#and the occasional check in from a friend

[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume five — todo a su tiempo

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, more tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: all of the comments and feedback i've received so far has been absolutely amazing, it always encourages me to plow through volumes! i appreciate and love all of you <3

✦ ── word count: 4.9k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - previous volume - volume six

art by outdmilk on twt

The following days you could only describe were bliss.

Sukuna and you had established a set—yet, unspoken—routine. You’d wake up, hop to the kitchen, and get breakfast started. 

He’d disappear into the bathroom, hacking up a storm with his toothbrush and shuffle into work clothes.

You’d learned how he’d dress his eggs, that he only drank his coffee black which you scowled at upon discovery, and which mug he liked to sip from.

You even started packing him a lunch—which he called unnecessary every single time despite never turning it down.

You got comfortable in the clothing he’d bought you, despite having no sensitivity for fashion outside of red flannels and blue jeans.

If he wasn’t going to accept payment in the form of a wire transfer, you were going to ensure that you were going to pay him back through duties despite still being incredibly indebted to him.

He was a jerk, but a jerk who saved your life.

You dusted off his entire CD collection, reorganized his dining sets after polishing them, and scrubbed his tiles until they shined.

Twice.

From what you could puzzle together, it seemed that he worked down at a sawmill and treaded down the hill to reach his pick-up before heading into work. The extra lumber he’d chop on occasion, he’d leave in a lump come winter time when it’d be too cold to stand outside for long periods of time.

You’d bothered him quite a bit the next day about putting up a clothesline out back, which he found irksome but completed nonetheless that evening, along with fixing the dryer. 

You thus called the clothesline useless if he was just going to fix the dryer and he flicked your forehead.

He’d hammer you about checking your bandages and curse you out when you’d forget, and you’d raid his book collection and sit beneath a tree to pass time.

Uraume was quite the companion—plopping on you to rub their mud-covered mane to which you’d giggle at. 

You’d both fall asleep beneath the haze of the afternoon heat that hung sweetly in the air. Days were old, nights were young. You’d tan your shoulders, haunted by the melancholy of youth. The sky felt bigger than everything.

You’d scoop yourself three helpings of ice cream that’d dribble down your hand, Uraume lapping it up when it’d muddled around your palm.

The rusted windchimes on the patio became your favorite noise.

Nothing made sense except your virtue for stillness. You knew nothing was okay, but it felt otherwise.

You occasionally found yourself lurking near the shed, toying with the lock and peering between the slivers of cracked wood, but it was completely black inside—further frustrating your curiosity.

You’d argue with Sukuna every here and then—bickering about who’d tracked dirt in, when you’d use all the hot water before he had the chance to shower, or Sukuna telling you that you’d talked too much when you’d feel restless after being cooped up all day, your only friend Uraume who wasn’t of much help since they couldn’t actually speak back to you.

Sukuna was mean but he was sufferable.

“You ever try a root beer float?”

You had your hand resting on the side of his TV, giving it a couple of smacks to get rid of the static. Thankfully he had cable but you could tell he rarely used the old box. “Who hasn’t?”

He grunted at your bluntness, pulling a beer can from the fridge along with a pint of vanilla ice cream. “How about a root beer float with beer?”

You turned to frown at him, obviously not excited at the mixture of ale and milk. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Where on Earth did you learn this?”

You shoved an orange plastic straw into your mason jar that was both foamy from the sprite and beer can you’d dumped in along with a hefty scoop of ice cream. 

You were yet to be sick of ice cream.

You swirled your straw, eyeing it suspiciously as Sukuna had already spooned half of it down.

“Lots of free time,” he smirked, a line of frothy ice cream above his upper lip.

You grimaced, tossing a napkin at him and taking a sip.

You were a little pissed off that you liked it.

“Aren’t these called dirty root beer floats?” You quirked with an emphasis, metal spoon churning the thick cream. You pulled your knee up to your chest, resting your chin against the cap.

He shrugged, adjusting in his seat and reaching a long armover to the fridge. He propped it open, grabbing himself yet another can of beer to guzzle down.

You could only watch in awe at his bottomless pit of a stomach.

Pushing away your glass, you folded your arms over your knee and leaned forward. “Are you an orphan?”

He side-eyed you mid-sip, surprised at your sudden and blunt inquiry, bringing the can down just to crush it with his hand. “What’s it to you?”

You tilted your head, before retreating. “Nothing. Just curious.”

“Stop poking your nose where it ain’t belong,” he scoffed, pushing up from his seat and tossing the mutilated can into the sink.

Your nose scrunched, knowing you’d yet again managed to cross unmarked territory. Your time here was short, and though Sukuna simply seemed to be a hostile and reticent guy, you felt like there was more to him somehow. It was naive to think he’d care to express it, though. You don’t think you’ve ever met anyone more closed off than him.

There was something stewing beneath the surface of his hardened demeanor you couldn’t place.

But that was coming from a woman with forever bubbling emotions that seemed to simmer indefinitely.

You hated small talk—you’d never been able to stomach it. The feigned smiles and comments about weather or formal confabulation. You’d sworn against it after your divorce, severing most ties with a family that indulged in table talk and pleasantries.

His footfalls disappeared into his room and you huffed, peering out the window and feeling a sense of frustration, a moon-struck madness cast upon you.

Until he returned to the kitchen just moments later, a box in his hand that you’d become quite familiar with.

He got to one knee before you, resting your foot atop his muscled thigh as he undressed your ankle.

You pretended not to twitch when his calloused fingers grazed your bare skin, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You didn’t know an ankle could be so ticklish.

“My parents,” he started, nearly mumbling under his breath. “Killed a real long time ago.”

You quirked a brow, something you couldn’t decipher lurching in your chest as you shuffled in your seat.

“Joined the army with my brother. Half-brother. We got into some argument, way back, n’ I haven’t seen him since. Just left him on some mission and never turned back.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, watching Sukuna’s hands still near your ankle as those tightly etched lines on his face only dug deeper, as if the only expression he could reserve was a scowl.

You inhaled sharply, worried that you were treading on thin ice already. “What’s he like? Your brother.”

Sukuna scoffed. “My brother? Real arrogant bastard.” He placed an antiseptic wipe into his mouth just to tear it open with his canines. “Aggressive, unhinged.”

“Like you,” you quickly added with a tug of your lip.

Sukuna glanced up, a sarcastic grin coloring him before he leaned forward to flick your forehead, a gesture he’d gotten incredibly comfortable with executing.

“Ouch!” You yelped, hands flying to shield your forehead as Sukuna snickered under his breath. “The hell was that for?”

“For being a lil brat,” he jeered back, finishing up the dressing.

You slowly lowered your hands, resting them on your thighs and frowning.

“Been quite a few days now,” he started, effectively changing the subject, lowering your leg and peering up at you. “I’ll walk you down the main trail first thing. Had someone pick up my shift.”

You could feel your heart skip a beat, shuffling in your seat as you averted eye contact. “Well, I’m not sure if I’m totally healed and—.”

“If you complain too much, I'll just drag you by the ankle.”

Or in normal, non-Sukuna terms, he’ll carry you on his back like he did up the hill.

“But I-I,” you began to fumble over your words, perturbation spiking. “I haven’t completed my fill yet and cleaned enough—.”

He spoke your name curtly, a volume slightly raised above your own that it had you come to a halt in your rambles, heat warming your cheeks discomfitingly. “Tomorrow morning. Won’t say it again.”

A rock of desperation sat thick in your throat, feeling yourself develop a case of cottonmouth in real time as Sukuna retreated to his room for the evening. You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, biting the inside of your cheek.

To put it plainly—you didn’t want to leave.

You liked it here compared to your real life in the city. It was stupid to think that you could continue to mooch off of Sukuna by sleeping on his wearing and scruffy couch and cook him two meals and think he’d allowed you to stay.

But he’d done far more than enough. Opened his home to you and fed you and allowed you autonomy with nothing in return. 

You didn’t like being indebted, but you did like Sukuna’s shabby little nook in the forest.

Lamentably, your little vacation and respite had come to an end.

In all honesty, you probably could’ve walked down by day three. But you ignored your near-healed injury and deluded yourself into thinking this newfound peace was something you could continue to indulge in.

You plopped down on the couch, crossing your arms over your chest, eyes dialed in on his popcorn ceiling marked with water stains and dust.

It’d only been a few days, and though you hated how abrasive and standoffish Sukuna was, he was possibly the first person to really notice you.

His eyes didn’t rake over you and allow you to blend into the crowd. He treated you like a nuisance at times and your banter was practically never-ending, but you’d oddly found a sense of mutual understanding between each other.

Two people who felt abandoned by the real world.

You shut your eyes, dragging your hands over your face as you pulled the thin sheet over your head, attempting to shake off your plethora of emotions you didn’t have the energy to sort out.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Don’t even think about forgettin’ nothin’. I’m not coming all the way back up.”

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the rucksack on your back as you shuffled down the wooden steps. “I won’t. You got a switchblade I can borrow?”

Sukuna eyed you as you leaned over to tie your boots, your face shielded from him as your unnecessarily wide-brimmed hat flopped in the early morning haze. “Uh. No. You’re outta luck,” he murmured, shoving a hand into his jean pockets and glancing down the hill.

You looked up at him from the ground, unable to hide your blatant surprise. “You’re kidding. A lumberjack doesn’t own a blade?”

He just shrugged, averting his gaze and narrowing his eyes. “We gonna get goin’ or what?”

You scowled, hopping to your feet and dusting your knees off. “Wow. You really have mastered the art of deflection,” you taunted, walking past him just to nudge his arm.

He flinched at the contact, watching you pad down the trail with a permanent scowl, the ink on his face contorting with each antagonized expression.

“So,” you called out minutes later, only a few feet behind him as he’d overtaken your slow pace easily. You didn’t even try to keep up with his long strides, as if he couldn’t get rid of you any quicker. “What’s the plan if we’re cornered by a pack of mutts again?”

Sukuna only ignored you, but you could see his irritation light up in the way his fingers flexed at his sides.

Just the sound of your voice seemed to infuriate him sometimes.

You jogged up towards him, craning your head up and squinting against the harsh rays of the sun tethered high in the sky, her light filtered through flitting leaves. “No plan? Because a switch blade would be of some real relief—“

“Do you ever stop talking?”

You shrugged, undeterred. “You’ve asked me that before. You should know the answer.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Are we almost thereeeee,” you whined out, hands hanging limp at your sides as you dragged your feet.

It felt like your muscles were on fire, tensing with each movement and flaring as your exhaustion only roared on.

“Nope.” 

Sukuna was at your side now, irritated that you kept falling too far behind and resigning to your slow tempo. 

You continued to huff and puff and bitch and moan, but as much as Sukuna hated to hear your grievances, he also enjoyed seeing you suffer in the afternoon heat.

Sweat beaded across your browline and down your spine, your top clinging to the perspiration. Your eyes hung low, as if you could pass out any moment from heat stroke and your throat had gone dry after chugging all of your water.

Sukuna on the other hand? The guy was in tip-top shape. And it drove you mad. His stamina was one to rival a wolf with.

“C-can’t we take a break?” You groaned out of breath.

Sukuna let out consecutive tsks, watching as your rucksack made you hunch over like you were about to topple a stack of dominoes. “Now how could we when we’re so close.”

You shot him a glare. “You literally just said we weren’t close.”

“Heats’ got me hallucinating,” he sarcastically defended, arching a brow at you with a sharp grin.

You opened your mouth to call him a slew of curses that equated him as crass and crazy, when your foot stalled.

You gasped, effectively tripping over your own foot as you stepped on your undrawn shoe lace, arms flying forward.

Sukuna’s eyes bulged, arms instinctively reaching forward and stepping in front of you.

And as clumsy as you were, your foot caught the back of his, pushing him backwards, your hands smacking against his chest.

You both fell with a timber-like thud, crashing into a pile of brush. You could hear Sukuna wince and grunt as he broke your fall. 

His massive hands were around your waist, your face stuffed into the crook of his neck and accidentally taking in his scent—cigarettes and a woody musk so undeniably him.

The two of you were still for a moment—could’ve been mere seconds, could’ve been minutes—until you inhaled sharply and pushed off of him, falling to the side with an unceremonious thunk!

Sukuna stared at the sky, arms flopped to his sides lazily as you scrambled over words, heat rising from your nape all the way to the crown of your ears. “I- Sorry I didn’t mean to—,” you stopped yourself, eyes fixing on his palm.

He seemed to have sliced it open against brush, a bleeding wound the size of your pinky across the front of his hand.

“Oh my god, your hand,” you gasped, fingers reaching out to smooth a finger near the broken skin, but Sukuna seemed to beat you to the punch.

He sat up quickly, tugging his hand away from you like you’d burn him if you came into contact and getting to his feet. “Christ, woman. I’m fine.”

You furrowed your brows, swallowing a thick lump of contrite lodged in your throat. “Are you sure? Your hand looked—.”

“We going or what?” He interrupted, a deep contempt and frustration brewing on his face, like he’d tasted coffee somehow even more bitter than his regular order.

He scoffed at your momentary silence and picked up his pace down the path, fingers flexing at his side again.

You bit your lip, scrambling to your feet and hurrying after him.

Though, you made sure to never fall too far behind this time, just a few paces behind him.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

For the duration of what was left, you kept your gaze lowered on the floor before you, occasionally kicking a pebble and watching it scurry away.

Sukuna kept his pace manageable. But he didn’t utter a word to you.

The tension was more than palpable—like a thick, tempestuous cloud hanging over the both of you that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

Your heart never really slowed to a resting pace—whether that be from another unbridled argument with Sukuna or the exertion of the walk. You didn’t dare attempt to decipher which possibility it may be.

