#Practice doodles to keep sharp!

[sysig]

Caughtcha, gotcha, not letting go ♥ (Patreon)

[vampjaeyun]

STRAWBERRY LOLLY

PAIRING shy nerd!sunghoon x confident fem!reader | wc: 1.5k

WARNINGS vague smut, miniskirt agenda (duh), sunghoon is a perv and he got it bad, dom!sunghoon

However, one aspect that stands out on this particular day is the sugary rock between the lips he loves so much. God, Sunghoon practically busts at the sight.

NOTES hi first post kinda nervy

PARK SUNGHOON has the hots for you.

It has only been a few months since he’s known of you. And it’s not enough time to build the courage to approach you.

What can he say?

You look unfathomable. Something so unreachable. Especially for someone like him.

He sits far across the room as the professor rambles on, stealing glances, wondering if you’ll notice him one day. It was hard to keep his mind at bay, to prevent walking up to you. He knew that he would ramble and mess it all up. Or stutter while attempting to acquaint himself with you.

He realized that admiring from afar was the best solution to the issue at hand. And it proved to be a good one.

That is, until it became unbearable. More specifically, sinful. And today is one where it seems God is testing him.

You return to the classroom and Sunghoon automatically straightens his posture– his doodling on the notebook gone astray.

You’re sporting the same mini skirt he loves so much and those legs are perfectly on display for everyone to see. It’s definitely not because they’re so short your panties practically peek out without having to look under.

He doesn’t know how you do it. How you claim attention to any room you walk in. Heads automatically turn in your direction the second you step foot into it. But you play dumb, acting as if the people in the room don’t automatically moan at the sight of you.

And whether it’s the perfect posture or the pearly smile you showcase, you’re far out of reach for the quiet, stereotypical glasses-wearing nerd, whose favorite class is calculus. And it’s most definitely because you’re in this class too.

However, one aspect that stands out on this particular day is the sugary rock between the lips he loves so much.

God, Sunghoon practically busts at the sight.

The glassy ball between your lips that you occasionally run your tongue along has him losing all composure. You’re innocently conversing with your classmate beside you, innocently grazing the tip of the red lollipop against your bottom lip, and innocently putting it back into your mouth in one motion. Your cheeks hollow, and he salivates at you sucking on the sticky candy. He knows he’s far away, yet believes his eyesight couldn’t be any clearer.

His leg starts to mindlessly shake once scenarios run wild, and one point he makes clear to himself is that the flavor is strawberry. It fits you perfectly, he thinks. The strawberry lollipop tints your lips a fitting scarlet shade, the gloss resembling honey as you continue to edge him beyond belief with the repetition of your ministrations.

But as he continues to gawk from across the room, your orbs shoot directly into his.

It’s so sudden that he moves to deter from your glare at all costs and reverts back to random doodling. Sweat dribbles down alongside his temple because your sharp eyes contain purpose behind them, and he prays that the purpose isn’t him.

You’re definitely going to call him out for being a creep if anything.

But a tap on his shoulder forces him to address the siren in heels behind him, and as he turns, Sunghoon can hardly meet your inviting eyes.

And just like taking a breath, your syrupy voice addresses him for the first time. He wonders if you feel an ounce of what he’s feeling at the moment.

Surely not, because you act as if you’ve known him your whole life.

“Hey Hoonie, can I talk to you for a second?” you infer with your hands pressed against the edge of his desk. And it’s proving impossible to look straight into your eyes, even more at your tits pressed together, spilling out of your top.

“Shoot,” he mentally applauses himself for a collective response.

“I need a tutor,” you frown, and all he thinks about is how your face would look when you cum.

“I’m on the verge of failing, and I know you’re about to check off a hundred percent in the class.”

“Yeah o-of course. I have to make sure my schedule’s open first.”

“Great! My place or your place?” you bat your lashes innocently.

Sunghoon swears if you do one more thing, he’ll cum in his pants right then and there. There’s not much more he can take. “Anywhere is fine. I gotta go though. We can discuss the details in class tomorrow.”

You’re giggling at his shyness, quick to follow his scurrying around the desk. “Or we can keep talking since I like talking to you so much.”

You’ve got him staring like a deer in headlights, “You do?”

“Do you?” you inquire while also wondering when he’ll drop the shy act.

An opportunity like this most likely won’t ever happen again. And the countless times Jake has called him a pussy for not shooting his shot only motivates him that much more. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?”

“Maybe because I enjoy hearing answers I like,” you raise a brow at his sudden confidence, but your interest is showcased through the closing proximity between the two of you with each word that escapes your throat.

Sunghoon notices the glint of surprise in your eyes when you realize he wasn’t going to cower backwards.

His thoughts, on the other hand, were the complete opposite of his cowardly actions. In fact, he wonders how’d you react if he kissed you until your lips were bruised. Or if you liked it if he wrapped his entire hand full of your hair and tugged ‘til his heart’s content.

But in the end, your answer has him speechless, and you fully grin at that. “Let me know the answer to mine when you get the chance.”

You’re turning around to leave the shaky boy alone, but something catches your wrist.

“Tomorrow. Eight p.m., my place,” he’s breathing pattern quickens and he thickly gulps as he awaits your response.

And you giggle at his eagerness. “Can’t wait.”

And that’s how you ended up at his place the following night. Sunghoon had successfully helped complete a total of five questions before your hand slithered up his thigh and the subject of derivatives flew out the window.

To be honest, he doesn’t care he gave in so fast.

He’s so easy. So easy for you.

And you knew that. You took advantage of how he averted your gaze at all costs, yet you could still feel the heat of his stare when you looked away. Usually preferring men who are more dominant and masculine in and out of the bedroom, you took this as a challenge to stray out of your comfort zone.

You couldn’t lie though, Sunghoon’s awkward mannerisms are awfully cute. A bonus was he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. Your friends often scolded you for wanting to pursue him, but you ignored their incessant warnings.

And when you made due of your promise, you were surprised at how he was able to get a few words out.

What was even more surprising was the night that followed.

“Fuck—mnph!” your moans are muffled into the pillow as Sunghoon plows into your sopping cunt from behind. His palm envelops the entirety of your nape, pushing your head harder with each thrust. Your entire spine buzzes with pleasure, and his fingers digging into your neck only heighten the feeling.

“This is for underestimating me,” he seethes. You wish you were facing him to see his darkened persona.

“I w-w,” you barely get out.

“You what?” his hoarse voice mixes with a groan at your velvety walls sucking him like a vice.

“I-I wish I c-could take a pict-ture,” Sunghoon’s fingers press deeper with each word that escapes your throat, and you giggle. You’d never imagine the loser in class could get you cock drunk.

“Go ahead,” he seethes before pulling out and flipping you over to your back.

“Wha-” you can’t even finish the word before he’s roughly thrusting into your pussy in one motion and continuing with the same pace.

“Hoon! Fuck,” you’re under his spell while the bed frame rhythmically knocks against the wall.

“I should take a picture of you like this,” he turns your slack jaw so you are able to look at him.

He chuckles once his eyes make contact with your hooded ones. “With drool and tears decorating your face while I use you as a cock-sleeve.”

Your fists ball as the drag of his cock overwhelms you. “So full,” you moan, and he rewards your comment with another harsh snap of his hips.

“Remember,” Sunghoon sets your calves against his shoulder and leans down against your ear. It feels unworldly, his cock pushing deeper and rougher into your cervix.

“Remember who makes you feel this way,” he whispers.

[sh4nksslvt]

A Doodle in the Cold

On a chilly night aboard the Polar Tang, you borrow Law’s coat and discover a doodle of yourself, unraveling his hidden feelings in a series of tender, awkward moments.

Law X reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Polar Tang hummed softly beneath your feet, its metal walls groaning against the icy wind of the winter island you’d docked at. The crew had ventured onto the snowy shore earlier, gathering supplies and indulging in a rare snowball fight, but now, as night fell, the sub was a haven of warmth—or it would’ve been, if the heating system hadn’t chosen tonight to malfunction. You shivered in your thin jacket, rubbing your arms as you wandered the corridors, seeking the mess hall where the Heart Pirates were likely huddled.

The faint clatter of mugs and laughter guided you to the right door. Inside, the crew was sprawled across mismatched chairs, a portable heater glowing weakly in the corner. Bepo, bundled in his own fur, was recounting a tale of slipping on ice, his paws waving dramatically. Penguin and Shachi, ever the instigators, were snickering, while Ikkaku was trying to fix the heater with a wrench, muttering curses.

You leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the scene. “Any luck with that heater, Ikkaku?”

She glanced up, blowing a curl of hair from her face. “This thing’s older than the ship. Might as well pray for a miracle.”

“Or for Captain to stop being stingy and buy a new one,” Shachi quipped, dodging a playful swipe from Penguin.

Your gaze drifted to the corner, where Trafalgar Law sat, legs crossed, a book balanced on his knee. His hat was tipped low, casting shadows over his sharp features, but you could tell he was listening, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. He hadn’t joined the snowball fight earlier, claiming it was “beneath a surgeon’s dignity,” but you’d caught him watching from the deck, his eyes lingering on you as you laughed with Bepo.

“Cold, Y/N?” Bepo’s voice snapped you back. The mink tilted his head, concern in his dark eyes. “You’re shivering.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s not that bad. Just… brisk.”

“Liar,” Ikkaku said, smirking. “You’re practically a popsicle. Captain, lend her your coat or something. You’re just sitting there brooding.”

Law’s head lifted slightly, his gray eyes narrowing at Ikkaku before flicking to you. “I don’t brood,” he said, voice low and dry. “And I’m not a charity wardrobe.”

But he was already setting his book down, his movements deliberate. You opened your mouth to protest—really, you were fine—but Law stood, shrugging off his long black coat with a fluid motion. The crew fell suspiciously quiet, their eyes darting between you two like they were watching a play unfold.

“Here,” Law said, holding the coat out. His tone was gruff, but his gaze softened for a split second, betraying the gesture’s weight. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. The coat was heavy, lined with soft fur, and it smelled faintly of antiseptic and something warmer, like cedar. “Thanks,” you murmured, slipping it on. It was comically large, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing your knees. You couldn’t help but giggle, flapping the sleeves like wings. “I look like I’m drowning in this.”

Penguin snorted. “Captain’s coat’s got more presence than half the crew.”

“Speak for yourself,” Shachi shot back, but he was grinning, clearly enjoying the moment.

Law rolled his eyes, sinking back into his chair. “Keep laughing, and I’ll Room you all into the snow.” But his fingers twitched around his book, and you noticed he hadn’t quite met your eyes since you put the coat on.

The crew’s banter resumed, and you settled onto a bench near the heater, the coat’s warmth seeping into your bones. It was cozy, almost too cozy, and you found yourself fiddling with the pockets, your fingers brushing something crinkled inside. Curious, you slipped your hand in and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. It was small, no bigger than your palm, and when you unfolded it, your breath caught.

It was a doodle. A simple, pencil-sketched outline of a person—you. The curve of your jaw, the way your hair fell over one shoulder, even the little scar on your knuckle from a mishap with a rigging knife. The lines were meticulous, almost tender, capturing you in a moment of quiet focus. At the bottom, in Law’s precise handwriting, was a single word: “Y/N.”

Your heart stuttered. You glanced at Law, who was still buried in his book, or pretending to be. His shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the pages a little too tightly. Had he meant to leave this in there? Was it an accident, or…?

“Y/N, you okay?” Bepo’s voice broke your trance. He leaned over, peering at the paper. “Oh! That’s you! Did Captain draw that?”

The room went silent again, all eyes swiveling to Law. You could’ve sworn the heater sputtered in embarrassment. Law’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto the paper in your hand. For a moment, he looked like a deer caught in a spotlight, his usual composure fracturing.

“Bepo,” he said, voice dangerously calm, “stop talking.”

Bepo squeaked, hiding behind Penguin, who was barely containing his laughter. Ikkaku leaned forward, smirking. “Well, well. Didn’t know you were an artist, Captain. That’s some serious detail.”

“It’s nothing,” Law snapped, but his ears were pink, a rare crack in his stoic facade. He stood abruptly, striding toward you. “Give it back.”

You clutched the doodle to your chest, grinning. “No way. This is adorable. You drew me?”

“It’s not—” Law faltered, his hand hovering as if unsure whether to snatch the paper or retreat. “It’s just a sketch. I was bored.”

“Bored?” you teased, holding the paper up. “You wrote my name on it. That’s not bored, that’s sentimental.”

The crew erupted into hoots and whistles, Shachi clapping Penguin on the back. “Sentimental! Our captain’s got a heart after all!”

Law’s jaw clenched, but his eyes softened when they met yours. “Tch... you’re making this a bigger deal than it is,” he muttered, but he didn’t move to take the paper. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at you.

You folded the doodle carefully, tucking it back into the coat pocket. “I’m keeping this,” you said, voice quieter now, meant just for him. “It’s sweet, Law.”

He huffed, but the flush on his cheeks deepened. “Do what you want,” he grumbled, turning back to his chair. “Just don’t expect me to draw you again.”

The crew’s teasing continued, but you caught the way Law’s smirk returned, subtle and private, as he sank back into his book. The moment felt like a secret shared, fragile but warm, like the coat still draped over your shoulders.

Later, the crew dispersed, leaving the mess hall quiet. You lingered, sipping lukewarm tea, the coat still wrapped around you. Law hadn’t asked for it back, and you weren’t eager to return it. The doodle burned in your mind, a tiny window into the man who hid so much behind his sharp edges.

The door creaked, and Law stepped back in, his hat now off, revealing tousled black hair. He paused, clearly not expecting you to still be there. “You’re still wearing that,” he said, nodding at the coat.

“It’s warm,” you replied, smiling. “And it smells like you.”

His eyes widened fractionally, and he coughed, looking away. “Don’t say weird stuff like that.”

You laughed, setting your mug down. “Come on, Law. You can’t draw me and expect me not to tease you. It’s too cute.”

“It’s not cute,” he said, but there was no bite in his voice. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying you. “You’re… impossible.”

“Says the guy who doodles his crewmates in secret.” You patted the bench beside you. “Sit. I won’t bite.”

He hesitated, then sighed, dropping onto the bench with a grace that belied his grumpiness. The silence was comfortable, the hum of the Polar Tang filling the space. You nudged his shoulder. “So, how long have you been drawing me?”

He groaned, rubbing his temple. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.” You leaned closer, grinning. “Spill, Captain. Is it just me, or do you have a whole sketchbook of Bepo and Shachi too?”

“Just you,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, the admission hanging between you like a spark.

Your heart did a little flip. “Just me?” you echoed, softer now. “Law, that’s… really sweet.”

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability. “It’s not a big deal. I sketch when I can’t sleep. You were… there.”

“There,” you repeated, amused. “You mean, on your mind?”

“Stop twisting my words,” he growled, but his hand brushed yours on the bench, and he didn’t pull away. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of wielding Kikoku, and the contact sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cold.

You tilted your head, studying him. The dim light caught the shadows under his eyes, the faint stubble on his jaw. He was always so guarded, but tonight, with the doodle and the coat and this quiet moment, he felt closer, more human. “You know,” you said, “you don’t have to hide stuff like this. I like seeing this side of you.”

He snorted, but his fingers curled slightly around yours. “You’re too nosy for your own good.”

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you shot back, grinning. “But I’ll keep your secret. No one else needs to know you’re a softie.”

“I’m not a softie,” he said, but his thumb brushed your knuckles, a small, unconscious gesture that made your chest ache.

You leaned back, pulling the coat tighter around you. “This is staying with me tonight, by the way. It’s too cozy to give back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re stealing my coat now?”

“Borrowing,” you corrected, sticking out your tongue. “Unless you want to freeze me out here.”

He shook his head, a rare, genuine laugh escaping him. It was low, warm, and it made your heart skip. “Fine. Keep it. But don’t expect me to make a habit of this.”

“Too late,” you said, standing and stretching. “You’re already my personal artist and coat-lender. Next, I’m getting you to knit me a scarf.”

“Keep dreaming,” he called after you as you headed for the door, but his smile lingered, soft and unguarded.

The next morning, you found the doodle still in the coat pocket, now joined by a small, folded note. In Law’s precise script, it read: “Don’t get used to the coat. But… nice smile.”

You grinned, tucking the note beside the doodle. The Polar Tang was still cold, but with Law’s coat around you and his quiet affection in your pocket, it felt like the warmest place imaginable.

[melanchoire]

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWGIRL ──── jang wonyoung.

── ( 🐎🌾) with her dreams at stake, wonyoung escapes to the forbidden rodeo in her room, joining forces with you for a night of tantalizing twists and turns, proving that sometimes, the hottest rodeos are the ones that break all the rules.

pairing. dom!farmer's daughter!jang wonyoung x sub!childhood best friend!gp reader

warning(s). cunnilingus, fingering, making out, pet names, use of weed.

word count. 10,2k

requested? yes.

wonyoung was adrift in a sea of spun sugar clouds, the air sweet with the scent of cherry blossoms and designer perfume. in her dream, she glided down a parisian runway, the flash of cameras a dazzling constellation around her. each step was perfect, each pose effortless. this was it, the life she craved, the future she envisioned.

cock-a-doodle-doo!

the sound pierced her idyllic bubble, sharp and utterly unwelcome. wonyoung’s eyes snapped open, her dream instantly dissolving like sugar in water. instead of clouds, her vision was filled with the frantic flapping wings and beady eyes of a particularly audacious rooster. it stood perched on her dresser, its comb practically brushing against her cheek as it unleashed another ear-splitting cry.

with a groan, wonyoung threw back the covers, the remnants of her dream fading like morning mist. she’d meticulously closed the curtains the night before, a desperate attempt to cling to sleep a little longer. but no, the farm life always found a way to intrude.

panic flared. wonyoung bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs. she swatted at the rooster, a shriek escaping her lips. “get out! get out!”

“i say: get out!” she hissed, grabbing a pillow and shooing the offending fowl towards the door. it squawked indignantly, flapping its wings before finally hopping out. wonyoung slammed the door shut, leaning against it for a moment, her chest tight with frustration.

“stupid bird.” she muttered, her voice trembling with residual fear and a healthy dose of annoyance.

she had been so careful last night, meticulously drawing the heavy curtains to block out the encroaching dawn. usually, that bought her a precious hour or two of extra sleep. but apparently, no amount of drapery could keep the farm’s resident alarm clock at bay.

this… this was her life. a room filled with fashion magazines and dreams of milan, situated on a farm where the alarm clock was a rooster and the air perpetually smelled of manure.

life on the farm. it was a constant clash between her aspirations and her reality. she’d grown up with it, of course. and it was a respectable, hardworking life. but it wasn’t hers. she, on the other hand, felt like a misplaced puzzle piece, constantly yearning for something different.

wonyoung dreamed of city lights, of towering skyscrapers instead of rolling hills. she envisioned herself gracing magazine covers, walking down runways, a world away from the mud and manure that clung to her family’s boots. but her parents, bless their hardworking souls, couldn’t comprehend her desires. her father, a horse blacksmith with calloused hands and a love for tradition, saw her future here, rooted in the land. her mother, the vibrant owner of the local town market, believed happiness lay in community and familiarity.

they couldn’t understand. they saw her dreams as frivolous, a childish fantasy. they wanted her to stay, to take over the farm, to continue the legacy. the legacy she desperately wanted to escape. their vision for wonyoung was a comfortable, predictable one, a life woven into the fabric of their small town. but Wonyoung craved the unknown, the challenge, the dazzling allure of a life she had only glimpsed in magazines and on television.

with a sigh, she ran her hands over her face, trying to shake off the lingering vestiges of sleep and the remnants of her shattered dream. she pulled her hair back into a messy bun, the image of sleek, professionally styled models flashing through her mind. slippers replaced the imagined designer heels as she trudged towards the door. time to face the music, or in this case, the crowing roosters and the aroma of frying bacon.

downstairs, the aroma of frying bacon and strong coffee filled the air. the sounds of the farm were already starting to swell: the lowing of cows, the clucking of hens, the distant clang of her father’s hammer. she murmured a polite greeting as she entered the kitchen, heading straight for the refrigerator. her parents were already seated at the table, their faces illuminated by the warm morning light filtering through the window. her older sister, daah, was perched on a stool, flipping through a magazine.

“morning.” wonyoung mumbled, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a carton of orange juice and poured herself a glass.

“look who finally decided to join us.” her older sister, daah, said without looking up from the stove. daah was everything wonyoung wasn’t: practical, grounded, and content with the farm life. their relationship was a constant battleground of differing opinions.

her mother, a sturdy woman with kind eyes and perpetually calloused hands, smiled. “morning, sweetheart. sleep well?”

wonyoung offered a noncommittal shrug. “as well as one can with a rooster for an alarm clock.”

“so, your father was just telling me about the rodeo this afternoon.” her mother said, her voice bright as she flipped a pancake. “it’s going to be a big one this year, with the usual dance afterwards.”

her father, a man of few words but immense strength, cleared his throat. “big rodeo this afternoon, wonyoung! should be a good one.”

wonyoung’s stomach clenched. rodeos were not her thing. the smell of horses and dust, the raucous cheers of the crowd, the sheer testosterone that seemed to permeate the air – it all made her incredibly uncomfortable. and the dance afterwards? an even greater nightmare, filled with awkward small talk and the persistent advances of overly enthusiastic farm boys.

“oh, i don’t know, mom.” wonyoung said, carefully avoiding eye contact. “i was thinking of catching up on some reading. i have a lot of schoolwork to do.”

her father chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. “schoolwork can wait, wonyoung–ah. this is a town tradition. besides, it’s good to get out and socialize.”

"oh, that's right!” her mother chimed in, placing a plate of steaming pancakes on the table. "it’ll be a good chance to see everyone, wonyoung. and maybe even meet a nice young man."

wonyoung choked on her orange juice. “mom, you know i’m not interested in any 'nice young men' from around here.”

her father nodded in agreement, pushing the plate of steaming pancakes in front of wonyoung. “it’ll be fun! i promise.”

wonyoung forced a smile. “maybe. but i really need to focus on my studies.”

daah snorted. “studies? please. we all know you’d rather be practicing your runway walk in front of the mirror.”

wonyoung’s cheeks flushed. “that’s not true.”

