged you gently with her shoulder. “wanna get food after this?”

you nodded. “only if you promise not to draw me eating.”

“no promises,” she grinned.

minji smiled softly at the sight of you two. “i’m coming too. you two need supervision.”

and with that, the three of you walked out of the gym—laughing, teasing, hearts full—like the end of a sitcom episode. if there’d been credits, they would’ve rolled right then—theme song and all.

except this wasn’t an ending. not really. just the beginning of something stupid and sweet and maybe kind of perfect.

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

The worsties.... How I love them <3

Illustration of a scene from this fic by @musashi

Let me explain real quick how I got to this fic because it's a little ridiculous and convoluted and I think that's kinda funny.

I'm not a big fanfic guy, generally. I am extraordinarily picky, I didn't get into it as a teen because I had already been blindsided by horny fanart for children's media and did NOT want a repeat of THAT experience (I was devastated to learn that safe search did practically nothing), and tbh all the fanfic websites scared me because I don't like learning new UIs or signing up for things. I just sort of missed the prime window for getting into fanfic as a hobby. Unless something is specifically recommended to me there is a high chance it'll just never cross my path.

Cut to sometime in early November, 2022. I had just recently gotten into Ace Attorney so that I could talk about it with a friend. As I often do, I accidentally became obsessed with it and shot way ahead of where my friend was, ironically making it difficult to discuss it with him. And now I'm drawing a lot of Franziska, and thinking "damn I wish she had a game". Not much longer after I posted some sketches about the concept, I got a notification from @pictureswithboxes. Turns out, she had seen my silly little doodles AND WRITTEN AN ENTIRE COURT CASE BASED ON THE IDEA!!

That story is called Turnabout Substitution, and it's phenomenal. I also have some doodles from that one, but I want to polish them before I share. Anyways, the point is I died on the spot and now, three years later, I've reread the finished story at least 5 times. About a week ago I noticed that there was a new story available, Metal Masquerade. After reading the available chapters I realized that this story has a co-author. Well, I've enjoyed these ones so much, I wonder if this person has any other- OH WOW THAT'S A LOT. Well who do they tend to focus on- FRANZISKA???!? MY BELOVED FRANZISKA VON KARMA!?!?

And that's how we got here :D

Both of these writers have such an exquisite handle on these characters and what makes them interesting, I was genuinely just as entertained by Franziska unraveling a murder case as I was by Phoenix picking up pastries from a café. They're all so full of life, every single scene I've read has been a treat. They're funny, they're dramatic, they're well-paced, introspective, and curious about this fictional world and the people in it. I cannot recommend these authors enough, and I feel genuinely lucky to have found their work

[nonranghaes]

hyunjin loves you quietly. and you feel it the most when he does small things for you without mentioning them, all just to see your reaction. today, the two of you are sitting in a cafe, sketchbooks in front of you as you merely enjoy one another's company while you draw. he's drawing a couple across the room, deeply invested in their own conversation in a way that makes them perfect to try and capture quickly. you, on the other hand, are trying to capture architecture outside. its always been your weak point and you've been wanting to get better at it, and you think that's why hyunjin picked a table that let you see the brick building across the street perfectly.

you reach over to your bag, drawing out the smaller bag you keep your pencils and pens in. when you unzip it, you realize there's new pens in your bag. for a moment, you just stare at it, wondering when you broke open a new package. it was on your list of things to-do to replace them, sure, but you never made it to the art supply store, and hyunjin went without you--

oh.

"something wrong?" he asks quietly, looking up at you. he gives you the softest smile, so in love with being able to spend these quiet moments with you, but you know that he's fully aware of the little act of love he's done for you.

so you just shake your head, pulling out one of the new fine line pens while snagging your kneaded eraser, too. "thank you."

his eyes flicker down to the pen in your hand, and that subtle smile grows a bit wider as he returns to his work. he does reach out at one point, just to squeeze your free hand, drawing it up so that he could plant a quick peck against the side of it.

and you show him your own love in the way you bring him a new drink later, a doodled heart on the side of it from you that you face toward him. it's tiny. it's cheesy. but it puts three words into a single shape that makes him hold your hand tighter on the way home.

[bleulikedaylight]

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mild cursing + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 3.8k | genre: wlw (as always <3), romance, fluff, high school au !! ;p

note: hii !! thank you so much for reading my work. just a quick heads-up—english isn’t my first language, so i’m really sorry in advance for any grammatical errors !! T^T

also, feel free to send messages, asks, requests, or literally whatever—i love hearing from people, and i swear i don’t bite (unless you want me to? jk, i'm so cringe 😔☝️)

anyway, i just noticed i accidentally made a second blog instead of a whole new account… so if you follow me and an account with the username @definitelynotbleu followed you—that's me. that’s my main blog, because apparently, tumblr said “you can’t follow people using your side blog.” like okay. thanks, i guess? ☹️💔💔

i’m lowkey considering just making a whole new account and moving all my fics there because this setup is slowly driving me insane. BUT I’M ALSO KINDA LAZY SO. WE’LL SEE. also i haven’t even made a masterlist yet. i’m cooked. actually beyond cooked. overcooked. burnt. ashes. 🥀🥀🥀

(ALSO I’M SO SORRY FOR VERY LONG AUTHOR NOTES I’M JUST A YAPPER OKAY T^T)

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ‎♡‧₊˚

The next day, you show up to school with a venti coffee, three hours of sleep, and a list of tasks color-coded in pastel highlighters. You’re not thinking about her. You’re not. You have work to do. You have plans. You are a woman of discipline. You are the student council president.

And then she walks into the classroom like she didn’t just emotionally destabilize you twelve hours ago.

She’s in her varsity jacket, gym bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in. One of them falls out as she moves, and you catch the faint sound of Arctic Monkeys. Of course she listens to Arctic Monkeys. You hate that it suits her.

She sees you. She nods. Calm. Collected. Like last night’s heart-attack-inducing flirtation didn’t happen.

You scowl.

She smirks.

Wanda leans over to whisper, “You’re glaring like she stole your planner.”

“She might as well have,” you mutter.

—

You meet after school again, this time in the student council office. She shows up ten minutes early and eats all the jelly beans in your organizer tray. You tell her off. She just shrugs and asks for more.

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Every day for a week, Natasha Romanoff shows up. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with new bruises. Once, with a notebook full of genuinely helpful project notes, written in messy, slanted handwriting. She has surprisingly good insights, you have to admit.

But it’s not just the work. It’s the way she listens. The way she leans back in the chair, arms crossed, watching you with something between curiosity and amusement, like you’re a puzzle she’s enjoying solving.

It’s unsettling.

It’s distracting.

It’s maddening.

Especially when she starts casually touching you. Nothing scandalous—just light taps on the shoulder when you make a joke, her knee brushing yours under the table, taking the pen out of your hand when you’re overthinking the sentence structure.

"Relax, President. You’re not writing the Constitution."

You swat her hand. “I am setting a standard.”

She grins. “Yeah. A very adorable, very high-strung one.”

You want to scream.

And then—she starts drawing on your notes.

Like, full-on doodling hearts on the margins when you’re focused on your laptop.

“You’re vandalizing school property,” you say, eyeing the tiny cartoon of a girl with your hairstyle next to one with her haircut.

“Correction,” she replies without looking up. “I’m customizing history.”

You blink. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Depends. Are you flattered?”

You throw a highlighter at her face. She catches it with one hand. You hate how cool that was.

—

It gets worse when she starts appearing outside of project hours. One morning, she joins you in line at the school caf. Orders black coffee and a muffin. Pays for your iced coffee without asking. When you try to protest, she tilts her head.

“What, you don’t like muffins?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

You don’t answer.

Next time you go to your locker, there’s a sticky note on the inside door.

You stare at it for an absurd amount of time.

Wanda finds you still holding it twenty minutes later.

—

And then there’s the basketball practice.

You don’t normally attend. But your vice president is managing the halftime event and drags you into helping.

So you’re there, clipboard in hand, head spinning with logistics—until the buzzer sounds and Natasha Romanoff is suddenly there, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, hair in a messy ponytail, grinning like she just won the world.

She finds you in the crowd. She winks.

You look away so fast you almost pull a muscle.

Wanda catches the whole thing. “Do not make me be the one to say it.”

“Say what?”

“You’re falling for her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“I can’t stand her.”

“You stood outside for three hours watching her throw a ball into a net.”

“It was for the halftime event.”

“You made the flyer.”

You have no comeback.

—

Then comes Friday.

Project submission day.

You meet in the library to print the final version. Natasha shows up with two drinks—your usual order and something new for you to try. You hate how thoughtful it is.