You picked at the skin around your nails, feeling like a little kid who’d gotten in trouble and blindly followed their parents around.

Thankfully, this was the last you’d be seeing of him. No more stifling arguments that left your skin flaring.

“My truck is just down the road.” Sukuna suddenly broke the silence, his pace coming to a stop.

“What?” You squeaked out immediately, peering up at him from the rim of your hat.

He gave you a strange look, cocking his head to the side reluctantly. “Uh, we’re here. I wouldn’t mind giving you a lift back to—.”

“No!” You interrupted, shaking your hands in front of you. You hadn’t even noticed how long the two of you had been walking, the rushing sound of cars from a nearby freeway augmenting your senses.

Sukuna narrowed his eyes, gaze dancing across you. If you were any less lucid, you could’ve sworn you’d seen remorse coloring him.

“I’ve got it figured out from here. Thanks, Sukuna,” you breathed out slowly, a wide smile across your cheeks that pinched the skin uncomfortably.

He couldn’t shake off the odd feeling churning in his chest, coughing it away and averting his gaze with his hands planted on his hips. “Suit yourself.”

You glanced at the open road, just past it was a gas station where you’d be able to rest before calling for a ride.

“I’d say see you around but we both know how unlikely that is,” you admitted with a dry laugh, goosebumps littering your body in a cold sweat.

He side-eyed you, jaw clenched as he mulled over something in silence.

But you could barely take it anymore.

“Goodbye, Sukuna,” you whispered, any louder and it wouldn’t be a promise.

He brought a hand over his hat, before bowing his head, real lumberjack-like.

“Bye, city girl.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

You nearly passed out at the rest stop, chugging three bottles of water and splashing your face in the restroom before plopping on one of those window seats.

The cup of ramen you downed had your head lolling, belly satiated and brain fuzzy as you waited for your phone to charge up.

Halfway through day three with Sukuna, your phone had died and you didn’t care to charge it.

Not like you could anyway. You didn’t bring a charger and Sukuna had a phone at least several generations behind with a cracked screen. You wondered if he even cared to use it.

Your phone buzzed on and, lo and behold, fifteen missed calls and twenty texts ranging from your boss to your colleagues.

And one missed call from your mother.

Great.

You skimmed your fingers through your hair, ordering an uber. Truthfully, you didn’t want to deal with any of this until you slept for ten hours minimum but you didn’t have the luxury to ignore all of your issues as much as you’d like to.

So you hopped from your seat and rolled your shoulder, dragging your feet to your rideshare.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Look who decided to show up.”

You rolled your eyes at your peach-skinned boss, stepping into the shabby building with flickering neon logo lights nestled between a 24-hour convenience shop and a hole-in-the-wall bar and karaoke.

“I already texted you and called to apologize. Please don’t make my migraine worse,” you shot back, rolling your neck as exhaustion still seemed to plague you. You plopped down on the weathered couch, the familiar sinking feeling having you toss your head back and groan. “Is Shoko out on a run?”

She padded over to you, half of her face shielded from the milky braid she was so adamant on wearing all of the time. To be quite frank, you didn’t know what the other side of her face even looked like. Which was odd for the duration you’d worked under her. “She’ll be back in a few. You do understand these are grounds to fire you, yes?”

“My god, Mei Mei. We both know you’re not going to do that,” you sighed, feeling like there were bare canines skimming over your nape, any harder and they make break your irritated skin. “Take three days out of my pay. Happy?”

She bristled, turning on her heel and leaning against her desk. “She was worried sick,” she started, tone flat and monotonous. “Filed a missing persons report and everything.”

You bit your lip, eyes dialed in on the chipped rim across the room beside the grey and lifeless metal lockers. “You sure you weren’t worried sick?” You attempted to break the tension, though you knew the answer.

She scoffed incredulously. “I was. Worried that I’d somehow have to find someone as competent as you looking to be a modern day scullery maid,” she sighed out, peeling documents from her desk to skim over.

You huffed, grabbing your bag and shoving up from your seat to rake through your locker. “When’s the next service?”

“45 minutes from now. Rest up, it’ll be some back breaking work.”

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

She wasn’t kidding.

Your first day back on the job after your accidental get-away was to some dilapidated house on the edge of town. Some affluent couple with too much free time decided to delve into flipping-culture, enter your cleaning company to fix up the place before they got to work on the infrastructure and furnishing.

For the following five hours, you scrubbed, brushed, mopped, sponged, wiped, squeegeed, buffed, shined, and polished the place until every limb of yours nearly gave out.

Shoko didn’t mind keeping close company the entire time, scolding your ear off and pinching you.

“Do you know how awkward it was to call your mother? Do you?” She huffed between scrapes of the bathroom tub, removing the age old grime. “She said you’d probably gone on some bender after—.” She halted herself mid-conversation, worrying her lip between her teeth.

You glanced over your shoulder with knitted brows, hand stilling against the mirror. “After what?”

Shoko bit the inside of her cheek, slowly continuing her movements like she was inconspicuous, regretting ever uttering a word.

“Sho. What are you talking about?”

She slowly turned to meet your gaze, a sheepish smile on her lips. “Naoya sent her an invitation, too.”

Your mouth hung open, the rag in your hand effectively falling into the sink. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck,” you cursed under your breath, snapping your gloves off. “Of course he fucking did.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket and hurried out of the bathroom, striding into some empty bedroom littered with old couches draped in plastic, heavy drapes shielding any source of light.

The only illumination in the room was your phone, lighting up your face as you frantically searched for her extremely buried contact and hit the call button.

You folded your arms, leg bouncing as you heard the line buzz, before it clicked on.

“Mom! Hi, I just saw your message—.”

“Where on Earth have you been?”

You froze, nails digging into your biceps. “Let me explain, o-over dinner. Tonight?”

You could hear her sigh on the other side, voice nothing but crestfallen. You could imagine her lounging in the living room, legs folded while she perused whatever tabloid she could find around the house resting in her lap, phone pressed to her ear. 

All while wondering what she’d done to deserve a daughter like you.

“I have plans. I’m just trying to understand why I could not reach you.”

You swallowed thickly. “I went for a hike, mom. I got lost and—.”

“Is it because of Naoya? Did the wedding invite bother you?”

And God, did you hate how she just knew these things. How could she be so certain and understanding but lacking any sort of sympathy for you?

”No one wants to see a wedding invite from their ex-husband,” you tersely stated, knuckles whitening against the tight grip on your device. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not going.”

You couldn’t mask your dejection.

“Like hell you aren’t. The Zenin’s invited us, and so God help me if we aren’t in attendance. Especially after all they’ve done for us,” she firmly spoke, skimming her fingers through her wiry hair.

Even after your divorce, the Zenins still offered to take care of your family. You’d turned down their hush money since the start, ensuring you wouldn’t spread the fine details of your muddled relationship, but your mother enjoyed her early retirement and stuffing her pockets. 

You gritted your teeth, your discomfort only manifesting into blinding anger. Your lips tightened upwards and curled inwards, wrinkles littering the crease in your forehead. You wanted to scream at your mother, incoherent and inconsolable until you couldn’t anymore.

The relationship you held with your mother was too violent for tears. A woman who’d clipped the wings of her offspring and watched her stumble clumsily, never offering a hand to ground her. Built upon your own wreckage. Swallowing the words you so wished you could utter.

She hadn’t been your mother in a long time, really. 

You don’t know when it happened. Maybe when she’d haggled you for your too-short skirt when you were thirteen and barely growing into yourself. 

Maybe it was when you’d gotten accepted into your dream college and she could barely display an ounce of pride.

Maybe it was before you’d walked down the aisle, expressing your worries of having a small wedding that she only silenced you with a tut of her tongue.

Maybe it was after your father passed. Her blinded by grief and rage brought upon you like a monsoon, shoving you and gutting you beneath the tide.

Maybe it was when you told her you couldn’t bear children, not after trying for months and your husband's tone only becoming more and more clipped with each passing moment. 

Maybe it was when you’d come to her at four in the morning, crying when you’d found evidence of his infidelity and she’d only given you that same blank stare she wore, telling you that every man slips up and to turn a blind eye.

You hadn’t understood the severity of the situation you were in until it was too late. Marrying a man who so desperately wanted to continue his lineage.

And when he couldn’t? He’d just find it elsewhere.

Who said you didn’t want that as well? A child to call your own. A pathetic part of you thought this marriage would save you—sweep you out from under your feet and carry you to a higher standing. 

You thought that after all those years of gutted self-esteem, that a lavish white wedding would slap a bandaid on it.

It was pitiful. 

But what hurt the most was that you had no one on your side. Not your mother, not your father, not even a lover. No one to stand beside you when it all felt like it was tumbling down.

You wiped the vain tears from your cheeks, clearing your throat as you chose not to resign to your emotions, a tactic you’d taught yourself. “Okay, mom.”

You hung up, ignoring her calls of protest on the other line.

There was really no arguing with her, you saw no point in it.

You still had time before the wedding, enough time to build yourself up to someone untouchable by their comments. Comments not just from the Zenin family, but from your own kin.

You shoved your phone into your pocket, sniffling and blinking back the last of your tears.

No use in crying over it now.

Padding back into the bathroom, you watched Shoko spray away the suds she’d worked up. “Hey, I was gonna ask. What was the name of the guy you stayed with?” She queried, wiping her forearm against her forehead.

You averted her gaze, focusing on the sink you needed to bleach. “Sukuna.”

She chuckled to herself, making an ‘ouhhhh’ sound that you smacked her for, drawing a cigarette from her pocket and thumbing the sparkwheel.

No matter your protests, she assumed that this mystery man was your secret lover.

You snagged the lighter from her before she could get a chance to light it.

“Hey! I was using that,” she pouted, lower lip jutting as she frowned.

“Uh huh. No smoking indoors and on the job. Do you want to lose your job?” 

She scoffed, snagging the lighter back. “Funny coming from you. Smoke detectors were turned off for cleaning and repairs.”

You huffed, snapping a new set of gloves on.

The sound of fire kindling had your stomach lurching, sent into a volley of somersaults. 

The smell was even worse.

Of course she had to be smoking Marlboro Reds.

[scarletwinterxx]

for tonight and forever - choi seungcheol imagine

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

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

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

for my other svt fics, check them here

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

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly choke on your breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yah, you forgot your charger again!”

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

You blink. “How did you—?”

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “You love it.”

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

You hate everyone. Except maybe… not really.

=

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

He stiffens.

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

Exy raises one brow.

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

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

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

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

“I was in the area.”

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

“She likes them,” he mutters.

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

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

“She calls you a golden retriever.”

“Exactly.”

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

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Exy’s voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were watching them?”

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

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

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

“You mean polite?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Her words, not mine.”

Exy eyes him. “Still just curious?”

“Completely,” he lies.

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

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

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

Seungcheol stiffens. “What?”

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

He stares. “Who?”

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

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

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

“Messaging?”

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

Seungcheol’s mouth opens, then closes.

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

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

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

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

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

Exy’s face does not help.

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

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

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

Exy is still grinning when the professor starts the lecture.

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “That’s gross.”

“He’s not wrong.”

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

“So… you and Youngho?”

You blink. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“She totally messed with you.”

“I wasn’t—she didn’t—”

“You thought I was flirting with Youngho?”

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

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

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

He glares at the pavement like it personally betrayed him.

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

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

You look at him sideways, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

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

=

Another day, another café.

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

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

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

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

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

You wave, catching Minhyun’s attention.

“Minhyun! We’re over here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Totally normal. Totally fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect, his ass.

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

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

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

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

Nothing like the way you talk to him.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, sure,” you say, smiling.

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

Then it’s just you and him again.

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

You glance up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

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

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

“About?”

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

“What is?”

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

You blink. “Are you seriously—?”

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

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

He glares. “No. Gross.”

“Then what, exactly, is your problem?”

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, eyes wide. “I am not—”

You raise an eyebrow.

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

You hum, satisfied. “Sure, Cheol.”

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

=

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

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

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

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

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

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

He freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol doesn’t look at him. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They win, of course.

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

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

Loud. Familiar.

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

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

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

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

And then—he lifts a hand.

“One…”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Two—”

It takes you half a second too long.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—”

You barely turn when he lunges.

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

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

“I swear—when I catch you—!”

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

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

“You loved it!”

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You called him baby boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CALL HIM BABY BOY FOR ME NEXT TIME!”

=

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

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

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

You don’t even blink.

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

“Because you counted down like a threat!”

“I was threatening you.”

You shrug. “Wasn’t very effective.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw tightens. “They didn’t.”

“Okay, baby boy.”

“Yah—!”

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

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

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

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

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

“It was poisoned honey.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

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

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

“I heard that.”

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

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

He raises an eyebrow. “Thank God.”

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You spy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are friends for, baby girl?”

Your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The guy blinks, thrown off. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

“Even calling you baby boy in public?”

He groans. “Don’t push your luck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice save,” you say quietly.

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

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

Comfortable, even.

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

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

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

“That’s exactly why I stepped in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

You raise a brow. “I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up, expression innocent. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you definitely do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You kick him under the table. Lightly. Mostly.

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

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

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. It’s cute.”

You groan. “Minhyun, I swear—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With Minhyun?”

“...Do you have a problem with that?”

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

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

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

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

Dead silence. Then a laugh “What?”

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

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

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

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

You’re still waiting on the other end.

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

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

Then, you say, “You’re ridiculous.”

He almost smiles. “Yeah.”

“And needy.”

“Only a little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s different.”

“How?”

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

You snort. “Threatening?”

“To my sanity, yeah.”

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

He’s quiet for a beat too long. Then—

“...Maybe.”

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

“You are unreal, Choi Seungcheol.”