“oh, come on, wonyoung.” daah continued, relentlessly. “don’t be ridiculous.” daah scoffed, flipping a pancake with unnecessary force. “it’s good to have a bit of fun, wonyoung. you spend too much time locked up in your room, dreaming about things that will never happen. when are you going to give up on these childish dreams of yours? you’re a jang. we’re farmers. it’s in our blood”

there it was, the barb she knew was coming. daah never missed an opportunity to belittle her aspirations.

wonyoung slammed the carton of orange juice back into the refrigerator. “and you spend too much time judging me for having ambition! what’s so wrong with wanting something more than this?” she gestured around the cozy, familiar kitchen, the heart of a life she didn’t want.

“and what exactly is so wrong with our life?” daah challenged, crossing her arms. “2e have everything we need. family, friends, a roof over our heads. what more could you want?”

“more than just this!” wonyoung exclaimed, gesturing around the kitchen with a frustrated wave of her hand. “i want to see the world. i want to experience new things. i want to be someone, not just another farm girl who marries the boy next door and spends her life milking cows.”

“there’s nothing wrong with milking cows!” daah shot back, her face reddening. “it’s honest work… and– there’s nothing wrong with being realistic!” daah retorted, her voice sharp. “you can’t just ignore your responsibilities here. dad’s getting older, mom can’t run the market forever. someone needs to take over the farm.”

those words hit wonyoung’s heart hard. yes, it was true, his father was getting old and it was always a difficult task bending down when working in his blacksmith shop in the farm yard or when he had to take care of the animals and that involved squatting. wonyoung always tried to help his father when he spent hours and hours working in the workshop or the stable, always sitting on a small and uncomfortable bench and hunching his back in a way that is painful to watch. she didn’t have much knowledge about tools and that field, but over the years she learned how to learn – not because blacksmithing or mechanics is something that interests her or that she is passionate about, but because she was only interested in learning to help her father and take care of doing as much work as possible to prevent him from overexerting himself and getting physically hurt.

but daah it wasn’t like that at all. she called her father’s work “dirty” behind her parents’ backs, but she always pretended in front of them that she was a family girl who would give everything for them. she only contributed to helping her family with her mother’s job, who owned the local store in town, but she didn’t even help with anything in particular; sure, daah spent the whole day in the supermarket, but she just sat behind the cash register, filing her nails or laughing while texting with her friends, having the nerve to get upset and make a face when a customer puts their purchase on the register and it’s time for her to serve them and collect the corresponding money.

“and why does that someone have to be me?” wonyoung demanded, her voice rising. “why can’t you do it? you love this life!”

daah turned to face her, her expression hard. “because you’re the responsible one, wonyoung. you always have been. i have my own life, my own plans.”

“and what about my plans?” wonyoung cried, her voice trembling. “don’t they matter?”

her father cleared his throat, his voice stern. “enough, both of you. this isn’t how we start the day.” he looked at wonyoung with a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “wonyoung, your sister has a point. we’ve given you everything. the least you can do is appreciate it.”

wonyoung fell silent, her appetite gone. she pushed her plate away, the pancakes suddenly tasting like ash in her mouth. it was always the same. every time she tried to express her dreams, she was met with resistance, with disapproval, with the crushing weight of expectation.

she knew she couldn’t change their minds. they were too set in their ways, too deeply rooted in their traditions. but that didn’t mean she had to give up on her own dreams. she would find a way, somehow, to escape this suffocating routine and build the life she truly desired. even if it meant facing their disapproval, even if it meant breaking their hearts.

because in the end, it was her life, and she was determined to live it on her own terms. even if that meant facing a few more early morning wake–up calls from a rogue rooster along the way.

“this is my house, and you will both show some respect. wonyoung, you will come to the rodeo this afternoon. it’s a tradition, and we always support our community."

wonyoung bit back a retort, tears stinging her eyes. she knew arguing with her father was futile. he was a man of tradition, of duty, of unwavering expectations.

she looked at her mother, pleading for understanding, for support. but her mother’s expression was resolute, her loyalty firmly with her husband.

“it’'ll be fun, wonyoung.” her mother said softly, but the words felt like a sentence.

“fun?” onyoung whispered, her voice thick with tears. “you call this fun? being trapped in a life i never wanted, surrounded by people who don’t understand me? my dreams are not childish; they are my passion. and staying in here, pretending to live a life that i don’t feel happy about, is so much worse.”

she turned and fled, running back upstairs, the image of her 0arisian runway dissolving into a blur of tears. she slammed the door to her room, collapsing on the bed, the scent of cherry blossoms now tainted with the bitter taste of disappointment.

the rooster, oblivious to her distress, began to crow again. this time, wonyoung didn’t just shoo it away. she grabbed it by its scrawny neck and held it, its frantic flapping a futile protest against her grip.

for a moment, she considered doing something drastic, something that would shock them all, something that would finally make them understand the depth of her unhappiness.

but then, she looked into the rooster’s beady eyes, and she saw something… fear. and in that fear, she saw a reflection of her own.

with a sigh, she released the rooster, letting it scamper out the door. violence wasn’t the answer. running away wasn't either. but staying here, silently suffocating, wasn’t an option either.

“i’m sorry, buddy… it’s not your fault, i know.”

she would go to the rodeo. she would smile, she would socialize, she would play the part of the dutiful daughter. but she would also start making a plan. a real plan, a concrete plan, to escape the farm and pursue her dreams.

this rooster might have woken her up, but it wouldn’nt keep her grounded forever. she would fly. she had to. for her own sanity, for her own future. she wouldn’t let her dreams remain dreams; she would make them reality.

the afternoon sun cast long shadows across wonyoung’s bedroom, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. she twirled in front of the mirror, a vision in denim and defiance. her worn a skirt jeans, once relegated to mucking stalls, had been artfully distressed and studded with glittering rhinestones. a plain white tank top now boasted intricate embroidery around the neckline, and a fringed leather hat completed the transformation. this wasn’t just a farm outfit; it was a statement. it was a rebellion against the endless fields and the predictable routine.

“perfect.” she murmured to herself, smoothing down the fringe. “rodeo–ready, and runway–worthy.” living on the farm, churning butter and wrangling stubborn goats, felt like a cage around her aspirations. she dreamt of paris fashion week, of sketching bold designs in a sun–drenched studio, not mending fences under a scorching sun. but wonyoung was resilient. she’d find a way. she always did.

a piercing whistle shattered the quiet. wonyoung’s smile faltered.

daah, her older sister, leaned against the doorway, a smug grin plastered across her face. a battered cowboy hat perched jauntily on her head, and her plaid shirt was tucked neatly into her jeans. she looked every inch the quintessential farm girl, a stark contrast to wonyoung’s carefully constructed glamour.

“well, well, well...” daah drawled, pushing off the doorframe. “loook who decided to raid the costume box again. you going as ‘glamorous cowgirl’ this year, wonyoung?”

wonyoung stiffened, her fingers clenching around the vest. “it’s called ‘elevated rural chic’ daah. and it’s an outfit, not a costume.”

“right, right.” daah said, rolling her eyes. “because rhinestones and embroidery are exactly what you need when you’re dodging rogue cows. you know, practicality is kind of a big deal out here in the, uh, rural parts.” she emphasized the word with a saccharine sweetness that grated on wonyoung’s nerves.

“maybe if you spent less time gossiping with mrs. kim and more time actually helping out, you’d understand that practicality and style aren’t mutually exclusive.” wonyoung retorted, turning back to the mirror to adjust her hat. she needed to stay calm. engaging in a full–blown argument would only validate daah’s attempts to ruin her mood.

“ouch, sharp words.” daah chuckled, taking a step closer. “but speaking of helping out, shouldn’t you be, oh, i don’t know, making sure the prize–winning pumpkin is ready for judging? or are you too busy dreaming about escaping to the big city and leaving us all behind?”

wonyoung swung around, her eyes blazing. “what’s not fair, daah! i contribute just as much as you do. and having a dream doesn't mean i’m abandoning everyone. unlike some people, i actually believe it’s possible to have both."

daah crossed her arms, her smile gone. “oh, really? so you think you can be a successful fashion designer and still be a farmer’s daughter? that’s… ambitious, even for you. don’t you think you’re setting yourself up for disappointment? face it, wonyoung, this is our life. this farm, this town. it’s not some backdrop for your little fashion fantasies.”

the words stung, sharper than a bee sting. wonyoung swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears well up. “and what’s wrong with having fantasies? at least i’m trying to create something beautiful, instead of just accepting things as they are.”

“acceptance is maturity, wonyoung. chasing pipe dreams is… childish.” daah paused, her voice softening slightly. “look, i’m just saying, maybe you should focus on something realistically attainable. help dad with the farm. start a family. you know, the things that actually matter.”

wonyoung stared at her sister, a cold fury rising within her. “and who gets to decide what matters? you? is that it? because you’re perfectly content with mediocrity, you think everyone else should be too?”

“it’s not mediocrity, wonyoung! it’s… stability. it’s family. it’s belonging."

“and u can’t have those things and still pursue my dreams?” wonyoung challenged, her voice trembling. “is that what you're saying? that i have to choose between being a good daughter and being myself?”

daah didn’t answer, her silence speaking volumes. the tension in the room crackled, thick and suffocating. wonyoung turned back to the mirror, her shoulders slumping. for a moment, the glittering rhinestones and the intricate embroidery seemed hollow, a flimsy shield against the harsh reality daah had just laid bare. but then, she caught her reflection, her own determined gaze staring back at her.

no.

daah might not understand. the town might not understand. but wonyoung understood. and that was enough.

she squared her shoulders, adjusted her hat with a defiant tilt, and turned back to face her sister. “i’ll see you at the rodeo, daah.” she said, her voice steady. “maybe you’ll be surprised by what i accomplish. with my ‘little fashion fantasies’.”

and with that, she walked past daah, leaving her standing in the doorway, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. wonyoung had a rodeo to win. and a dream to prove.

the dust swirled around wonyoung’s ankles, a red–brown haze that clung to the air like a persistent memory. the rodeo was in full swing, a cacophony of roaring engines, twanging guitars, and the excited screams of the crowd. the air hung thick with the scent of dust, and something vaguely metallic, the smell of anticipation and adrenaline that clung to every rodeo. wonyoung, usually more at home in the sleek confines of her family’s modern kitchen or lost in the pages of a well–worn novel, felt utterly out of place. the stetson perched precariously on her head, a forced purchase by her zealous mother, felt like a brand.

she wandered aimlessly through the bustling grounds, a phantom limb grafted onto the rugged reality of the rodeo. men in worn denim and dusty boots tipped their hats, their eyes lingering on her with a frank curiosity that made her skin crawl. women, their faces etched with the lines of sun and hard work, offered polite nods, their eyes holding a mixture of amusement and pity. wonyoung was an anomaly, a polished gem dropped into a pile of rough stones.

thee truth was, she didn’t want to be here. Not even a little bit. the rodeo, the epitome of small town tradition, was the last place she felt she belonged. her dreams extended far beyond the confines of this dusty arena, reaching for the glittering lights of the city, the hushed reverence of libraries, the vibrant chaos of art studios. but her parents, particularly her mother, envisioned a different future for her, one rooted in the familiar soil of their village, a future involving a sturdy rancher and a life mirroring her own. Hence, the rodeo. the forced mingling. the subtle, and not–so–subtle, matchmaking.

her parents’ expectations had become a suffocating weight, a constant pressure that squeezed the joy out of her life. ever since she’d expressed her yearning to study art in seoul, a chasm had widened between them. her once bright and airy home now felt like a gilded cage. hours were spent locked in her room, sketching furiously in her notebooks, trying to carve out a space for herself in a world that felt increasingly hostile. the village store, usually a place of connection, became another source of awkward encounters and strained silences. helping her mother restock shelves felt like serving a sentence, each can of beans a reminder of the life she didn’t want.

wonyoung wasn’t entirely convinced she should be here. in fact, if it were up to her, she’d be miles away, lost in the pages of a book or sketching designs in her worn notebook. but family obligations, particularly those enforced by her father, were a force of nature stronger than any bucking bronco. her parents, particularly her mother, had become increasingly insistent on her embracing the “small–town life” on finding a “suitable” husband, and on abandoning what they deemed her “fanciful” dreams of becoming a fashion designer. this rodeo, apparently, was the perfect opportunity to showcase her “eligible maiden” status.

she sighed, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. the vibrant energy of the rodeo felt alien, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude she craved. ever since her parents had started tightening their grip on her life, wonyoung had retreated inwards, spending countless hours locked away in her room, a sanctuary filled with fabrics, sketches, and the whispered promises of a life beyond the confines of their expectations. the silence was a comfort, a buffer against the constant pressure to conform.

lost in her spiraling thoughts, wonyoung wasn’t paying attention to where she was going. she bumped, not gently, into someone, a soft “oof!” escaping her lips. a cascade of brightly colored pamphlets scattered across the dusty ground.

“oh, i am so sorry!” wonyoung blurted out, bending to help gather the mess.

“no worries, i should have been looking where i was going too.” a familiar voice responded, and wonyoung”s head snapped up.

she looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. standing before her was you. your eyes, the same warm brown she remembered from all those years ago, widened in surprise. you were even more beautiful than she recalled, your smile as radiant as the summer sun.

kneeling beside her, picking up a pamphlet advertising the local 4-H club, was you. your hair, usually braided neatly, was pulled back in a messy ponytail, escaping tendrils framing your face. you were wearing a simple shirt and denim jeans with some boots, looking every bit the part of a small–town girl, yet there was an undeniable spark of intelligence in your eyes.

“wonyoung?” you asked, a hint of delighted surprise in your voice. “is that really you?”

a wave of warmth washed over wonyoung, a feeling she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. it had been so long since she’d felt genuinely seen, not as the daughter of the store owner, not as a potential bride, but just as wonyoung.

“hey…” she managed, a genuine smile finally gracing her lips. “it’s… it’s good to see you.”

a genuine smile touched your lips. “wonyoung! wow, i haven’t seen you in ages! how have you been?”

the years melted away in an instant. suddenly, she was back in the schoolyard, sharing secrets and dreams with you under the shade of the old oak tree.

“i…” wonyoung hesitated, unsure of how to answer. the truth was, she hadn’t been doing well. she was suffocating under the weight of her parents’ expectations, her dreams slowly fading like a watercolor painting left in the sun. “i’ve been… busy.” she finally said, a weak attempt at deflection.

your eyes searched hers, a knowing glint in their depths. “busy doing what? last i heard, you were quite the artist, always sketching away in your notebook. making those... uhm, sketches about clothing collection ideas? the girl, daughter of the owner of the town library, you know, liz the blondke, told me about it.”

wonyoung’s heart ached. “i still am.” she admitted, “but my parents... they don’t really approve. they think it’s just a hobby, not a real career.”

“that’s ridiculous!” you exclaimed, your voice laced with indignation. “you’re incredibly talented, wonyoung. i remember seeing your drawings back in school, they were amazing.”

a flicker of hope ignited within wonyoung. “thank you.” she whispered, a genuine smile gracing her lips for the first time that day.

“so, what are you doing here at the rodeo?” you asked, gesturing around at the chaotic scene. “this doesn’t exactly seem like your kind of place.”

wonyoung grimaced. “tell me about it. my parents, they… well, they think it’s a good way for me to meet someone.” she rolled her eyes, unable to fully conceal her exasperation.

you winced. “ouch. that sounds… intense… ah, the age-old quest for a husband. remind me to hide if my mom gets any ideas.”

a comfortable silence fell between them, punctuated by the distant roar of the crowd. wonyoung felt a sense of peace she hadn't experienced in months. being with you, even after all this time, felt natural, easy.

“so, what about you?” wonyoung asked, eager to change the subject. “what have you been up to? are you still living here?”

“yep, still here.” you replied, your eyes twinkling. “i’m helping mom out at the school. i’m actually thinking about becoming a teacher myself, just like her.”

‘that’s wonderful!” wonyoung exclaimed. “you’d be a fantastic teacher. you were always so kind and patient, even back in elementary school.”

ypu blushed slightly. "thanks, wonyoung. That means a lot. i don’t know if { really want to be a 100% teacher, maybe an assistant, or whatever is enough to be able to help my mom at work. you know, she’s getting old…”

“she still talks about you.” you said, your voice softening. “she always said you were one of her brightest students. she was so disappointed when you stopped coming around.”

yeah, that made wonyoung’s heart hurt so much… she met you during school, when she and all her friends used to be little kids who loved singing songs and drawing pictures in elementary school. you, the daughter of the sweetest teacher in the establishment, were always a complete sweetheart to her; practically during the first day of school you were with wonyoung the whole day, never stopping talking like a parrot, but making wonyoung’s days happy and fun.

the reason why she dropped out of school? her parents. just one day after she finished getting ready and headed straight to the front door to head off to school, her mother told her that she stopped paying her school fees because the family needed wonyoung’s full help on the farm.

wonyoung’s smile faltered. “yeah, well… things got complicated.”

“i know.” you said gently. “i saw you a few times at the store, but… you always seemed so distant.”

“i’m sorry.” wonyoung said, her voice barely a whisper. “i just… i haven’t been myself lately.”

a long silence stretched between them, filled only with the sounds of the rodeo swirling around them. wonyoung felt a knot of guilt tighten in her stomach. she had let her fears and frustrations isolate her, cutting herself off from the people who genuinely cared about her.

you broke the silence, your voice firm and resolute. “look, i know this whole rodeo thing is probably your own personal hell, but you don’t have to stay here. not if you don’t want to.”

wonyoung looked at you, a flicker of hope igniting in her eyes. “what do you mean?”

you grinned, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “i mean, this town hasn’t changed much. we could ditch this rodeo and go for a walk. we could get some ice cream at the parlor, maybe visit mrs. davison. we could even go see mr. henderson’s pig, if you’re feeling brave.”

wonyoung’s heart skipped a beat. the idea of escaping the suffocating atmosphere of the rodeo, of reconnecting with the familiar comfort of the village, was incredibly appealing.

“seriously?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

you nodded, your eyes sparkling with encouragement. “seriously. what do you say? want to escape?”

wonyoung looked around at the chaos of the rodeo, at the expectant faces of the townsfolk, at the invisible chains that bound her to a future she didn’t want. then, she looked back at you, at the genuine offer of friendship in your eyes, at the promise of freedom and escape.

a slow smile spread across her face. “let’s go.” she said, the words filled with a newfound sense of determination. “let’s get out of here.”

the sun was a furnace in the sky, beating down on the dusty main street of your town. you tugged at the collar of your shirt, wishing you’d worn something lighter. the annual rodeo was in full swing, and the air was thick with the smell of fried food, manure, and the general chaos that always seemed to follow the event.

“seriously, how many more cowboy hats can one town possibly hold?” you muttered, more to yourself than to wonyoung, who was walking beside you.

wonyoung giggled, a sound like wind chimes in the oppressive heat. “oh, hush. i think they look kinda cute.”

you snorted, but then your eyes landed on wonyoung’s outfit. she was sporting a denim skirt, a fitted white tank top, and a pair of intricately stitched cowboy boots. a playful bandana was tied around her neck, and a wide–brimmed straw hat sat perched on her head.

“okay, maybe you’re right.” you admitted, a blush creeping up your neck. “especially on you.”

wonyoung’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “you think so?” she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

“absolutely. you look…you look amazing, wonyoung.” the words tumbled out before you could stop them. you cursed yourself inwardly for being so forward, but the genuine admiration in your voice was undeniable.

wonyoung’s smile widened, and she bumped her shoulder against yours. “thanks. you look pretty good yourself, considering we’re trying to avoid the entire town.”

you chuckled, the tension easing slightly. “pretty good at avoiding the rodeo, maybe.”

the truth was, both of you had a perfectly good reason to be anywhere but the rodeo. wonyoung’s dad, bless his heart, was practically the mayor of the rodeo. he was the one who organized the events, wrangled the sponsors, and generally made sure the whole shebang ran smoothly. which meant wonyoung was expected to be there, smiling and waving, playing the dutiful daughter. it was a role she loathed.

as for you, your mom taught at the local elementary school and was, as always, roped into volunteering at the rodeo’s kid zone. face painting, pony rides, the whole shebang. you loved your mom, but spending a day surrounded by screaming children and glitter glue was your idea of hell.

and so, here you were, two outcasts seeking refuge from the rodeo's relentless cheer. you wandered through the quiet side streets, seeking refuge from the relentless “yee-haws” and the twang of country music.

“let’s go back to my place.” wonyoung suggested, breaking the comfortable silence. “dad won’t be home until late. we can raid the fridge and watch some terrible reality TV."

you grinned. “sounds like a plan.”

and that’s how you ended up here. lying on the hood of wonyoung’s dad’s vintage convertible, parked in the driveway. the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. a couple of lukewarm beers sat between you, condensation beading on the bottles. and the sweet, pungent aroma of weed hung in the air, courtesy of your friend yujin’s generous stash.

neither you nor wonyoung thought it would end like this.

the first few puffs had been a little rough, a tickle in your throat that made you cough. but now, a pleasant buzz was spreading through your body, making everything feel soft and fuzzy around the edges.

“you know.” wonyoung said, her voice slightly slurred. “i really appreciate you helping my mom with the school fair last month. you know, when she was giving out candy and snacks to the kids”

you blinked, trying to focus. “it was nothing. she’s an amazing chef."

“she really likes you.” wonyoung insisted, nudging you with her elbow. “she said you have a special way with the kids. you make them feel… seen.”

a warmth spread through your chest. “well, i like helping out. your mom’s really cool, you know?”

wonyoung giggled again, a sound that always made your heart skip a beat. “you think my mom is cool?”

“i…well, yeah. she’s dedicated and kind. and honestly, the school fair was way less stressful with you there.”

wonyoung turned her head to look at you, her eyes sparkling in the fading light. “you’re pretty cool yourself, you know that?”

“am i?” you asked, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“totally.” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “you’re… you’re really funny. and you always know how to make me laugh, even when i’m feeling like i’m forced into a role i don’t even know how to play.”

“that’a what friends are for.” you said, but the words felt inadequate, hollow. you wanted to be more than just friends.

the silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken feelings. you took a long swig of your beer, trying to quell the nervousness churning in your stomach.