“So, we’re done,” you say, double-checking the pages.

“We are.”

“No more late-night messages.”

“No more weekly meetings.”

“No more walks home.”

She says nothing.

You look up. Her face is unreadable.

“We’ll go back to being classmates,” you offer, almost as a question.

She nods slowly. “Right. Classmates.”

Why does that feel like a loss?

Before you can say anything else, someone calls her name.

A girl you vaguely recognize—varsity, volleyball, always surrounded by people. She walks over, all smiles and confidence, and hands Natasha a note.

“From me,” she says, touching her arm.

You freeze.

Natasha takes it, unreadable again. “Thanks.”

The girl walks away, not even sparing you a glance.

You stare at the paper. Then at her. You’re not sure what expression you’re making, but Natasha blinks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, too fast.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Jealous?”

“What?! No!”

She leans in, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Relax, president. It’s just a love letter. Happens all the time.”

You bite your tongue. You’re not jealous. You’re not.

But you go home annoyed.

And when she doesn’t text you that night, you keep checking your phone anyway.

—

—

The next week is chaos.

Event week. Schedules, permissions, venue requests. You bury yourself in work. You avoid the gym wing. You skip the caf. You go out of your way to not see her.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because Natasha doesn’t chase you. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t show up. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

You don’t want her to. Except you do.

You hate her.

Except you don’t.

And then it’s Thursday.

You’re reviewing final logistics with your committee when the door opens.

Natasha walks in.

Everyone freezes.

You blink. “Can I help you?”

She walks up and hands you a folded paper.

“Coach needed this signed.”

You take it. “Okay.”

She doesn’t leave.

You glance up. “Anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to see you.”

You almost drop the pen.

Wanda chokes on her drink.

Natasha leaves before you can reply.

—

Later, your phone buzzes.

You stare at the screen.

You don’t.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Because maybe you miss working with her too.

Maybe you were wrong about her. Maybe she’s not a complete walking red flag. Maybe she’s just... complicated. Rough around the edges. Mysterious in a way that makes you want to keep learning more.

Maybe you’re in trouble.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

—

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

Just a message. Just a moment. Just Natasha being… Natasha.

And yet, three days later, you're still re-reading that "i miss working with you" text like it’s a published poem.

It’s embarrassing.

Wanda calls you out during lunch. “You’re staring at your phone like it owes you tuition money.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, stabbing your salad with unnecessary force.

Yelena snorts. “She still hasn’t asked you out, huh?”

“I am not waiting for her to ask me out.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Would you say yes?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe you would.

—

The rain starts mid-afternoon.

Hard. Fast. The kind that floods the quad and knocks down your color-coded event posters. Not metaphorical, poetic rain. Actual, annoying, soak-your-socks rain. You’re standing under the broken awning outside the school gym, binder clutched to your chest, watching your hard work dissolve into paper mush.

You’re in the school grounds, fuming, clipboard soaked, when she finds you.

“Event prep not going well?” she asks, casually offering her umbrella.

You don’t take it.

She holds it over both of you anyway.

“I worked so hard on those signs,” you mutter. “And now they’re dead. Murdered. By the sky.”

Natasha looks at the puddles like she can beat them up for you. “Wanna make new ones?”

You blink at her. “Why would you help me?”

She shrugs. “Because I like you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You what?”

“I like helping you,” she clarifies, emphasis deliberate. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”

You sputter. She smirks.

“Also, I brought snacks,” she adds, pulling a plastic bag out of her varsity jacket. “Thought you might forget lunch again.”

You hate how well she knows you. You hate how that makes your heart do a thing.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

She hands you a rice ball. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

You look up at her. Rain falling, your shoes soaked, everything a mess—and suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad.

“Plan is… save the event. Rewrite everything. Get glitter glue. Hope for divine intervention.”

Natasha grins. “Finally. A mission worthy of my talents.”

—

That night, you work together again. Just like before.

But it’s not just like before.

Now there’s this thing between you. A current, a tension, an almost.

She sits closer. Laughs more easily. Steals your pen, your snacks, your attention.

You tell her to focus.

She tells you to loosen up.

And at one point—when your hand accidentally brushes hers and you both freeze for half a second too long—you think: this might actually be something.

—

By Friday, everyone notices.

Wanda keeps sending you suspicious side-eyes. Yelena openly teases Natasha in front of you. Even the teachers are acting weird, like they’re expecting a plot twist.

You try to ignore it.

But it’s hard when Natasha keeps finding excuses to be near you.

“Forgot my book. Oh look, we have the same one.”

“Need help carrying that? You clearly skipped arm day.”

“You busy later? I found this new café. They have your favorite coffee.”

It’s maddening. It’s sweet. It’s maddeningly sweet.

You are losing your mind.

—

Then comes the night before the event.

You’re in the auditorium, double-checking lights and stage cues. Natasha shows up, of course. She’s holding a flashlight in her mouth and balancing a roll of tape on her head.

“You’re not on the logistics team,” you tell her.

She drops the tape. “Nope. Just here for moral support. And also to see your cute boss voice again.”

You try not to blush. Fail miserably.

“You’re annoying,” you say.

“I know.”

A pause.

“You’re… kind of important to me,” you say suddenly. Quiet. Unexpected even to yourself.

Natasha looks up. Serious now. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just… thought you should know.”

She crosses the stage, stops in front of you, eyes soft in the dim lighting.

“You’re important to me too,” she says. “And not just for school projects.”

Your heart flips. Or malfunctions. Or possibly explodes.

She leans in. You panic.

You shove a clipboard between you. “I-I still have to check the mic system!”

Natasha blinks. Then laughs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Pres."

—

Later that night:

—

And then, the day of the event arrives.

Everything runs perfectly.

The crowd cheers. The booths look amazing. Your team is killing it.

And in the middle of it all—between speeches, music, and chaos—you feel her watching you.

She’s not trying to hide it.

You glance at her.

She grins.

You grin back.

—

The event ends with a bang. A literal bang.

Someone in the STEM booth miscalculates the chemical reaction for their demo volcano. You hear the fizz, you smell the vinegar, and then—

Boom.

Foam everywhere. It explodes so violently it hits half the hallway. Your shoes are soaked. Your socks are crying. Your bangs are sticking to your forehead. And right next to you, Natasha Romanoff looks like she just walked out of a shampoo commercial—except her face is covered in pink foam, and she’s wheezing.

“You’re laughing?! This is your fault—”

“How is it my fault that the Science Club can’t count?!”

“You egged them on!”

“I told them to go big or go home!” she says, wiping foam from her jaw. “They just… went nuclear.”

You glare. She grins. And then she reaches out—

Flick.

Right on the center of your forehead.

“Relax, Miss President. You look like a very angry bubble tea.”

“I swear, Romanoff—”

She brushes foam from your nose. “Still the cutest bubble tea on campus, though.”

You stare at her.

You forget how to speak.

You nearly combust on the spot.

—

Later that night, the chaos finally dies down. You’re still buzzing from the noise, the laughter, the adrenaline of pulling off an entire school event without anyone setting the curtains on fire (the foam doesn't count, okay). You sneak off behind the gym—because it’s quiet there, and because you know she’ll follow.

She does.

Varsity jacket slung over her shoulder. Tired eyes. Twisted smirk. That lazy, confident swagger like she didn’t just help you keep the student body from collapsing into absolute anarchy.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You look up from your clipboard. “You survived the foam-pocalypse.”

“Barely.”

She walks over, sees you shiver, and wordlessly drops her jacket onto your shoulders.

You go still.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She leans against the wall beside you. You're seated on the bench, curled under her jacket like a burrito. She watches you. Quiet. Soft.

“You did good today, Pres.”

You glance at her. “I had help.”

She shrugs. “I just followed orders.”

You roll your eyes. “You literally yelled at a sophomore to stop lighting incense indoors.”

“He was summoning good vibes.”

“He was summoning a fire hazard.”

She laughs. You bite your lip to hide your smile.

“…Can I tell you something?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.

You nod slowly.

She shifts. Leans down slightly, just enough that you can see the way her eyes flicker nervously before she brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek.

“I like you,” she says. “Not just for school. Not just for events. I like you, Y/N. Like, like-like you.”

Your heart stops. Your entire body goes still.

You stare.

Then—“Took you long enough.”

Natasha blinks. “Wait—what?”

You laugh—light and breathless. “You think I didn’t notice the forehead flicks? The snacks? The weirdly specific coffee orders? The way you walk me home and then pretend it’s not a big deal?”

Natasha looks faintly betrayed. “I was being subtle!”

“You’re literally six-foot-two and smirk at me like a YA love interest. Nothing about you is subtle.”