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a long, loaded silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was just—checking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s annoying.”

“You like her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you just say?”

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

Seungcheol’s jaw ticks.

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

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

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

“And you wouldn’t?”

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

Mingyu full-on cackles.

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

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

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

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

=

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

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

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

“What vibe.”

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

“Dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

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

He slams the book shut “Why him?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m asking why you laugh differently.”

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

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

“You’re so jealous.”

“I’m just observant,” he grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And don’t think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

No break. No pause. Not even a breath.

“You thinking about kissing me.”

Your brain screeches to a halt. “What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was flirting?”

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

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

You glare. “I hung up on you.”

He grins. “Exactly. You panicked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me—”

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

“I am not blushing—”

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

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

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

“Hilarious.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

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

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

=

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

If anything, he’s gotten worse.

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

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

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

It’s a game now, and he plays to win.

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

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

Not just any jacket. His jacket.

You turn around instantly, already knowing who it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are—so—insufferable.”

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

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

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

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

Your heart lurches to your throat.

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

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

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

He’s not fine.

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

He’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We won,” Yuta says, casually. “2-1.”

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

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

“Not cracked.”

“Probably,” Yuta repeats.

Seungcheol glares at the floor.

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

Cheol’s head snaps up. “What?”

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

Seungcheol’s already sliding off the table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whip around.

“Choi Seungcheol—”

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

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

“I was fine.”

“You couldn’t even walk straight.”

“Okay,” he admits, “mostly fine.”

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

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

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

He steps closer.

“Say it.”

You glance away. “No.”

“Say it.”

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

“I already feel like I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m gonna throw your cleats at you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You lunge. He laughs then winces.

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

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

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

“You scared me.”

Seungcheol’s smile falters just a little.

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“You done?”

You blink. “No.”

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

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling—”

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

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

“Babygirl ”

“Don’t babygirl me right now—”

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

“Seungcheol—”

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

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

He holds up a pinky. “Scout’s honor.”

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

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

“Still counts.”

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

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

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

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

“I still hate you,” you mumble.

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

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

You swat at his ribs.

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

“You’re lucky I don’t aim lower”

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

“Don’t,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

=

He’s halfway through zoning out when it happens.

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

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

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

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

Just, “So.”

Seungcheol glances at her warily. “So…?”

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

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

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

“I haven’t done anything.”

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

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

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

“What do you want, Exy?”

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

“I do.”

“Do you?”

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

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

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

He nods. “I know.”

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

Spoiler: she keeps going.

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

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

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

He shoots her a glare. She ignores it.

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

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

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

He’s quiet again. Processing. Thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t budge.

You stop mid-step, turning. “What—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs softly. “Right.”

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

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

“Dangerous,” you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He squeezes your hand, not hard. Just enough.

“I want to make it obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not saying much. Not needing to.

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

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

=

A FEW MONTHS LATER.

The first thing he hears when he opens his eyes?

Your voice. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still you. Unmistakably, unapologetically you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. “Charming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe,” he says, laughing softly.

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“Hopeless.”

“Absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

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

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

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

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

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, processing.

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

He kisses you again.

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

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

You glare. “I swear—”

Another kiss. This one longer.

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

“I hate you.”

“You’re smiling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You love it.”

“Debatable.”

“You love me.”

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

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

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

You’re still you. He’s still him.

But now… it’s official.

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

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

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

[currently-dating-everything]

could i get some romantic headcanons with mac please? tysm ><

A/N: I accidentally reached Love status with Mac but I just see them as a friend please advise

Character: Mac

Relationship: Romantic

Somehow equally cool and lame, they're so fun to flirt with. It's a 50/50 chance whether they'll get flustered by what you say or fire back with something even sappier/more suggestive. You've gotta stay alert with this one.

They're such a big flatterer, too. Always talking you up for one thing or another (your skills, your appearance, your personality), you'll never doubt how cool they think you are.

Gaming dates! Movie dates! For obvious reasons, they are an extremely skilled gamer and will mostly likely wipe the board with you, but they're very cute when they get competitive, and whether you lose or win it just makes them love you more.

They're also a huge movie buff. Their favorites are older horror/sci-fi movies, but they're also super easy to influence, so they're likely to enjoy anything that you do. They're big on special effects, soundtracks, animation, and lighting/camera art, so don't be surprised if they start pointing out those little details of whatever you put on that you didn't even know about.

They love physical affection, especially receiving it. Holding hands, playing with their hair, kisses, hugs, cradling their face- anything you can think of, they're all over it.

They're such a sucker for your hands in general. They always get distracted watching them, especially if you tend to fidget. Tapping your fingers on the nearest surface, messing with your nails, cracking your knuckles- they eat it up in a perfectly normal way.

You will get so many messages from them every day, sorry not sorry. Most of the time it isn't even text, just links and videos that they think you'll enjoy, or that they found hilarious and had to send to you immediately.

They leave you a lot of voice memos as well. Most are only a few seconds long, little reminders or updates throughout the day, just to let you know they're thinking of you.

Mac cares a lot about your online health, so they're always looking out for your screen time and doom scrolling and gently encouraging you to take breaks to rest your eyes and brain. They're really good at helping you find other things to do if you're trying to spend less time on your electronics, and they know a lot of good stretches for your eyes, neck, and shoulders to help with any bad posture or aches you might be struggling with. They know the struggle of computer-inducted back and eye strain all too well.

They love having quiet moments with you. Both of you relaxing side-by-side, doing your own things, occasionally checking in and sharing info with each other. Mac's such a "gaming while my partner does their own hobby across the room" type of person. It's one of their favorite ways to spend time with you.

[lynzishell]

Epilogue 💛 Atlas

The rest of the year flew by in a rush of one event after another.

First, there was Spencer’s birthday party. It was the first family event that Ezra and I were both present at, and overall, it went okay. I focused on spending time with everyone else and just let him exist in the same space as me, which was the best I could do at the time.

Dawn also saw Ezra for the first time since high school that day. She did try to be kind and talk to him, as is her nature, but it was quite satisfying that Phoenix didn’t like him from the moment she introduced them. Maybe that’s petty of me, but it’s true.

The important thing though, is that, even though we all walked away a bit sore, Spencer had a great birthday, ice skating and celebrating with her family and two best friends.

When Winterfest came around, we stuck with our original plan to visit Phoenix and Dawn in the city. It was fun to see Aspen getting excited and opening presents. I know our little ones won’t quite be old enough to properly enjoy the holiday, but I’m still so excited for next year and our first Winterfest with them.

Dawn also surprised us with an amazing gift. She knitted two little onsies for Sadie and Simon, which I’m happy to report, they’ve both finally grown into!

That afternoon, when they were ready to head to Copperdale to see Pheonix’s uncle, Ash and I decided to spend the rest of the day with the Goodes after all. I’m glad we did. Even with Ezra there, it was nice to have our usual evening of games and music.

I’m absolutely in awe of Spencer with her violin. She finally mastered Einaudi’s Experience and wanted to play it for us, a duet with Pop on the piano, of course. The performance brought tears to our eyes. Listening to her play with such skill and emotion, she should be in a concert hall, not standing in our living room in her little mis-matched socks.

As happy as I am to have our own place again, I wouldn’t trade the time we spent living there for anything.

For New Year’s we’d planned to take it easy. Watch movies and likely fall asleep well before midnight. But, as you can see, that isn’t what happened.

We got a call from Lex saying that Evan had been dumped, so we cancelled our plans and drove to the city. Charlee raced to Evan’s apartment and dragged them to Lex’s where we were all waiting for them. After a bit of venting and a few tears, we were able to cheer them up, and we all celebrated the new year and good things to come. Charlee was even able to convince them to move to San Sequoia with her and Jay, which I know Ash is happy about.

I’m really grateful we ended up spending New Year’s with our friends because the going away party they had planned for us the following weekend ended up being canceled because… well…

The next morning, I woke up on Lex’s couch being jostled by Ash. He was in a panic because our phones were blowing up, and with the way I was laying on him, he couldn’t get to either of them. He was worried something bad had happened, that someone had been hurt.

But, when I sat up and checked my phone, it was the opposite. Li was in labor. All at once, everything became real.

We drove to the hospital as fast as we could and barely made it in time. But we made it. And now that our twins have arrived, life will never be the same again.

I suppose you want to meet them now. You will. Soon.

Prev // The Goode Life

A/N: I will try to introduce everyone to Sadie and Simon this weekend.. just know I’m completely obsessed with them! But this wraps up this part of my story. From here, I plan to split into two stories: The Good Life will focus on Atlas & Asher (and occasionally the extended Goode family) and my Star Sign Legacy will go back to Phoenix, Dawn, and Aspen as the main focus. I’m currently writing their next big arc, which will take some time, so for now I’ll be sharing sporadic gameplay of the boys (cos infants are my favorite thing in game)

[purinfelix]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 i give a second chance to cupid - sim jake

summary: after months of teasing from your friends about your 'awful' love life you finally agree to a blind date they set up - but when it turns out to be a total disaster, you might need the help of the cute barista who's been watching you this whole time ─────── barista jake x reader || awkward fluff, romcom vibes, jake is a dork but also really sweet (what's new) || w/c: 2.3k

a/n: OKAY i actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop like my recent ones have been doing ... 💔 i think this cheesy awkward romcom meetcut just matches jake soo well out of all the enha boys - hope u guys like it!!!

Desperate. Hopeless. A lost cause.

Those were the kinds of words your friends liked to use to describe your love life - but honestly, you preferred to call it “waiting for the right one.” 

Admittedly, there was a little bit of truth behind their harsh words; you hadn’t been on a date in over a year, which, for a university student surrounded by lovey-dovey couples on a daily basis, probably shouldn’t have been the case. For a while, you’d used your high standards as an excuse, combined with the fact that between part-time jobs, society events and your studies, you barely had the energy to waste on men who weren’t worth your time. 

But your friends were tired of you constantly refusing their attempts to drag you out to parties or introduce you to some of their friends, and at last, they decided to take matters fully into their own hands. 

So that’s how you had ended up here - in a booth at a local cafe, waiting for the blind date your friend had arranged for you to show up. Your chest thrummed with nerves as you impatiently checked your hair in your compact mirror for what felt like the hundredth time. At this point, he was almost twenty minutes late, and your patience was beginning to wear thin - noting his amazing first impression as your stomach grumbled in agreement. You could only hope he was good-looking enough to make up for it. 

Quietly, you tried to shake away this pessimism - part of you really did want to take this date seriously, to at least enjoy yourself on it. At first, you had been hesitant at the idea of being set up with a total stranger, but the more you thought about it, the more you found yourself realising that maybe it wasn’t just your high standards or a lack of time that was to blame.

The longer you sat there, checking your reflection or rearranging the napkins on the table, the greater this feeling in you grew - a feeling of resigned hollowness. Like a quiet sort of loneliness that had been creeping up on you for the past year, one that you’d been too busy brushing off to fully realise. But now, you felt it, deep and aching and quietly painful, like you were realising just how high up you’d built your walls now that you were the only one within them. You weren’t hopeless like your friends insisted, but you did miss the feeling of being chosen, of being looked at like you were special - and honestly, you weren’t sure if that was any better. 

And maybe you were just being dramatic, just irritated at being woken up here so early and dragged out here by your friend. But it wasn’t her who had told you to wear your special perfume, the one you normally reserved for special occasions. 

Though now you were sort of wishing you hadn’t. 

“So you know what crypto is, right?” 

It felt like your neck was going to break if you kept on nodding mindlessly - but at this point, you weren’t sure you had any other choice. You force a polite smile onto your face and resist the urge to hurl your iced latte at your date as he launches into yet another man-splaining tirade. What a waste of good perfume. 

You sip at your drink, throwing in the occasional “oh wow” or “that’s crazy” as what was supposed to be a cute first date quickly devolved into a lecture you were struggling to stay awake in. Sure, he wasn’t bad looking, and he wasn’t rude or anything - but you’d be totally lying if you said you were enjoying his company at all. If this were any other situation, you would’ve been out the door as soon as he arrived half an hour late, but you really were trying to give this a go, at least, for the sake of your friend and the effort she’d put in for you.

But it wasn’t your fault that he was making this almost impossible. 

“Anyways,” he continued, oblivious to your obvious boredom, “I told my roommate that I wouldn’t date anyone who doesn’t understand finance. I mean, why would I want to be with someone who doesn’t understand the way the world really works?” 

He lets out a self-congratulatory laugh, taking a long sip of his americano, which he had made a point of ordering without any sugar or cream, as if that made him superior somehow. He looks up at you with an expression you’re assuming is an attempt at flirting, causing you to quickly divert your gaze elsewhere. 

Silently, your eyes wander the coffeeshop, at all the other people there who seem to actually be enjoying themselves, desperate for a way out, a sign, an escape, a mild emergency that would force the two of you out of here, never to cross paths again.

That’s when you lock eyes with him, the barista behind the counter who made your drinks earlier, and who you’re pretty sure has been eavesdropping on your conversation this entire time. Strangely enough, your heart flutters in a way you forgot it was able to, as you pause for a bit to watch him. The way his slim fingers move swiftly to work the espresso machine, smooth dark hair falling over one eye. 

His face is already twisted into a sort of wince as he looks at you, presumably at witnessing the horrors you’ve been subject to for the past hour - and you watch as his brow quirks up as if to silently ask, “you good?” 

And you are very much not good. 

Subtly, you jerk your head, shaking it just enough to send out a silent signal for help, alongside a sort of pleading expression on your face that you hope is enough to show off your desperation. And you assume it is, once he nods slightly, because before you register it, he’s walking over to your table.