“these cowboy boots are killing me.” wonyoung suddenly announced, kicking one of her feet in the air.

you chuckled. “serves you right for embracing the rodeo spirit."

“hey, i was trying to be ironic!” she protested, but her protests were quickly lost in a fit of giggles.

you reached out and gently took her foot in your hand. “let me help you with that.”

wonyoung’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against her ankle. you carefully unbuckled the boot and slid it off her foot, then repeated the process with the other one.

“better?” you asked, looking up at her.

her eyes were fixed on you, her pupils dilated. “much.” she whispered.

you continued to hold her foot in your hand, your thumb tracing circles on her skin. the air crackled with electricity. you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

“you know…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “you look really beautiful tonight.”

wonyoung’s cheeks flushed again, a deep crimson that stood out against her pale skin. “stop it.” she breathed, but there was no heat in her words.

“i’m serious.” you insisted, your gaze locked on hers. “you’re beautiful all the time, but especially right now.”

wonyoung leaned closer, her hand reaching out to touch your face. her fingers brushed against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you’re not so bad yourself.” she murmured, her voice laced with a playful flirtation.

the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, suspended in this moment of pure, unfiltered connection. you could feel the warmth of her breath on your skin, the intoxicating scent of her perfume filling your nostrils.

without thinking, you leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above hers. you could feel her inhale sharply, her body tensing with anticipation.

“can i…?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

wonyoung closed her eyes and nodded, her lips parting slightly.

and then, you kissed her.

it was a slow, tentative kiss at first, a gentle exploration of each other’s lips. but as the seconds ticked by, the kiss deepened, growing more passionate and urgent. you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer, until there was no space left between your bodies.

her hands tangled in your hair, her fingers massaging your scalp. you could taste the sweetness of beer and the lingering scent of weed on her lips. it was a heady combination that sent your senses reeling.

the world spun around you, the stars blurring into a kaleidoscope of light. you lost yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of her body pressed against yours, in the sheer, unadulterated joy of finally, finally, kissing wonyoung.

it was everything you had ever dreamed of and more.

when you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, you were both dazed and giddy. you rested your forehead against hers, your eyes closed, savoring the moment.

“wow.” you whispered, your voice still shaky.

“yeah.” wonyoung breathed, her grip tightening on your arms. “wow.”

the silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions, lingering desires, and a healthy dose of nervous energy. you pull back slightly, your eyes searching wonyoung’s, trying to gauge her reaction. her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen, and her gaze is locked on yours with an intensity that makes your heart race.

“so,” you began, attempting a casual tone that falls flat. “what now?”

wonyoung laughs softly, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “i don’t know.” she admits, tracing a pattern on your arm with her fingertip. “but i definitely don’t want to go back to the rodeo.”

you grinned. “me neither. screaming kids and glitter glue are not exactly conducive to post–kiiss bliss.”

her smile widens. “exactly. besides” she adds, her voice dropping to a suggestive murmur. “i think we’ve earned a little more privacy.”

without another word, she slips off the hood of the car and extends her hand to you. “come on.” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “my room is a much more comfortable place to, uh, discuss our future plans.”

your heart leaps at the invitation. you take her hand, the warmth of her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. together, you walk towards the house, the gravel crunching beneath your feet.

as you approach the front door, you glance back at the convertible, the empty beer bottles sitting forlornly on the hood. a pang of guilt hits you – you’re pretty sure wonyoung’a dad would not be thrilled about the evidence of your little rebellion. but the thought is fleeting, quickly overshadowed by the anticipation of what awaits you inside.

wonyoung unlocks the door and leads you through the dimly lit living room. you notice family photos lining the walls, capturing moments of laughter and joy. a portrait of wonyoung in her rodeo queen attire hangs prominently above the fireplace. you can’t help but smile at the irony.

she guides you up the creaking stairs and down a hallway, finally stopping in front of a door adorned with fairy lights and a collection of concert posters. this, you realize, is wonyoung’s sanctuary.

she pushes the door open and steps aside, allowing you to enter first. the room is bathed in the soft glow of a string of fairy lights, casting dancing shadows on the walls. a large, plush bed dominates the space, piled high with colorful pillows and a patchwork quilt. a bookshelf overflowing with novels and CDs stands against one wall, while a desk cluttered with art supplies and half–finished projects occupies the other.

it’s a space that feels undeniably wonyoung – a blend of creativity, comfort, and unapologetic individuality.

“welcome to my humble abode.” she says, gesturing around the room with a playful flourish.

you take a moment to soak it all in, a sense of warmth and intimacy washing over you. “it’s perfect.” you breathe, turning to face her.

wonyoung blushes, her eyes darting around the room. “it’s a bit of a mess, i know.”

“it’s not a mess.” you protest. “it’s...lived in. it feels like you.”

her smile returns, genuine and radiant. she walks over to the bed and kicks off her socks, sinking into the plush mattress with a sigh of contentment.

“come sit.” she says, patting the space beside her.

you hesitate for a moment, suddenly feeling a surge of nervousness. this feels like a turning point, a step beyond friendship into uncharted territory. but the look in wonyoung’s eyes – a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability – reassures you.

you take a deep breath and walk over to the bed, sitting down beside her. the mattress dips beneath your weight, bringing you closer together. the air crackles with unspoken desires.

wonyoung reaches out and takes your hand, her fingers interlacing with yours. “so…” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “what do you want to do first?”

the possibilities seem endless. you could talk for hours, dissecting every detail of your feelings, exploring the depths of your connection. or you could simply surrender to the moment, letting your bodies guide you, exploring the physical intimacy that has been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

you look into wonyoung’s eyes, searching for an answer, a clue. and then, you know.

“i want to kiss you again.” you say, your voice raspy with emotion.

wonyoung’s eyes light up, and she leans in closer, her lips parting in anticipation. “then what are you waiting for?”

you don’t need to be told twice. you lean in, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that is even more passionate and electrifying than the first. this time, there is no hesitation, no tentativeness. it’s a kiss of pure, unadulterated desire, a melting together of two souls that have finally found their way to each other.

her hands move from yours to cradle your face, her thumbs tracing the contours of your cheeks. you deepen the kiss, your tongues dancing together in a rhythm that is both familiar and new.

the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the intoxicating embrace of each other’s lips. time seems to stand still, and all that matters is this moment, this connection, this undeniable spark that ignites between you.

the kiss goes on, deepening and intensifying. you slide her tank top up, exposing her bare skin, and she reciprocates, tugging at the hem of your shirt. the room is heating up, and you feel a desperate need to get closer, to feel every inch of her against you.

you break the kiss, gasping for breath, your bodies trembling with pent–up energy. you pull back slightly, your eyes meeting hers, searching for permission.

until a reality check hits you. you two had escaped from the rodeo.

for your part, you were a little persecuted about the consequences this would bring you. it’s not that your mother was a very strict person who treated you like a little kid, but you did know that you would probably get scolded later for disappearing without telling her beforehand. of course, you had promised her that you would help her take care of the children and help them with the children’s activities during tonight’s rodeo, so yes, you had a more than guaranteed punishment.

but on wonyoung’s part... you were aware of how fussy and traditional her family is and always will be. a typical family with traditions and customs that they make and inherit for generations and generations for many years, like a spiral or an infinity. wonyoung was always rebellious and made it known that she wanted more than just harvesting crops on the farm and taking care of the barnyard animals, but she was always silenced by her parents and labeled as ”being confused by her age” or because she watched too many hollywood programs that were broadcast on television.

“wonyoung, we should go back to the rodeo–.”

“oh, you want a show, huh?" she asked, her voice dripping with sultry promise. now she was... different. you never saw this side of her, or at least, you weren't aware that she had it. “i thought you might.”

turning to face you fully, she put her hands on her hips, striking a provocative pose. she looked like a naughty fantasy version of a cowgirl – the outfit was far too small and tight, clinging to her every curve.

”how’s this, cowgirl?” she asked, doing a little twirl to show off her skirt, the fabric rising a little as wonyoung turned and the panties that were perfectly hugging her round ass. she walked towards you, her hips swaying, until she was standing inches away.

”this is the kind of cowboys show you wanted, right?” she whispered, reaching out to run a finger along your jawline, her touch electric. ”i can give you an even better show if you want... in private.”

“r-really?”

another important fact; wonyoung knows how whipped you’re and you were always for her. wonyoung can’t blame you, but it’s also not her fault that her natural charm and charisma are like a magnet that catches everyone’s attention. ever since you went to kindergarten with her and did most of elementary school with her by your side, she always knew how to have your complete attention and make you practically staring at her all day.

wonyoung smirked at your nervous stammer, finding your flustered reaction adorable. she stepped even closer, until her body was nearly pressed against yours. her fingertips traced along your collarbone as she gazed intensely into your eyes.

“mhmm, really.” she purred, her voice low and breathy. ”i want to show you everything... taste every inch of you."

slowly, teasingly, she began to unbutton the remaining buttons of her blouse, revealing more of her smooth, tanned skin. she shrugged the blouse off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft rustle.

wearing only the skimpy denim skirt and black lace bra now, she reached behind her back to unclasp the bra. she let it fall away, exposing her perfect, full breasts to your hungry gaze. her nipples were already hardened into stiff peaks.

“i want to feel your hands on me.” she breathed, taking your hands and placing them on her bare breasts. “touch me, (y/n). i’m all yours…”

she arched her back slightly, pushing her chest further into your palms. the soft, warm flesh yielded under your fingers as she guided your hands to explore her curves. her skin was incredibly smooth and supple.

“i don’t know how to–”

wonyoung shushed you gently, placing a finger to your lips. her eyes softened with understanding, seeing the inexperience and hesitation in yours. “shhh, it’s okay. i’ll guide you... just let your instincts take over.”

she took your hands and slowly, sensually, began to trail them down her body. she let your fingers brush over the swell of her breasts, down her taut stomach, pausing at the waistband of the tiny denim skirt.

wonyoung’s tongue darted out to wet her lips as she looked at you with lidded eyes, her chest heaving with anticipation. she reached down to unbutton the skirt, letting it drop to the floor with a whisper. now she stood before you in nothing but a pair of white lace panties that left little to the imagination.

she took your hands and placed them on her hips, then slowly slid them around to cup her ass. She squeezed the firm globes, urging you to do the same. her skin was incredibly soft and pliant beneath your touch.

“that’s it.” she encouraged breathily. “explore me... discover what feels good. i want to feel your hands all over me.”

she leaned in close, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered. “don’t be shy, (y/n)... i want you to touch me like you mean it. i want to feel your desire…”

emboldened by wonyoung’s sensual guidance and the building heat between your legs, you began to explore her body with growing confidence. your hands roamed over her soft, smooth skin, caressing and squeezing the curves you found there.

you slid your hands up her sides, feeling the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. cupping her breasts, you marveled at their weight and softness in your palms. you could feel her nipples hardening even further against your touch.

wonyoung let out a soft moan, arching into your hands as they mapped out her body. she reached out to grasp your wrists, guiding your hands lower, over her stomach, until they rested on the waistband of her panties.

“touch me, (y/n).” she breathed against your ear, her voice ragged with desire. “i want to feel your fingers on my skin... i’m so hot for you right now.”

she nipped at your earlobe, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. her hips undulated slightly, rubbing her nearly bare mound against your thigh. you could feel the damp heat of her arousal even through the thin lace barrier.

wonyoung pulled back to look at you, her eyes dark and heavy–lided with lust. her chest heaved with each ragged breath, and a flush of arousal colored her cheeks. she gazed at you expectantly, waiting for you to make the next move, to claim her as she had claimed you.

spurred on by the raw desire in wonyoung’s eyes and the way her body trembled under your touch, you hooked your fingers into the waistband of her panties. with a sudden tug, you yanked them down her long legs, baring her most intimate places to your hungry gaze.

wonyoung gasped, a sound of pleasure and surprise, as cool air hit her heated flesh. she stepped out of the puddle of lace, now fully nude before you. the sight of her, with her toned body and glistening pink folds, made your mouth go dry with want.

unable to resist any longer, you leaned down and pressed your lips against her stomach, feeling the taut muscles quiver beneath your touch. you trailed kisses lower, over her mound, until you reached the apex of her thighs. wonyoung let out a low moan, her fingers tangling in your hair as she guided your face closer to her dripping sex. the scent of her arousal filled your nostrils, musky and intoxicating.

“yes, my love.” she breathed out. “taste me... i’m so wet for you.”

she spread her legs wider, giving you an unobstructed view of her pink, swollen folds. her clit peeked out from beneath its hood, already engorged and throbbing with need.

and unable to resist any longer, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mound, inhaling the heady scent of her arousal. wonyoung’s fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close as you explored her with your mouth.

you dragged your tongue along her slit, tasting her essence, before focusing on her sensitive clit. you circled the hardened nub with the tip of your tongue, flicking and stroking it until wonyoung was writhing against your mouth.

“oh fuck, (y/n)!” she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls of her bedroom. “don’t stop... please don’t stop…”

emboldened by her reaction, you suckled her clit, then slid two fingers deep into her tight, wet heat. her walls clenched around the intrusion, drawing you in deeper. you pumped your fingers in and out of her, curling them to stroke that sensitive spot inside her that made her see stars.

wonyoung rutted her hips against your hand, fucking herself on your fingers as you pleasured her. her juices coated your hand, dripping down your wrist. the obscene sound of her wetness filled the room, mingling with her wanton moans and cries.

wonyoung’s body tensed, her muscles pulling taut as a coil of tension wound tighter and tighter in her core. her grip on your hair tightened, fisting almost painfully as she held you in place.

“fuck, fuck, fuck... i’m gonna... ah–” wonyoung’s words dissolved into a guttural moan as her orgasm crashed over her. her pussy clamped down around your fingers like a vice, fluttering and pulsing as waves of ecstasy radiated out from her core.

you felt the hot gush of her release flooding your hand, dripping down your wrist and forearm. the taste of her, the scent of her arousal, the sound of her pleasure – it was intoxicating. you couldn’t get enough.

as the aftershocks began to subside, wonyoung went limp, slumping back against the wall behind her. she panted harshly, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. slowly, she released her grip on your hair, her fingers uncurling from the strands.

with a trembling hand, she reached down to cup your cheek, tilting your face up to look at her. there was a dazed, blissful look in her eyes, a satisfied smirk on her kiss–swollen lips.

“that... was incredible.” she murmured, her voice still ragged. “you're a natural, big girl. but don’t think we’re done yet..."

she pushed off the wall and grabbed your hand, hauling you up and onto the bed with her. she shoved you down onto the mattress, crawling over you with a wicked gleam in her eye.

“now it’s my turn to make you scream.” she purred, a wicked promise in her voice. “and i have a feeling you’re going to scream very loudly indeed…”

she reached over to the nightstand drawer, rummaging inside before pulling out a condom and a bottle of lube.

“now, can you take those off or do you need my help?” wonyoung questions, raising an eyebrow as she moves one of her hands towards your body, pointing at your body. at first you didn’t understand what she meant because you were still overwhelmed by all the previous events that happened in a short period of time, like a blink of an eye – but then you realized she was talking about your pants, of course.

“oh, i– sure, i can do that.” with your cheeks flushed from her bold question, you brought your hands to the waistband of your pants, opening your belt buckle and unbuttoning the button and unzipping your pants with some clumsiness in the process, but accomplishing the task at hand. taking off your shoes and kicking them off your feet, you completely pull your jeans off your legs, leaving you with only your t–shirt and underwear on.

“you forgot about those.” to surprise you even more with her boldness, wonyoung is quick to approach you and finish preparing you for her, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your underwear, pulling your boxers down your thighs, releasing your throbbing cock from its confines, causing it to stand up happily and give a small thud against your stomach.

“now you’re ready for me. now lie down on the bed and wait for me.” she purred, tearing open the condom packet with her teeth. she rolled the latex sheath over your stiff cock with practiced ease, giving it a squeeze at the base.

next, she drizzled a generous amount of lube over your length, stroking you from base to tip until you glistened with the slick substance. she tossed the bottle aside and straddled your hips, the heat of her bare pussy radiating against your thighs.

wonyoung reached down to line you up with her entrance, rubbing the swollen head of your cock against her slick folds. she teased herself with the contact, coating your tip with her arousal until it was slippery with her juices. this action made you whimper due to the contact, closing your eyes and throwing your head back to rest it against the headboard of the bed, pushing your hips up in search of more contact.

with a roll of her hips, she sank down onto you, taking you inch by deep inch into her tight, clutching heat. she threw her head back with a guttural moan as you stretched her open, filling and completing her utterly.

“oh fuck yes.” she gasped, her walls fluttering around your thickness. “you feel so fucking big inside me... stretching me so good.”

once you were fully sheathed inside her, she began to move, rolling her hips in a sensual grind. she rocked against you, savoring the feeling of your cock throbbing deep inside her.

wonyoung braced her hands on your chest and started to ride you in earnest, lifting herself up until just the tip remained inside her, then slamming back down to take you to the hilt. her tits bounced with each powerful thrust of her hips, drawing your gaze to her perfect breasts.

and well, it seemed like her tits wanted to completely steal your attention! yes, you could have a beautiful woman in front of your eyes and making you feel so good while looking like a goddess in front of you, but having such a perfect, round pair of breasts moving in front of your face was something that took you out of reality and made you forget everything around you so you could only focus on them.

but of course, you could literally be fucking your childhood best friend now, but you were still a little nervous about making a big move or a daring action.

“can i…–?”

wonyoung looked down at you, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she saw the hunger in your eyes. she could tell exactly what you wanted, and she was more than happy to oblige.

“go ahead, baby.” she purred, arching her back to thrust her breasts forward invitingly. “touch them... taste them... i want to feel your mouth on me.”

she grabbed your head and pulled it to her chest, pushing her nipple against your lips. the stiff peak brushed your mouth, begging to be suckled. the scent of her perfume mixed with the unique aroma of her arousal was intoxicating.

wasting no time, you opened your mouth and drew her nipple inside, swirling your tongue around the sensitive bud. wonyoung let out a low moan, her fingers tangling in your hair as you suckled her.

“that’s it.” she encouraged breathily, holding your head in place. “suck on my tits while I ride this fucking cock. fuck, you’re driving me crazy…”

she began to bounce on your lap with renewed vigor, her hips slamming against yours with each powerful thrust. the wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, mingling with wonyoung’s increasingly loud moans and cries of pleasure.

you switched to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention as the first. wonyoung’s fingers tightened in your hair, holding you to her chest as she rode you with wild abandon. her body trembled and shook, teetering on the brink of another explosive climax.

wonyoung let out a sharp cry of pleasure as you sucked harder on her nipple, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. she arched her back, pushing more of her breast into your eager mouth. Her fingers tightened almost painfully in your hair, holding you in place.

“yes, just like that.” she panted, her voice ragged with arousal. “bite me, (y/n)... mark me... make me yours!”

spurred on by her desperate pleas, you closed your teeth around her nipple and bit down, not hard enough to truly hurt her, but with enough pressure to make her see stars. at the same time, you reached down to rub her clit in tight circles, feeling it swell and throb under your touch.”

you didn’t let up, continuing to suck and nip at her nipples while rubbing her clit through her climax. each touch sent aftershocks of pleasure radiating out from her core, drawing out her orgasm until it felt like it would never end.

wonyoung’s moans grew louder and more desperate as she rode you harder, chasing her impending release. her nails raked down your chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake as she clung to you.

“fuck, i’m getting close.” she panted, her voice tight with strain. “don’t stop, (y/n)... don’t you dare fucking stop!”

she slammed down onto you one last time, taking you as deep as physically possible. her pussy clamped down around you like a vice, pulsing and fluttering wildly as her orgasm crashed over her.

you felt her juices gush around your cock, soaking through the condom and dripping onto the sheets below. the sensation of her coming undone around you, combined with the taste of her skin and the sound of her screams, pushed you over the edge.

with a guttural groan, you thrust up into her one last time, your cock pulsing and throbbing as you found your own release. you filled the condom with spurt after spurt of your hot seed, your body shuddering with the intensity of your orgasm.

wonyoung collapsed against your chest, both of you panting and drenched in sweat. she nuzzled into your neck, pressing sloppy kisses to your skin as she slowly came down from her high.

“holy shit.” she murmured, her voice hoarse from screaming. “that was... fuck, that was incredible. you’re amazing.”

she lifted her head to look at you, a satisfied smirk on her well–fucked face. her eyes sparkled with mischief and promise.

“but don’t think we”re done yet.” she purred, a wicked gleam in her eye. “we’ve got all night long... and i plan to make the most of every minute of it.”

[justladders]

To everyone in the art community, please:

Tracing is effective. But only as a learning tool. Telling people "never trace" can be robbing them of methods that could have been effective to their learning process if they'd known about them.

The "art of using tracing" is a bit looked over, so I have five points:

(it's a long one)

1: AS A RULE OF THUMB, DO NOT POST/SHARE TRACED AND STOLEN ARTWORK. This is not only lying to anyone you show it to, if you're trying to come off as, "I'm so good, look at what I did," but most importantly, it's lying to yourself. You'll trick yourself into not needing to get any better, and you will stagnate if you start to rely on tracing as a form of stealing. If you come to realize that you are, you should stop using any tracing methods altogether to keep yourself from abusing it. It's a slippery slope for beginners, and a big reason why you’ll hear almost everyone echo that you just shouldn’t trace at all. The issue is that this ignores the ways that tracing can actually be good.

2: Tracing sets the stage for motor skills/hand-eye coordination. I've seen so many early-stage beginner artists get upset that the art that they make of their favorite character/oc is messy, or maybe they just don't even know what they want to draw and can’t "make themselves mindlessly doodle.” These early arists then become completely disheartened and upset, especially if they start to look at other people for comparison. Tracing over work or even over photos is a way to train your hand to hold and wield a pencil/stylus properly without you being worried about the finished product. Think of it like a way to dip your toe into learning the process of what making art feels like, without having to get overwhelmed with searching up pointers and people telling you, "10 quick tips to become a master artist!!!!!!!" (<- please ignore those) If you’re just beginning, your hand-eye coordination needs to be trained, and you shouldn't bog yourself down so much thinking about end products just yet, so if tracing is the way to get you started, go for it. If you're a bit more experienced, tracing and drawing over reference can also help you warm up without being committal or stressing your art brain too much.