She gasps. “Are you comparing me to a Wattpad boy?”

“I shouldn’t, but yes.”

Natasha groans into her hands. “This is the worst confession ever—”

You reach up, grab her hands, and pull them down gently.

“I like you too, Delinquent.”

She goes silent.

Then she flicks your forehead again. “I knew it.”

“Ow?!”

“Deserved.”

You grab her collar before she can pull back and lean your forehead against hers, still giggling.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

You kiss her cheek. She actually short-circuits.

—

—

You barely sleep that night.

Too giddy. Too electrified. Too busy replaying every second of her smile, her laugh, the way she short-circuited when you kissed her cheek.

The group chat keeps blowing up—Wanda’s in full meltdown mode, Yelena’s already planning the wedding, and you… you’re floating.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your crush finally confessed.

The next day arrives fast. Loud. Demanding.

And before you know it—

The interschool basketball match begins.

You shouldn’t even be in the gym.

You’ve got student council paperwork spilling out of your arms, a working list of urgent tasks highlighted in pastel chaos, and three missed calls from your VP asking where the sign-up forms are. Your planner is a warzone, your phone is blowing up, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.

But you’re here.

Sitting beside Wanda, Yelena, and Kate in the front row of bleachers, legs crossed, hands clenched in your lap, trying very hard not to watch the court.

You tell yourself it’s just for school spirit. You're here to support the school. Support the team.

It’s not about her.

It’s never about her.

Except it’s absolutely about her.

Because Natasha Romanoff is on the court, and for the first time ever, she’s… off.

Her passes are sloppy. She misses two layups in a row. Her defense is late. Her rhythm? Gone. There’s a visible crack in her composure—she’s snapping at teammates, cursing under her breath, yanking at the hem of her jersey like she can pull herself together through sheer will.

“She’s spiraling,” Kate says quietly.

Yelena’s brows furrow. “She doesn’t play like this. Ever.”

“She looks—nervous?” Wanda says, watching closely. “She keeps glancing at the bleachers.”

You force yourself not to move.

Not to flinch.

Not to let the burn in your chest show.

Because she is glancing. Over and over again. Her eyes are scanning the stands, sharp and desperate, like she's looking for something—or someone—and not finding them. Each time she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, her face hardens. Her jaw tightens.

“She’s looking for you,” Yelena murmurs, like she’s just realized.

You press your lips into a thin line.

“She thought you wouldn’t come,” Wanda whispers.

And for a moment, you almost don’t.

But then—

Then she misses another shot. The crowd groans. She slaps her hands against her thighs, furious.

And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“God,” you mutter, already standing, “if I get suspended for this—”

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell across the court before your brain can catch up.

“ROMANOFF! PLAY LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

The whole gym stops.

Like, actually stops.

Every head turns. The air shifts. Even the referee pauses.

And Natasha?

She freezes.

Her eyes snap to you instantly—like she’d been waiting for that voice all game.

And when she finds you?

Her whole expression changes. Like she can breathe again.

The corner of her mouth twitches. A breathless laugh escapes her. Her shoulders roll back. Then—

She moves.

Sharp. Precise. Lethal.

The Natasha everyone knows is back.

She steals the ball from the opposing point guard like it’s nothing, darts down the court, and scores with a clean, perfect shot that wipes out the tension from the past ten minutes.

From that moment on, the game shifts. Momentum tilts.

Natasha becomes unstoppable.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until the final buzzer sounds—Natasha’s team winning by two points. The crowd explodes into cheers.

You clap automatically. Just once. Then grab your things, ready to disappear before anyone processes what just happened—

But she doesn’t go to her team.

She doesn’t wait for the trophy, or the coach’s speech, or the photos.

She runs.

Straight. To. You.

Through her teammates, through the crowd, ignoring her coach yelling her name and the players trying to high-five her.

You blink as she stops in front of you—sweaty, panting, eyes burning with something so raw it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” she breathes, like the world’s been holding its breath without you.

You stare. “Hi?”

“You came,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I thought—” she shakes her head, words failing. “You weren’t there. I looked and you weren’t—”

“I was late,” you admit softly. “I had council stuff—”

“I thought I ruined everything,” she whispers.

You frown. “Romanoff—”

“I couldn’t see you,” she continues, like it’s been sitting in her throat the whole game. “I kept looking and you weren’t—God, I thought I lost you.”

You blink fast, something thick in your throat. “You didn’t.”

A pause.

And then—

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, not a tease this time. Just desperate. Just honest. “I—I need to know this is real.”

Your heart is pounding.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can.”

She kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the gym. In front of literally everyone.

It’s messy. Breathless. Charged with too much feeling and not enough time. Her hands slide into your hair, holding on like she’s still scared you’ll vanish.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Wanda screams. Kate chokes. Yelena straight-up punches the air.

And when Natasha finally pulls back, she leans her forehead against yours and breathes, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” you ask, dazed.

“Disappear,” she says. “Make me play like a rookie. Make me lose my mind.”

You grin despite yourself. “You were that bad?”

She scoffs. “I nearly fouled out looking for you.”

You try to look smug. “Guess you need me around, huh?”

Natasha leans in, brushing her nose against yours.

“Guess I do, President.”

The crowd is still roaring. Someone’s taking photos. The coach is yelling in the distance.

But all you feel is her.

And for the first time in weeks, everything finally makes sense again.

You sigh, dramatic and hopeless. “I’m so doomed.”

She kisses you again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against your lips. “But at least now you’re doomed with me.”

—

The next morning, Natasha walks up to you in the middle of the hallway.

She’s in her varsity jacket.

You’re in her hoodie from last night.

Everyone sees.

She stops in front of you. Smirks.

You squint. “Why do you look like you’re about to say something embarrassing?”

“Because I am.” She flicks your forehead again. “Hi, baby.”

Your entire soul leaves your body.

Wanda SCREAMS from across the hallway.

Yelena fist-pumps.

Natasha leans in, lips near your ear.

“Now everyone knows you’re mine, Pres.”

You elbow her. Lightly.

She catches your hand.

Doesn’t let go.

Then threads her fingers through yours like it’s always been that easy.

And maybe it is.

Because from the way your heart leaps, the way her thumb brushes yours—

You realize you’ve been hers all along.

[graves-yard]

I was wondering.. do you like Knuxadow or what are your feelings on it if you like it could you draw it if you can? It’s my favorite ship so I wanted to know your opinions about it

There’s a lot of Sonic ships that have two very similar characters that realistically wouldn’t work well together. In my opinion, Knuxadow is one of those in such a funny way.

They’re both very independent, not very talkative, and only like about three people on a good day. I can just imagine them being together and it’s never once brought up to the point where Shadow starts wearing a ring one day and when asked about it he’s like “Knuckles proposed after six years of dating. We got married last week” lmao

Anyways here’s a quick five minute doodle of them

[cxvii666]

“hoe cakes”

college au! denki kaminari + hanta sero x reader

“i got this girl and she wants me to duke her, i told her i'd come scoop her around eight, she said, super!”

wc: 2k

starting track...

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

....

"omg, oh my god!"

denki kaminari bursts into the library, zero tact, completely out of breath, face all flushed, chest heaving, and rushes over to where his friends are sat, nearly knocking over bakugou's laptop as he drops his backpack and practically leaps over the table, to try and talk to sero.

bakugou, who was sat minding his own fucking business, turns his head in absolute disbelief, about to swing on the guy, but pauses at denki's heavy breathing and frazzled state, kirishima's noise of concern is brushed off with a "gimme a second," as the blonde heaves for a minute, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"oh sero, bro," he gasps out finally, "i just saw the baddest girl ever, you gotta come quick."

any concerns over the blondes state quickly washes away and hanta sero looks up from his phone, disinterestedly. "dude, what? where?"

denki takes the seat opposite to his best friend, and points frantically from the direction he just ran from, "outside on the quad, there was a girl, with the hair, and the eyes."

sero, kiri, and bakugou had been in the library for at least three hours now and, god, hanta was bored.

he'd given up on waiting for denki to show face and had gotten so bored that he actually started studying. but damn, he needed a break. he rolls his shoulder with a yawn as he raises an eyebrow at denki.

bakugou sends both of them a death glare before putting his headphones on. hanta pulls a face at him before stretching out his back and then relaxing into his chair, voice dropping to a mock whisper and teases, "bro said 'hair and eyes'."

"just shut up for a sec," denki hisses and slumps down on the table, partially ontop of one of hanta's textbooks, "wow, i really need to start hitting the gym, fuck, my chest hurts."

hanta rolls his eyes at his friends dramatics as he doodles in the margin of his textbook. denki takes his silence as a sign to continue.