“Hey, so sorry to interrupt,” he says with a casual politeness as he approaches your booth, turning to you, “but we’ve got a bit of a situation out back with- uh, your car?” 

You blink. “My car?” 

“Yeah, the red one out the back, right? I think they’re threatening to tow it, you should come with me.” 

You don’t even have a car, but you don’t hesitate. 

“Oh my gosh, of course they are,” you sigh dramatically, turning to your date with an exaggerated expression. “I’m so sorry but, I’ve got to go handle this.” 

He furrows his brows, eyes flickering to you, then the barista, somewhat lost but somehow totally buying into your act. “Oh, right of course, that’s cool. We can just uh- reschedule or something?” 

Over my dead body. 

You nod anyway, offering one last polite smile as you slide out of your booth, following the barista behind the counter. He catches your wrist gently, the contact making your heart quicken, as he leads you to what you assume is their supply room, far out of sight of your date. 

Finally, you let out a sigh of relief, relinquishing your freedom. 

“I can’t even begin to thank you enough,” you breathe out, looking down at the floor. The space is small enough that despite both being pressed up to opposite walls, there’s only about a hand's space separating the two of you. 

“Don’t mention it, you really looked like you needed saving.” He lets out a laugh, easy, warm, like he does this every day. 

You drag a hand over your face, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t even know why I agreed to this in the first place.” 

“Dating app?” 

“Worse, blind date.”

“Ouch,” he cringes, and there’s a beat of silence where you can tell he’s hesitating about what to say next. “I mean, in the least creepy way possible, I overheard some of the things he said to you and” he twists his face in a way that shows his disapproval. 

“Yeah,” you laugh under your breath, “it was my friend’s idea, they set it up for me since they’re always insisting my love life is hopeless.” You throw up air quotes around the last word, tone dripping with sarcasm - and you hope it does enough to demonstrate the fact that you also think this is ridiculous. He just nods silently, as if he understands.

“It’s just,” you start before pausing for a bit. You look at the ground, letting out a heavy sigh before continuing. “I mean, maybe they have a point. I haven’t gone on a date in a while, but like, I’ve been busy, and I just don’t have the time to waste on guys like … him.” 

You run your hands through your hair, suddenly aware of how silent he’s gone. Looking back up, you catch his gaze, expecting him to be looking off awkwardly, or with a bored expression - but he’s not. He’s looking right back at you, eyes soft, empathetic, and he nods, silently letting you know that he’s listening, urging you to continue. 

So you do. 

“I mean, a part of me was sort of looking forward to this, weirdly enough. I was sort of excited by the idea of getting to feel that spark, those butterflies, just something! But then, he gets here half an hour late and immediately starts talking about crypto, and it’s like all hope left my body.” 

At that, he finally breaks into a gentle laugh, but there isn’t any pity in it like you might’ve expected.

“God,” you breathe out, looking up at the ceiling as you push yourself back against the shelf behind you. “I can’t believe I’m trauma dumping to a random barista in a supply closet.” 

“Trust me, anything’s better than the midday rush my coworkers are probably dealing with right now,” he chuckles. “Plus, this is a very exclusive supply closet; we don’t just let any customer in here.” 

You let out a weak smile, though you don’t know how to come back from the sudden vulnerability you’ve opened yourself up to. There’s a beat of silence before he starts up again.

“Especially not ones who order Americanos to act like they’re better than everyone,” he adds. 

You laugh at that. “Oh my god, thank you.” 

“Seriously,” he grins, looking a little relieved at the sound of your laugh. “The more bitter the coffee, the bigger the ego - it’s barista science.” 

You roll your eyes at his joke, but you’re smiling too - probably for the first time since you got here.  

“I get it, though, that pressure to feel something. Especially after it’s been a while, the silence can get loud after a bit.” His tone is strangely vulnerable, and you find yourself scanning his face for any sign of mockery, only to get total sincerity in return. It makes your breath catch because what he just said, combined with how he’s looking at you right now, makes you feel so seen. 

“Exactly,” you murmur breathlessly. 

And just like that, you recognise it - that flutter in your heart, the flush in your cheeks, the slightly dizzying feeling in your head. 

Oh god, and it’s happening in a supply closet of all places.

“Well, I should probably get going,” you mumble, awkwardly, “before you know, my car gets towed.” 

“Right,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut as if recalling the excuse he made up, “sorry, it was the first thing that came to mind.” 

“No, honestly, it was the best fake excuse to get out of a bad blind date I’ve ever heard.” 

“Well, I hope you won’t need to hear any more of them,” he says hopefully. 

You laugh, “me too.” However, a tiny part of you is weirdly saddened by the interaction ending so suddenly. 

He turns towards the closet door as if to help you out, but hesitates for a minute. His hand springs back, ducking into the front pocket of his apron, where he pulls out a crumpled receipt and pen. You watch, brows furrowed as he scribbles something quickly onto the back of the receipt before folding it and handing it to you. 

You take it, a little unsure at first, and try not to overthink the way your fingers brush for just a second longer than they needed to.

“I’m glad you didn’t feel anything with him,” he says shyly, eyes avoiding yours. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “because then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to come save you.”  

Your heart quickens, and you look down at the receipt. His name, his number, and a little smiley face drawn quickly next to it. You can’t hide the almost goofy smile spreading across your face as you tuck it into your pocket. “Thanks, Jake.” 

“Anytime,” he nods curtly, but as he begins to turn, he bites his bottom lip as if questioning whether to say something else. 

“By the way,” he adds, a little sheepish, “I hope this doesn’t sound weird, but that perfume you’re wearing, it’s really nice.” 

You open your mouth to say something, but close it again, a little caught off guard. 

“It smells like the kind of thing someone saves for special occasions,” he continues, eyes fixed on the door handle, as if unable to meet your eye. “I feel bad that you wasted it on him.” 

A slow smile creeps onto your face, the kind that’s hard to fight back. “I don’t think it was wasted,” you say softly, fingers brushing the receipt in your pocket.

This gets him to look up at you again, face beaming and you’re not sure if you’re seeing it right in the dim lighting - but you could’ve sworn there was a faint blush across his cheeks as well. 

And like that, you’re stepping out of the closet, out of that tiny space just big enough for the two of you and back into the real world. Only now your heart feels a little lighter, your cheeks sort of warmer, a strange feeling thrumming in your chest - and even if your blind date turned out to be a total disaster, you couldn’t be happier that it did. 

taglist <33 : @dearestdreamies @nmurark05

[sgartiste]

I need to put this out there now or else I’ll never put it to words. A month or so back, I gave my recommendation for A Tale Of Ice And Smoke by SooperSara while I was in the middle of reading it. Back then I was on Chapter Twenty-Something and at this point I’ve finished it and

OH MY GOSH THIS FIC IS AMAAAAZIIIIIING!!!

First of all, Book 1 of the series is complete and has been adapted into an audiobook narrated by the author herself. Barring a few overlaps in the voice clips (;P), it’s incredibly well put together and the author represents and distinguishes the cast incredibly. If you’re interested and willing, please, please, PLEASE give it a listen.

Imma start talking about the plot itself now, so spoilers if you wanna check the fic out yourself.

So, a friend of mine introduced the concept of podfics to me a little over a year ago, and decided to check a decently sized one out to explore the genre. I chose ATOIAS because, one, it was a fandom I was familiar with, and two, it was my favorite subgenre of fics, that being girlboss roleswap AUs. (my beloved) To put it very simply, it’s basically ‘what if Katara was the Avatar?’. The story revolves around her perspective and her experience as the Avatar throughout all of Book 1, and makes damn well sure to differentiate what this role means to her from Aang. Who is also in the fic, to be clear. And also the Avatar. 

EH!? TWO AVATARS!? EHHHHHH!? So basically Aang died in the iceberg after 84 years and Katara became the Avatar, and then she encountered him in the North, and accidentally used some Avatar mumbo jumbo to bring him back to life. It was an interesting, and admittedly off-putting idea. I originally felt it detracted from the main premise, but SooperSara makes sure to both take full advantage of this plot point and ensure that this story is still very much Katara’s. It’s important to remember that a very important part of a good fic that readapts the original’s plot is to make the bits distinguishable enough to truly make their story their own, and as — especially as — the plot progresses, the author does that very well.

Let’s talk about Zuko. Zuko, Zuko, Zuko. The author ships Zutara HARD. Don’t blame her, it’s peak. Katara/Zuko was a relationship mentioned in the tags, and I was totally fine with it, but little did I know at the time, the fun girlboss roleswap AU fic was just a poorly disguised Zutara fic! To be clear, there is NOTHING wrong with that. At all. I don’t usually go for slow burn fics  barring a handful of ships I fixate on. Zutara is not one of them. That didn’t stop me from growing addicted to the relationship. 🫠 

For starters, Katara’s role as the Avatar is unknown to most of the population, as most people think it’s just Aang. The only ones who know it outside the Gaang and a couple of characters who catch her in the act, are Zuko and Iroh. So Zuko now has to both capture Aang AND Katara to complete his mission and return his honor and yadda yadda yadda and he has to do all of this without stirring suspicion lest a certain Zhao spread the news and try to take over his mission. So Zuko immediately has a strong and unique connection to Katara compared to canon which is the real basis behind the butterfly that leads to the growing relationship. He focuses his pursuits on her and her responses are muuuuuch different than Aang’s, usually by giving him an earful or the occasional fistful whilst the latter would usually attempt to disengage. That’s another thing. SooperSara really knows how to make the cast feel like the kids they are. The squabbles, sputters and scowls (:P) by all of the Gaang make them all feel so natural and in character and it really strengthens their character, especially in Katara and Zuko’s sense. The former is petty and the latter is grumpy and the dynamic between the two of them is just so, SO endearing. Anyway, Zuko ends up being as much of a protagonist as Katara as the perspective constantly changes to his and much of the most important emotional beats involve his time with the reader. Aang and Sokka also get some focus, and their characters are certainly not ignored, but Zuko and Katara are the backbone of what makes this fic so good.

The first quarter of the fic is a retelling of the first half of Book 1, while taking some creative liberties to alter certain plot points, and that was all fine and dandy and exactly what I expected, but the plot takes a BIG change during the adaptation of Episode 15 where Aang and the group have their falling out over the map to Hakoda except Zuko and June actually succeed in their mission to catch the Avatar mainly because the fight with Aang has increased meaning for Katara and Katara is actually Zuko’s primary target. The augmented drama ends up with Katara stuck on a Fire Nation ship for… quite a while. Like… for weeks. Like… the second quarter of the 80-chapter fic is in this boat, mainly in this cell. It’s a very small, tight setting. And I was initially very impatient as to when this chunk would be over, wanting to go back to ‘episodes of avatar but katara is the mc’. What I didn’t realize was how this new setting would be the perfect place for the relationship between Zuko and Katara, as well as Iroh and Katara for that matter. The way she’s so self-defeatingly and dangerously defensive in the beginning and the efforts Zuko went to make sure she didn’t end up killing herself in the cell — by keeping her in Iroh’s company — were admirable. And Katara slowly comes to realize that Zuko, despite himself and his own feelings, is, at the very least, a very decent and complicated person. And Zuko is constantly conflicted by how much he finds he cares about not only his prisoner, but the other people around him as Katara constantly calls him out and gets on his nerves in their verbal skirmishes while still showing each other respect. In the end, they’re both kids, and they were thankfully raised on good morals despite their actions. Katara’s animosity between him for his actions, calling him just as bad as Zhao, remains until he ends up saving her life when Zhao blows up Zuko’s ship. I was initially a little detached from this change, constantly wondering which chapter would be the end of this tangent, but the growing bond between these two seemingly incompatible kids had somehow snared me sometime within. The chapter where Zuko returns Katara’s necklace was the first time I have EVER cried during a fanfic, and that was only enhanced by listening to the audiobook. (Another reason to go listen to it >:[)

So, yeah. About that. Preceding The Siege of The North, Zhao dismisses Zuko’s crew and basically destroys his mission to capture the Avatar all in his father’s name, and after attempting to blow the prince up as well as his newfound doubts of his mission via Katara being herself (in the most annoying way possible) Zuko is practically broken. He survives the explosion and stows away on Zhao’s ship with Iroh and when the plans to attack the North become apparent, Zuko, good-natured, guilty, and disillusioned by Katara’s constant questions feels a responsibility to protect and prepare the Avatar for the oncoming invasion. Not necessarily because he likes her or anything… o_o …but because his own conscience, now clearer than ever, recognizes that this attack is wrong and he has to do something about it.

The entire second half of the 80-chapter fic is in the Northern Water Tribe, which I was actually happy with, especially after how my feelings changed after the Fire Nation ship. It meant we’d get to spend more time with Yue and see Katara grow as a waterbender, and it would help strengthen the character and relationships between the rest of the Gaang. It takes a bit for Katara to actually get to train, Pakku being Pakku, but it really feels as if it pays off by the end. And Zuko. Zuko, Zuko, Zuko. He shows up much earlier than in canon to warn Katara, albeit with no real plan past that… because he’s Zuko. So when he’s found, which is thankfully very quickly, Katara drags him by the ear and sticks him in an ice pit for the next twenty chapters. In that time he becomes acquainted with the Gaang and soon gets dismissed as a threat. They talk, they bond, they spar once Zuko is allowed out and the relationships get plenty of time to develop and solidify in ways that never could’ve been possible in 20 minute episodes while still maintaining an enjoyable pace, which is impressive considering this is 40 chapters that represent 2 episodes. Zuko and Katara’s relationship carries the whole thing. Zuko’s awkward, angsty and bad with feelings, and Katara’s ill-tempered, spiteful and wears her emotions on her sleeve. They’re kind of perfect for each other. The perfect people to talk to — read ‘argue with’. Seeing them feel so much responsibility and connection for each other (though, not quite love [yet]) more and more is an addicting feeling.  While I won’t spoil the ending with the Siege, I will say that everything that’s happened wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for Zhao being an asshole. So thank him for the Zutarany goodness.