3: Practice "mindful tracing." While I said the previous point was targeted more at beginners, this point is actually about something that experts in their field use. Doing "mindful tracing" over art means that you aren't worried about getting the lines "correct," you're studying why those lines are there. You're taking note of where the shadows meet the highlights based on the light source, how it shows off the forms, and how sharp or soft the lighting is; you're going over the lines of action in the piece to see how your eye is guided by the artist's intention and planning; you're seeing how characters may be stylized into shapes and the feeling that those shapes can give; you're noting how the artist uses line weight or weird blocks of color or stark breaks to split up the art or separate ideas within it; you're experiencing the flow of the poses within the artwork to grasp how that kind of thing feels; you're breaking down the overall composition like in a thumbnail sketch; and the list goes on.

"Mindful tracing" ends up looking like you've marked up an English essay: it should be messy, because the intent with it is not to copy or replicate, it's to notate. It's like how literally writing notes on things helps you remember better than if you only read it. You're acknowledging instead of just looking. And you can always learn, even from styles that you don't intend on actually using. As you get to be more experienced, you may come to realize that you can do "mindful tracing" analyses on artwork without having to literally write over top of the piece, which is great: that means you're improving your creative brain, and prepping it to be able to break down your own works in this way as you make them.

4: Trace for specific character or style studying. For this point, I want to especially stress that this is what makes everyone say, "don't trace," because this is what tracing is most commonly associated with: art theft. There's really no excusable reason to repost someone's art in this way.

I feel like you have to be a bit more experienced to properly use tracing specifically for style studies. The benefits that come with tracing a certain style is that it can quite literally teach your hand/brain to recognize the patterns that are present. You get a feel for how far apart a specific characters eyes are, how big their hands are, how the shapes of the body make up their form, how the exaggeration in the expressions feel, and when traced you know you have all of these proportions correct. This makes it so much easier to start drawing the specific character on your own if you know that you have a correct baseline (and of course you should still use reference from then on). When you study many different characters of the same style, you can start to grasp what actually makes up this style that you're studying, where -similar to point #3- you train your art brain to recognize the original artists' intentions and ideas. I would even argue that doing this is MORE IMPORTANT than using reference at the very beginning of a style study, because it makes you worry less about if you're pulling from the reference correctly and instead lets you focus on the original art by thinking through it during the process; this kind of thing is done by professionals. Although tracing can net you these benefits for studies, it is not a way to get around the rest of the learning process, which is the pitfall that normally ends up making tracing ineffective.

5: Lastly, I actually kind of lied about tracing "only being good as a learning tool." The other case where tracing gets used is within the process of making hand drawn animation, and I do mean the professional stuff. Model guides are constantly used in classic animation as reference to keep by the animator's side so that characters stay on model, but sometimes there are unnoticeable parts of a character that just get straight-up traced from either the model sheet or a different scene that's already animated. When used smartly and sparingly, this keeps the character on model, is unidentifiable to the audience, and takes up less time for the animators to work (and by "used smartly" I don't mean moments where characters blatantly have 5 seconds of reused animation). I can basically guarantee that this practice was done throughout the making of any 2D project you can think of.

In digital hand drawn art, key frames between points in an animation may get the "shift and trace" treatment, where the tween frame is just a smudged-around-version of the key frames until it looks about right, and then it get traced over. Backgrounds get traced all the time by artists in the professional field through modelling a 3D render of the space, going over it so they have the layout, and then painting on top of it. When drawing characters, people will take photos of themselves and trace the pose, then keep it to the side as reference. And this is all without even mentioning rotoscoping.

When people say, "don't trace," what they actually mean is, "don't trace as a substitute for experience."

The issue is that people blanketly state, "x thing is bad," because then people that aren't learned in the field go, "oh, okay, x thing is bad, it will always be bad, I shouldn't look into it or consider it any more, and I should correct/disgrace anyone that thinks otherwise or does x thing."

So please. Trace. Tell other people to trace. But remember: trace mindfully. :)

[violetszn]

four

summary ✩ when vi asks you to wear her jersey to the big game, you start to realize that maybe your relationship isn’t so platonic.

warnings ✩ 8.87k ✩ smut !!! so definitely no minors (or men) interacting w/ this pls, oral & fingering (r receiving), ✂️✂️✂️

notes ✩ so i tried really hard to make the smut scene feel right but it’s definitely been a while so? i’m pretty content w/ it though and i hope you enjoy it <3

⇦ chapters ⇨

The art room is quiet, save for the scratch of your pencil against paper and the occasional shuffling as Gert shifts in her seat beside you. She props her crutches against the table, resting her injured ankle on the chair opposite her.

You glance up from your drawing, peering out the window where the field is spread out below. You can see the team still practicing from here, the floodlights casting long shadows over the grass. You can’t spot Vi from this distance, but knowing she’s out there sends warmth creeping up your cheeks, a familiar flutter settling in your stomach.

Gert sighs dramatically. “Man, I hate sitting out. I feel useless.”

You snort. “You literally sprained your ankle. I think you’re allowed to take it easy.”

She hums, then nods toward your sketchbook. “You mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it.” You hand it over, turning your attention back out the window.

There’s a pause as Gert flips through the pages, the sound of paper turning filling the space between you. Then, she lets out a small laugh.

“You, uh… You draw Vi a lot.”

You blink, glancing over at her. “Huh?”

She smirks, tilting the sketchbook to show you. True to her word, there are a lot of sketches of Vi scattered throughout the pages—her profile, her hands, the slope of her shoulders, the sharp focus in her eyes when she’s concentrating. Some are quick, rough doodles, others are more refined, shaded with detail that you don’t put into just anything.

You chuckle, trying to brush it off. “She’s an easy model. I see her every day.”

Gert hums again, flipping to another page. “Mhm. Sure. And I guess these little hearts next to her freckles just appeared on their own, huh?”

Your stomach flips.

She turns another page. “And this one? You really nailed the way she looks at you.” She taps her finger against a sketch of Vi, one where you’d clearly spent extra time getting the expression just right.

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how much effort you’ve put into these. How much you see Vi, not just in passing, not just as a friend or a roommate, but in a way that feels impossibly intimate?

You laugh it off, but there’s a nervous edge to it. “What can I say? She’s expressive.”

Gert eyes you, a knowing look in her gaze. She doesn’t push, but the smirk on her lips tells you she’s figured out more than you’d like to admit.

“So…” she drawls, closing the sketchbook and handing it back to you. “When are you gonna tell her?”

You freeze, fingers tightening around the book. “Tell her what?”

Gert just grins. “You know what.”

You play dumb for a moment longer, stubbornly avoiding Gert’s gaze as you tuck your sketchbook back into your bag. But she just keeps looking at you, waiting. No teasing smirk, no sarcastic remark—just a knowing, expectant look that has you sighing in defeat.

“I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “When. Or how. Or if I ever will.”

Gert’s expression softens, but before she can say anything, the door swings open, and Vi steps in. Her hair is damp, a clear sign she just showered after practice, and she’s changed out of her gear into a loose T-shirt and sweats.

“Hey,” she greets, running a hand through her hair as she takes in the scene. “Sorry for taking so long. I know I’m technically early, but I didn’t wanna make you wait.”

“You’re good,” you say, watching as she leans against the table beside you.

She hesitates for a second, then shifts her weight like she’s considering her next words carefully. “Actually… there’s something I wanted to ask you.” Her blue-grey eyes flick to yours, searching. “But it’s no rush. Take your time.”

You tilt your head, curiosity sparking. “Alright…?”

Vi shakes her head, dismissing whatever it is for now. “We can talk about it later. You ready to go?”

You nod, grabbing your bag as you say goodbye to Gert. She sends you a pointed look as you leave, but you pretend not to notice.

Once you’re alone, making your way to Vi’s car, she glances over at you. “So… the big game’s coming up soon.”

You nod. “Yeah, I heard. It’s what you've been training so hard for, right?"

Vi clears her throat, eyes focused ahead. "Yeah. Apparently, it's a tradition for the team to give their jersey to someone special that day. Like, we get special jerseys and everything. According to Gert, they've had this tradition for a million years. I think that's a bit of an exaggeration but hey."

Your steps falter slightly, but you recover quickly, glancing at her. “Oh?”

She hums in confirmation. Then, finally, she turns to face you, her expression casual — too casual. “You gonna come watch me play?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Of course I am, Vi. When have I not?”

A small, almost relieved smile tugs at her lips before she nods. “Cool. Then, uh…” She exhales, shoving her hands into her pockets. “You wanna… wear my jersey?”

Your heart skips a beat. Vi’s jersey. Your stomach flips, but you don’t let your nerves get the best of you. Instead, you offer a small smile and a soft, “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

Vi grins, and for a brief second, she looks almost shy. But the moment passes, and she nods, leading you the rest of the way to her car as if she hadn’t just made your heart race.

You play it cool, nodding like Vi asking you to wear her jersey is no big deal. Like it’s just some casual request between friends. But internally? You’re losing your mind.

She just said they give their jerseys to someone special. And then she asked you. Does that mean you’re special? Are you just overthinking it? Were you just the most obvious option? You two have become essentially best friends over the many months you’ve spent together, who else would she ask?

But when game day rolls around and you see the other players handing off their jerseys to their significant others, a warmth blooms in your chest. They’re treating it like a big deal, like a symbol. And Vi… she’s treating you the same way.

That thought lingers in your mind, especially during her last practice before the big game. You’re sitting on the bench beside Myrah, who’s enthusiastically cheering for her partner as they race across the field. When Kai successfully completes their play, they don’t hesitate. They sprint straight to Myrah, pulling her in for a quick, celebratory kiss before jogging back.

And then, of course, there’s Vi. Who obviously lives to see you suffer.

The team takes a breather, and while some of her teammates gather around their coach, Vi makes a direct beeline for you.

She’s still catching her breath, sweat dampening the strands of pink hair sticking to her forehead, but that lazy smirk of hers is intact. She grabs her water bottle from the bench beside you, taking a long sip before finally speaking.

“You know,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “I really gotta do well at the game.”

You raise a brow. “Oh? Giving yourself extra pressure?”

Vi chuckles, eyes gleaming as she leans in slightly. “Well, yeah. Kinda hard to slack off when such a pretty girl’s gonna be wearing my jersey.”

Your brain short-circuits. Completely malfunctions.

“S-says the pretty girl that’s usually wearing… the jersey.”

Vi grins, her fingers brushing your knee.

Before you can even think of what to say next, she nods toward Myrah, who’s still grinning from the kiss. “Kai gets kisses when they score,” Vi muses, tilting her head at you. “Maybe I need some kind of motivational prize, too. Maybe… something similar?”

Your breath catches, heart stammering at the suggestion, even though she says it like a joke. But her eyes, those gorgeous damn eyes, hold something teasing and expectant, watching your reaction like she’s waiting for an answer.

You swallow, forcing yourself to roll your eyes like you’re unaffected. “Guess you’ll have to play well, and we’ll see,” you manage, praying your voice sounds steady.

Vi’s grin widens—oh, she likes that answer. She squeezes your thigh gently, the touch light and lingering, before standing up and jogging back onto the field. 

You exhale, gripping the edge of the bench to keep yourself grounded. Wearing her jersey was already going to be bad enough. But now, with that thought in your head? 

You’re doomed.

Game day comes sooner than you expect, and as you’re gathering your things, Vi leans against the doorway of your room, arms crossed with an apologetic tilt to her lips.

“Hey, gotta head out earlier than I thought to get ready,” she tells you, sounding almost guilty. “Wish I could drive you there, but I’ll see you there, right?”

You wave her off with a small smile. “Yeah, of course. Don’t worry about me. Go get ready to win that game.”

She lingers for a second, looking like she wants to say something else, but instead, she just gives you a little smirk before pushing off the door frame. She’s just about to walk away when you reach out.

“Vi—wait.”

“Everything okay, beautiful?” She tilts her head curiously, stepping back into your room. 

You sigh, looking down at your shoes for a second as you really contemplate what you’re about to do.

“Just… wanted to give you an actual good luck charm.”

“Yeah? I think you're all the luck I need, but I am curious.” She smiles softly as you step close to her.

You take another deep breath, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you gently tug Vi forward, placing a soft kiss to the corner of her lips. Before you can pull back, her arm instinctually finds your waist, keeping you pressed against her. You lean back just enough to see her face–all red and bashful as she avoids your eyes.

“Good luck, Vi. Not that you need it, I mean, I’ve seen you play. You’re incredible.”

“I… fuck, um… thanks. For the luck… yeah…” She releases your waist and awkwardly runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m gonna head out now. I’ll see you at the game.”

Fuck. If you’d known she’d react like that… maybe you shouldn’t have done that? Did she regret it? Maybe she just didn't know how to take it? 

Once she’s gone, and you brush off the anxiousness that had filled you, you return to your desk, where her jersey is neatly folded, just as she left it yesterday. A small note sits on top, her handwriting scrawled in casual, slanted letters:

For the prettiest girl ♡

Your heart flips over itself. Maybe… it’s not as bad as you’re convincing yourself it is? Maybe she really was just nervous. You brush your fingers over the fabric before picking it up, holding it to your chest for a moment, feeling the warmth that spreads from the inside out. It’s just a jersey. Just a tradition. 

You shake your head, refocusing on getting ready. You take your time with your makeup, adding a soft pink hue to your look. It’s the same shade as Vi’s hair—purely coincidental and not at all planned. You write her number on your cheek which, funny enough, is six–or VI. Your nails are already painted a soft blue-grey, a recent favorite of yours. 

When you finally slip on the jersey, the fabric falling comfortably over you, you feel… cozy. Warm. Special.

A knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

When you open it, Powder stands there, looking around expectantly. “Hey, where’s Vi? She said to meet her here before the game.”

“She had to leave early,” you explain, stepping aside to let her in. “The team wound up needing to get ready earlier than planned.”

“Oh. Cool,” she says, then turns to face you fully, only to gasp dramatically.

“Holy shit,” she exclaims, eyes wide as she tugs at your sleeve. “She asked you to wear her number?” She shakes you slightly for emphasis. “Do you know how big that is?”

You roll your eyes, attempting to wave it off. “It’s not that big of a deal, Pow.” 

She groans, letting her head fall back. “Oh my god, you’re so dense,” she mutters before leveling you with a look. “This isn’t just her letting you borrow a hoodie. It’s a thing! She’s literally showing you off in front of everyone. Everyoneknows what it means when you give someone your jersey for the big game!”

You chew the inside of your cheek, trying not to let her words affect you too much. “I don't know, Pow. I can’t just assume she wants me the way I want her. I mean I kissed her earlier, and she couldn’t wait to leave. Like it’s fine when she flirts and teases but when I do it–” You freeze, realizing what you’d just admitted to Powder of all people. Her eyes widen, and she seems to practically vibrate in excitement.

“I fucking knew it! You're so into my sister—I knew it all along but you two want to play dumb, and it’s actually driving me insane. I know her. She’s literally practically in love with you at this point.” She shakes your arm in excitement. “You have to make another move, please. I’m literally begging you, I cannot handle the push and pull you and Vi have going on right now. She was probably just nervous, maybe the anticipation of the game was really getting to her?”

“I’m not going to make another move, Pow.” You sigh, gently tugging your arm away. “I’d rather just… leave things how they are than risk fucking it all up by pushing for something she might not even want.”

Powder stares at you for a long moment before throwing her hands in the air. “I give up,” she announces. “You two are hopeless.”

You huff, ignoring the way your face warms under her scrutiny. “Can we please just go to the game now?”

“Fine, let’s go support your girlfriend,” Powder grumbles, grabbing the poster she’d put together. It’s bright, bold, and very eye-catching, with a message that reads:

Let’s go, Cherrybomb! Blow them all away!

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you both head out together.

The energy in the stadium is electric, buzzing with the chatter of students, families, and alumni filling the stands. The school band plays a lively tune while cheerleaders pump up the crowd, their synchronized chants echoing across the field. The scent of popcorn and fresh grass lingers in the cool evening air, mixing with the anticipation that thickens as the game’s start draws near.

You and Powder find your seats in the student section, surrounded by a sea of school colors. People are holding up handmade signs, some waving pom-poms, others already chanting for the team. Powder is vibrating with excitement beside you, holding her Cherrybomb poster high above her head.

The announcer’s voice crackles through the speakers:

“Hello everyone, welcome to tonight’s game between your Zaun Firelights and the Piltover Enforcers!”

A roar erupts from the crowd. You sit up straighter, your fingers subconsciously clutching at the hem of Vi’s jersey.

The opposing team enters first, jogging onto the field in a neatly organized line, their navy-and-gold uniforms practically glowing under the stadium lights. A few cocky players wave at the crowd, soaking in the boos and cheers alike.

Then, it’s Zaun’s turn. The school anthem plays over the speakers as the home team bursts through a massive banner held up by the cheer squad. The energy shifts, thunderous applause and chants of “ZAUN! ZAUN! ZAUN!” rumble through the stands as the team takes the field in their black-and-crimson uniforms.

And then there’s Vi.

She’s near the front of the team, helmet in hand, her pink hair a striking contrast against the dark uniform. But she isn’t hyping up the crowd like some of her teammates. No, the first thing she does is scan the stands, eyes searching. 

Your breath catches in your throat as her gaze sweeps over the crowd, until suddenly, her head tilts just slightly, and then — there. Her eyes lock onto you.

A slow, almost smug grin spreads across her face when she sees you in her jersey. She doesn’t have to say a word; the look in her eyes says it all.

You wave her way as warmth floods your face and Powder elbows you excitedly.

“Oh, she’s so gone for you,” she whispers, barely containing her glee.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because Vi’s still looking at you like that, like you’re the only thing in the world she cares about seeing before this game.

Then, with a small wink and a sharp exhale, she finally turns back to her team. The game is about to start.

And you? You have a feeling you won’t be able to look away from her the entire time.

The game is intense, every play sharp and deliberate, but your attention never strays far from Vi. She moves like she was made for this—fast, powerful, utterly determined. Every block, every sprint, every perfectly executed play is a display of sheer will, and you’re captivated by it. She’s not just playing to win. She’s playing for you.

When she scores, the crowd erupts, and you and Powder leap to your feet, screaming in excitement. You both grab the poster, holding it high as you cheer Vi on. She catches sight of you in the stands, in her jersey, holding her sign, and something in her expression shifts—like she’s soaking in the sight, letting it fuel her.

That warmth carries her through the rest of the game, pushing her to be faster, sharper, better. And when the final whistle blows, the scoreboard flashing their victory, the entire stadium goes wild.

Zaun Firelights: Reigning Champs.

The field turns to chaos as the team celebrates—helmets are thrown in the air, teammates are hugging and yelling, and some players are already rushing to their partners in the stands.

You barely register them, though, because Vi is already sprinting toward you. She barely slows as she reaches the stands, eyes bright with adrenaline, pink hair damp with sweat but looking unfairly good regardless.

“Did you see that?!” she practically yells, grinning at you and Powder. “Tell me you saw how good I was.”

“You were insane out there!” Powder exclaims, still buzzing with excitement.

“You were amazing,” you add, the warmth in your chest blooming as Vi’s gaze flickers to yours.

Her grin somehow widens before she suddenly reaches for you, tugging you up from your seat and pulling you in close.

You gasp, but don’t resist. Not when her hands find your waist, holding you there like she needs you close. Not when she looks you over with a gaze so warm it makes your knees weak.

“And you,” Vi murmurs, her voice low, meant just for you. Her fingers play with the hem of her jersey on your frame. “Look so damn good wearing my jersey… and my colors too, huh?”

Your breath catches.

It feels like the entire world is still moving around you—people celebrating, laughing, cheering—but for a moment, it’s just you and Vi. Her hands on you, her eyes drinking you in, her voice sending shivers down your spine. And god, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted her more than you do right now.

You let out an awkward laugh, trying—and failing—to match Vi’s confidence. “Well, you look good in it too. I mean—not that you don’t look good out of it! Not that I’ve imagined what you look like out of it—”

Vi laughs, squeezing your waist, holding you against her just a little longer before finally turning her attention to Powder.

“You two are stressing me out. Truly, I think I’ve got my first grey hair thanks to you.” Powder, crosses her arms, setting her sign down. Vi laughs, throwing her other arm around Powder’s shoulders.

“Thanks for coming, Pow,” she says, ruffling her sister’s hair. “That poster was real sweet.”

Powder swats her hand away, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, champ. I have to head out, I’m meeting Ekko. But I’m down to celebrate your big win tomorrow after class. And maybe she wants to tell you something, hmm?” Powder comments, raising her brows at you. You huff, shaking your head at her, but she just narrows her eyes at you. “Fine, whatever. Tomorrow?”

Vi nods, grinning. “Sounds like a plan.”

As Powder disappears into the crowd, Vi turns back to you, her expression softening. She reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“I’m gonna go get cleaned up,” she says, voice quieter now, just for you. “Wait for me?”

You nod, swallowing down the butterflies in your throat. She smirks, stepping back—but before she turns to leave, she gives you that damn cocky look, the one that never fails to make your stomach flip.

“Oh, hey. Y’know, I won,” she says, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You know what that means?” She leans in slightly, like she’s telling a secret. “I think I deserve a prize.”

She winks and disappears into the locker room before you can even think of a response.

You’re left standing there, replaying her words, trying not to combust on the spot. A prize. God, you hope she means what you think she means. You were about to officially make your move, and you really hope it's the right move to be making.

The field slowly empties out as time passes, the adrenaline of the game dying down, leaving the night feeling quieter, more intimate. You wait, fidgeting slightly as you watch the last few players trickle out. Then, finally—Vi steps out of the locker room, fresh from her shower, damp hair tousled, dressed in a hoodie and sweats that somehow still manage to look so fucking good on her.

And when she spots you, her whole face lights up.

“Did you think about my prize yet?” she teases, tilting her head as she walks up to you.

You hesitate for only a second. But then, something inside you just decides. If you’re wrong, if you’re misreading this, so be it. Life is about taking risks, right?

So you step closer.

Vi stills slightly, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. But she doesn’t move away.