"you gotta, just listen- soooo, i'm walking outside by that big tree on the quad becuase it's super windy and i couldn't catch a light, and, oh, i can't even describe her, but yeah, there was one loud smell, and you know me, i had to follow it and BAM there she was with sat behind the bike shed with, what's his name?" he jabs a thumb at kiri, "his friend. y'know the guy with the hair- yeah- uh, they were smoking like-"

his increasing longwinded tale, that is increasingly arising in volume, in very quiet section of the library, is cut off by, a very impolite bakugou clearing his throat, threat clear in his eyes.

it seems like hanta's brain is finally starting to switch on, as his eyes widen at the implication of his denki's words. "oh shit," he wiggles his eyebrows at his friend playfully, his voice still low, "is she still outside? i have to see this..."

"well fucking exactly!" denki 'whispers' back gesturing wildy with is arms, "that's what i've been trying to fucking say but your slow ass keeps asking me questions and-"

the blonde pauses and suddenly snatches up hanta's notebook to cover his face as he ducks.

"and what?" sero repeats, his face scrunching in confusion.

"shut- the fuck up," the break in denki's voice is comical, "holy shit, don't make it obvious, she's behind-"

sero's head whips to the side so fast, i swear there was an audible click. and sure enough, if he tilts his head, and squints to look, in the gaps in between the bookshelves, there you are.

"i said don't make it obvious, you fucking moron."

too late now.

he's staring at you unabashedly as you walk into their section behind two of your friends, easy smile gracing your features, as you all take a seat on one of the open tables across the library.

"oh shit," hanta gulps moving to look at denki, who has now leaned over the table to stare at you from over hanta's shoulder, "she does have hair and eyes."

"what did i just say fucking say, i swear, this guy-"

the blonde is too loud in his ear and hanta pushes his friend's head away with his palm, eyes still on your figure. "have you spoken to her yet?"

"what part are you not getting?" and denki gets all up in his face and pushes his own fingers into hanta's forehead in retaliation, as he repeats, exasperated, "i saw her, and then, i came straight here, to find you!"

"what, oh..." the realisation dawns on him finally and a lazy smirk creeps onto his features, "bro, your superrr freaky, i'm in, hundred percent. do you think she'll be down?"

"you're both fucking idiots, you know that, right?"

bakugou who has seemingly been listening, eavesdropping, in on their conversation, scoffed at his friends.

"i thought you were studying, kacchan?"

kirishima had been sat next to hanta, and when the question in his eyes, that flit between the two grinning fools, goes unanswered by either, bakugou sighs deeply, and points, with violent intent for sure, his mechanical pencil in the direction of the other blonde, his voice gruff, "were you not there? last friday night? when the fuck-squad was playing 'would you rather', talkin' bout-"

"about threesomes!" denki cuts in, grin manic, as hanta snickers opposite him, "ok kiri, lemme' ask you, because we've been debating for like two days, would you rather a threesome with another guy, or two girls? because i- said another guy-"

"wait i am so lost, what-"

"fellas, is it gay to want a threeway with your homie?"

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

"bro, hear me out, but this might be fate."

hanta's reply is muffled through a mouthful of pizza.

after not getting kicked out of the library, the two decided, denki decided and hanta had the evening off work, to go into town. initially, denki had sold hanta the idea of beer and ramen, but by the time they got to the high street, the smell of pizza seemed to be calling.

the pizza place was local, and extremely well known by their friend group, and the two had stumbled in, many a night, drunk, or faded, or both. and, directly opposite, happened to be, a record shop.

they'd been in there with jirou maybe once or twice, but it was one of those old buildings that always looked closed.

like right now. from out of the big glass window on the left side of their favourite booth, and they could see the shop front, the lights were out, windows all shut down.

and guess who was right outside of their fucking window, across the street, unlocking the front door.

"where tf are you going?" hanta coughs out in between bites rolling his eyes, because of course, denki is already grabbing his hoodie and fixing to stand up. like they reaally couldn't sit down and eat for five minutes.

"fym, where am i going," he mimics- "a golden opportunity," and again, denki is waving his hands about like a maniac, gesturing vaguely upwards, like universe or some other divine entity had blessed them and hanta was stupid for not getting it, "has just been handed to us, and you don't wanna jump on it?"

it's silent for a beat, only broken by hanta slurping noisily from his straw. he takes a moment to burp loudly and to glance forlornly at their hot pizza. he closes his eyes and sighs, already mourning the taste of the cheese on his tongue, before he resigns himself to whatever the fuckmess of a two man step denki is planning.

"jump on it?"

"jump on it."

"jum- y'know what, fine, lets go, and you can do all the talking."

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

"i can't believe you forgot your key again."

the disc your holding nearly slips from your grasp as you move your phone from your ear and set it on the till counter. you click the speaker on and the sound of your coworker's rushed apologies flood the empty store.

you silently shake your head at her panic and place the stray disc back onto the cd tower whilst trying to reassure her softly. it was no big deal, you were already in the area, no, it's not a problem, blah blah.

once the line drops, you figure you might as well start opening the store for the evening and start by switching the big speaker on and slowly turning up the volume. whatever album that was already queued starts playing as you start clearing the area around the cash register.

as you card through the cds on the display rack, mentally making note of what needs to be switched out, nodding your head to the beat of the music, the bell jingles softly and footsteps pattern inside.

you don't look up and instead go to grab some receipt paper and pen, "that was quick, you said fifteen minutes."

you continue scratching out mixtape names onto the paper and humming along to the music. before you freeze, when you hear what sounds like a chuckle, a distinctly male chuckle.

"i haven't said anything yet."

the blonde speaks and you don't have time to think before you're brandishing your pen in front of you defensively like its a small plastic sword.

denki yelps, dramatic, and hanta looks like he's about burst out laughing, but when he looks at you, like looks at you, at the crinkle in your eyes and the bounce of your hair, he swallows his laughter with a cough.

"d'you greet all your customers like this, or are we just special?"

his voice is smooth, and you lower the pen, but not your gaze, trying not feel to too embarrassed, and shoot back, "well i don't know, do you always creep up on people like that?"

hanta's face twitches into a smile, as you roll your eyes, check the time. you'll finish clearing up, your coworker will arrive, and she can tend to the weird hot guys nosing around the shop, as payment for making you come in.

except it seems denki has other plans, and has recovered from his initial shock, as he's sauntered right up to the cash desk and its fiddling about with the display items. hanta scoffs silently at his act and turns to card his fingers through the vinyls stacked neatly on the main table.

the blonde clears his throat, once, twice, "aren't you-" and then he squints his amber eyes in fake recognition, "don't we have a class together?"

you look up from where you'd been reordering some cd cases to take in his features. the gentle slope of delicate nose, his bright eyes, the poorly dyed streak in his hair, the half smirk half smile painting his pretty pink lips.

"hmmm, no, i don't think so."

"no, no, i swear, aren't you in our uh, english lit class, right dude."

hanta snorts and your eyes lock across the shop. his narrow in thought, then he taps his chin like he's remembering something.

"y'know what, she does look kinda familiar." identical cheeky smirks dressing both of their faces, "maybe we do have a class together."

your laugh may be short, sarcastic, but it's light and airy, a soft exhale. "did you guys come in here to buy something, or just to waste my time?"

"and no, we don't have any classes together," your gaze floats from denki, and the way his hair softly falls about his face, "'think i woulda noticed you," to hanta's eyes, warm and brown watching carefully, like something is so heavily amusing to him. "both of you."

neither of them make to move from where their feet are planted on the carpeted floor. and you smirk when you hear the jingle of the door bells for the second time.

hands flying into action, you grab the pen again and scribble another note and slap it onto the counter. your sleeve brushes against denki's, and before he can even feel the static shock of the friction, you're grabbing your phone and your bag, and making your way to the front of the store, and waving your coworker goodbye.

the store echoes with the jingle for the third time.

and resting on the counter, next to denki's arm is the paper you left.

with your number on it.

...end of playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

next track ▷ 93 'til infinity

[nanaxmoonx]

Nerd! Armin x Y/N

SPACE

—> In which a chaotic party becomes the backdrop for Y/N and Armin’s unexpected bond, revealing deeper feelings beneath their playful interactions.

warnings: Alcohol, Sexual content, Strong language

art by: @musapylsa

Reiner’s house was full to the brim—red cups, pulsing music, low light, and people pressed together in loud, chaotic groups. The smell of cheap beer and expensive perfume lingered in the air.

Y/N wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there.