But seriously, this is one of the best fics I’ve indulged in, and certainly the best one I’ve ever listened to. Author’s in the middle of Book 2 right now, which I have admittedly not begun, but I’m really looking forward to reading it.

tl;dr, came for the girlboss, stayed for the zutara. 

also sokka says fuck. 10/10 would recommend.

[jealousmartini]

raises hand. I want to know. I want to know the funnies lore. 🥺

YIPPEE OKAY OMG here we go.

𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 — "𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐓"

𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐲𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐞

❜❛. . .𝑶𝒉, 𝒏𝒐, 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.

𝑨𝒏𝒅, 𝒐𝒉, 𝑰𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.

𝑶𝒉, 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑰 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 . . .❜❛

PERMISSION TO KILL?

The following program contains themes of heavy violence, nudity, foul language, death, and sensitive topics which viewers may find disturbing. Viewers' discretion is advised.

⌗

ⓘ — A mainly KATSUKI BAKUGO inspired passion project I'm creating in my better cr, mha college dr, and mha uni dr. Other inspirations include Mouthwashing's "Take responsibility" moto, Bakugo and Deku's and Uraraka and Toga's dynamic, with the use of religious (Biblical) imagery, As well as other things I can't remember to list

𝑴𝒂𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒖𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍

⌗📇 ᵎ .check the premise

"Permission to Kill" follows a morally grey 26 year old man, Rodrigo, who is given the supernatural demonic powers of a demon named "Tusk" that aligns with his core deadly sin, Wrath, because of his desire to dominate and destroy those who test his patience, those who challenge him, and those who threaten his ego. This deadly sin was born from an insecurity that was triggered by his own best friend, "Keisha" unknowingly, in a single moment from 20 years ago. He still holds onto it as a grudge, which overtime turned into envy and boiled over into Wrath.

But because of this, the main character has to offer his body as a temple to Tusk in return. This something everyone that gets gifted the powers of their demon has to give up. The only rule the main character can not break that Tusk has set is that he is not actually allowed to kill anyone. If he does this, then Tusk will have the right to take ownership of his entire being and possess him completely, which means taking over the Rodrigo's mind, body, and soul, literally killing him.

But Rodrigo, being the stubborn, hotheaded bloodthirsty ass he is, doesn't let this warning stop him from occasionally asking for permission to kill the enemy he fights. To which Tusk always immediately shuts him down with a stern "No you fool." Althoughhhh, Rodrigo and Tusk are both often put in tricky situations where Rodrigo's self control is tested and even Tusk, the demon of Wrath, feels himself second guessing his own morals just for the sake of how dire the situation is, debating wether to say yes just that once when it comes to saving a life..

⌗📇 ᵎ .slightly faulty power system

The power system is kind of faulty right now, I'm still trying to figure out if:

— Option one

Any negative trait can be a deadly sin. So, a demon can exist as any negative trait as their deadly sin. The negative trait can be an extension of one of the 7 deadly sins or can be a combination of 2 deadly sins.

Keep in mind that the 7 deadly sins are pride, greed, gluttony, lust, sloth, wrath, and envy.

If this is the case, a demon that exists as a "deadly sin" that matches/compliments a person's dominant negative trait creates a unique power

example. Demon of Deceit + Jealousy = Shape-shifting

— Option 2

A person can either attract or summon their demon with a deadly sin that matches their own. (Idk how they'd do either of those things, i havent thought of that yet) The demon already has a power that the person can use to fulfill their desire.

It is the combination of the demon's deadly sin and the person's deadly sin that amplifies the demon's power. It's the person's desire that personalises it.

example. Demon of greed × gluttony + Desire for power and influence = Intimidation and mind manipulation

Demon of greed × lust + Desire for dominance = Succubus-like seduction and mind manipulation

— Option 3

It is the demon's deadly sin × the person's deadly sin + the person's desire that manifests a unique power

example. Tusk, a demon of Wrath × my main character's deadly sin (wrath) + his desire to kill = Bloodlust/Blood manipulation

This new access to power exposes him to a world of temptation, differenceand a new way of living life. The temptation to use his power for his own gain is a strong one, especially when the only rule he isn't allowed to break is "thou shalt not kill". The difference in question is situations where he is granted the opportunity to use his power for other than himself. This forces him into conversations with strangers and people he knows that challenge him on his world's viewpoints as well as personal ones, as he reluctantly befriends various different types of people and demons as he finds himself fighting a new enemy every other week and his own selfish urges.

⌗📇 ᵎ .discussion topics made in PTK

vengeance and justice

sadism, self-control and responsibility

morality

the superiority(God) and white knight complex

redemption and forgiveness.

navigating relationships through Rodrigo's pov and "deserving love"

⌗📇 ᵎ .dynamics

childhood frienemies to lovers???? I guess · one sided beef/rivalry · objectively horrible person x loves them regardless · "fucking kill yourself" x "love you too, babe" · fucking cunt x cunty as fuck · opposite flaws that somehow parallel each other ·

⌗📇 ᵎ .extra notes iygaf

I should also add tapping into your demon's power can mean taking on its appearance to use it fully. Like for my MC, he turns into a demon hybrid in the form of Tusk's appearance when he taps into his power.

Anyone who taps into their demon will have their eye colour changed into their demon's. So Rodrigo's eye colour changes from red to orange (Tusk's). But please know the demon can come up to the surface at anytime they like. Tusk does this a lot which pisses Rodrigo off.

Sometimes, you can be triggered into tapping into your power/demon by things or people around that may tempt you.

The first episode is called "Permission denied" and the last episode is called "Permission granted"

The demons have their own moralities and views that are different to each other, thus why they often have conflict. Some demons are objectively better than others because of this.

There's definitely going to be some use of Biblical references

Tusk ends up falling in love with Rodrigo's rival. He do NAWT gaf that she was supposed to be one of the people that Rodrigo initially wanted to kill. So because of Rodrigo's demon's little crush on her, he has no choice but to call a begrudging truce... for the mean time. Because Tusk knows there ain't no way in he'll he's letting him use his power on his crush

The point of PTK

( ♱ 💌 ₊∘. a love letter in disguise )

This passion project is an exploration into my personal views, my artistic expression, and my understanding of Bakugo's character as my main source of inspiration. It is an excuse for me to explore and expand my literacy and dialogue skills. When writing a character, it is crucial to understand the way they communicate and understand why they communicate like they do. Communication isn't always spoken, it's often shown in actions; body language. Which is why animating his character and all the others in a way that matches their own language well is so important to me to get right. Even if he doesnt notice it immediately. I love the use of subliminal messaging, double means, hidden meanings, metaphors, and symbolism. If I want to write Rodrigo as a biblically accurate analysis of Katsuki using these topics to add depth, then I need to do this right. It takes patience and time to get this right.

It is also an excuse for me to project my experience of them through my skills in art. It's a reason for me to practice the basic and advanced fundamentals of art with dedication and concentration, to refine my skills with care and patience before I find the right art styles to convey my emotions even when I can't through words. It is essentially like me saying, "I drew and rendered the entire comic like this, because this is how I experienced you."

Because PTK is a massive leap from the types of comics I'd usually make like Super hero ones, Magical girl ones and multiverse ones, it is proof of me showing diversity in my creation. It's a massive step outside of my comfort zone as I use this chance to research and open conversations on touchy topics letting people inside and outside my audience on all sides of the conversations make their own opinions and voice their own perspectives, creating characters my 9 year old self would never in a million years think she'd make. It is quite ambitious goal and I'm so excited to go through with it.

Most importantly, this project is like a thank you gift to Bakugo, Deku, Uraraka, Mina and Kirishima, for the self discovery they don't even know they took me on their own character developments, relationship dynamics and personalities. And I have a lot of hopes for this project and the message it gives as well as the impact it has on its viewers — specifically Katsuki.

I made permission to kill to show how I experienced and still experience his existence using my greatest gifts of art, cinematography, literature and music. I'll write Rodrigo the way I have come to understand him and learn from him. I'll take so much care with how I portray his character in my comic as I show all of his traits — careful not to villianise him — but confident enough to not shy away from showing everything that makes him — him. Everything. Pros, cons and all his flaws. I'll put Rodrigo through different scenarios that I've acknowledged Katsuki has gone through and maybe struggling with, and I'll write him overcoming them. Like he always does.

I'll treat all his worries and insecurities with care under a magnifying glass as I get to the root and reason for them, I'll help him see my perspective of him, and I'll give him his long awaited happily ever after. Not out of pity, fuck no, but because he really does deserve it.

And I hope that not only does this project make him feel represented, but I hope that he really does see himself in it. I hope that when he reads and eventually watches the ending, he'll feel satisfied. Like he's been indirectly done justice. I hope he feels good for Rodrigo, even though it's literally him and he doesn't know it.

I hope he notices the shear amount of time, planning — like actual planning and effort I put into each drawing, scene, design, dialogue and knows he is worth all of the sleepless nights I put into it. Every single one.

I hope they all become invested and ask me questions. Especially Izuku.

I hope Izuku asks me for more lore drops, more character information, more art if I have any (I always have art ready for him to see). I want him to listen to me ramble on about new lore I thought of during class and give his own plot ideas too. I want him and I to point out the parallels we found between characters and make stupid memes and relate my character to other ones from different media. I want him to point out "how similar Rodrigo and Keisha are to me and Kacchan" too, and ask me if i did that on purpose.. I'll tell him, "Nah, probs a coincidence. A parallel if you will."

I hope Uraraka and Mina come to me and ask "Who is your muse!" And while Katsuki Bakugo hangs on the tip of my tongue, I don't let his name fall out of my mouth yet. I don't even tell them they are also my inspirations too.

I hope Katsuki gets suspicious one evening as he eyes the dialogue that sits in Rodrigo's speech bubble and says, "He's sounding an awful lot like me dont ya think?". And I hope Rodrigo becomes his favourite character. I hope he becomes his own favourite character.

And when it's all done with quality AND quantity, I hope he puts the peices of the puzzle together on his own and realises he was the muse all this time. And I hope he looks at me with pride. And maybe even awe.

Because really, with all the work Im putting into this project, youd think im fighting for the best indie animator and comic artist award. But I'm not planning on getting awards for PTK, no not really. The point of permission to kill to show him how much I pay attention to him all the way to the little details. It's like a public declaration of my undying love and adoration for him as I show off my art skills and make him and the others look super badass just for the fun of it. I'm also doing it for myself — to out do myself and go beyond difficulties I had no idea I could breakthrough. I made this project for Katsuki, Ochako, Izuku, Mina and Eijiro to read/watch PTK to feel something. Feel a sense of familiarity and excitement for it

I made permission to kill to show him that I see him. No, like I really see him.

Because "to be loved, is to be seen", and

Man, how I adore him.

Sincerely, his not-so-secret admirer,

J.M.T (jealous martini)

Mootie tags: @hrrtshape @angelic-daiquiri @zshiftsrealities @intimidaid @bendys-wife @theshifterbride @caramelicious-xo @deepinthegroves

[kpopsexstories]

QUICK FIX GAY #16: BTS Jungkook x TXT Yeonjun (Big Brother, Little Brother)

This is a 100% gay story. Check out this post for my straight smut and this post for more gay smut.

Pairing: BTS Jungkook x TXT Yeonjun

Content: Yeonjun and Jungkook film a home-made p*rno using the camera equipment from “Are You Sure?!”. Gay, Doggy style, Standing, Jerking off, Cumshot, Cum in mouth, On camera

Type of Sex: UNCONVENTIONAL

Word Count: 961

Big Brother, Little Brother gay "Quick Fix" stories: An older and younger male k-pop idol are doing it. They refer to each other as "brothers" and the short stories in this collection showcase various funny or hot smut scenarios.

“Hey brother,” Yeonjun said when he walked into Jungkook's room wearing only a pair of swimshorts. “Are the cameras gone?”

They men of BTS had just finished filming. Jungkook stood shirtless in a pair of low-hanging jeans, trying to untangle a t-shirt. “Except that one,” he said and pointed.

Yeonjun smirked. “Wanna turn it on?”

Jungkook looked at his younger ‘brother’ and grinned. Then he gave up on the shirt, tossed it aside and pulled down his pants.

*****

Yeonjun was bent forward, hunching in front of the camera. His soaked swim shorts lay in a pile around his feet.

Jungkook, whose hair was still wet, had taken his jeans and underwear off. He was standing behind his friend, eyes closed, dick in Yeonjun's ass, grimacing while thrusting his hips.

“Ah, Ah, Ah,” Yeonjun moaned repeatedly. He had a naughty grin on his face, like an actor, and occasionally looked straight into the camera with a seductive smile.

“Mm, mm, mmpfh,” Jungkook groaned toward the ceiling. He rocked back and forth on his toes with a firm grip around Yeonjun's hips, fucking his brother good.

“Flex,” Yeonjun suggested and turned his head slightly. His body was shaking, moved by Jungkook's thrusts and pulls.

Jungkook opened his eyes and looked down, at the back of Yeonjun's head then at the twenty-something’s long back. He smirked, glanced at the camera, and flexed his buff chest and toned arms.

“How does it feel to be the it boy?” Jungkook asked and let his hands glide up Yeonjun's sides while pushing his dick in deeper and harder.

“Uh-uh-uh-uh, great,” Yeonjun panted, grimacing as Jungkook's cock filled him up.

“You're fucking cool,” Jungkook said, slightly jealous that he never got the same title.