You press even closer, tilting your chin up as you grab the front of her hoodie, just enough to tug her to you.

“If… you don’t want this…” you start, and she huffs, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink.

“Of course I fucking want this—I’ve been practically begging for it, baby. Especially after that tease of a kiss you gave me this morning? I've been thinking about it all day. About you and those really fucking soft lips.” There’s an almost desperate tone in her words, a low hint of a whine in the way she clings to you.

And so, finally, you kiss her.

Slow, deliberate, deep.

Vi lets out a quiet noise of surprise before melting against you, hands finding your waist again, holding you like she’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. And apparently she has.

The world around you fades—there’s no roaring crowd, no distractions, just the feeling of Vi’s lips against yours, warm and certain.

And if the way she pulls you even closer is any indication—she thinks this is the perfect prize.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your forehead resting against Vi’s as your heart pounds against your ribs. She’s looking at you like she can’t believe this is real, like she’s scared to move too fast and shatter whatever moment you’ve found yourselves in.

So you take a deep breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

“Remember what you said that night?” you murmur, your fingers still gripping the fabric of her hoodie. “That if I still wanted you when I was sober…”

Vi swallows, her hands flexing against your waist.

“I remember.” Her voice is quiet, careful.

You tilt your head, searching her face. “Well… I am sober now… and I do still want you.”

Something shifts in her expression, something soft but full of longing. Then she smiles, just slightly, and her fingers press just a little firmer against you.

“Then I guess I’m all yours, baby,” she murmurs.

And then she kisses you again.

This time, there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just the heat of her lips, the way she moves like she’s trying to memorize every part of you, the way she pulls you against her like she never wants to let go.

It’s dizzying but oh-so-perfect.

She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, her hands trailing up your back. You hum, wrapping your arms tighter around her.

“Damn, Vi, get a room!”

A sharp whistle pierces the air, and you both jolt apart.

You turn just in time to see one of Vi’s teammates grinning as they walk by, waving lazily over their shoulder.

Vi groans, pressing her forehead against yours again. “Of course,” she mutters, half-laughing. 

You’re still catching your breath, face burning, but you can’t help laughing too.

“You’re the one kissing me in public, superstar.”

Vi smirks, her grip on your waist tightening. “Hey you kissed me first. Who am I to stop you? Damn, you kissed me first the first time too, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

“And Powder says I need to make a move.”

“C’mon,” she says, lacing her fingers through yours like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Let’s get out of here.”

And just like that, she leads you away—hand in hand, the lingering taste of her kiss still on your lips.

The entire drive home, Vi can’t seem to keep her hands to herself. Her fingers trace absentminded patterns on your thigh, squeeze lightly at the flesh, brush just above your knee before moving back up again. It’s like she needs to be touching you—like the high from the game, from you, hasn’t worn off yet.

You try to focus on the road, on the city lights passing by in a blur, but every brush of her hand sets your skin on fire. The tension is thick, buzzing between you like static, neither of you daring to break it.

By the time you make it home, the moment the door swings shut behind you, Vi is on you.

She presses you against the door, one hand cupping your jaw as her lips crash into yours in a deep, heated kiss. You gasp against her mouth, and she takes the opportunity to deepen it, her body flush against yours.

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up between kisses. “You really can’t contain yourself, can you?”

Vi grins against your lips. “Not even a little.”

She trails her lips down your jaw, then lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. You sigh, tilting your head to give her more access, your arms winding around her shoulders.

Her hands slide down, gripping your thighs before lifting you with ease. You instinctively wrap your legs around her waist, breath hitching as she holds you up effortlessly.

“My room or yours?” she murmurs against your skin, voice low and teasing.

You can barely think past the heat between you, fingers tangling in the short strands of her hair. “Don’t care—whichever will get your clothes off fastest.”

Vi lets out a breathy laugh, her grip tightening around you. “God, I love the way you think.”

Still grinning, she carries you through the apartment, both of you laughing softly between kisses, until she kicks open the door to your room.

Then neither of you are laughing anymore.

The door slams shut behind you, the sound barely registering over the rush of blood in your ears. Before you can even catch your breath, you’re being pressed into the mattress, Vi’s body hovering above yours, her hands planted firmly beside your head.

She looks down at you, eyes dark and burning with something that makes your stomach flip. A slow smirk tugs at her lips as she drags a hand along your side, fingers toying with the hem of her jersey on your frame.

“Can’t decide if I want you in or out of this,” she murmurs, voice thick with want.

You huff a breathless laugh, your fingers slipping into her pink locs to tug her back down to you. “Let me know when you decide,” you tease against her lips before kissing her deep, pouring every ounce of longing into it.

Vi groans softly into the kiss, her hands slipping beneath the jersey, calloused fingers gliding over your stomach, tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your heated skin. You shiver at the sensation, at the contrast of her rough touch and the way she handles you so carefully.

She hums against your lips, her voice a quiet vibration against your mouth, sending another wave of warmth through you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her hoodie, tugging at it insistently. She gets the hint, sitting up just long enough to strip it off in one motion.

Your breath catches at the sight of her toned, sculpted arms, broad shoulders, and her chest rising and falling beneath the snug black sports bra she wears. And fuck, is that…? Of course her nipples are pierced.

“My god.”

It’s not like you haven’t seen her like this before—she’s got a bad habit of working out in the living room in nothing but a bra and sweats, driving you insane without even realizing it—but this time, it’s different. Up close like this, right in your grasp. 

Vi chuckles, low and knowing. “Like what you see?”

You don’t even bother to deny it, your hands skimming down her sides before gripping her hips, pulling her back down to you. “Definitely. Now, shut up and kiss me.”

She does. Hard.

Vi kisses you with a hunger that makes your whole body ache, her hands skimming over the fabric of her jersey on your frame like she can’t get enough of the sight, the feel of you in it. She presses her weight into you, her thigh slotting between yours, just enough to make you gasp softly against her lips.

“Fuck, you look so good in this,” Vi murmurs, her lips dragging along your jaw, her breath warm against your skin. “Driving me fucking insane, baby.”

Her hands slip under the jersey again, fingers tracing the shape of your waist, the dip of your hips. She moves slow, savoring the feeling of you beneath her, like she’s mapping you out with her touch. She tugs your jeans down your legs slowly, biting her lip at the sight of your bare legs. When her thumbs graze just beneath the curve of your ribs, you arch into her, and she groans low in her throat.

“You wear it too fuckin’ good,” she says, her voice thick, almost strained. She pulls back just enough to take you in, her fingers teasing at the hem again. “Really wanna keep you in it all night.”

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. “Yeah? Thought you couldn’t decide if you wanted me in or out of it.”

Vi grins, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip, playful but still full of intent. “Mm, might have to make you put it back on after.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and she doesn’t miss the way you react. Her hands slide lower, gripping your thighs, spreading you just enough for her to settle between them properly. The shift makes your breath hitch, makes your fingers tighten in her pink locs. She lets out a pleased hum, clearly enjoying the way you respond to her.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous,” she mutters, pressing kisses down your throat, her hands still roaming under the jersey. “And you’re wearing my number.” She groans against your skin, her tongue flicking out to taste, her grip on your hips tightening. “Never thought I’d be this into this, but holy shit—”

You laugh breathlessly, fingers digging into her shoulders. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grins, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, her hands gripping the fabric at your waist. “Maybe. But you’re into me anyway, huh?”

Vi doesn’t give you a chance to argue, not that you would. Her lips crash back onto yours, and this time there’s no teasing hesitation, no slow build. She kisses you deep, her hands gripping your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her jersey like she wants to burn the image of you in it into her memory.

She moves with purpose, her body pressing flush against yours, her thigh slotting right where you need her most. The friction makes you gasp, and she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue past your lips, swallowing the sound like she’s starving for you.

Her hands roam greedily beneath the jersey, fingertips trailing up your stomach, teasing along the band of your bra before retreating just to make you whine. She smirks against your lips, clearly pleased with herself.

“Should make you wear this all the time,” she murmurs, her voice husky as she nips at your jaw. “You look like you’re all mine.”

Your breath stutters, and Vi must feel the way your body reacts because she groans, rocking into you just enough to make your head spin. You grip at her arms, trying to ground yourself as she continues her slow, torturous exploration.

“You like that, hmm?” she teases, her lips trailing down your neck, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark. “Like bein’ mine?”

You don’t answer—can’t, really. She’s overwhelming in the best way, her presence, her touch, the way she’s so utterly fixated on you. You pull her closer instead, nails digging into her shoulders, dragging her back into another heated kiss.

Vi chuckles lowly, hands gripping your thighs as she presses you further into the mattress. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Vi’s breath is hot against your lips, her fingers teasing along the waistband of your underwear as if she’s savoring the moment—savoring you. Her lips trace along your jaw, down the column of your throat, pressing slow, lingering kisses that leave a trail of fire in their wake.

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” she murmurs against your skin, her voice husky, rough with want. She presses her hips into yours again, rolling them slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch of her body pressed deliciously against you.

Your breath hitches, fingers threading through her pink locks, tugging just enough to make her groan against your neck. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, your body arching into her instinctively.

“Vi,” you gasp, barely more than a whisper, but she hears it—feels it.

She lifts her head, eyes locking onto yours, dark with hunger yet impossibly tender. “Tell me what you need,” she says, her hand tracing slow, agonizing patterns against your bare thigh.

You don’t even have to think about it. “You, Violet,” you breathe, the words barely leaving your lips before Vi’s kissing you again, deeper this time, as if she can taste every ounce of your need.

Her hands continue their slow exploration, mapping out every dip and curve like she’s committing you to memory. Every touch, every kiss is filled with purpose, like she’s proving just how badly she’s wanted this—wanted you.

“God, you’re perfect,” she groans, her lips hovering just above yours, her breath mingling with yours.

You don’t know if you’ve ever been touched like this before—like you’re something to be worshiped, something to be cherished. But Vi is making sure you feel it, in every kiss, in every caress, in the way she whispers your name like it’s something sacred.

Vi’s fingers skate just beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing along your hipbone, slow and unhurried. She’s savoring this, taking her time, as if she wants to burn every second of this moment into her memory. Her lips find your collarbone, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss before moving lower, her tongue tracing the edge of your sternum.

You whimper, hips arching up into hers, desperate for more friction. She chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine.

"Patience, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice thick with desire, but her own restraint is wearing thin.

Her fingers dip lower, brushing against the wetness soaking through your underwear, and she exhales sharply. "Fuck," she breathes, pressing a kiss just above your navel. "You’re so wet for me."

You let out a soft whimper as she presses a firm stroke over the fabric, her touch just enough to tease but not nearly enough to satisfy.

"Violet, please," you gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair.

She groans, tilting her head up to meet your gaze, her pupils blown wide. "Say it again," she rasps, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric at last, teasing along your folds, barely ghosting over where you need her most.

Your breath hitches, pleasure sparking at the contact. "Violet," you whimper, voice trembling with need. “please.”

Vi lets out a deep, satisfied hum, dragging her fingers through your slick, collecting the evidence of just how badly you want her. Then, finally, finally, she presses her fingers against your entrance, teasing, just barely pushing inside before pulling back out.

She watches you, drinking in every little gasp, every shudder of your body beneath her. She loves this—loves knowing she’s the one unraveling you.

"You’re so beautiful like this," she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hipbone before hooking her fingers into the waistband of your underwear, slowly dragging them down your legs.

Her breath catches at the sight of you—bare and glistening for her.

"Fuck," she mutters, eyes dark with raw hunger. "I’ve been dreaming about this."

And then, without another word, she lowers herself between your thighs, kissing the inside of your knee before trailing her lips higher.

She wants to take her time—wants to make this last—but the way you’re looking at her, the way your fingers grip the sheets, the way you’re already trembling beneath her, she knows she won’t be able to hold back much longer.

Vi presses a final, teasing kiss against your thigh before finally giving in to her hunger. Her lips part, tongue flattening as she licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, savoring the taste of you. The moment she makes contact, your back arches, a sharp gasp escaping your lips.

"Fuck," she groans against you, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread open for her. "You taste so fucking good."

She doesn’t give you time to respond before she dives back in, her tongue flicking against your clit in slow, rhythmic circles that have your legs trembling within seconds. She moves with precision, with purpose, like she’s memorized exactly what makes you fall apart even though this is her first time having you like this. She’s buried so deep in you, you can feel the cool drag of her nose ring against you as she practically devours you.

Your fingers find her hair, tugging her closer, needing more. Vi moans into you, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. She loves this—loves how desperate you sound, how much you need her.

"Vi—" you pant, your grip tightening in her hair as she sucks your clit into her mouth, rolling her tongue over the sensitive bud in a way that has you gasping.

She hums in response, one of her hands slipping up to lace your fingers together while the other slides between your legs. She teases your entrance with two fingers, easing them in slowly, stretching you open.

"God, you’re so fucking soaked," she rasps, her breath hot against you. "So perfect."

She curls her fingers, pressing against that spot inside you that has your legs shaking around her. Your moans grow louder, and Vi only smirks against you, moving her fingers in deep, steady strokes while her tongue works in tandem, licking and sucking in perfect rhythm.

It’s overwhelming, the way she’s touching you, the way she’s holding your hand through it all, grounding you even as she pushes you higher and higher toward the edge.

"Vi—I’m—" you try to warn her, but she already knows. She speeds up, her fingers fucking into you harder, her tongue flicking against your clit just right, pushing you over the edge with devastating precision.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your body arching as pleasure floods through every nerve ending. Vi groans at the way you clench around her fingers, riding you through it, not stopping until you’re twitching from overstimulation.

She finally slows, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs as she eases her fingers out of you. She looks up at you, her lips glistening, pupils blown wide with satisfaction.

"Fuck," you breathe, still trying to catch your breath.

Vi grins, crawling back up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, lazy kiss. You taste yourself on her tongue, and it only makes you hungrier.

"Think you can handle one more?" she teases, her fingers trailing along your waist.

But you have other plans. With a smirk, you push her onto her back, straddling her hips.

"Oh, baby," you purr, running your hands down her toned stomach. "You’re the one who just won a big game. I think it’s my turn to take care of you."

Vi’s breath hitches, her hands gripping your hips. "Fuck," she mutters, eyes dark with lust. "You’re gonna be the death of me, aren’t you?"

You just smile before leaning down to kiss her, ready to return every bit of pleasure she just gave you. She tugs the jersey up and off your body, immediately bring her hands up to unhook your bra as you kiss her breathlessly. You pull away to reach for her own bra, but she’s got her sights set on your bare chest, all but drooling at the sight above her.

“Vi–up.” you hum, tugging at the band of her sport bra. She blinks, sitting up just enough for you to tug the bra over her head. Your sight immediately hones in on the shine of the silver jewelry adoring both of her nipples so deliciously. “Fuck, that is so hot.”

Vi just hums distractedly, leaning up towards you and bringing your nipple into her mouth. A moan rips from your lips at the sudden sensation, your hands gripping the sheets beside her head.

“F-fuck, Vi.”

As she laps at your right nipple, her hand finds the other, squeezing and grasping at your breast before swapping. Your hips lower, rutting up against hers as you seek out more pleasure. You force yourself to sit up, moaning at the way Vi desperately follows, not wanting to stop.

“So good,” she moans. You lower yourself down, tugging her sweatpants off as you go. 

Vi’s breath stutters as you slip her underwear off, the last barrier between you finally gone. She barely has a moment to process it before you’re lifting her leg, slotting it between your own and pressing your bare heat against hers, the contact so intense that her head falls back against the pillows with a choked gasp. She’s so sensitive, it’s downright addicting.

“Fuck,” she breathes, fingers digging into your waist as you roll your hips, dragging yourself against her in a way that has her entire body tensing beneath you. “F-fuck, wait— s’too much.” She whimpers, bucking her hips into yours.

“Wanna stop, baby?” You slow the roll of your hips, and she shakes her head quickly, desperate whines still falling from her mouth.

“No, please… don’t stop—fuck, it’s so good, you’re so good baby, fuck.” Her hips leave the mattress again, desperate for the feeling of you but overwhelmed by it all the same. You’re pleasantly surprised honestly. Vi’s usually so confident and sure of herself and in control, so to see her like this—at your mercy and begging for your touch so desperately? Fuck, it’s perfect.

The friction is electric, your bodies slotting together so perfectly that it feels like you were made for this — for her. Vi’s grip tightens, nails biting into your skin as her hips rise to meet yours, desperate for more. Her moans come freely, beautifully, each one sending a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your stomach.

You lean forward, keeping your legs intwined and attach your lips to her nipple, eyes nearly rolling at the sound that leaves her lips. Her fingers scratch down your back, her hips meeting yours as she chases the pleasure of your heat dragging against her own.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please don’t stop–oh god.”

Her legs are trembling, her lip is slightly bleeding from how harshly she keeps gnawing at it, her eyes are wide & blown out and if you weren't so deeply turned on right now you’d probably be cooing about how fucking cute and puppy-like she looks right now. 

You need more. You need to see her completely undone. You pull back and she whimpers, shaking her head.

“Don’t stop.” She’s breathless and there’s the cutest pout on her lips.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m not.” You run your fingers through her hair and she lifts her hips, chasing more pleasure.

Hooking your arm under her thigh, you lift her leg over your shoulder, opening her up to you even more. Vi curses, her breath hitching sharply and her whines reaching a new pitch at the new angle as you rock against her with purpose, dragging your slick centers together in long, deliberate strokes. 

"Fuck, baby—" she groans, her head pressing back into the pillows, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her abs tighten beneath you, her body trembling under the intensity of it all. Whimpers fall from her lips, over and over so perfectly. She’s desperate for you in every sense of theb word. 

You can feel her getting close, the way her thighs are moving trembling against you, her grip on your waist turning bruising as she chases that high.

"That’s it," you pant, voice thick with desire as you keep up your pace, watching in awe as she completely falls apart beneath you. "Come on, Vi—let go for me."

Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours with such desperation, such need, that it steals the air from your lungs. Then, with a sharp cry of your name, she shatters, her body arching beautifully as pleasure wracks through her. You feel the wetness of her release pouring between the two of you, and it only makes the slick glide of your heat against hers that much more delicious.

You follow a few moments later, the sight of her coming undone beneath you enough to tip you over the edge, your own release hitting you with dizzying force. You cling to each other as the pleasure ripples through your bodies, leaving you breathless, tangled, soaked and completely spent.

For a long moment, the only sound is your heavy breathing, the lingering hum of pleasure settling between you. Then Vi lets out a breathless, satisfied chuckle, her hands lazily trailing up your sides.

"Goddamn," she murmurs, voice hoarse, a lazy grin stretching across her lips. "You really are trying to kill me, huh?"

You laugh, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips before collapsing beside her.

"Not my fault you make me like this," you say, tracing absentminded patterns against her bare stomach. “I didn’t think you’d be that sensitive. It was so fucking hot.”

Vi smirks, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close, her lips pressing into your hair. "Yeah, well… guess I was a little sensitive. You handled me pretty well, though."

“A little, hmm? The moment I started touching you, you were begging for more and crying about how it was too much.” Vi huffs, burying her face in the crook of your neck to hide the blush on her face. 

“Shut up.” She groans, tugging you closer. “After wanting you for so long I guess I didn’t know how to handle finally having you. It was definitely way better than I imagined it’d be all those nights.”

“Imagined, huh? You spent all those nights touching yourself to the thought of me?”

“Are you trying to get me all riled up again, baby?”

You’re both still catching your breath as you tangle up in each other. The aftershocks of pleasure have slowly faded into a comfortable, lazy warmth. Vi’s arm drapes over your waist, her fingers tracing soft, aimless patterns against your back. She’s still grinning, that cocky, post-bliss smirk that makes your heart clench in the most frustratingly sweet way.

“Didn’t know wearing your jersey came with all these perks,” you tease, your voice hushed and slightly hoarse from earlier.

Vi chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “You looked way too good in it,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your skin as she speaks. “Didn’t stand a chance.”

You hum in amusement, snuggling in closer, your head resting against her shoulder. There’s a moment of comfortable silence before you quietly admit, “I really liked watching you play.”

Vi’s fingers pause their tracing for just a second before continuing, her voice softer when she replies. “Yeah?”

You nod, feeling a little shy now that the haze of desire has settled into something much more tender. “Yeah. You’re incredible out there.”

Vi exhales a laugh, but it’s not her usual cocky one—it’s softer, almost bashful. “Kinda had something to prove tonight.”

You tilt your head up to look at her, and she meets your gaze, eyes shining even in the dim light of your bedroom.

“For me?” you ask quietly, even though you already know the answer.

Vi smirks, but there’s something softer behind it, something vulnerable. “Who else?” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Your heart flutters, your stomach doing that stupid, weightless flip it always does when Vi is like this—soft, open, completely unguarded just for you. You reach up, cupping her cheek and running your thumb across her cheekbone, over the freckles you’ve memorized by now.

Vi leans into your touch, sighing contentedly before shifting to press you even closer. You can feel her heartbeat beneath your palm, steady and strong.

“You should get some sleep,” she murmurs, her lips grazing your forehead.

You hum in agreement, though you make no effort to move away from her warmth. 

“Stay?”

Vi’s hold tightens around you, like the thought of leaving hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Of course I’m staying,” she murmurs, nuzzling into your hair. “Not letting you out of my arms after you made me see stars.”

You laugh softly against her skin, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest as her breathing slows. Sleep tugs at you, and before you know it, you’re drifting off, wrapped up in Vi’s warmth, her arms holding you close like she never plans to let go.

tags ✩ @jupitism @fungalinfectionyeast @mk-a-1 @rhian88 @baylegend6 @lovely-wisteria @antobooh @arahiraaai @vxtanne31 @starletfemme @daughterofthemoons-stuff @rosesgaloree @sillyloafff @mellohatesyou @violetwifey @ilysupercorp @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123 @tthoughtdaughter @tamale-4 @sleepingwasp @sunflowerwinds @lipglosskxsses @daughterofthemoons-stuff @imwatchinggossipgirlrn @ellies-gf11 @bouquetoflove @raynecx-0o @the2008filmmammamia @kuntie99

[lxvebun]

Highschool au brainrot with sukuna. Please hear me out-

╰┈ Not completely proofread. Sukuna x gender neutral reader<3 fluff! Let me know if you guys prefer small or big text for brainrots like this♡

꒰ა High school jock Sukuna! who had been failing his tests and was now facing the very real threat of being benched if he didn’t bring his grades up. His usual cocky grin faltering slightly as he carried himself around school with a nervous scowl.