She had shown up because of Ymir. Ymir had a way of dragging her into things she wouldn’t have gone to on her own, with a casual, “Don’t be boring,” and a quick wink before vanishing into a sea of people. Predictable. She hadn’t seen her since walking in.

Y/N’s plastic cup of something suspiciously citrusy was already warming in her hand. Her eyes scanned the room lazily—recognizing a few faces from campus, from shared classes or the cafeteria—but not really knowing anyone well enough to strike up conversation. She felt like a background character in someone else’s story.

Until she saw him.

At the far end of the living room, half-sitting on the arm of an abandoned couch, was Armin Arlert.

She recognized him instantly. He was in her Anthropology lecture. Sat near the front. The kind of guy who always had a pencil tucked behind his ear. Sharp, observant. Soft-spoken. Friends with Eren Jaeger.

Tonight, though, he looked slightly out of place. Dressed down in a fitted gray hoodie and ripped black jeans, glasses perched slightly crooked on his nose, a red Solo cup loosely in one hand.

He wasn’t surrounded by anyone. No girls clinging to him. No friends laughing nearby. Just him. Alone. Watching.

She might’ve looked away—maybe even walked off—if she hadn’t noticed him glance down, then take a sip of whatever was in his cup. Alcohol, maybe? Something about the way he drank made her pause.

Armin drank? She wouldn’t have guessed that. He didn’t seem like the type.

She hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek, then looked around. Still no Ymir. Still no familiar faces. And honestly? Armin was the only one not shouting or posturing or mid-makeout on a couch.

So she crossed the room.

When she stopped in front of him, he looked up, surprised but not alarmed. His blue eyes flicked to hers, then away again—nervous.

“Hey,” she said.

He blinked, then nodded slowly. “Hey.”

There was a pause. Not an awkward one—just quiet. Neither of them seemed to know what to say first.

She gestured loosely with her cup. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Armin tilted his head. “Yeah. Same.”

She raised a brow. “You don’t strike me as a party guy.”

“I’m not,” he admitted, shrugging. “Reiner kind of… guilted me into it. He said I needed to ‘touch grass.’” He smiled slightly at that.

Y/N snorted. “Sounds like him.”

Armin nodded, then sipped from his cup again. He made a face—like it burned.

“Whiskey?” she asked, amused.

“Something close,” he replied. “I stopped asking after the first sip.”

“Ballsy.”

He smirked—barely. “Desperate.”

Another short silence. But it wasn’t tense. If anything, it felt… still.

Y/N looked around and then leaned against the wall beside him, her drink still half-full. “You’re in Anthropology, right?”

Armin nodded. “Professor Larson’s class. Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“I sit three rows behind you.”

“I know.”

She blinked at that. “You noticed?”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “You always doodle in your notebook. Little flowers and faces.”

She stared at him, surprised. “You watch me draw?”

Armin coughed lightly, adjusting his glasses. “Just sometimes. When the lecture’s slow.”

Y/N didn’t know why that made her cheeks warm. She wasn’t used to being noticed like that—quietly, thoughtfully.

“What about you?” she asked, changing the subject. “What’s your major?”

“History and political theory.”

“Oh,” she said, mock-impressed. “You’re one of those.”

He raised an eyebrow. “One of what?”

“You know. The world’s-on-fire-and-I-can-fix-it types.”

He chuckled. “Maybe I used to be.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m just trying to pass midterms and not disappoint my advisor.”

Y/N smiled. “Relatable.”

Armin looked at her then. Really looked. Not just a glance or a flicker. His eyes held hers a moment too long, like he was still trying to decide what kind of person she was. It was almost unnerving—but not in a bad way.

“You’re friends with Ymir, right?” he asked suddenly.

That caught her off guard. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

���She mentioned you once. Said you’d hate this party.”

Y/N laughed out loud. “She’s not wrong.”

Armin grinned, and for a moment, he looked younger. Softer. There was something behind his smile that made her wonder what he was like outside of classrooms and random parties.

“You two close?” he asked.

“Ymir and me? Yeah, kind of. She’s… weirdly good at keeping me out of trouble and getting me into it.”

He nodded. “She helped me pass intro logic. I owe her.”

There was another lull in the conversation, but this time, Armin filled it.

“Do you… wanna go somewhere quieter?” he asked. “I mean—not like that,” he added quickly, “just—my ears are kind of ringing.”

Y/N bit her lip to stop from laughing. He was adorably nervous, even though his words weren’t flirty at all.

“Sure,” she said. “I could use a break from the music and spilled beer.”

He smiled. And for once, it didn’t look uncertain.

-

They found an empty room just off the hallway — a guest room, maybe. Someone’s jacket was thrown over the desk chair, and the string lights drooping over the window glowed a soft yellow, casting everything in this muted haze that felt almost… calm.

Y/N stepped in first, then leaned against the edge of the desk, drink still in hand. Armin followed and gently closed the door behind him. The bass from the music outside thumped faintly through the walls, but in here, it was just the hum of quiet.

He hovered near the wall at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to sit or stand. She noticed the way his hand lingered at the back of his neck — that same gesture he did in class when he didn’t know how to answer a question.

“You can sit, you know,” she said, amused.

He finally let himself slide onto the bed, sitting near the edge, careful not to wrinkle the blanket. She couldn’t help but find it kind of sweet — how careful he was with things.

“So,” she began, “besides political theory and failing to enjoy parties, what else are you into?”

Armin looked thoughtful for a second, then let out a short laugh. “You mean like hobbies?”

“Sure. Give me something unexpected.”

“Hmm…” He looked up at the ceiling, thinking. “I like bad documentaries. Like, really bad. I watched one last week about competitive duck herding.”

She blinked. “Duck… herding?”

“It’s a real thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is. There were little obstacle courses and everything.”

Y/N shook her head, trying not to laugh. “That’s both the nerdiest and weirdest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He gave a small grin, pushing his glasses up. “You asked for unexpected.”

“Touché.”

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s something most people wouldn’t guess about you?”

She paused. “I have a horrible taste in music.”

“Define horrible.”

“Like, early 2000s emo bands and girl group one-hit wonders.”

Armin looked impressed. “That’s a bold confession.”

“I stand by it,” she said, mock-defensive.

He leaned back a little, relaxing now. “I kind of love that.”

She smiled. “You’re not going to psychoanalyze me now, are you?”

“Tempting,” he joked. “But no. I’m off-duty.”

The room fell into a quiet lull again — not awkward, just… still. Like both of them were finally comfortable not filling every second.

Armin shifted a little. “I don’t really talk to girls much.”

Y/N glanced at him. “I kind of figured.”

“Was it that obvious?” he winced.

“No, not in a bad way. Just… you seem like the type who doesn’t fake things.”

He thought about that for a second. “I guess I don’t see the point.”

She looked at him carefully. “You’re kind of hard to read, though.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Why’s that?”

He shrugged. “I think too much. About what to say. About how things might sound. I’ve always been like that.”

Y/N sipped from her drink, letting the quiet settle. Then: “You don’t seem uncomfortable.”

“I’m not. I mean—I was. At first. But…” He looked over at her. “You’re easy to talk to.”

She smiled softly, surprised by how genuine that felt. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “High praise from a girl who has a horrible taste in music.”

She nudged his leg with her foot. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

His laugh was quiet but real.

She noticed then, in the soft light, that his features were sharp but delicate. High cheekbones, long lashes, a mouth that looked like it didn’t smile enough but knew how to when it counted. His glasses were slightly fogged, probably from the warmth of the room.

And—

Was that a tongue piercing?

She blinked.

He caught her looking, and for once, he didn’t seem embarrassed.

“Oh,” he said casually, “yeah. That’s new.”

“You have a tongue piercing?”

Armin looked almost smug. “Shocking, I know.”

“Wait, are you secretly a bad boy or something?”

He gave her a very mild look. “I got it on a dare.”

“From who?”

“Eren.”

Y/N let out a loud laugh. “That makes sense.”

“I was drunk. He said I wouldn’t do it. So I did.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Like hell.”

She looked at him, trying to imagine quiet, careful Armin in some tattoo shop or back alley parlor, sticking his tongue out and regretting everything.

“That’s actually kind of impressive,” she said.

He shrugged. “I wanted to prove I could do something impulsive for once.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Do you regret it?”

He smiled. “Not tonight.”

Something about the way he said it made her breath catch a little. It wasn’t flirty, exactly — just… honest.

She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she leaned back against the desk, legs stretched out slightly, the tips of her shoes brushing his. She let the moment hang there.

Armin was quiet too, just watching her — not staring, not trying to read her mind. Just being there. It felt strange how natural that was.

“Did you come here hoping to hook up with someone?” she asked, her voice softer.