“I know,” Yeonjun said and smirked. He was pretty proud of it.

*****

A little light on the camera was blinking. Jungkook pushed on Yeonjun's hip to turn him sideways, his dick still inside as they moved their feet on the floor to present their hot sex in profile. They both looked at the camera as they positioned themselves, and the home-made porno continued.

Jungkook, standing behind his bent friend, lowered himself slightly for a deeper penetration, and held on to Yeonjun's hip for balance. His own ass seen from the side was round and smooth, and his chest muscles clearly visible. He was quite satisfied with the look and angle.

Yeonjun grabbed on to a table. He arched his back and stuck his ass out. Jungkook started pulling and thrusting again.

Slowly at first, while he stood up straight and watched his shaft go in and out with a big grin on his face. Then fast, when he leaned back down and stroke his friend's ass and side.

Before long it was time for the finale. They both closed their eyes and faced straight ahead. Jungkook pushed and pulled, grunting while his groin clapped against Yeonjun's rear. Yeonjun grimaced and panted.

“Mm, mm, MMMPFH, MMMPFH!” the older brother said loudly as he came closer to an orgasm.

Yeonjun grabbed his dick and jerked it. He held it out under his stomach to make sure the camera would get the shot. He stroke his cock fast, flicking his wrist to match Jungkook's fast pace.

“Ahhh, ahhh, AHHHH!” he said and grimaced excessively, putting on quite a show.

Jungkook was getting hot and flustered. His voice was shaking and trembling. “Mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm-mm,” he said repeatedly, then announced to Yeonjun and the imaginary audience: “Ahhh, Ahhh, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come!”

Yeonjun moved his hand faster and stuck his ass out further. “Ahhh, Ahhh, AH-AH-AH-AHHHHH!”

He was seconds from coming too but Jungkook beat him to it, as evident when the older brother suddenly opened his eyes wide, pulled out, grabbed his dick and held it over Yeonjun's ass and back.

“MMM, MMM, I'm coming!” he announced while furiously stroking his shaft. “Fu-uck, you're so hot! MMM, MMM, MMMMMPFH!”

His orgasm arrived and he ejaculated across Yeonjun's ass and spine. He grabbed his friend's tight cheek with one hand and squeezed it while he finished.

Yeonjun felt the hot cum on his skin but never stopped jerking. He kept flicking his hand and grimacing, until he suddenly swirled around and Jungkook, who had finished, immediately hunched down in front of him.

Yeonjun stood up straight and angled his dick toward the camera. Jungkook kneeled, closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. Yeonjun came, and shot his load in Jungkook's face.

The man on his knees twitched and opened his mouth wider. Yeonjun on his feet clenched his ass cheeks and bucked his hips, spraying the lips near his cock with fresh cum.

“Ahhh, holy shit!” he exclaimed and panted loudly, and glanced down at Jungkook's hot face and body.

“Mmm,” Jungkook said and smiled, then swallowed.

They took a few seconds to calm down, then Jungkook slowly stood back up. They leaned in and kissed for the audience, touching and feeling each other's muscles. Yeonjun giggled when he got cum on his lips.

Finally Jungkook turned and walked directly toward the camera. He reached for it while Yeonjun stood naked and hot, dick still in hand, behind him.

Then the picture went black.

“We better delete that,” Yeonjun said when he bent down to pick his wet shorts up from the floor.

“Not before I save it on my phone,” Jungkook said and smirked. He walked naked with the camera in hand toward a laptop on the table, and playfully slapped his friend on the ass in passing. “But yeah, this can't get out.”

“Imagine that,” Yeonjun said and chuckled. ”If this made it into the show.”

Jungkook smiled wide and winked. “It would be our most viewed episode ever.”

[honeyhonest]

I've been thinking about how some of the twst guys are either discovering (by coming at nrc) or shall never ever know what porn is and it's very funny in my head; from what I've been told by friends who were in my highschool's dorms, poor Riddle and Azul definitely got unwillingly exposed to it while doing room rounds; the tweels are freaks and unlimited internet access once on land means it probably took them less than a month to find out that wow humans take videos of themselves doing that huh; kalim probably has a childproofed browser; Malleus, Sebek, and Silver are NEVER ever in a situation where they could find out and shall go back to briar valley and remain blissfully ignorant their whole lives; meanwhile Lilia found out while downloading mods and texture packs, did a hard double take on the adds, clicked because he didn't know yet what internet scams and viruses are, and also had the same revelation that Wow humans take videos of themselves doing that. Then proceeded to spend his evening giggling, looking it up to check how freaky humans could get. Probably never watches porn after that, unless he's curious about specific kinks he learns of later on while hanging out on game forums, anyway it's always only to learn/giggle at it. These are my headcanons

wait can I do headcanons for all the third years!!! and fellow and crowley. I might actually have something to say about this

trey - stumbled across it while looking for recipes online (googled "cream pie", forgot to add the space), didn't stick with him. imagination user. could probably do scary masturbatory things with his UM. knows of porn, doesn't need it, not curious. not for moral reasons, it's just... again the magic thing

cater - I agree with every single take that he jerks off to magicam model's swimsuit pics. yep, the airbrushed filtered shit. stuff that idia (our resident femcel enjoyer) would shudder in fear at the very thought of. no taste for porno, watched some with old friends but didn't get into it. I don't think caycay has much of a libido so he mostly jerks off to let off steam

leona - leona is a rational guy, from the moment he figured out sex and figured out the internet he could put two-and-two together. does he watch it? no. thinks it's unrealistic and tacky. he has CLASS, thank you. he also doesn't really have a high libido, IMO

rook - actually, same as leona. power of deduction! likes amateur porn but doesn't actually get off to it. just sort of... enjoys watching it? reads erotica and commissions a lot of bizarre RPF fetish art in his spare time

vil - accidentally put on one of the X-rated movies his dad produced (HE WAS NOT IN IT), decided he'd seen enough of THAT! jk lol, he probably gets antsy watching the occasional very well-shot softcore sex scene in movies. can maintain an air of indifference, though. secretly enjoys whatever the twst-equivalent of 50 shades is

idia - idk, you know I'm going to say it's hentai and weird deviantart fetish stuff, there's nothing more to add. he's been online for a loooong time. he's like the opposite of cater: (irl) smooth, airbrushed, clean women freak him out, he can't get hard to that

malleus - has never seen porn and has no intention to. I DO think he knows of it (he goes to an all-boys school, after all) but he has no interest in watching two or more people he doesn't know have sex. it just doesn't make sense to him

lilia - will answer this in the next ask!

rollo - almooost the same as malleus, BUT he has watched a few videos out of curiosity, got aroused, felt sick to his stomach, and then quickly repressed the guilt of that by knitting for six hours straight or something. he comes back to porn every once in a while; he likes solo masturbation stuff because it feels less intense

fellow - who even knows how he found out, not even he can remember. he likes the magazine kind, less of a hassle for him, more fun to jerk off on the toilet with

crowley - one time saw a half-naked woman in a vintage drawing and almost passed out

[connieboo4u]

𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲.

synopsis- It was just a celebration and a reunion with friends—at least, that’s what you thought.

no warnings - just dramama ramama lamama aye

Incoming call from sashabae💞

The phone rings for a third time before you decide to finally answer it. You already figured she didn’t want shit, but then again… it could be anything knowing her ass.

As you roll over to reach for your phone under your pillow, you place it to your ear while still laying down.

“Damn girl, are you in danger or some? Blowing my shi up early asl.”

You say as you hear shuffling on the other end.

“It’s literally 12 pm. GET YO ASS UP, n/n! The day damn near over—but that’s not what I was blowing your phone up about.”

Sasha responds loud asf in your ear.

“Mmcht, well bitch it’s early for me.”

You get up some more and casually start doing your routine—brushing your teeth, washing your face, making some breakfast (yes bih we eating breakfast late asf and what? You the food police?), changing into a comfy fit, and fixing your hair before heading out to run some simple errands.

All while Sasha talks on the other line… yeah, this hoe can talkkkk.

“That’s besides the point. I was calling to see if you were down to go to this party at Ony’s. He doing a little party in celebration of his single dropping.”

“I’m pretty sure he sent you the invite since he sent it to everybody in the gc, but I know you barely check that shi anyway since we only talk in there when somebody planning something or somebody talking shi.”

“BUT you GOTSS to come to this one, n/n! When was the last time you came to a party, let alone seen everybody in person?”

Sasha says as she continues driving to God knows where. She’s always pushed you to get out and have some fun.

I mean, she was one of your best friends. She needed her HG for every ride she took—even the ones where she had to quite literally pull you into.

“Shi… you might never know what might happen at this party to spark your little simple day-to-day life. I bet you’ll have fun. I mean shi, you used to have fun all the mfn time when we all used to hang out a lot—but then everybody kinda branched out on they own.”

Sasha says, quickly collecting her reasons to get you out the house like usual. And she lowkey might be… right?

To be fair, you haven’t really pulled up to any parties lately. Not that you didn’t wanna go, but sometimes shit go left at big gatherings and you’d rather stay out of it. And when you did go? Trust—it was an in and out process.

But don’t get it twisted, the party most definitely got crunk asf when you pulled up. Don’t matter if you stayed an hour or 30 mins, the party stayed jumping.

Andddd everybody did kinda drift apart. But not entirely! Everyone still kept in contact… a little bit.

Everyone was kinda in the same world, but different cities almost. If that makes sense.

But maybe this one time you’ll come outside today—and maybe reconnect with everyone you haven’t heard from? You know damn well you haven’t seen Ony in months due to his rapping career taking off,he was always busy. But he made sure to reach out every now and then to check on you.

You briefly spoke to Armin, he had a lot of different movies and shows lined up since his acting career was on the rise.And Mikasa was pretty reachable as she was a creative director and I loved asking for different ideas, even if she suggest that I don’t need her input. But I ask anyways. You would occasionally see Eren flirting ass when you hung out with Connie and Sash. he stayed tryna holla at you. damn there putting down the same amount of effort connie put down,but the only difference was he was always blunt about it. He didn’t like how Connie would act towards me,sometimes even saying he was leading me on but I knew deep down there had to be more to it. Atleast i hope there was.

Don’t get me wrong Eren jokes too, almost to the point you couldn’t tell if he was serious or not since he can goof around about a lot of shit. But anyone who was close with him could see he masked the truth being laid back about everything,him and connie were so alike yet so different. Eren was sweet but your heart still yearn to know what you and connie could be.

Your homegirl saniyah was always one call away but she also had a lot going on with her makeup career taking off. You,her,and sasha was inseparable trio and still are.

And Jean was always gonna make his special appearance. He was pretty active with you through social media,and you guys would run into each other at different events he might’ve had to shoot for,but that was it.

And hey when we all link up it’s almost like nothing has changed.

But you really don’t know this time… this could really be a bad idea.

Before you can argue back with Sasha, you hear your phone buzz and loud ass knocks at your door.

New message from con 🩵

Ahh shit.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

You look down at your phone to see Connie sent a text—right as you make your way to the door to see who it was.

—received at 12:47 PM

[con 🩵] ay ma, i know sasha alr told you bout the party tmmrw. you going?

You roll your eyes with a smile down at your phone as you text him back:

“idk yet.”

His ass stayed tryna link up in some type of way.

But at the end? Y’all stayed attached at the hip regardless.

Before you can hit send, you open the door—

“Girl what are you—”

“WE’RE GOING TO THAT PARTY—”

She cuts you off before you can even open the door good or say any mf thing.

Yup. That’s my bestie for you.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Your phone buzzed in your hand as Sasha walked past you to sit in your living room area… but not before finding a snack in your kitchen.

Big back ahh.

While she does that, you look back down at your phone.

con 🩵

—new messages at 12:54 PM—

[con 🩵] ay ma, i know sasha alr told you bout the party tmmrw. you going?

[you] idk yet. you?

[con 🩵] mmcht. now yk sasha not letting yo ass stay at home 😒. and probably

[con 🩵] sooo i’ll see you there.

“With his sassy assss,” you say to yourself at his response, shaking your head.

As you and Sasha sit and catch up, you tell her everything you had planned for the day. She says y’all should have a girls’ day and go shopping to get cute for the party.

And shiii… she knows you can never say no to a mall trip together.

Let alone getting your nails and shi done too?

Yeaaaa f it. WE’RE going to that party.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

You and Sasha went and ran your little errands, and she ended up picking up a couple of things herself.

Then y’all headed toward the mall and went mfn craaazyyy.

Y’all always knew how to make a quick trip turn into a full day.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

You and Sasha went into all these different stores: Urban Outfitters, Sephora, Garage, Bath & Body Works, Victoria’s Secret, Foot Locker, and any little pop-up boutiques y’all could find.

Safe to say, me and Sasha never gave simple when it came to shopping for an occasion.

IDC if we were going to a a release party -from jail-for a cousin that’s not even ours—the fit was gonna match and we were gonna have TS AWNNN.

After me and Sasha did our damage at the mall—bags in our arms—we skip back to the car like we didn’t just blow a bag.

Half of the shi wasn’t even part of the fit for the party 😭.

We just be buying shi cause we liked it… and wanted it.

We made one last stop to our favorite spot to get our toes and nails done.

As the lady finished with my toes, I got ready to show her my nail inspo, while Sasha sat across from me, still waiting on her toes to be finished—but of course, she showed me her nail inspo first.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

After all that? We grabbed some food before heading back to my house, sitting in the living room eating and talking about any and everything.

“So he asked if you were coming?”

Sasha said as she wiggled her eyebrows, popping a fry in her mouth from the Wingstop bag.

“Yesssss,” I said with an eye roll.

“He be tryna make sure he there to cockblock all them dudes that be up on you,”

Sasha said back before taking a sip from her drink.