The name Ryomen Sukuna stared back at you from the slip of paper the teacher handed to you, their eyes filled with a sense of pity, knowing Sukuna was not the easiest to get along with. The note simply read: “Please, tutor him for the upcoming tests.”

High school jock Sukuna! who was absolutely terrifying to approach. He towered over most, his sheer size enough to make anyone think twice before stepping into his space. With a permanent furrow in his eyebrows, making it look like he was always on the edge of starting a fight, and a sharp voice with an even sharper tongue. Intimidating already, he became even more so around his team—loud, confident, untouchable. Not wanting to deal with that many eyes on you, you decided to wait until after practice, when the hallways had fallen silent, and you wouldn't have the weight of other people’s eyes on you… just his.

High school jock Sukuna! who had lit up in a way you hadn’t been expecting when you explained that your teachers had assigned him to you for tutoring. The edge of confusion in his eyes cleared almost instantly, replaced by something more like relief. He was quick to exchange numbers with you, even quicker to ask if you had time that Friday after practice.

High school jock Sukuna! with whom you surprisingly found yourself in the midst of a blossoming friendship. Yeah, he was rough around the edges, with his jagged personality, sharp tongue, and lack of patience for anything he didn’t find interesting. But when it was just the two of you, tucked into a corner of the library, it was almost like he softened a little. He listened carefully when you explained things to him, followed your instructions on homework, albeit begrudgingly, doodled on the corner of your notebooks, overhauled his backpack to share his snacks, and what you thought would be a nerve-wracking few hours every week turned into something you actually looked forward to.

High school jock Sukuna! who’s crushing so incredibly hard on you, but you’re completely oblivious to it. Perceiving it more as him just being friendly. </3

And really, it’s so painfully obvious he likes you—he doesn’t even bother hiding the way he stares when you’re explaining something, and there’s a certain warmth in his gaze that makes your heart flutter, but you brush it off. </3

(Really, it's a miracle his pupils haven’t turned into little heart shapes yet.)

He’s just glad he’s keeping his grades up with your help so he can continue to play in his games. You convince yourself as he flashes a fanged smile and shoots you a wink as you pass each other in the hallways.

Sukuna just doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of having another tutor assigned to him. He doesn’t want to go through the exhausting process of explaining what he finds difficult in his subjects over and over again to a stranger. Your mind rationalizes as he offers to carry your bag, not giving you any time to respond before he slung the heavy thing over his shoulder with a casual grin. His arm now wrapped around your shoulder. The warmth of his touch lingering as you both walked to the library for your usual study session

It’s just Sukuna trying his best to be friendly and convince you to stay and tutor him. That’s all it is. You're sure! But then… that doesn’t explain why his team jersey, with the bold, bright lettering spelling out his name, is currently neatly folded up in your locker, adorned with a messy little note in familiar handwriting that reads:

“Wear this for me at the game?” ♡

Your fingers hover over the fabric, the weight of it suddenly feeling a lot heavier than it should...໒꒱ ⠀

[yuoimia]

50% YOU AND ME

summary: you two as parents

characters: alhaitham, diluc

notes: gn! reader, fluff, diluc is noted to have a daughter (alhaitham one isn’t specified), wc: 600.

alhaitham

unknowingly spoils his child. both behaviour-wise and financially. which, perhaps, makes the sentiment even more sweet. his tender actions don’t match the sharp words of warning that frequently spill from his lips, diminishing like a blown candle from faltering disappointment. no, he’s most definitely not smiling, let alone smirking from behind his palm!

the one to wake up your child through the late hours of the night to give them a dose of medicine when they’re sick, despite his preference for getting a full eight hours of quality sleep. “i don’t want to deal with your grumpiness in the morning,” he claims when you volunteer. it’s half true, but wouldn’t it be a thousand times more efficient and straightforward if he could just say that he just didn’t want to see you disturbed from your beloved sleep? overworking was something alhaitham could not easily allow.

(also because he knows considers himself a little more lenient than you when it comes to parenting…hearing with an argument at 1 in the morning in the next room about how disgusting the medicine tastes for twenty minutes would be far worse than sacrificing five minutes to reach a more successful outcome)

with love comes discipline, knowledge is important, but happiness is too. to maintain equilibrium between the two is his greatest rule. nights will roll past, not finished without a book or two, a few questions, answers, and inside jokes, ending with a secret snack in the dim light of the kitchen when he checked you had certainly fell asleep (he can’t be caught for a third time, surely? he had just made it up to you..)

alhaitham is handsome. you are ethereal. of course, it’s practically guaranteed from the start that your child would be devastatingly beautiful. at least twice a day, he’ll catch himself completely awed. is that child really 50% of him?

diluc

diluc is a gentle father, his love is like the walls of crimson blossoms blooming all year, around the cobblestone edges of dawn winery’s manor, tendered so they remain exquisite and flowering, but left to their own winding paths and bonds alongside the golden honeysuckles.

morning adventures worthy of trailing journal entries, when the air outside is still crisp and fresh, the swatches of condensing clouds brushed across the pale blue sky. plates of homemade breakfast arranged on the table, your voice reverberating through the quiet halls as pairs of footsteps patter down the stairs.

“will i be able to take a bit of the clouds to put in my box?” your daughter asked, eyes wide and sparkling with the same alluring tint of carnelian as her father. excitement fizzed from her eyes to the tips of her brown boots, now jubilantly kicking the air under the table. from the satchel thrown around her shoulders, she pulled a rectangular box, approximately the size of your hand, decorated with sprawling doodles and glitters. “will it fit in here?” she questioned again, sneaking an apprehensive glance through the arching windows, now biting her lip.

“what are you planning?” you suddenly muttered anxiously, just loud enough, unaware of his previous promise. “you know she can’t actually grab a cloud.”

diluc smiled, facing you with a pleasant expression of satisfaction. “dandelions.”

celebrates the smallest achievements. they aren’t anything short of monumental to him; a significance in their life is just as important to be engraved into his. he keeps a diary of sorts, nothing too extravagant, occasionally entries with the date, maybe a few polaroid pictures, but overflowing with tender dreams, memories and hopes. and his greatest hope of all—that one day, the two people he loves most will be able to read it.

[drytacomeat]

𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐦

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧! 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐱 𝐟em!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬, 𝐦𝐱𝐦, 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 (𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡

(first smut, nervy smh) didn’t proofread tbh

Enjoy!

You, Eddie, and Steve had all been relatively close for a while. You and Eddie were childhood friends because you both were considered the weird kids growing up. You were the “fat” kid, and he was just “weird.” You enjoyed his company though, and you never figured he was weird by any means.

He was the sweetest boy you knew, the sweetest boy you would ever want to know. You were sure you were in love with him. You were almost sure that Eddie might have loved you too, that was until Steve Harrington came along and really confused you.

You knew that Steve and Eddie were…acquaintances. He used to be the Hawkins high school’s drug dealer, and jocks loved getting high off of shit they couldn’t even name. Steve was one of them. You always noticed how Steve failed to pick on Eddie or you for that matter, despite his friends giving you both near hell. He’d just watch from the sidelines with a grimace on his face, or he’d pretend not to be watching. It was weird you always thought.

The weirder part however was how much the two hung out now.

You often found the two getting high out of their minds in Eddie’s living room on nights that you had sat aside for premium movie watching…for just you and Eddie.

You remembered the first night where Eddie pulled you aside and almost begged you to let him stay.

“You won’t even notice he’s here.”

And you didn’t, not really.

Steve was very polite, overly polite even. He felt out of place between you and Eddie, and he didn’t want you to dislike him.

He immediately offered any snack Eddie handed to him to you, he let you pick the movie on his nights to pick, he let you get the majority of the blanket you three would share, and he would even let you dose off on his shoulder if you hadn’t leaned on Eddie already in your consciousness.

Steve was so nice, so so very nice. It was impossible for you to not end up liking him. He was so sweet to Eddie as well. He never really judged him for anything he liked, sure he would joke about him being a loser and such, but he never judged.

He would watch Eddie practice guitar as you sat at his desk doodling something. He even helped him paint his DND figurines once. Though they sometimes bickered like children, they appeared to be the best of friends now.

Steve was also great with keeping up with both you and Eddie’s interests. You mentioned to him once that you wish there was a way to enjoy sweets without all the sugar, and he baked you a batch of sugar free cookies.

He and Eddie ended up eating most of them after getting the munchies that night he brought them to you, but he made you another batch the next day.

He knew your favorite genres of movies and would bring over movies he thought you would like on nights where it was his turn to pick. He also brought over any new horror movie to make it to the store for Eddie.

He was just so thoughtful.

He knew how much you loved to care for others. He would often have Eddie to lay on your lap with him so you could stroke both of their hair.

Whenever you caught glimpse of either one of them looking up at you, your stomach churned.

They liked you showing them the extra care, and you loved it. They would call you out whenever you were being seemingly too caring as well.

“Don’t worry, mommy. It’s just a cut. I don’t need to be put on bed rest for it,” Steve teased after you had been almost panicking over him slicing his finger with the very sharp, very expensive kitchen knives Eddie so suddenly could afford.

The nickname made your cunt tingle in all honesty.

He began to call you that more, and Eddie joined in being the bothersome little shit he was.

So this had you stuck.

You knew you loved Eddie, but now you think you might love Steve too. You also thought Eddie loved Steve, and you were no competition to the either of them.

Eddie was beautiful and unique, and Steve was hot and caring. You just felt like neither of them would want you when they could have each other, so you began to step away from them subconsciously.

It had became easier when all of a sudden Eddie was able to buy himself his own apartment. It had 3 bedrooms, and you wondered how the fuck he was able to do that, or what he needed all the extra rooms for. You hardly ever spent the night.

You shortly found out that Steve had been cut off from his family and that he was moving in with Eddie. That explained why he got all the extra rooms, but it did not explain where he got the money.

However, this did seal the deal on what you thought your chances with either of them were. You decided it would just be easier for you if you distanced yourself from them.

It would hurt you less.

They didn’t pry at first, figured you were busy working or hanging out with other friends. After about a week of you not calling either of them, they were blowing up your phone and stopping by nonstop.

You sent them away explaining you were sick. That would buy you at least another week.

In reality, you had just been sitting home all day after your draining work shifts.

•

The day had been particularly shitty, and you decided that relieving some stress couldn’t hurt.

You really weren’t into hearing over exaggerated porno moans, so you opened the live stream portion of the only cite you even knew to go to for…special videos.

Nothing on the front page peaked your interest, but as soon as you switched to the second page, “Subby Boys Want to be Obedient for You” showed up under the user TheHairandDaredevil69. You chuckled at the user a bit before you decided to click on the live stream.

You enjoyed submissive men more than you probably should have, so you were quick to get comfortable as the screen loaded.

As soon as the loading screen went away, you nearly fell out of your bed at who came up on the screen.

You had to squint a bit to make sure your eyes were not playing tricks on you. The distinct tattoos and perfectly styled hair of the boys set into stone what you were seeing, though.

It was Eddie and Steve laid on what appeared to be at least a queen sized bed making out.

Steve wore nothing but some pink, silky boy shorts and white socks while Eddie was bare and stroking his own dick as Steve tweaked at his nipples.

His dick was pretty. It was bright pink at the tip, unruly dark curls matching those on his head, and it was not too big. You imagined how good it would feel inside your pussy and your mouth.

You couldn’t help but get turned on. I mean, here were the two boys you adored making out on camera right before your eyes.

You began to put together that this is probably where Eddie got the fucking money for an apartment.

He was very well…endowed, and you were very curious to see what Steve looked like under his underwear.

After a while, Steve took over for Eddie, now stroking him at a pace a bit slower. He looked towards the camera, and it felt as though he was looking directly into your soul.

“Want us to do more, huh? C’mon baby, just tell us. We’ll do anything for you, please,” he pleaded with the camera.

You could feel your pupils dilate as you let out a silent “fuck.” You brought your hands down to your panties. You could feel the moisture seeping through the already thin material.

MommyDomming1985: Fuck yeah, speed up a bit!

Bigboyboning: Fuck you two are hot!

HopperJ19: Looking for a third?

You circled over your clit as they continued their endeavors on live stream for 1,000 people to see. You would applaud them under normal circumstances.

As you began to add pressure to your clothed clit, Eddie moved Steve’s hand from his throbbing dick.

Your brows furrowed until he began to pull Steve on top of him.

“Hop on up, honey,” he smirked arrogantly.

You liked that he didn’t hide his character in his sexual streams.

Steve rolled his eyes as he was pulled to be seated onto Eddie’s lap.

Eddie pulled him into a feverish kiss. He brought his hands down to his hips and began to rock the boy against him.

“Aw fuck it,” you groaned and yanked your soaked panties halfway down your legs.

You attacked your clit in unorganized circles as you watched Eddie begin to roughly grind Steve down onto his front because you truly did not know if you wanted to be the one grinding Steve onto you or grinding yourself on Eddie’s hard dick.

“Wanna show ‘em baby? Wanna show ‘em what you got hiding away in that hot little ass, hm?” he snarled as he moved his hands down to grab at Steve’s ass.

Steve nodded urgently, as he went to place hot, wet kisses onto Eddie’s neck.

You couldn’t help the slight moans coming from your mouth as you sped up your own motions.

You wondered what Eddie meant by that. You never took Steve to be the type to like to play in his butt. You were wrong about a lot of things today, though.

Eddie maneuvered him over so he was bent over more, ass sticking farther out. He gave his ass a firm squeeze before pulling the boys underwear just underneath the fat of his cheeks. He fondled it, causing Steve to moan whorishly.

“Look at that ass,” Eddie groaned as he bit his lip. “Gonna show everybody.”

Eddie pulled the boys cheeks apart to reveal the jeweled plug nestled into his pink little hole.

He jiggled his cheeks as he held him open, and you couldn’t help but notice how the plug was particularly your favorite color.

Surely, it couldn’t be intentional you reasoned. They probably never would have expected you to find them. They definitely did not want you to.

Still, the scene was so hot that you brought your fingers down to the source of your leaking arousal. You dipped one finger into your sopping hole and let out a long, gutural moan.

“Wanna fuck him, mommy? Bet you want to fuck that ass, huh? Get a big strap just for him. Maybe stick a vibe in there. Watch him squirm around,” he growled, “You’d like that huh, baby?”

Your eyes widened immediately.

Mommy?

That’s what they both called you in tandem. Hell, they rarely even called you by your real name anymore. You thought it was innocent, teasing maybe.

Maybe you were wrong about that too.

He slapped Steve’s left asscheek, “Slut.”

ReadyToTop_.: fuck yeah, would love to see how he stretches.

Girlygirlfuntime: The way you say mommy gets me wet

Iddoit420: I’d do it.

Steve mewled but sat up too. He yanked Eddie back by his hair and stared intently into his eyes. “You’re a slut too, right? All it takes is someone messing with your hair and your big dumb cock is throbbing. Tell em, tell them that you’re a slut.”

Eddie looked directly into the camera as you inserted a second finger into your soaked cunt.

“Fuck yeah, ‘m a slut,” he smirked, “slut for you mommy.”

His sly grin nearly made you cum, but you knew the clarity and guilt would hit immediately, so you held off.

“Wish you were here mommy, put this little bitch in his place,” Steve groaned as he yanked on Eddie’s curls again, then leaned down to place a hot kiss onto his lips.

“Fuck want my fingers, baby?” Eddie asked once he pulled away. He groped Steve’s cheeks more before he looked directly into the camera. “Wanna see me finger that tight ass, mommy?”

The chat exploded as you found yourself subconsciously nodding.

MommyDomming1985: yeah! stretch him out for cock.

Callme_mast3r: fuck yes! bet he’d like it

Sadaddict69: sluts

Eddie slapped Steve’s ass causing him to let out a high pitched moan.

He bent Steve over again so that his head was laid on top of the pillows behind him, ass in the air.

He spread his cheeks with his large hands as he bit his bottom lip and looked up into the camera.

“Look at that boy cunt, mommy,” he groaned and jiggled the right cheek.

He grazed his fingernails over the plug before yanking Steve’s knees apart. He grazed over his balls and down towards the hem of the underwear resting underneath the boy’s butt.

He slowly rolled them down to Steve’s knees, much like how yours were settle on your legs

Now, Steve was fucking hung.

Even from this angle, you could tell he was packing.

His dick was an angry red color, probably from being tucked away this whole time. Poor baby.

Eddie ran his fingers over the boys cock, causing him to whimper. His fingers played with the tip as he marveled at Steve’s backside.

“He’s wet like a girl, mommy. Isn’t that hot?” Eddie grinned.

“Oh, fuck off,” Steve retaliated, and you grinned. They still bickered even in scene.

“Here, since you wanna be fucking bratty,” Eddie trailed off before he reached for something out of view.

Hell, you didn’t know what it would be, and that turned you on so much. You haven’t even seen the inside of their new apartment yet.

He pulled out what appeared to be a flesh light.

“No fucking way,” you whispered. When did he get that? How did he hide his seemingly vast collection of toys?

“Yeah, gonna slide that useless cock right in there f’me,” Eddie licked his lips as he took the cap off of it and placed it underneath Steve’s now quivering body.

He retrieved a bottle of lube from off screen and squirted a vast amount into the hole of the flashlight.

Steve wriggled his hips in anticipation, and you could see the fat of his ass jiggle slightly. You had to thank the years of adolescent sports for blessing this man with such an ass. You wanted to bite into it so bad.

“Yeah, slide that pretty cock in there, big boy. Just like that,” Eddie groaned as he watched Steve sink into it.

You pulled your tits out of your bra and removed the covers as you placed your laptop down onto your bed beside you so that you could reach deeper into your sloppy cunt.

“Aw shit,” you moaned as you heard yourself squelching messily.

“Fuck! So wet!” Steve shouted. Eddie placed a peck onto one of his many back moles. You wish you were there to kiss the rest.

“I know, honey. I know, but you better not move. You better not move until I get my fingers in this tight, pink pussy,” he commanded before slapping Steve’s ass again. This time his whimpers could be very clearly heard.

M4sterbro700: wow look at that hole!

Ihatem3n: beautiful!

Average.girl7: wow, nice ass

Eddie moved his focus back to the boy’s plugged hole. He tapped on the end of the plug, jiggled and tugged, rendering Steve impatient.

“Just get your fingers in me before I fucking do it myself!” he shrieked. Eddie’s jaw hung open.

“Feisty, baby. You need some patience. Maybe you’re the one who needs mommy to put you in your place, huh?”

Steve just nodded into the pillows. His hair bobbing messily.

The comments were begging Eddie to pull the plug out.

“Should I cut him some slack, guys?”

MommyDomming1985: yeah, wanna see that hole open

HopperJ19: yes

herforfn: yesssss please!

“Got lucky today, baby boy,” Eddie chuckled. He wrapped his fingers around the base of the plug. He tugged once, twice, thrice before the whole thing finally popped out of Steve’s butt.

His hole gaped from the sudden emptiness, and Eddie was quick to hold it open before it could wink close.

“Fuck, would you look at that? Wish I could shove my cock in there. Fuck, not tonight though,” he tsked.

You wondered why.

You couldn’t believe how much you actually wanted to see that, how hot that would be. Eddie fucking into Steve would make an excellent sight.

Eddie dipped down to lick a quick stripe over Steve’s puffy and now red hole.

“Mm, bet you wish you could taste him, mommy? Taste me too? Fuck,” he smiled as he reached for the lube bottle.

He warmed the lubricant up between his fingers before making his way towards Steve’s hole. He circled the puffy rim before finally dipping his fingers into him.

“Hngh!” Steve moaned.

“Fuck, look at that,” Eddie said towards the camera as he slowly moved his finger in and out of the squirming boy. “Yeah, you can start moving, baby. Know you wanna fuck that toy. You’re so desperate for it, huh?”

“Yea-yes. S-so desperate!”

Eddie switched hands quickly, Steve didn’t seem to notice as he was fucking his hips down into the flesh light.

He leaned on back as he lazily fucked his two fingers in Steve’s ass. He began to steadily stroke his cock as he read the chat.

HopperJ19: bet he looks so pretty cumming

Gayrainbowkitt34: need more ass shots please!

Iwillmakeyoumine21: you look so hot stroking and fucking him!

“Fuck,” he sighed as he sped up his ministrations on his cock. You always knew Eddie was quite dexterous.

He pulled his right hand from his cock and pulled Steve into a hot, rushed kiss.

The kiss was beyond sloppy. You could see it was all teeth, tongue, and spit. Eddie pulled them apart to lick over Steve’s lips before placing a small peck on them. He maneuvered him to lay back down onto the pillows before he reached his right hand down to help the boy move faster into the toy.

“Aw. I bet you wish that was mommy’s pussy, huh? You wish it was mommy’s pussy baby? Her hot, fat cunt choking your slutty little cock? I know, honey, but you need to tell her. Tell mommy how much you wish it was her that you were fucking,” Eddie egged on as bounced Steve’s ass into the toy.

“Mommy, please! Pl-fuck! Please, need it. Need your pussy. Want you to fuck me up! Wan’ it, wan’ it! More, more baby please!” Steve near yelled.

You brought your other hand to your clit to rub it in sloppy circular motions as you fucked your cunt with three fingers now.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Fuck mommy’s pussy,” you found yourself moaning along.

Eddie focused back on his cock, pumping it quickly. Sweat was glistening on his forehead, and his hair was bouncing with the movements of his own hand and Steve’s rapid humps back onto Eddie’s fingers and into the toy.

“Can I cum, mommy? Can I please fucking cum?” Eddie sighed, his dominance put to the side, “Ask her, baby. Ask mommy can you come.”

Steve moved so that both of his hands could hold onto the body of the flesh light so that he could piston into it hard, ass jiggling.

“Mommy please!” he moaned girlishly, before letting out a string of “uh-uh-uh”s.