He blinked at the question. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

He shook his head. “I came because I didn’t want to say no to Reiner again. I didn’t think I’d end up sitting in a room talking to someone like this.”

“Like what?”

“Someone who’s…” He hesitated. “…really interesting.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I’d like to.”

Y/N didn’t answer for a moment. She was looking at him differently now. Like something about him had shifted — not just the tongue piercing or the fact that he drank whiskey and watched duck herding. But the way he carried himself. Quiet, but grounded.

She let her foot press a little closer to his.

“Then ask me something,” she said. “Anything.”

Armin looked thoughtful, then asked, “What do you want?”

The question caught her off guard. “Right now?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N glanced at her cup, then at him. “I’m not sure. But I don’t want to leave this room yet.”

He nodded slowly. “Me either.”

The air in the room had shifted. Not in a dramatic way—no sudden spark or electric jolt—but in the slow, unmistakable way gravity shifts when two people begin orbiting one another. Neither of them moved, not really, but everything between them felt warmer. Closer.

Armin leaned back slightly, propping one hand behind him on the bed. His hoodie bunched around his arm. His other hand still held the half-full red cup, but he didn’t seem interested in drinking anymore.

Y/N sat still against the desk, her eyes on him—not piercing, not even curious, just…watchful. Comfortable.

“You ever feel like everyone else has it figured out already?” she asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

He glanced at her. “All the time.”

“I look around and everyone’s doing internships or planning grad school. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to get through the week without crashing from coffee and panic.”

Armin smiled, small and knowing. “You don’t seem like someone who’s flailing.”

“Because I’m good at pretending,” she admitted. “I talk a lot. Joke around. But underneath, I’m just hoping I’m not screwing everything up.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t try to fix it. Just nodded like he understood.

“I think most people are faking it,” he said after a beat. “Even the ones who look like they know what they’re doing.”

She looked at him. “And what about you?”

“I’ve always had a plan,” he said slowly. “I think I needed one to feel like I had control over…anything. But sometimes I wonder if I’m chasing something I don’t even want anymore.”

“Like what?”

“Being taken seriously. Being the smartest guy in the room. Having answers.”

“And now?”

He looked at her again, eyes softer than they had been all night.

“Now I just want to feel like I’m not performing every second.”

She let that sit between them. There was something vulnerable about the way he said it—unashamed, unguarded.

“I like this version of you,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Which one?”

“The one that’s not trying.”

He smiled. “Thanks.”

Another stretch of quiet, but this time, it was gentle. Peaceful.

Y/N slid down from the desk, taking the few steps that brought her closer to the bed. She set her drink on the windowsill and sat beside him, their shoulders barely brushing.

She could smell his cologne now—clean, subtle, with something warm beneath it. Vanilla or cedar. Something that didn’t scream for attention, but stayed.

Armin didn’t move away.

She nudged his arm slightly. “Tell me something dumb.”

He looked over at her, amused. “Dumb?”

“Yeah. Something no one else knows. Something stupid.”

He thought for a moment, then said, “I name my houseplants.”

She laughed. “Okay. That’s a good start. Hit me.”

“There’s a fern in my dorm named Pascal. He’s dying. Slowly. I feel guilty about it.”

“Poor Pascal.”

“There’s also a succulent named Jojo.”

She grinned. “Like the anime?”

He gave her a mock-offended look. “No. Like my old neighbor’s dog. She bit me once.”

“I see,” she said, suppressing laughter. “Is that revenge?”

“Maybe.”

Her laugh was soft, and the sound made something tug at the corner of Armin’s mouth. He looked down at his hands, like he didn’t quite know what to do with them.

She reached for one—without thinking—and traced the edge of his knuckles. “You’re warm,” she murmured.

He glanced at their hands. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” she said, quieter now. “It’s nice.”

She didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“Can I ask you something kind of personal?” she said.

He nodded.

“Have you ever…been with anyone?”

The question hung in the air—not judgmental, not prying, just curious.

He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Not really.”

“Not even a little?”

He looked sheepish. “There was a kiss. Sophomore year. It was…brief.”

Y/N smiled softly. “Was it that bad?”

“No,” he said. “Just forgettable.”

She turned to face him a little more, their knees touching now. “You don’t seem like the type who’d want something meaningless.”

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “But sometimes I wonder if I missed out on all the messy parts. The weird, awkward first times.”

“You’re not missing much,” she said, teasing gently. “Most of the time, those are just stories you hope no one ever asks about.”

He chuckled. “Good to know.”

She was watching him again. The angle of his jaw. The way his glasses slid slightly down the bridge of his nose. How closely his lips pressed together when he was nervous.

He looked at her, and for a second, neither of them said anything.

Then he asked, voice softer now, “Can I ask you something back?”

She nodded.

“Do you regret coming here tonight?”

Y/N looked at him for a long moment before answering. “No,” she said finally. “Not anymore.”

Armin’s expression changed just slightly—relief, maybe. Or quiet surprise.

She reached out and pushed his glasses up his nose, gentle and unhurried.

“You have really pretty eyes,” she said.

He blinked.

“You probably don’t hear that a lot,” she added.

“I…don’t.”

“You should.”

They were close now. Not touching much, but their bodies were leaning in, mirroring each other. The space between them felt intentional, not accidental. She could feel the warmth coming off of him.

Armin licked his lips, slow. “You’re…really beautiful.”

She didn’t tease him for the way his voice caught. Didn’t laugh or deflect.

Instead, she said, “Thank you.”

There was another beat of silence. Then:

“Would it be okay,” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, “if I kissed you?”

Y/N nodded once. “Yes.”

The soft light of the room wrapped around them like a tender embrace, casting gentle shadows that flickered on the walls. Armin’s breath was shallow, his glasses catching the light as he leaned closer, lips barely brushing against Y/N’s. The world outside dissolved into silence, and all that remained was the subtle, electric hum between them.

Their kisses deepened slowly — not rushed, but deliberate, each movement a careful exploration. Armin’s lips parted just enough to allow a whisper of breath, his tongue teasing the edge of her mouth with shy curiosity. Y/N responded, her own lips melting into his, the taste of him intoxicating and soft. She could feel his tongue piercing moving along her own tongue.

His hands trembled slightly as they slid down the sides of her dress, fingers grazing the smooth curve of her ribs. The fabric was warm under his touch, but his skin was warmer still. His fingertips found the zipper at the small of her back, and he hesitated for a moment, heart thudding in his chest. He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, the uncertainty in his eyes mingling with a quiet hope.

“May I…?” His voice was low, hesitant, almost a fragile question suspended between them.

Y/N’s breath hitched, and without breaking eye contact, she nodded, the glow in her eyes telling him everything he needed to know — trust, anticipation, desire.

Slowly, reverently, Armin tugged the zipper down. The fabric slid off her shoulders like a whispered sigh, pooling softly around her waist. The cool air kissed her skin as the dress fell away, revealing delicate lace beneath — a bra that clung tenderly to her curves, underwear that traced the outline of her hips.

His breath caught as he took in the sight. She was breathtaking.

He tossed his own shirt aside, the fabric fluttering briefly before landing in a heap. His lean frame was almost fragile, pale skin taut over slender muscles, a quiet vulnerability made visible. A faint glint of metal from his tongue piercing caught the light as he swallowed nervously, the shimmer almost mesmerizing.

Armin’s fingers moved with both confidence and care as they reached behind her to unclasp the bra in one smooth, practiced motion. The straps slipped free, and the lace fell away, leaving her bare beneath his touch.

His lips found the sensitive skin of her left nipple with tender reverence, soft and wet. His tongue flicked lightly, sending shivers rippling through her body. At the same time, his other hand reached around to play gently with her right breast, fingers teasing the delicate skin.

„Armin…“

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his soft, chestnut hair, pulling him closer, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sensations sparked a fire inside her — every kiss, every touch was a silent promise, slow and deliberate, a dance of trust and tenderness.

Armin’s eyes fluttered closed as he savored the taste, the feel of her responding beneath him. He moved with a mixture of awe and nervousness — each gesture careful, as if afraid to break the fragile magic between them.

His hands slid down her sides, tracing gentle lines along her ribs, fingers trembling with excitement and uncertainty. He felt the quickening of her breath against his skin, the soft rise and fall of her chest, and it filled him with a fierce tenderness.

Slowly, his hand wandered lower, fingers brushing the edge of her underwear with featherlight touches. He paused, searching her face for permission, and found it in the way her eyes fluttered open, lips parted in a silent invitation.

Encouraged, he leaned in, trailing kisses down her neck — soft, warm, lingering — leaving a path of heat in their wake. His hands moved with growing confidence, exploring the gentle curves of her body, learning every contour as if committing it to memory.