“I sweaaarrrr that’s yo husband—like, ughhh—y’all too cute.”

She giggled as I playfully nudged her.

“Girl hushhhh. Me and Connie are just friends. I don’t think he see me that way fr—no way,”

I said as I kept eating my food.

“Mhm. He call you all type of pet names, lets you hear his beats and songs first, y’all got matching jewelry, he stay flirting with you, lets you aux in his car with no questions, and the mf never stops talking about you when someone brings you up, uses your lingo like y’all twins or some, and don’t let no dude take up too much of your time or waste it…But y’all just friends, right?”

Sasha said like it was the most obvious thing ever—and like I was a damn fool for not seeing it.

Maybe I did see it.

But was it worth risking our friendship?

Me and Connie been friends for years. Why change that now?

“Mmcht… well even if that was the case, I’m not confronting his ass about it. He can come to me and say it,”

I replied as I wiped my hands with a napkin.

“Sooo you’re not denying your feelings for him?”

Sasha said as she pushed her empty Wingstop box to the side.

…I didn’t respond.

Sasha smiled and softly laughed.

“Your secret safe—and been safe—with me, n/n. And you right. He needa man up and stop playing. Nobody got time to wait on somebody to confess some shi they been knew for years. But with y’all bond? I don’t see him going nowhere else. He’ll be the biggest dummy if he did.”

“Besides, the last thing he need is sombody randomly making a real move—especially if it’s before he do.”

I looked back up from scrolling my phone and laughed.

“You right, Sash. and what you mean? sombody else like who?”

Sasha paused and thought about what to say next.

but then she shrugged with a laugh

“I mean… he not the only one that be lookin’ at you a certain way,”

she said as she typed on her phone

“But aye—I think Connie gon’ fold just like a flip phone soon, so he don’t even matter.”

“GUHHH”

I roll my eyes with a laugh

“Stop playing with me. and you tryna have a sleepover tonight?”

I gesture to her reaching for my throw blanket getting more and more comfortable

“Uhhh duhhh wtfff? I’ll be damned if I leave now after getting comfortable n shit”

Sasha said, and we both laughed hard asf.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Night of the Party — 6:34 PM

Me and Sasha were getting ready for the party that wasn’t even supposed to start until an hour later.

Me AND her got up from MY bed earlier today, since she ended up falling asleep there after we spent the night sharing posts on Instagram and talking shi.

She ain’t even make it to the guest room that’s basically damn near her room at this point.

Once it got closer to party time, we started doing our little routine to get ready while

“EAT ME!” by Rico Nasty blasted in the background.

After Sasha changed into her fit, she helped me take my curls down from the twists they were in.

Since I already had my fit on, I started doing my makeup while Sasha got started on her hair.

After I finished, she hit me with the—

“I can never get my eyeliner that mfn clean. Do it for meeeee.”

Tell me why some simple eyeliner turned into a full ass beat?

She better be glad I love her.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

After we applied our finishing touches—perfume, accessories, all that—I pulled out some sparkly glitter spray I’d been meaning to try.

And of course, Sash was down.

We started lightly spraying ourselves, the shimmer catching in the light and giving us a soft, sparkly glow.

“Okayyy frennnn”

I said as I hyped her up through the mirror while she put her earrings in.

“Ouuu girl, you look so goodddttt, connie can’t handle allat”

Sasha said, already pulling her phone out to take some mirror flicks together.

“BYEEE. And alright, I think we’re ready.”

I said after we posted our pics to our stories—letting the likes start rollin’ in.

We made our way out the door and jumped in Sasha’s car, blasting Latto – “Somebody” the second we pulled off.

“ALL I WANT IS YOU BOY, ALL I WANT IS YOUUU”

we screamed in unison, both cracking up mid-verse.

As Cardi B – “Outside” started playing, I pulled out my phone and started recording for my Insta stories.

Me and Sasha started cutting up for the camera, singing the lyrics like we were at a sold-out show.

I scrolled through my phone, responding to all my hgs’ replies and thanking them for the love.

Then I saw it.

@𝙘𝙨𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

I tapped on his page. Looked like he was already at the party.

Him, Eren, and Ony had a few flicks together on his story.

And he looked good asfffff.

My good googly God.

Shi, they all did—but you know lmfao.

Right after, my phone buzzed again.

@𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮

@𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙩: replied to your story: ho is you Lipton? cause you teaaaa 🤏🏻🤏🏻🤏🏻 or whatever y’all be sayin.

@𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙮𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮

@𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙮𝙖𝙝𝙝𝙝𝙝 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮: 😍😍😍

I reacted 😂 to jean message and showed my phone to Sasha as we slowed to a stop.

“GIRLLL, but did he lie?”

Sasha said back, trying to catch her breath from laughing.

After Sasha parked, we grabbed our purses and hopped out the car, heading straight into the party.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

When we stepped inside the party, Big Boogie – “Left Right” blasted in our ears, and it was lowkey packed asfffff.

Like damn, all y’all niggas came out tonight?

I already wanted to leave, but once I found my groove, I knew I’d be straight.

As me and Sasha were greeting people we knew—and a few we didn’t—Eren spotted us across the room.

Now his tall ass was making his way over.

“Damnnn, I wasn’t expecting to see you here”

Eren said as he gave me a hug.

He had his hair in his signature half-up, half-down style, a black shirt, washed jeans, and a silver chain hanging from his neck.

His fit was calm… but had the bitches breaking they necks to get a glimpse.

Yeah, his cocky ahh loved that.

“Yea, Sash convinced me to come,”

I said back, shrugging slightly.

He looked over at Sasha and nodded.

“Preciate that, Sash. Didn’t think I’d see her fine ass in person no more.”

He flashed a lazy grin as his tatted arm was still resting on my side from the hug, fingers slightly tickling.

Sasha just gave him a thumbs up, barely paying attention since she was talking to some of our hgs that had also pulled up.

“WAI-BOYY-, ayy NA. STOPP-”

I said, laughing as I nudged him away, finally freeing myself.

Me and Eren went back and forth with our usual banter—talking shit and play-flirting—until I heard my name being called.

I turn around and see Ony and Connie standing behind him.

“Ayyyy n/n, I’m glad you could make it.”

Ony said as he pulled me into a side hug.

“It’s been a good little while since I’ve seen you. You look good.”

He smiled, flashing his bottom grills as he leaned back from the hug a bit to look down at me.

“Yea, I knowww. and ALSOOO congrats on your new single”

I said back.

He thanked me, nodding.

“Thanks. It’s been a rough ride, but I’m glad this shit finally out.”

Ony had on a custom Louis Vuitton jacket with a matching white top and bottoms. Rings flooded one hand, and a blinged-out chain sat heavy on his neck.

“Aii now.”

Connie finally spoke up from behind him.

Ony smirked as he stepped aside, revealing Connie standing there.

He had on a long sleeve black shirt with matching black denim jorts, and a cap to top it all off. His fit was so simple but so him.

Soon enough, Connie stepped up to me to get his own hug.

As he leaned down to kiss my cheek and pull me in, I caught his scent—musky, woodsy, clean.

It was the perfect balance of strong and soft.

He rocked me side to side in the hug for a second before we pulled away.

It was warm, welcoming, and maybe a little too long for “just friends”…

But shiii—who was I to complain?

“You look so pretty, mami. But that’s some everyday shi for you,”

He leaned down and said low in my ear, soft and easy.

“AYYY, bring y’all hugging asses on so we can get some pictures together. Damn.”

Jean said with a playful eye roll as he stood off to the side, where most of the friend rotation and a few new faces were posted up, holding his camera in hand.

As me and Connie turned to look at each other, we shared a knowing look and laughed quietly to ourselves after hearing what Jean said about us.

He gave me that same grin—dimples peeking, eyes all low—then shook his head like Jean talk too much, and leaned down to whisper real low:

“They always on some bs when it come to me and you.”

I raised my eyebrows, smirking.

“Me and you?”

He playfully squeezed my side before grabbing my hand and guiding me through the sea of bodies to make our way toward the others.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Once we reached the group, Sasha spotted us and nudged our other homegirl Saniyah, who was standing on the other side of her.

They both shared a look that said “just friends my ass” as they watched us walk in hand-in-hand.

Jean caught the moment and snapped a couple photos.

The area we were in was a little less crowded than the front entrance, giving us space to catch up and vibe. Once Jean spotted us, he gave me a quick hug and dabbed Connie up.

Saniyah came over to give me a hug too—it had been a minute since I’d seen her.

“Awhh look at you!”

She said as she made me spin around, eyeing my fit.

Sasha hyped me up from behind her like she always do.

“It’s been so longggg, but I’m glad our little trio could reunite.”

Saniyah said as she pulled me and Sasha in for a group hug.

Jean started taking shots of our entire interaction, along with random flicks throughout the night.

“ALRIGHT, EVERYBODY TOGETHER ON 3—2—”

I was standing in between Sash and Saniyah, while everyone else squeezed in around us. After snapping a few more group photos—and even getting someone else to take a couple so Jean could hop in—we all started branching off throughout the venue.

While I was talking to Saniyah and Sasha, Saniyah got nosy as hell like clockwork.

“Sooo y’all just friends? How fucking long y’all just been friends for?”

She asked as she started recalling all the little moments between me and Connie that gave way more than just friends.

“That’s what I saidddd!” Sasha chimed in, dramatic as ever.

“But he need to own up to it for real instead of just acting like y’all already done confessed and living happily ever after.”

Me and Saniyah both nodded in agreement—because Sasha wasn’t lying.

But just like he wasn’t being true to himself (if that was the case), I wasn’t being all that straightforward with him either.

Did he even see us as anything more than friends? Or was he just friendly as hell?

I didn’t know anymore. But I knew I wasn’t trying to get my feelings hurt behind no “what if.”

As Saniyah started talking about her current little situationship and the mess she had going on, me and Sash caught her up on our lives too.

From Sasha’s boyfriend thinking she sneaking around with her ex,

To me busting my ass tryna learn how to skateboard for a YouTube video,

To all the other BS we go through on a regular.

It felt just like old times—the three of us yapping, and running our damn mouths about anything our mind can muster up.

Trust, every time we linked up, a time was had, honey.

We damn near need our own podcast, ngl.

But mid-sentence…

I felt something.

That stare.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

I blinked mid-laugh as Sash and Saniyah already caught on—

they had been spotted him staring.

I paused for a second.

Then turned around—

And of course, there he was.

Connie.

He was sitting in the little section Ony had set up for him and his homeboys,

all of them passing around a blunt.

And of course it was the blunt tucked behind Connie’s ear from earlier.

His eyes stayed on me as he took a hit, passing it back to Eren.

He didn’t look away.

He just nodded his head and smirked—

that “yea, I see you” type smirk.

I turned back around slowly, now just standing there listening to Saniyah and Sash talk they ass off.

I could still feel his eyes on me.

It felt… comforting in a way.

Like he wasn’t gonna let nun happen to me in these big scenes.

Even while he laughed and talked with everybody around him,

he kept stealing glances like he couldn’t help himself.

Let me shut my delusional ass up.

“I don’t know who worse—you or him.”

Saniyah said as she sipped on her cocktail.

“See, I wanna say both,”

Sasha added,

“but Connie be acting like people not even around him whenever you anywhere near.”

“Oh hushhhh. You and your man’s be the same.”

I said, looking at Sasha.

“And you and Armin used to be the same too, Saniyah, when y’all was messing around together?”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Ion know bout all that.”

Saniyah waved me off.

“But the way Connie will literally put anything on pause just to give you all his attention is some different.”

She glanced in his direction.

“He acts as if y’all on some it’s just us and nobody else around type shit.”

Sasha nodded her head dramatically in agreement.

“Exactlyyyy.”

Just when I was about to respond to Saniyah—and attempt to defend myself in a losing ass battle—

I felt something behind me.

Someone.

“So you gon stand here and act like you don’t see me watching yo ass?”

A voice said behind me, low and teasing.

I already knew who it was.

“Boy, I don’t know wtf that’s supposed to mean.”

I said back to him, cause…

what was any of that supposed to mean fr fr?

“Mmcht. Aii.”

He said back to me.

“Yo ass know you be spawning outta nowhere when it come to n/n. Damn.”

Saniyah said to Connie, side eyeing him hard.

“Damn, so now I can’t even speak to my girl no more?”

Connie said back, calm as ever.

My girl.

He better stop playing with my ass fr now—cause whattt?

Sasha and Saniyah shared a look as their eyes grew big like some damn owls, both catching that little slip.

Sasha opened her mouth to comment but Saniyah beat her to it.

“Mhmm, so that’s why you been all over her all night? Since that’s your girl n all.”

Saniyah said with all the sass she could muster.

“Yeaaa, and every time a dude try to talk you over there mean-mugging somebody.”

Sasha said, backing Saniyah up like always.

Connie paused.

Not in shock or embarrassment—but like he was mentally saying: “Here y’all go.”

He didn’t look nervous. He just looked at me, then back at them, letting out a little laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Y’all dragging it.”

He said with that usual chill, nonchalant tone.

In all honesty, Connie knew he meant every word he’d just said.

But he wasn’t tryna unpack all that—not here, not in front of everybody.

He’d been planning to say something tonight. Something real.

But the longer he waited, the more nervous he got.

It felt like everybody already knew anyway.

And they did.

But what he was mostly worried about…

was somebody telling you before he could.

Before it was too late.

“Dragging it like how you been dragging behind her like a damn lost dog? Yea okay, Connie.”

Saniyah said, sipping her drink.

Connie shrugged, smirking like it was no big deal.

“And? Don’t forget I got that dawg in me.”

Sasha shook her head while sipping her drink, while Saniyah sighed.