“Cum baby, fucking cum for mommy,” you replied as though they could hear you.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum!” Steve chanted. His pitch only getting higher as he got closer and closer to orgasm. Eddie’s fingers were barely following any pattern as he was jerking his dick at the speed of light.

“Fuck, cumming!” Eddie grunted out as the creamy white splashed onto his stomach, chest, and fingers. Steve had jerked harshly into the toy at the sound of Eddie’s grunts, his ass jiggling harshly one last time.

You screwed your eyes shut as you focused on your own orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you let out as your body clenched, and you came. You continued to slowly stroke your fingers into your cunt to push yourself through it.

As you were coming down, Eddie had flipped Steve over onto his back, popping the fleshlight off of his cock.

He brushed Steve’s hair out of his face sweetly before placing a gentle kiss onto his lips.

“Look at that little cream pie,” he smiled as he showed the cum leaking out of the flesh light. Steve shoved him a little before sitting up and pulling his pink underwear back up.

Your chest heaved as you began to gain consciousness again.

“Alright, guys. Sorry we have to go so soon, but me and the Hair here have other things to attend to. We’re busy boys, hm?” he smiled towards Steve.

“Yeah. See you next time, mommy. Maybe you’ll join us.”

With that, you slammed your laptop closed.

Fuck, what have you done.

Pt. 2 coming soon :^>

Part 2

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 03

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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The days, which soon turned into weeks after your assignment with Bakugou, proved to be wildly uneventful. Nothing notable happened. Life went back to its regular routine—mundane and predictable.

Absolutely boring!

That one day with Bakugou seemed to be the most social interaction you’d had in ages. Now, as you sit in class, your attention drifts between the lecture and the pink glitter gel pen in your hand.

By “notes,” you mean the intricate little doodles that fill the edges of your notebook—hearts, flowers, and a tiny, picturesque village. It’s the ideal town in your imagination, where everything is sweet, sparkly, and cozy. A place where you’re surrounded by kind people who actually enjoy your company.

You allow yourself a small smile as you add tiny puffs of clouds above the village rooftops.

The sharp ring of the bell jolts you out of your daydream, pulling you back to reality. You glance down at your doodles, a little disappointed that the moment of escape is over.

With a sigh, you carefully wave your notebook to let the gel ink dry before snapping it shut and beginning to pack up.

It’s Friday, and the long weekend looms ahead like a quiet storm—four whole days of solitude in your dorm. You could already picture it, and have books picked out to accompany you for the next couple of days of bed rot.

“I’m so ready to get back in that house and on the beach!” Sero grins, stretching his arms behind his head.

He’s chatting animatedly with Kirishima, who sits a few rows ahead, his red hair gleaming under the classroom lights.

Your ears perk up at the mention of a house and a beach, despite yourself. Casually, you glance toward the small group that has gathered near the door, their chatter growing livelier with each passing second.

Wait… are they going back to their vacation house?

You tell yourself to mind your own business. It’s none of your concern. They’re friends—close friends—and you aren’t exactly even close to being part of that circle. Still, you can’t help the sinking feeling in your chest as you quietly collect your color-assorted pens and highlighters, neatly placing them into their respective cases.

Pathetically, you find yourself wishing you could join them.

“It’ll be cool going with the rest of the class this time around,” Kirishima adds, his voice cheerful.

You freeze. The entire class is going? You hadn’t heard a single word about this.

Heat creeps up your neck and into your face. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed.

There’s nothing to feel embarrassed about! And yet… you do. That familiar self-consciousness tugs at you, making you wish you could just shrink into your seat and disappear.

With a quiet inhale, you force yourself to glance up at the group again. By now, it’s practically the entire class gathering at the door—Midoriya and his large group of friends have joined, their laughter filling the room as they chatter excitedly about their upcoming trip.

The atmosphere feels warm, buzzing with excitement.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your expression neutral, but the slight clench of your hands around your pencil case betrays you. Of course they’re all going. Of course no one thought to mention it to me…

You hate how easy it is to spiral like this, how quickly your mind twists the situation into something personal.

You aren’t close with most of them—it’s not like they intentionally left you out. You know it’s your own doing after all, if only you had been able to come out of your shell at all in the last three years.

Don’t think about it. Just finish packing and leave quietly. That’s the plan. Stay out of the way. Stay invisible.

But even as you tell yourself that, you can’t shake the ache settling in your chest.

Grabbing your designer tote, you sling it over your shoulder, the little beaded bag charms jingling softly with the motion. The sound is faint, drowned out by the chatter and laughter of your classmates.

You keep your head down, your polished loafers clicking rhythmically against the tiled floor as you rush past them. Nobody notices—and that's fine.

It’s fine, you repeat to yourself firmly, trying to will away the sting of exclusion. 

Maybe I’ll just go home for the weekend! You picture your family’s estate: the sprawling backyard, the crystal-clear pool with its very own waterfall, the warm sun filtering through the glass walls of the sunroom.

Who needs a cramped little beach house when you have all that?

You huff under your breath, quickening your pace toward the dorms.

 Who needs them, anyway?

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“Oh, so nobody’s gonna be home this week?” you ask, frowning as you press your phone against your ear. You sit cross-legged in the middle of your king-sized bed, surrounded by baby blue plush sheets that feel soft but offer little comfort.

After class has ended today, you decided on calling Hajime to take you back home, but now that plan seems to be falling apart.

Your long nails tap absently against your thighs, the steady rhythm betraying your rising anxiety.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Y/N,” Hajime’s familiar voice replies with a hint of apology. “Since your mother is working overseas, she gave the entire staff the weekend off.”

Great, you think, trying not to let disappointment seep into your tone.

You glance around your room, the walls lined with soft pastel décor and shelves filled with books and trinkets. It’s all beautiful, yet somehow, it feels painfully empty.

“Why don’t you and your friends do something fun over the weekend? You’re all so young—you shouldn’t spend your last year cooped up at home,” Hajime suggests warmly. His words are well-meaning, but they hit a little too close to home.

You swallow hard, forcing a smile despite knowing he can’t see you.

“R-right, yeah. You’re right. I’ll, um, do something with them,” you say quickly, not wanting him to worry. Hajime has been your family’s chauffeur for as long as you can remember.

Though he’s not related to you by blood, he’s been a constant in your life—a grounding presence, someone you could always rely on. He’s more family than anyone else, save perhaps Aizawa in a strange, distant way.

“Well, that sounds wonderful, Miss Y/N,” Hajime says, his tone cheerful. “I hope you and your friends have a fantastic weekend. Take care!”

“Thanks, Hajime. You too.”

With that, the call ends, leaving you alone in the silence of your room. The absence of his voice only seems to amplify the quiet, and you can’t help but sulk, lowering your head.

You glance toward the window, where the late afternoon sun casts a warm glow across your floor, but it doesn’t lift your spirits.

You can already picture it: nothing but quiet halls, empty common rooms, and an endless loop of boredom.

How absolutely depressing…

You let out a sigh, flopping back onto the bed. The plush sheets cushion your fall, wrapping around you like a cloud, but even their softness can’t chase away the heaviness in your chest. You stare up at the ceiling, eyes tracing invisible patterns across its smooth surface.

This is miserable already!

You close your eyes, trying to shut out the nagging feelings.

Then, your ears perk up. Muffled voices filter through the door, faint but unmistakable—the sound of suitcases being wheeled along the tiled floor, followed by bursts of laughter.

Mina’s bright, melodic laugh rings out, carried by the excited energy of the group. You catch bits of Ochako and Midoriya’s animated chatter, and even Todoroki’s quieter voice as they pass by.

For a moment, you think about stepping out—maybe to say goodbye or at least catch a glimpse of the fun they’re all about to have.

But before you can even gather the courage to move, the voices fade.

And then, it’s silent.

You sit up slowly, the emptiness wrapping around you like a thick, suffocating fog. The quiet feels denser now, pressing in on you from all sides. Even the low hum of the air conditioning feels distant, like white noise against the weight of your thoughts.

Wrapping your arms around your knees, you pull them close to your chest. You try to yourself that it doesn’t matter, that it’s just one weekend, and by Monday, everything will be back to normal. But the truth is undeniable.

Being alone like this… hurts.

Still, you force yourself to stand off the bed, brushing off the gloom clinging to your skin.

Okay, fine. I’ll make the best of it.

You stride to your desk, plop down in the chair, and flip open your laptop. The screen’s soft glow casts shadows across your face as you open tab after tab—designer websites filled with offensively overpriced items practically begging to be bought.

Your fingers move on autopilot, clicking add to cart on anything that doesn’t make you cringe.

Quilted purses in every shade imaginable, heels you don’t need, sneakers you’ll probably wear once, makeup you already own in five different colors, jewelry that sparkles a little too brightly—everything. The digital shopping spree feels like a twisted coping mechanism, each click a futile attempt to fill the gnawing feeling inside.

Your mom’s black card sits on your desk, a familiar enabler. No budget, no limits, no hesitation. And to really nail in the fuck you feeling, you click express shipping on everything. Extra cost.

Ugh!

You lean back in your chair, arms crossed as you stare blankly at the screen. The total sits there, bold and unapologetic, but instead of feeling satisfied, there’s just… nothing. Even after blowing enough money to fund a small country, nothing feels better.

Fingers idly tapping the trackpad, you aimlessly click through more pages.

Shoes. Dresses. Bags. You have it all. You’ve always had it all. If anything, you own more than anyone could ever need, yet none of it cools down the feeling of being left out.

With a frustrated groan, you push back from the desk and fling yourself onto your bed, face buried in the softness of your Italian sheets. The faint scent of lavender clings to the fabric, usually comforting, but tonight it feels useless.

What’s wrong with me? Why didn’t anyone tell me?

The thought sneaks up on you, sharp and bitter, and you hate it for existing. You don’t want to care! You don’t want to feel so left out. But you do! And no matter how hard you try, you can’t push it away.

Why didn’t they think of you?!

You close your eyes tightly, Maybe if you just fall asleep, things will feel better when you wake up!

Yeah, that’s it. By tomorrow, your new things will arrive, and you can do a little haul for yourself!

Those pink diamond earrings you got would look adorable with the miniskirt you ordered. Unboxing everything, matching outfits, feeling cute again.

It’ll be better tomorrow, You’re sure!

Maybe it’s just some weird hormonal surge messing with your head. That’s what you tell yourself as you crawl under the sheets, pulling them up to your chin, shutting your eyes against the silence.

Stupid class trip. If only you had the address of that beach house, you’d buy it just to ruin everyone’s day. Damn it all.

[elryuse]

Pt. 2 Troubles

BABEL'S CHAINS MASTELIST : HERE

Y'n's POV

The Next Morning

The next day started much like the last—my alarm blaring, my groggy attempt to silence it, and my mom sending me off with a reassuring smile. But this time, as I pedaled toward Babel University, an odd sense of anticipation weighed on me.

Was I dreading the day or looking forward to it? I wasn’t sure.

As I approached the gates of Babel, the familiar wave of whispers and stares hit me. I ignored them, parking my bike in the same corner as yesterday. My steps quickened as I made my way to the classroom, hoping to slip in unnoticed like before.

But when I stepped through the door, my heart nearly stopped.

Karina Yu was already there, lounging in her seat. Her perfectly polished nails tapped idly against her desk as she scrolled through her phone. When her sharp eyes flicked up and spotted me, a slow smirk spread across her lips.

And then, she waved.

It wasn’t subtle, either. Her arm stretched high, drawing the attention of half the classroom. A few of her friends snickered, and some students turned to look at me.

I froze, the heat rising to my cheeks. Why was she doing this?

“Y/n!” she called, her voice carrying easily over the chatter. “Come sit here.”

She patted the empty seat beside her.

My first instinct was to bolt, but her gaze pinned me in place. With no other choice, I shuffled toward her, painfully aware of every pair of eyes following me.

When I reached her desk, she grinned and moved her bag off the chair. “See? I saved you a seat.”

“Uh… thanks,” I mumbled, sliding into the seat.

The energy in the room shifted. Conversations buzzed around us, but I couldn’t focus on anything other than Karina’s presence beside me. She radiated confidence, her every movement casual yet commanding.

“Relax,” she said, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “You’re acting like I dragged you here.”

“I just… didn’t expect this,” I admitted, keeping my voice low.

She chuckled, resting her chin on her hand. “Why not? You’re interesting, remember?”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” I muttered, earning another laugh from her.

The Lecture Begins

The professor entered shortly after, and the room fell silent. As he launched into another dense economics lecture, I tried to focus on taking notes, but it was almost impossible with Karina next to me.

She didn’t seem to care about the lecture at all, doodling absentmindedly in her notebook. Occasionally, her elbow would brush against mine, sending my brain into overdrive.

“Hey,” she whispered, leaning closer. “What’s the answer to this one?”

I glanced at her notebook, where a half-written equation stared back at me. “It’s… 7.32.”

She jotted it down, her lips curving into a small smile. “You’re pretty handy to have around.”

“Glad I could help,” I said dryly.

The Lunch Break

When the lecture ended, I quickly packed up my things, hoping to escape the awkwardness. But as I stood to leave, Karina grabbed my arm.

“Lunch?” she asked casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

I blinked, stunned. “With you?”

“No, with the janitor,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Of course with me. Come on.”

Before I could protest, she looped her arm through mine and practically dragged me out of the classroom. A few students stared as we passed, their expressions ranging from curious to jealous.

When we reached the cafeteria, Karina led me to the same table as yesterday, where Winter, Giselle, and Ningning were already waiting.

“Look who I found,” Karina announced, pushing me into a seat beside her.

“Y/n!” Ningning greeted cheerfully. “Welcome back to the cool kids’ table.”

I glanced around nervously. “I’m not sure if I belong here.”

“Don’t be silly,” Giselle said, resting her chin on her hand. “Karina doesn’t invite just anyone to sit with us.”

“Yeah,” Winter added, smirking. “You must’ve done something to impress her.”

I turned to Karina, who was calmly unpacking her lunch. “Why me?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

She paused, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. Then, she looked at me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Because you’re different,” she said simply. “And I like different.”

The rest of lunch passed in a blur. The girls talked and laughed, including me in the conversation more than I expected. Karina, however, seemed content to let the others do most of the talking, occasionally glancing at me with that enigmatic smile of hers.

By the time lunch ended, I felt like I’d stepped into a different world—and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever find my way back.

The Rival Encounter

The following day started much the same as usual, but it was the moments after class that took a surprising turn. As I was leaving the lecture hall, Karina waved me over—again.

“Sit here,” she said, patting the seat beside her in the cafeteria.

I hesitated, clutching my tray of simple food. The eyes of Babel University’s elite bore into me, their whispers audible even across the room. Still, something about Karina’s unwavering gaze made it hard to say no.

Sliding into the seat beside her, I braced myself for another round of teasing or curious prodding from her and her friends. To my relief, Ningning quickly shifted the attention with a story about her weekend, and the table’s atmosphere lightened.

The Walk

Lunch ended, and to my surprise, Karina and the girls insisted on walking with me. Ningning had latched onto my arm, her energy infectious as she joked about everything under the sun. Winter trailed slightly behind, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. Giselle walked beside Karina, who carried herself with her usual composed elegance.

I couldn’t help but feel out of place, like a black-and-white photo amidst a sea of vibrant color.

But things took a sharp turn when I accidentally bumped into someone.

The collision was minor—a gentle brush of my shoulder against someone’s arm. Yet, the aftermath was anything but.

“Oh, great,” a voice snapped.

I turned, finding myself face-to-face with a girl whose beauty was just as striking as Karina’s. Her long, sleek hair framed her delicate face, but her expression was anything but delicate. Her name tag read "Jang Wonyoung."

Behind her stood a group of equally stunning girls, their presence commanding the same aura of privilege as Karina’s group.

“Watch where you’re going,” Wonyoung said coldly, crossing her arms.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, taking a step back.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Yujin, another member of Wonyoung’s group, chimed in. Her sharp gaze bore into me, and her voice was as icy as her demeanor. “Do you even know who you just bumped into? Wonyoung doesn’t tolerate disrespect.”

“Yujin,” Gaeul, another girl in the group, said, her tone calmer but no less pointed. “He’s clearly out of his depth. Let’s not waste time.”

Karina stepped forward then, her expression unreadable.

“Out of his depth?” Karina repeated, her voice quiet but laced with steel. “I don’t recall Wonyoung being royalty. Or did I miss the coronation?”

Wonyoung’s eyes narrowed. “Karina, I didn’t realize you were running a charity. Is this your new project?”

Winter stepped up beside Karina, her arms crossed. “Wonyoung, if you’re going to pick a fight, maybe try someone who’s actually worth your time.”

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. Students nearby had stopped to watch, their eyes darting between the two groups like spectators at a tennis match.

I opened my mouth to apologize again, but Karina’s hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” she said firmly, her eyes locked on Wonyoung’s. “Some people just thrive on drama.”

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a tight smile. “And some people mistake arrogance for confidence.”

Karina didn’t flinch. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

Before the situation could escalate further, Ningning stepped between them with her usual playful energy.

“Alright, ladies,” Ningning said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s save the drama for the stage, yeah? This isn’t worth anyone’s time.”

Wonyoung gave Karina one last withering glance before turning on her heel, her group trailing behind her like a flock of impeccably dressed swans.

As they walked away, Giselle muttered under her breath, “Always so theatrical.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Thanks,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Karina turned to me, her expression softening. “Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re all bark and no bite.”

“Mostly,” Winter added with a smirk.

Ningning looped her arm through mine again, pulling me along. “Come on, Y/n. Let’s get out of here before Wonyoung decides to stage a comeback.”

As we walked away, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder. Wonyoung was watching us, her expression unreadable.

Whatever I’d gotten myself into, it was clear that life at Babel University was only going to get more complicated.

To Be Continued…

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° what's meant to be will always find a way

( nanase nijiro x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — for my new childhood friends to lovers series :)

♡ word count — 1.9k

♡ content — nanase nijiro x fem! reader, fem! reader, coach's daughter! reader, reader's dad has been nanase's soccer coach basically his whole life, secret relationship, goes from when they're 8 to the U-20 game, let's pretend nanase played a bit in the U-20 game

♡ synopsis — All Nanase Nijirou ever wanted was to prove himself. Not just as a player but as the person who would always be worthy of your love.

Nanase Nijiro met you when he was just eight years old, all knobby knees and a crooked grin that didn’t quite match his quiet personality. Your dad was his little league soccer coach, and from the moment Nanase joined the team, your father’s voice seemed to boom louder whenever Nanase was around.

“This kid’s got potential,” your dad had said once, hands on his hips as he watched Nanase run drills. You were sitting nearby on the sidelines, clipboard balanced on your lap, dutifully helping keep score or jotting down notes like the perfect assistant.

Nanase thought you were intimidating, standing there like a miniature version of your father—sharp-eyed, quiet, and serious. He tried his best to avoid you at first, focusing on impressing the coach instead.

But fate had other plans.

During one particularly intense practice, Nanase tripped over the ball, tumbling hard onto the ground. The sting of scraped knees bit into his skin, and dirt clung to the fresh wounds. He bit back tears, willing himself to get back up before anyone noticed.

“Shake it off, Nanase!” your dad barked from across the field.

Before he could, though, you were already walking toward him, first-aid kit in hand.

“Sit down,” you ordered gently, kneeling beside him.

Nanase froze, unsure of what to say as you cleaned the dirt from his knees with an alcohol wipe. He flinched at the sting but tried to hide it, not wanting to seem weak in front of you.

“It’s not that bad,” he muttered.

You glanced up at him, unimpressed. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t play if you’re bleeding all over the field.”

Your hands worked quickly, applying bright, colorful bandages to his scraped knees. When you finished, you gave him a small smile.

“There. Now you’re good as new.”

Something shifted in that moment. Nanase stared at you, wide-eyed, as if seeing you for the first time. You weren’t as scary as he thought—just kind.

From then on, Nanase couldn’t help but gravitate toward you. During water breaks, he’d wander over to the sidelines, chatting with you about school, soccer, or whatever came to mind. He wasn’t naturally talkative, but around you, the words came easily.

You teased him about his growing habit. “You know, you’re supposed to practice during practice, right?”

“I’m taking a break,” he’d say, grinning sheepishly.

Somewhere between bandaged knees and quiet conversations, a friendship bloomed.

By the time you both reached junior high, you and Nanase were inseparable. He still played under your dad’s coaching, but now the practices were more intense, the stakes higher. Your dad pushed Nanase harder than ever, singling him out during drills and yelling at him to work harder.

“He’s only like this because he believes in you,” you’d remind Nanase after practice when he dragged himself to the bleachers, exhausted.

“I know,” he’d reply, his smile a little strained. “Doesn’t make it easier, though.”

You’d sit together for a while, watching the sunset paint the sky orange and pink. Sometimes, he’d lean over to peek at your notebook, curious about what you were sketching or writing.

“What’s this?” he’d ask, pointing at one of your doodles.

“Nothing important,” you’d say, closing the notebook quickly, but he’d grin, knowing you didn’t actually mind his nosiness.

By the time you both hit your final year of junior high, the lines of friendship had blurred into something more. It wasn’t sudden—more like a slow, inevitable shift. Lingering touches, the way his eyes lingered on you longer than before, the flutter in your chest when he smiled at you.

One evening after practice, while the rest of the team was packing up, Nanase pulled you aside behind the equipment shed.

“I, uh…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What is it?”

“I like you,” he blurted out, his face red as he looked at the ground. “Like, really like you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could overthink it, you leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.

“I like you too,” you admitted softly, your face just as red as his.

That was how it started—your quiet, secret relationship.

Nanase respected your dad, a lot actually, but what your dad didn’t know was that Nanase had kissed you behind the equipment shed before almost every practice.

High school came with its own challenges. Your dad, still Nanase’s coach, watched him like a hawk.

“If you’re friends with my daughter, that’s fine,” your dad told him one day after practice, his tone firm. “But no dating. Got it?”

Nanase nodded obediently, but behind closed doors, nothing changed. If anything, your relationship only deepened.

One night during a particularly bad storm, you heard a faint tapping at your window. Nervously, you peeked out and saw Nanase standing there, drenched from head to toe.

“What are you doing?!” you whispered harshly as you opened the window, helping him climb inside.

“I figured you’d be scared,” he said, dripping water onto your floor.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling as you tossed him a towel. “You’re insane, you know that?”