Y/N pulled him closer again, her pulse pounding as the world around them faded. The quiet room was filled with the sound of their breaths mingling, soft sighs, and the faint rustle of fabric shifting.

Armin’s fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear, tracing the smooth skin there with reverence. He paused, locking eyes with her once more, seeking the silent “yes” that danced in her gaze.

Her nod was barely perceptible but enough to steady his racing heart.

He smiled softly, his nervousness giving way to a gentle confidence as he slowly peeled the delicate fabric down her thighs and off, setting it aside like a treasure.

The moment felt sacred.

Armin moved to his pants, fingers fumbling slightly as he unbuttoned and slid them down. He was already hard to the point it hurt him. He pulled out the condom Eren had given him earlier, before vanishing with Mikasa, his hands trembling just a bit as he carefully tore the wrapper open with his teeth — the tiny crinkle loud in the quiet room.

His gaze never left Y/N’s as he rolled the condom down, fingers steadying despite the nervous energy buzzing between them.

With a final deep breath, he positioned himself at her entrance, the warmth of her skin pressing against him making his breath hitch.

He looked up, searching her eyes one last time.

“Are you sure?” His voice was thick with emotion.

Y/N nodded, a soft smile playing at her lips. “I’m sure.”

Slowly, gently, Armin pushed inside. The sensation was overwhelming — a tight warmth surrounding him, the slight resistance softening as she adjusted to his presence.

He moved with deliberate care, inch by inch, waiting, letting her breathe him in, feel him fully before going further.

„Oh fuck…“

Y/N’s fingers curled into the sheets beneath them, her breath catching and then settling into a slow rhythm.

Armin’s hands gripped her hips lightly, holding steady as he inched deeper, every nerve alive with sensation.

When he was fully inside, they paused, breaths mingling, the moment thick with intimacy.

He began to move slowly, a careful, steady rhythm. His thrusts were deliberate and tender, building a connection deeper than words.

Y/N’s soft gasps and gentle moans encouraged him, her body responding with growing warmth and openness.

Armin’s pace picked up gradually, each motion filled with a mixture of reverence and desire, their bodies moving together like a quiet dance.

„You feel so good Y/N…“

The room filled with the sounds of their connection — breathy sighs, whispered names, the soft rhythm of skin against skin.

Every thrust was a silent conversation, every touch a vow.

Armin’s nervousness faded as the intensity grew, replaced by a fierce determination to be present for her, to honor the trust she had given him.

Y/N’s fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer, her voice soft and breathless. “Armin…”

He smiled against her skin, whispering back, “You’re so beautiful.”

Armin’s rhythm quickened, his body moving with an urgency that was both desperate and tender. He buried his face in the crook of Y/N’s neck, his breath hot against her skin as he whimpered quietly into her ear. The sound sent a shiver straight through her, her back arching instinctively as pleasure rippled down her spine.

The sensation was overwhelming — his voice, the pace, the way his body fit against hers. Her fingers dug into the firm lines of his back, holding on as her own climax began to surge. Her moans spilled out uncontrollably, each one growing louder as the pressure inside her built to a breaking point.

“You feel so good, Y/N… so fucking good,” Armin gasped, his voice cracking between ragged breaths. His words, raw and honest, sent her even closer to the edge.

Her hips met his, chasing the sensation, her entire body beginning to jolt as the pleasure overtook her. She was nearly there, teetering on the brink, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in the world.

“I’m… I’m so close,” she panted, nails raking lightly down his spine.

Armin let out a strained groan, burying it against her skin. “Me too… fuck—Y/N, you’re incredible… you’re so goddamn beautiful…”

That was all it took.

Her body tensed beneath him as her climax hit in a wave, shuddering through her with a sharp cry. Armin followed just seconds after, his thrusts turning uneven and sloppy as the intensity overtook him, his whole body trembling from the force of it.

He stayed inside her for a few moments, catching his breath, their chests rising and falling in sync. Then, with a soft, careful motion, he pulled out, gently holding her thighs as he did, making sure she was okay.

Y/N’s legs trembled beneath the weight of the aftermath, a flushed mess of breathless satisfaction. Armin looked down at her with wide eyes, awe written all over his face. Seeing her like this — wrecked, glowing, trembling from his touch — sent another thrill through him.

“Y/N…” he murmured, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead, “you’re amazing…”

[loustica-lucia]

Heroes of the Dragon Age

An animation I've made for Dragon Age Day 2023, featuring my main Warden (Alyssa Cousland-Theirin), Hawke (Eleena Amell Hawke) and Inquisitor (Sulevin Lavellan)!

It's to this day one of my best artwork and I thought I should share it here too! 90+ hours between the original sketch, outfit design, the rough animation, rotoscope, inking, flat-colours, background shading and even the audio :')

Interested in the process? I detailed it below since it was my first time doing something like that:

I would like to start by saying I'm not a professional animator!Everything you've seen here is the result of experimentation and a lot of practice to learn and understand how 2D animation works.

My first idea started in May 2023. I just finished rewatching DA Absolution for the X time, and wanted to analyse why I loved the intro so much. (Even after countless rewatch, I never skipped it once.) I was inspired to study it with my main three protagonists!

Then came the first test with Alyssa Cousland-Theirin, my Hero of Ferelden! I tried to understand which part to separate for the animation. Mainly the hair and cape because it flows a lot more than the rest! If I recall, my first idea here was to make her counter flame attacks (?). Then, as the camera turns around her, I tried to add a grid to know how the camera would work around it.

I ended up making the clip longer, so she could position herself to the further left and leave space to the two other protagonists.

Now it was time to try to animate Sulevin Lavellan, my Inquisitor. I really kept that quick doodling style just to capture the vibe without putting too much time/effort into it! The background would be static to contrast with Alyssa's. I also loved the idea of a rogue sneaking!

Instead of working on Eleena Amell Hawke, my Champion of Kirkwall, I went back to Alyssa and started working with Clip Studio Paint 3D models (this entire animation has been done on the EX version of the software!) It helped for rotoscope animation and maintaining likeness! That's when I got the idea to make the background swirl around the character to let the eyes be guided by the rest of the screen!

After a couple more hours, I planned the entire animatic with 3D models and quick doodles! I finally found a cool pose for Eleena Hawke, which was honestly the hardest of the three to imagine for some reason? I tried many other poses but ended up picking an animation from the game!

This whole time, I was studying a bunch of background ideas and how studio Red Dog Culture House (who made Absolution) work! Thankfully, they have a YouTube Channel where they shared some BTS content so I could analyse it!

Then, I simplified my character and their original designs in the style of the studio! These outfits are how I imagine them after Trespasser. Alyssa as the Queen of Ferelden, looking for a cure to the Calling, Hawke following Fenris to Tevinter & Sully as a Red Jenny Inquisitor!

The idea for Sulevin's animation actually came from a piece I doodled on a live stream, when I was drawing pose studies and turning them into finished artworks haha As for Alyssa, I wanted to draw the fight that got her facial scars!

Once their designs were ready and the background ideas too, I made the rough version of the animation! Basically a sketch done on top of the 3D models to add the details, staying pretty rough just to capture the idea and movements.

Then it was time to start the lines! I decided make a folder per frame, so I could separate all he main elements and draw them one by one. It helps keeping the likeness of a character in the different frames without having big "jumps" between frames! In fact, every parts were coloured differently to recognize them, and then I used vector erasers and masks (Ah yes, the entire lineart is done in vectors of course! It's easier to adjust and save time when working on similar frames!)

At first of course, everything overlaps! But I find it easier to draw too much and erase after, just to make sure everything is coherent in each frames! The cool thing about CSP is how you can change the colour of the layers in one click! So all the coloured lines turned into black in one second, and I could reverse it just as quickly to double check!

Then I started working on Sulevin! I made a blue line to mark where her feet were, as the sketch in the background wasn't perfectly straight! (Like Sulevin's sexuality 🤭😂) The silhouettes were very quick to do, but I had fun adding more & more details as she came closer to the foreground!

I really wanted to add that little dagger trick, but I remember it required me to change the pacing of Eleena's apparition, as it was recovering her arm too quickly! I had to change the pace of multiple frames quite a lot during the project, to make sure the flow was right! For Eleena, most of her animation remained around her arms and the staff itself, as magic would be the most difficult part! That way each character has their own focus: Alyssa has a very animated background, Sulevin got the grappling hook and Eleena the ice!

Then it was time to start adding colours! Just like for the lineart, I separated every colour on it's own layer, so I could easily adjust the colours later if needed. I added one colour at the time, going through all the frames, and then another colour!

I made full palette tests with the colours I would use for their background at this point, checking if the details remained readable! Alyssa was the most challenging in terms of clothes, because I made her a very detailled armour! I had to simplify the Theirin heraldry, vectorize/redraw the Cousland, and make a brush for her cape's pattern!

Once I was done adding the flatcolours, I started the background, and oh boy it was a wild ride. For the cave, I painted multiple tests. I imagine was to use CSP panorama tools, which transform a texture into a 3D sphere, so each corners must match to look good. Sadly, it made the background very blurry, so after hours of testing, I changed ideas. Instead of the random fire balls (?) I originally imagined for Alyssa, I made three simple frames of a Rage Demon to attack her.

I ended up using the cave as a repeated pattern to make it turn 360° around the character. For Eleena, I mixed inspiration from the comics, Dreadwolf & Absolution, using warm colours matching Hawke's signature red. Just like I made the cave very grey/blue to match Grey Wardens. For Val Royeaux, it was more complex because I wanted to make it green, matching the Inquisitor's signature green. But bright green couldn't work, and the original colour during day time was blue/white/gold. So I added more leaves, played around the design a bit! After adding the rage demon, I made the shading! It was surprisingly easy and quick to do now!

I clipped a white layer on the flatcolours to not be distracted by the colours, and made thin lines to separate the light/shadows, then simply filled everything with the bucket tool! Then you set the layer to multiply and remove the white layer, and you have celshading shadows! Now the character looks out of the picture, so I added layers of blue in color burn, saturation and substract blending modes to make her look like she's in the right setting! Of course, I did the same with the other two, giving Hawke a red overlay and Sulevin green shadows!

Then I added the details, it went from white irises, to sword/staff smears to earrings and smaller finition that goes on top of these layers. To add the lights, I simply selected the shadows and reversed the selection! Using warm and cold tones to create contrast with the purple/bluish shadows! I also added more ambient light layers for Alyssa to reflect the Rage Demon fire. Now it was time to add ice magic! My first attempt had too many frames, making it look weird! Sometimes it's better to lower the frame rate to make things less bumpy!

Then I downloaded some cool ice brushes on CSP assets that made it look less like blue magical flames! But when I covered the screen in ice, I realized "Oh wait, I could make a cool transition from the ice, to blue lyrium turning red?"Red Lyrium truly links these three games and The Veilguard somehow! I spent the next hour painting over the idol and putting it in a black background, with lyrium and then the golden Dragon Age title text.

For the SFX, I used free youtube libraries sounds & "Darkspawn!" comes from the violent human female voice set (iconic for ""Can I get you a ladder? So you can get off my back!"😂🤭) After editing all that, the animation was finally done!

Here's the final math:

About 15 hours for the sketching/rough/animatic phase, 30h for the lineart, 25h for colours, 10h for backgrounds, 5h for details & 5h for music & SFX, for a total of 90 hours. Aka the same amount of time it took me to finish Baldur's Gate 3 the first time lol

If you have any question regarding the animation or the softwares etc. do not hesitate to ask, I'll do my best to answer!

[ravensuperr]

Danny Valentine's mess

The usual buzz of homeroom was in full swing when Danny pulled his books from his backpack, only for a small red envelope to slip out and land on his desk. Star, who was sitting nearby, immediately took notice.

"Ooooh, Danny, you got a Valentine’s Day card!" she teased, reaching for it before Danny could stop her. "Who’s it from?"

Danny blinked at the envelope. "I have no clue."

Dash, always eager for gossip, snatched it up before Star could open it. "Let’s see what we got here," he said, dramatically clearing his throat before reading aloud. "Danny Fenton, I’ve admired you for so long—"

He suddenly stopped, frowning. "Wait… why is this typed? And in Times New Roman?"

Tucker leaned over, taking a quick photo of the letter with his PDA. "Yup. Black ink. Default font. Bro, if you’re gonna type a love letter, at least switch up the color, add a cute font, or do something creative. This looks like an essay. Where’s the personality?" He shook his head in disappointment.

Paulina, who had been listening, sighed dramatically. "As much as it pains me to agree with Foley, he’s right. A love confession is supposed to be personal! You put effort into making it stand out, not make it look like an MLA-formatted assignment."

"Exactly!" Star nodded. "Like, where are the little hearts? The cute doodles? This person clearly likes you, but they could’ve at least signed their name."

Danny sighed, taking the letter back. "I mean, it’s sweet, but yeah, kind of weird they didn’t personalize it more."

Tucker suddenly smirked. "Maybe it’s from Amy."

The entire group froze before a chorus of confused voices filled the air. "Amy?" "Wait, Amy?" "Who’s Amy?"

Dash’s eyebrows shot up. "Dude, you dated an Amy? Since when?"

Danny, looking a little flustered, rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah. Back in sixth grade."

Tucker, now enjoying the reactions, grinned. "Oh, you guys don’t even know the half of it. Danny’s had three ex-girlfriends."

Silence. Then—

"Three?!" Multiple voices rang out in shock.

"You? Had three girlfriends?" Kwan asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"I mean, yeah?" Danny shrugged. "It’s not like I go around bragging about it."

"Wait, wait, wait," Paulina interrupted, flipping her hair. "Who are these girls? I demand details."

Danny sighed, realizing there was no escape. "Alright, fine. So, first, there was Amy. We dated for most of sixth grade, but she broke up with me in May."

"Dang, almost a full year?" Star raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

Danny shrugged. "Never really got a straight answer, honestly. Just that she thought it was best if we broke up."

Tucker crossed his arms. "And then there was Rei."

"Who?" Sam finally spoke up, her voice controlled.

"Rei was my summer girlfriend," Danny explained. "We met while she and her family were staying in Amity Park for the summer. When she found out her dad’s job was supposed to move them here, she was super excited. But at the last minute, her dad lost the job offer, and they had to go back to Japan. We broke up right before she left. I gave her a necklace as a goodbye gift."

"Okay, that’s actually kind of sweet," Paulina admitted.

"And then," Tucker continued, "there was Heather."

This got the biggest reaction.

"Wait, wait, wait—Heather?" Star practically choked. "As in Heather Heather? Ice-skating champion, fluent in five languages, exchange program star, that Heather?"

"The same Heather who got a dog from the Prime Minister of China?" Dash added, eyes wide.

Danny groaned. "Yes, that Heather."

The room exploded.

"DUDE!" Kwan shouted. "How do you date Heather and not talk about it?!"

"It was eighth grade!" Danny protested. "It’s not like we advertised it!"

"Still, you were dating the girl everyone thought was gonna take over the world! How did it even happen?"

Danny smiled a little. "Honestly? Heather liked being around me because I didn’t put her on some pedestal. She was always under pressure to be perfect, but when we hung out, she could just be herself. I introduced her to music she loved, and she enjoyed listening to me rant about stars and NASA. She even had a wallpaper of me looking at the stars because she thought it was cute."

Paulina placed a hand over her heart. "That’s actually adorable."

"Yeah," Danny admitted. "We dated for a while, but… she broke up with me, too."

The room fell quiet for a moment.

"Wait," Star said slowly. "Amy broke up with you. Rei broke up with you. Heather broke up with you. They all said you were, like, the best boyfriend they had… and yet they all broke it off? That doesn’t make any sense."

Danny frowned slightly. "I mean, I never really thought about it. I don’t sit around analyzing my breakups, you know?"

Tucker muttered, "Except on Valentine’s Day."

Meanwhile, Sam had gone silent, her fingers gripping her desk as a memory surfaced—a confrontation from months ago.

Heather’s cold, knowing stare.

"I know what you did, Sam. I know you made Amy break up with Danny. I know you somehow had a hand in Rei’s father losing that job offer. And now I had to break up with him, too. So tell me—what’s your endgame here? Sooner or later, Danny’s going to figure it out. And when he does, and you get called out for your toxic behavior, I hope I’m there to take a photo of your face. Because I will not let you forget what you did."

Sam swallowed hard.

Heather was the girl who could stop any rumor. The one who could read people like a book. If she had put the pieces together, how much longer before Danny did, too?

She clenched her fists under the desk.

"Sam?" Star called, pulling her out of her thoughts. "You okay?"

Sam forced a smirk. "Yeah, just… surprised, is all. Didn’t think Danny was such a heartbreaker."

Danny groaned. "Oh, come on! I was not a heartbreaker!"

Dash smirked. "Three exes say otherwise."

Danny slumped in his seat as the teasing continued, but Sam’s mind was elsewhere. Because Heather was right.

And sooner or later, Danny was going to figure it out.