He changed into the spare clothes you kept hidden for him, and the two of you curled up under your blankets. When the thunder roared, you gripped his arm tightly, and he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

By morning, the storm had passed, but the real trouble came when your dad knocked on your door.

“Sweetie?” he called, opening the door before you could answer.

You stood by your closet, your face burning red. “H-Hi, Dad!”

He frowned. “You’re all sweaty. You sick?”

“Nope! Just… couldn’t sleep because of the storm,” you stammered.

He nodded, eyeing you for a moment before leaving. The second the door shut, you opened your closet, and Nanase tumbled out, laughing quietly.

“You gotta go,” you whispered, trying not to laugh yourself.

Nanase grinned, leaning down to kiss you. “I love you. See you at school.”

When the Blue Lock letter arrived, you were sitting on Nanase’s bed, textbooks spread out as you studied together.

He opened the envelope, his eyes widening as he read the words.

“What is it?” you asked, sitting up straighter.

He handed you the letter, and your jaw dropped. “Nanase, this is amazing!”

But he didn’t look as thrilled as you expected.

“What about you?” he asked quietly. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Your excitement faltered as the reality hit you. If he went, things would change.

“Oh,” you murmured.

“I won’t go if you don’t want me to,” he said quickly, his voice filled with worry.

You shook your head, forcing a smile. “Don’t be stupid. This is your dream.”

“It’s not worth it if I lose you,” he whispered, his fingers brushing yours.

“You won’t,” you promised, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Blue Lock was unlike anything Nanase had ever experienced. The training was brutal, the pressure relentless, and the competition cutthroat. Yet, through all of it, he never took off the bracelet you made for him before he left—a simple cord with your favorite colors braided together.

At first, no one noticed it. But one day in the locker room, one of his teammates, a tall striker with a loud mouth and a knack for teasing, spotted it while Nanase was getting changed.

“Yo, Nanase,” the striker said, pointing at his wrist. “What’s with the bracelet? Got a girlfriend or something?”

Nanase froze for a moment, caught off guard. “Uh…”

The striker grinned, sensing an opportunity. “Oh, you do have a girlfriend. What, did she make that for you? That’s cute.”

Nanase turned red, instinctively pulling his wrist close to his chest. “It’s none of your business,” he mumbled.

But the striker wasn’t letting up. “Come on, man. Don’t be shy. What’s the deal? Is it like a good luck charm or something?”

Nanase tried to ignore him, but the teasing continued. Finally, something snapped.

“Yeah, she made it for me,” Nanase said, his voice louder than usual. “She spent hours on it, making sure it was perfect, even though I told her she didn’t have to. She’s the most supportive person I’ve ever known. She’s been there for me since we were kids—every practice, every game, cheering me on, even when I didn’t believe in myself. This bracelet reminds me of her and everything I’m fighting for here. So yeah, it’s important to me. You got a problem with that?”

The locker room went silent.

The striker blinked, stunned by the outburst, before muttering, “Damn, man. I wish I hadn’t asked.”

Nanase sighed, his face burning, but he didn’t regret a single word. Later that night, as he lay in his bunk, he twisted the bracelet around his wrist, a small smile tugging at his lips. Thinking of you gave him strength.

The U-20 match was the biggest stage Nanase had ever stepped onto. The stadium lights burned bright, illuminating the field where some of the best players in the country were battling it out. Nanase’s heart raced as he stood on the sidelines, watching the chaos unfold.

He didn’t get much playing time, and deep down, he felt a pang of disappointment. He wanted to prove himself—not just to the world but to you, the one who had always believed in him.

When the coach finally called his name, his pulse quickened. He stepped onto the field, taking his position.

The match was intense, every second a blur of movement, strategy, and noise. Nanase didn’t score a goal, but he played his heart out, assisting a crucial pass that led to one. The crowd roared, and though it wasn’t his name they were chanting, he felt a surge of pride.

When the final whistle blew, signaling Blue Lock’s victory, he stood on the field, chest heaving as the adrenaline slowly faded.

And then he saw you.

You were running onto the field, weaving through the crowd of players until you reached him. Without a second thought, you threw your arms around him, holding him tightly.

“You were amazing,” you said, your voice filled with pride.

Nanase hesitated. “I didn’t do much,” he said quietly, his eyes downcast. “I wasn’t even on the field for most of it.”

You pulled back, your hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look at you. “Don’t say that. You made a difference. You played your heart out. That’s what matters.”

He smiled, a little sheepishly, but his chest felt lighter.

“Nanase.”

The sound of your dad’s voice made both of you freeze. You turned, seeing him standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

“Sir,” Nanase said quickly, stepping back from you. “I’m glad you came.”

Your dad didn’t say anything at first, just stared at the two of you. Finally, he spoke. “I’m not stupid, boy.”

Nanase swallowed hard.

“But,” your dad continued, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “you’ve made me proud today. Just don’t forget what I said—don’t hurt her.”

Nanase nodded quickly, relief flooding his face. “I won’t. I promise.”

Your dad gave a short nod before walking away, leaving the two of you standing there.

Nanase turned to you, his hand finding yours. “Did that just happen?”

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “I think he’s finally on your side.”

Nanase smiled, his heart swelling with gratitude and love. He might not have been the star of the match, but to you—and now, apparently, to your dad—he was more than enough.

As you walked off the field together, the stadium lights casting long shadows, Nanase tightened his grip on your hand, silently vowing to keep proving himself—not just as a player but as the person who would always be worthy of your love.

idc if he's underrated, i will write for him til the cows come home

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[mapsthewanderer]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb II

(Law student POV pt. 2)

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 1300 words. Pt. 2! (Spring cleaning is done lol kinda) Non-MC!Reader as the law student. Expect flirting, hot af barista Caleb, jealousy blooming and plenty of banter with the newbie barista. You learn something new about Caleb—and, as always, you and the newbie are in this chaotic little mess together.

Chapters: initial doodle, pilot part 1 (law student), pilot (newbie), part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @mipov101 @unstablemiss

Turbulence | Pt. 2

It’s been three days.

Three days. Eleven drinks. Two shaky hands. One minor caffeine-induced breakdown in the library bathroom. And not a single Caleb.

The newbie’s been your reluctant caffeine lifeline. Quiet, sharp, tongue piercing flashing when they talk, salmon-colored hair tied back messily, a silver ring glinting at the edge of their nose. They don’t ask why you keep showing up—mostly because they already know. They catch your glances at the door, your pauses when Caleb’s name is mentioned, your steady descent into coffee-fueled delusion.

They say nothing. But every time they hand you your drink, their eyes say: same hat, different clown.

But today?

Today, you’re done pretending.

You step up to the counter, drop your bag, and level them with a look.

“Okay,” you say, voice flat. “This is not a crush. This is a case study. I just need to know—when does he work? For science. National interest. Closure.”

The newbie blinks, then gives you a slow, unimpressed look.

“You could ask him yourself.”

You open your mouth to argue—just as they glance at their watch, untie their apron, and say under their breath:

“Actually… perfect timing.”

And that’s when the door opens behind you.

You feel him before you see him. The shift in energy. The hum in the air. The ghost of that smirk from three days ago.

Then his voice, warm and amused:

“Hey.”

You turn around.

There he is—Caleb. Dressed in the same soft black shirt, hair slightly mussed, sleeves already rolled like he’s here to work and ruin your life.

He walks past you toward the counter, claps the newbie on the shoulder with easy affection, and ruffles their hair like it’s a normal thing people survive.

The newbie’s whole body goes still.

They turn to you, dead-eyed, mouthing: Kill me.

Then they mutter something about their shift ending and vanish into the back before Caleb can do more damage.

You’re still smiling when he turns around and spots you.

“Oh hey,” he says, tying his apron behind his back, eyes bright with something unreadable. “Didn’t expect to see you this late.”

You shrug, trying to keep your cool. “Guess I’m still unpredictable.”

His grin curves. “You wanna try something weird?”

You blink.

“I’ve been thinking about this drink all week,” he continues, moving behind the counter. “Coffee. With apple juice.”

You stare. “That sounds like a war crime.”

He laughs. “Exactly. But it might also be genius. C’mon—let me make it for you. Worst case, you hate it and I owe you a real drink.”

He’s already reaching for the espresso.

And somehow, you’re already saying yes.

You watch as he works. Veins shifting under his forearms as he moves so precise, so practiced, you’re tempted to file an official complaint with the Department of Hot People Doing Too Much. He talks while he works—voice low, casual, like this is all completely normal. Like he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

“Apple juice cuts the bitterness. Adds brightness. Kind of a shock to the system, but in a good way.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like a tagline for your whole personality.”

He smirks without looking up. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He finishes the drink, slides it across the counter toward you. The cup is warm, the smell… confusing. Like summer and danger and something that should probably not be consumed without signing a waiver.

“Try it,” he says, watching you.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t trust the drink—but because he’s watching you like this matters. Like your opinion on this weird little experiment is somehow important.

And it shouldn’t feel intimate, but it does.

You lift the cup, take a cautious sip.

It’s—good?

Weird. But good. Tangy, slightly sweet, the coffee mellowed into something strange and spark-bright on your tongue. You blink, surprised.

“Well?” he asks.

You look up at him, lips still on the rim of the cup.

“…This is actually kind of amazing.”

His smile is slow, satisfied. “Told you.”

You lower the cup, trying not to look like you’re about to write an entire thesis on the way he’s leaning forward just slightly, hands braced on the counter like you’re the only thing in the room.

You glance at the drink again, then up at him. “What made you think of it?”

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “I just have a thing for apples.”

And that’s when you see it.

The thin chain around his neck catches the light as he shifts—barely visible under the collar of his shirt. It slips out just enough to show what’s been hiding all along:

A dog tag.

And next to it, resting against the metal, a tiny apple charm.

You freeze.

You’ve seen it before. Or maybe you haven’t. Maybe you’ve been too distracted by everything else. But now, it’s all you can see.

Delicate. Meaningful. Not self-gifted. Not accidental.

Someone gave that to him.

And it’s been there. Long enough to be worn down at the edges. Long enough to become a part of him.

You look back down at your drink.

He didn’t make it for you.

He made it because apples mean something to him. Because she made them mean something.

And you hate that it matters. But it does.

You sip again. Slower. Trying not to show your face.

Trying not to wonder if everything about him is already spoken for.

You sit back down at your usual table with the coffee-apple crime still in hand, but your appetite for it has cooled. You pretend to read a paragraph of case law and get through maybe five words.

Because you’re still thinking about the necklace.

The charm.

Her.

Is she like you? Blonde? Quiet? Loud? Prettier? Softer? Did she work here? Was she the one who taught him to like apple juice in his coffee, or worse—did she drink it first?

You’re spiraling, and you know it.

You adjust your blazer. Reread the same line three times.

Across the room, Caleb’s voice drifts through the hum of espresso and indie guitar.

It’s just coffee. He makes drinks. You’re not special. This is nothing.

You take another sip.

…It’s still good. Damn it.

The newbie walks past your table on their way out, shooting you a look that says you okay? without bothering to say it out loud.

You raise your eyebrows in a silent do not even start.

They shrug like fine, but as they pass, they murmur:

“Don’t look too hard at the charm. You’ll drive yourself crazy.”

You whip around to say excuse me?, but they’re already gone. Vanished through the entrance with a pling of the doorbell, leaving you with your overactive brain and that damn necklace burned into your memory.

You try to recover. Get your bag together. Your pride. Your notes.

And just as you’re slipping your laptop back into its case, you hear him behind you:

“Hey, Golden Girl.”

You turn, eyes wide.

He’s leaning against the counter again, arms folded, apron dusted with a bit of cinnamon.

“I’m working the early shift tomorrow,” he says. “Should I make a cup of sin for you again, or… are you too scared to handle it twice?”

There’s that smirk.

That exact smirk.

And just like that, every ounce of composure you rebuilt cracks apart like a dropped glass.

You force a smile. Steady. Controlled.

“Careful,” you say lightly. “Turbulence, remember?”

He flashes that grin, all white teeth and silent challenge. “Trust me. I’m a trained pilot.”

You walk out, smile still frozen on your lips, heart pounding in your chest like a full-on procedural hearing is taking place in there.

And as soon as the door shuts behind you, you mutter under your breath:

“I’m lawyering the hell out of that apple girl.”

——————————————————————————

Part 3

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: So when I say my drafts are empty, I don’t mean literally—but you’ve successfully squeezed the last half-decent AU I had kinda ready since you wanted the law student with the MC existing. I was just too scared to commit lol. Congrats, you’ve all unlocked the “fine, I’ll post it” hidden achievement on my tumblr. We can always make the MC disappear if you change your mind (said with Colonel Caleb intensity)

I’m honestly amazed (and so grateful) that people enjoy this simple AU of mine—thank you for the comments, likes, and reblogs! Muah!

Let me know if you’d like more, dear reader! I’ll be off doodling my newfound Apothecary Diaries AU in the meantime—before dropping a headcanon for all the boiis later this week, hehe. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[lucabyte]

How do you get your siffrins to look adult? I keep accidentally giving them a baby face but I WANT THEM TO LOOK GROWN AND EXHAUSTED LIKE HE DESERVES

okay so i legit think i fail at making siffrin look adequately adult like half the time but here's a general breakdown of my like. thought process when im actually um. thinking .

So first of all heres my general tips for proportioning a face, and how i attempt to keep the roundness of sif's in-game proportions while also like... drawing them more realistically? i had to practically reinvent a Human Style for drawing isat fanart since im a furry artist so a lot of this is fresh in my mind, luckily(?) for you i suppose.

This newness also means you can like, watch me fight and struggle against how the hell to do this in my earlier fanart. so feel free to try and see what changed as i pieced it together.

Another note is body proportion. You note giving him a baby face specifically, but some of it MIGHT be that you're drawing the head too big for your style? Try and figure out how many "heads tall" your figures are and tweak the numbers until you find what looks "adult"

Here I cracked open one of the comics I used CSP Model refrences for (albeit feat Loop, who i envision to be the exact same height as siffrin. i am NOT a tall loop truther i think its funnier when that bitch is five foot NOTHING!!!!!)

drawing sif with adult proportions can be deceptively difficult though on account of their Being A Tiny Motherfucker. Mostly here though, I find that the best way to do this is to drop like 1/3rd of the length of an average drawing figure's legs. Short people tend to have short legs. I know this on account of a lot of my ocs being 5'3" and below (... for... reasons...... unrelated to my own... height.... 100%.... ) so once again I think a lot of this can come down to trying to fiddle with numbers and noting down what works.

OKAY NOW ONTO SOME MORE SIFFRIN-SPECIFIC DRAWING TIPS. like these are what i find myself doing to make them look older if i accidentally baby face them myself

The above kind of chibi-er doodle style im still not sure has Siffrin looking adult enough for my liking (someone who considers them minimum 28) but considering they're presumably genuinely a deceptively baby faced guy at least by game's start (even if they should probably look. unhealthy.) it's like... forgivable.

the bald spot is basically fucking cheating in terms of "making them look older" lbr but i am so fucking insistent on it and i punch the air in celebration every time i see anyone else do it. winner is ME!!!!

Anyway. the body hair thing is funny considering we basically have Word Of God that siffrin is not the kind of person who ever likes being naked/even having their feet out in a casual setting. but like. hi its me the weird fucked up miserable nudity guy. of course im drawing every pockmark and texture on their body.

Another note here is, on their naked form, I avoid overly smooth lines for outlines of the limbs and torso. This avoids making them look "sexy twink thin" (not my bag at all) and instead gives the impression of loose skin from fluctuating weight, uneven fat distribution, skin becoming baggier with age. I also let joints jut out and look sharp wherever I can. This is because im an asexual pervert who likes the human form the mostest when i can see 'imperfections' This adds to the haggard nature of it all, by being reasonably honest about what the kind of persistent decade-long neglect of self care and implied malnutrition would do to a guy

Last note: eyes. i find i end up drawing a vague glassy black smear with a hint of white for the sclera for siffrin like. a Lot. Eyebags to show weariness is not my preferred method as I find it, to be rude, a bit of an overused shorthand. Plus, while sif in game does get eyebags, they're usually more on pushed expressions where they're forcing their face. So I put more emphasis on drawing the folds of the upper lid (which the game does not do) to make them look weary.

I dont think i can elaborate on my opinions on How To Draw Eyes without it becoming a way the fuck too long essay because "drawing emotions good" is like. my number 1 goal in every drawing so even if everything else is scuffed to hell I HAVE TOOO get the eyes right because theyre the most emotive part of the face. if i cant capture an emotion correctly the drawing isnt getting fucking finished is the thing, so....

Luckily for me, drawing over eyes and continously tweaking them by painting over and over and over and redoing them can have the side effect of making them look over-detailed and thus worn/tired/agonised. yes this is why i draw loop's face so scrunched all the time. All I can say for this though is to do a lot of studies of both real life faces & the most emotive cartoon faces you personally have experienced. So like. steven universe is great for this because rebecca sugar is so scary at drawing eyes. theyre so fucking scary at it. or sometimes i just go stare at rebecca's old comics because jesus christ. anyway.

??? but yeah hope this helps. its something i feel like i have a genuine hard time with too, especially since im so intent on keeping their face round & my artstyle is genuinely very cutesy even when i am being weird soo ...?

tl;dr:

draw the eyes smaller, give them a chin, the canon nose helps a lot & dont forget the bald spot. everyone draw the bald spot. for me.

[flickertic]

So I made some Operation Ichor ocs :D

I don't have much more than minor trivia for them, and have very little idea what the heck is going on with Astray, but I mean I like them

(Operation Ichor belongs to @slumbrr-r!)

Some Doodles and extra info below the cut!

(Lament and Hertz both belong to @/slumbrr-r)

Used to keep a book where she kept notes on Twisteds

Thinks that she used to have friends outside of the Zodiac (she misses them..)

She chose to go by Astray, since she believes she lost the good feeling that made her "Posy"

Follows the Monarch and looks up to the Faith, but deeply dislikes the Prophet

Has developed more claw-like feet due to partial twisting, and has a sharp spear/whip thing that resembles a tail.

(I have no idea if Flutters have arms in the au, so uh... I chose arms. for now.)

Galen's design is based on a bamboo shrimp

Always carries around a cane to help with her lower back pain

Loves sweet things, would rather die than admit it

Prefers to listen and give practical solutions

Refrains from yelling. (Trying her fricken best)

Like any good Shrimpo, suffers from a "resting grouch face"

Terrible self-preservation skills when it comes to patients (hypocrite)

Partially inspired by this post

(Sorry for the ping)

[etherealhannie]

( oneshot ) ،، lipstick stamp ،، ⌇ 승철

pairing .ᐟ nerdy!seungcheol × mean!fem!reader genre .ᐟ college au , crush word count .ᐟ 0.7k song rec. .ᐟ fall in love alone - stacey ryan

click clack click clack

the sound of clacking heels fills up the bustling hall, as the red chunky heels steps on the marble floor, leaving trace of her present. it belongs to nobody other than her, the infamous chwe y/n.

with her sharp tongue and sharper intellect, she ruled the academic scene. professors admired her brilliance, but peers tread carefully around her acid wit. beneath her icy exterior, a butterfly lives in her snowy garden.

a guy named choi seungcheol has been her main attention. he was everything she wasn't. a quiet, introverted and intensely focused, he excelled in his studies with a passion that burns the desire in y/n to have him. his faded-orange hair, thick glasses, good baggy fashion sense and habit of pouting his lips when scrabbling in his ever-present notebook only added to his nerdy charm.

or when he rests himself on a tree, closing his eyes and listening to music with wired earphones, as wind gently messes his soft hair. only God knows how heaven he looks in your eyes.

you halt your steps when you reach the study booth, where he likes to spend his time. a grins stamps on your lips, as you confidently walked up to him with a cherry flavored lollipop in your mouth. as the distance gets nearer and nearer, you can actually feel the nervousness take over. damn y/n, just do it!

once you're actually in front of the table he studied, you knock on it as he's too focused on his notebook, unaware of the surroundings. as he started to move his head from the book, to your white lacy tights and up to your face.

the urge to not kiss him when his pouty lips and his doe eyes looking straight into your orbs. Lord, have mercy on me. his thick eyebrows frown, puzzled by your presence.

“yes?”

that one word almost makes you squeal like a giddy girl. you keep your posture straight and cross your arms with the lollipop in your hands. you lean your side on the wall.

“i need your notes from our previous lecture.” you declared, though it was more an order than a request.

“why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “you didn't miss a lecture today.”

“just give them to me.” you snapped, rolling your eyes.

with a sigh, seungcheol handed his notebook that he reads previously. as you took it, his fingers brushed briefly against yours, sending a jolt through you. you turned your heel and marched away, leaving a confused seungcheol staring after you.

later that evening, you sat in your dorm room, seungcheol’s notebook open on her desk. you couldn't help but admire his meticulous handwriting and detailed notes. it was then that you noticed a small, doodled heart in the corner of one page, next to a formula that we had discussed in class. the sight made her smile.

mom, your daughter is really in love right now. you close the notebook and laid on your bed, still smiling like crazy.

gosh , what a man you are, choi.

the next day, you returned the notebook. you found seungcheol in his second favorite spot, library, buried in a stack of books. without a word, you dropped it on the table infront of him. he looked up, surprised to see her.

“thanks,” he said awkwardly.

you nodded and turned to leave, but then paused. a sly smirk pasted on your lips as your hands rummaged through your bag and pulled a tube of bright red lipstick. seungcheol watched, bewildered, as you applied it with practiced precision. before he could say anything, you leaned over and pressed your lips firmly on against the cover of his notebook, leaving a bold, red imprint.

“there,” you said, as your voice sounds softer than usual. “a little trace of mine”

seungcheol stared at the notebook, then at her, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson. “why… why did you do that?” he stammered.

you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. “maybe i wanted to leave my mark on what's about to be mine. see you around, cheollie.”

as you walked away, seungcheol was still processing what just happened. the nickname, and the red lips mark on his notebook. he touched the lipstick mark, a smile creep on his face. for the first time, he saw beyond y/n’s harsh exterior to the complex, intriguing person beneath. what have gotten into you, choi seungcheol.