I laughed lightly.

“Mannn, Connie be quiet.”

I said, turning to look at him.

“Tell them to get off my ass then, ma.”

He said with a mock sad face, gesturing at Sash and Saniyah.

“Boy please, you can barely get off her ass.”

Saniyah clapped back without skipping a beat.

“Aii, na. Stay outta grown folks business.”

Connie said with a mock serious face as he hovered down behind me.

And just like that, we all busted out laughing.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

As the night continued, more pictures and videos were being taken—

they even ended up cutting a celebration cake for Ony.

I stood around talking to our little circle,

catching up with Mikasa and Jean on what’s going on with them,

briefly talking to Armin—lowkey third wheeling once Saniyah joined the convo,

and of course, Ony goofy ass talking about an album he was working on with Connie.

he claimed nobody knew about yet, but he already leaked this shit bout three days ago. I think his ass forgot.

After a little more dancing on the dance floor I went to go talk to mikasa some more.

“Girl we gotta link uppp, cause I got this makeup brand deal and idk what I wanna do to promote it”

I said as I briefly locked eyes with Connie across the room but quickly looked away.

Mikasa caught that shit

“Tuhh, the way your videos,brand deal offers,and inspiration been spreading on the internet, I doubt you’ll ever need some advice from me.”

Eren was also watching me across the room and started to make his way up to me in the process.

Mikasa also caught this shit as well

she almost looked little nervous as she looked behind me at Eren making his way up. As well as glancing at Connie watching the whole thing happen.

“Damn it’s hard to get word with you. You been talking to people since you came in. Like damn this a meet and greet?”

i laugh. at Erens random appearance as he sips on a bottle of some shi i can’t even pronounce right now.

“ay what can i say. im loved around here”

Eren voice softens

“Yea…but aye I’ve been want-“

“Hey don’t you gotta play that song tonight that you and ony did?” Mikasa cut him off

Suddenly, I felt Connie’s hand graze my back.

“You tryna dip out for a min?”

He said low in my ear, just loud enough for me to hear him over the music.

“To where?”

I asked, side-eyeing him playfully.

“Man, chill out. I’m not taking you far. Just outside—shit loud asl in here.”

So with that, I politely excused myself from Mikasa and Eren as Ony was already about to snatch Eren to play the song they were working on together, and followed him out to a quiet little area just past the main room.

Nobody was out there.

It was peaceful—besides the faint thump of the music bleeding through the walls.

We posted up near a little balcony.

“You okay?”

I asked him as we leaned on the railing.

“Yeah.”

He said as he lit the blunt he’d stashed behind his ear.

“Just needed some air… but I wanted to catch you too.Y’know, before everybody and they mama tryna talk to you.”

“What you tryna say?”

I asked, glancing over at him.

“Ion know,”

He shrugged.

“I just like being around you.”

He said it like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

I smiled.

“Me too.”

We both got quiet.

The night air was loud.

He exhaled a cloud of smoke and looked over at me.

“Look… I really don’t wanna make shit weird between us.And I know Sasha, Saniyah, and hell—even Ony been on my ass about me not being honest with you.”

He started as he took one more hit and put the blunt out.

“Y/N… I like you. Way more than some fucking friends. Hell, in love even. I just didn’t wanna mess anything up between us. We already got a really strong bond. A bond I know I can always count on. And I just don’t know what I would do if I lost that.”

He said, his voice softening as he confessed what he’s been holding back all this time.

I stood there, not knowing what to say.

As he just stared back at me.

“Say something, n/n. Anything.”

He said desperately, almost as if this was the end of our friendsh—

“I love you too, Connie.”

Connie’s entire face lit up at that.

He started to lean down.

I closed my eyes.

But soon both our phones dinged.

It was Sasha and Ony asking where we were,

and that the party was wrapping up.

We both shared a look and laughed.

“Can’t do shitttt with they ass around.”

He said, shaking his head.

“How? They’re not even around, Connie. It’s just us.”

I say softly

Just us.

Yeah… she had that right, Connie said to himself.

He then started leaning down again, grinning, dimple peeking through and everything.

hands grabbing my waist… not letting go anytime soon.

Our lips connected.

Our little make-out session was cut off short since my phone went off—again.

It was Saniyah this time telling me to bring my ass,

since we were all gonna ride together.

Connie looked down at my phone.

“You gone?”

“Yea, probably.”

I said back.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Soon we both made it back inside,

back to where Sasha and Saniyah were waiting outside, saying their goodbyes.

As we all walked to our cars—

we saw we were parked right next to each other—

Connie opened the passenger door for me and closed it gently.

“I’ll probably swing by tmmrw. So figure out where you wanna hit up and eat n’ shi. So we can also talk more…”

Connie said as he leaned into the car,

muttering that last part like we weren’t taking shit to the next level now.

Sasha and Saniyah acted like they didn’t hear shit,

or weren’t paying attention to what was going on.

“Okay.”

I say softly with a smile.

He smirked.

“Aii.”

He gave me a kiss on the cheek and turned to get in his car.

He rolled the window down.

“Let me know when you make it home.”

He said before turning his music up and driving off.

Sasha and Saniyah just looked at me… smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just let us know how the date go.”

Saniyah said.

“Huh—”

“Baby, he had your lip combo all over his lips.

Y’all both had that MAC Chestnut and Fenty gloss combo on.”

“SANIYAH—!”

“OKAY SHI, LET ME SHUT UP!”

Sasha laughed hard asf as she started pulling out, getting ready to drop each of us off.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

I was the first to go home.

“We’re definitely linking up again before the week over with soooo clear y’all schedule n’ shi,”

Sasha said as she parked in front of my house.

“YESSSSS, cause I missed our little trio badddd like,”

Saniyah added.

“DUHHH, and text me when y’all make it home. AS SOON AS Y’ALL BOTH GET THERE TOO.”

I said as I gave both of them a hug.

“Yes ma’am,” they said at the same time,

watching me get out and head toward the door of my house.

Once I made it inside,

I texted Connie to let him know I made it and got ready for bed.

❀࿐ ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Later that night,

I was chilling on my bed — skincare done, bare-faced, bonnet on,

half scrolling through Insta stories before bed.

The posts were normal:

drinks clinking, girls dancing, Ony popping bottles,

Jean doing the most with his camera,

Connie looking fine asl like usual.

One of the pictures was just me and Connie.

I never realized how exclusive we looked to other people till now.

His hand on my waist.

Him leaning his head down on my shoulder.

Us smiling at each other like we’ve been married for five years already.

It looked normal.

It looked right.

And it felt like home.

Nothing forced and awkward.

Just us being us with each other.

Not to be bias, but we did look good asf together.

And tonight we finally were honest with each other and ourselves about our feelings.

He said he loved me.

And I said it back.

No games. No BS.

He meant this shit for real.

But then my phone buzzed.

And it wasn’t Connie.

And when I looked down, I would’ve never expected this shit.

At least not tonight.

Not from him.

[eren] “so y’all just gonna tongue wrestle n shi like i’m not breathing the same air😐”

You blinked.

WHAT??

Before you could even type anything, he sent another:

[eren]:

“he be tryna act all laid back when it come to you like he ain’t damn near SKIP across the party to get you.”

Skipping is crazy LMFAOOOO.

[eren]:

“idk if i’m being observant or just hating. either way y’all was pissing me off lowkey.”

You sit up some more,

cause damn, why he on 100 and it’s just 11???

[eren]:

“it’s just funny cause i had plans to do it you first. but it’s cool. i’ll let lil mouth wrestler have his moment.”

OOOO-KAYY.

Eren had to be drunk cause wtf.

You don’t even see him acting this weird out the blue for nothing…

WTF is going on fr?

And how did he even find that part out??

Me and Connie walked out together and we didn’t see none of the main rotation of our friend group since we went straight outside to our cars…

You blink again as you quickly type:

[you] “EREN??? how tf you even know about allat—”

And just as you typing,

your phone buzzes again—

this time from Sasha,

sending you somebody’s insta story?

[sashbae💕]

“bitch. check Ony story. right now. ts traveling like crazy.”

You switched to Insta so fast.

Cause why she being so urgent about this??

You tap on Ony’s story,

and it’s just the usual:

him taking flicks with folks,

recording shots,

them lighting the sparklers on the cake…

Then BOOM — the last slide.

It’s a grainy mirror video Ony reposted,

filmed by some random dude in the back hallway near the exit.

He’s talking to the camera about the party for content sake,

and for a second it’s just him and the crowd behind him…

Until he moves the camera juuust slightly.

And there you and Connie are.

Clear as mf day.

Pressed up on each other against the balcony door.

Kissing.

His hand gripping your waist like it belonged there.

The whole thing caught in the reflection

just enough to be seen

if you were paying attention.

And clearly…

people were.

Because you swipe up and see the viewer list on the post:

@𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙮𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙖𝙡

@𝙢𝙞𝙠𝙖𝙨𝙖𝙖𝙠

@𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙩

@𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣.𝙙𝙩𝙭

@𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙮𝙖𝙝𝙝𝙝𝙝

…𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 247 𝙤𝙩𝙝-

OKAY damn. basically everybody saw it

fuck.

And then—

your phone buzzes.

[eren]

“y’all cute or whateva😒.”

You stared at the message like… what???

He couldn’t be serious right now.

[eren]:

“nah i’m hating a little.”

“i was tryna play it cool but ion even think he wanted you fr before tonight.”

“he just lucky i ain’t press harder when i had the chance.”

You sit up in bed, frowning.

What was he talking about?

He never said shit like this out loud before—at least not like this.

[you]:

“Eren… where tf is this coming from?”

He’s typing for a second before the bubble disappears.

Then:

[eren]:

“you knew i was feeling you.”

“you just ain’t wanna believe it cause i ain’t move like him.”

“but let’s be real, i BEEN on your ass.”

You blink. Because… he’s not wrong.

From all the teasing, back-to-back flirting, him occasionally saying how he felt about Connie taking too damn long to make a move on me—

He was always reminding me to protect my heart and not wait up.

And maybe that’s why this stung a little.

Because he was.

For a so-called player… he had a heart.

I guess? I’m still confused

But how did i know he wasn’t playing me just like they say he do the rest of them?

Then the final message hits:

[eren]:

“but i get it. y’all got history n shi.”

“And i’m good if you’re good…

just wish shit turned out different

for me and you.”

Now i’m really just sitting here… staring at the screen.

what the fuck is really going on.

How the fuck did a party for a single turn into all this??

TO BE CONTINUED

idk where i’m taking this but i hope y’all like this one and yea. i tried to speed edit it so i’ll probably go back over it. lmk what should happen next before i just come up with some. do this even need a part two 😭? i’ll probably maybe a whole new story or some. alr byeezzzz

[midnightquips]

Warmth

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake was gone the moment he saw you smile. You had a warmth that drew him in. Like moth to a flame. You, on the other hand? You could probably think clearer if he wasn't on you all the time or your traitorous dog didn't fall in love with him. And maybe it didn't really matter because you see, what Jake wants, he gets. And he wants you, even if it burns him to touch you every time.

Themes: slow burn, sexual tension, mutual attraction, cute flirting, JAKE WITH A DOG (yes, that's a theme within itself)

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: I'm back with another Jake fic!!! I'm so unhappy with the summary and I might change it later. TBH I didn't even notice I named my two fics starting with a W & that they have the same number of chapters. I'm also thinking I have a obsession with starting Top Gun fics in the Hard Deck.

💫 Warmth Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 1

Part I – The Setup

The Hard Deck is one of those places you always see but never really bother to check out. It’s usually buzzing especially on weekend nights, when you pass by on your occasional evening walks along the beach. Did it ever make you curious? Sure. But remembering how crowded bars had once been your scene in another life, that fleeting interest always faded fast. Now, the thought of being packed shoulder-to-shoulder in a humid shack with sweat-slicked strangers brings out the low-key claustrophobe in you. It makes you a little nervous, if you're being honest.

So why are you here again?

Oh yeah. Tin’s new beau—Natasha.

They’d been seeing each other for a few weeks now. And to say Tin was happy would be an understatement. She practically glowed. After the soul-sucking mess of her last relationship, seeing her smile like that again made it impossible to say no when she asked you and Chesca to come out tonight. Especially Ches, who was freshly single and ready to unleash that chaotic flirty energy onto the world again.

You arrive early enough to avoid the full-blown crush of bodies, but the night is young and people are already pouring in. Scanning the place, you spot your two friends through the sea of khaki and navy uniforms. Their table—surprise, surprise—is positioned near the billiards table where a game is already underway, aviators laughing and shouting over the click of balls.

You navigate your way through the crowd, trying not to visibly grimace when you catch sight of a woman in uniform whispering something low into Tin’s ear. That’s when you remember—Natasha is military. Right. You don’t mean to judge, but you’ve been around this kind of crowd before. Loud, cocky, always a little too comfortable in their own skin. The kind of energy that doesn’t mix well with yours.

Gonna need that drink, you think, already feeling the humidity cling to your skin, nerves buzzing just beneath the surface.

“Oh my god, how have we never been here before? Look at all these hot people,” Chesca giggles excitedly the moment you slide into the seat beside her.

You can’t help but laugh at her giddiness, giving her a wink. “Hello to you too. Looks like tonight’s gonna suit your agenda just fine.”

Before she can answer, Tin wraps her arms around you from the other side, nearly vibrating with excitement. “ANGEL FACE! Nat’s just taking a shot. I’ll introduce you in a sec.”

She gestures toward the table. The same woman, Natasha, is now chalking her cue with practiced ease, a smirk playing at her lips as she exchanges looks with a mustached guy across from her.

You wave off Tin’s enthusiasm with a small nod, slipping more comfortably into your seat beside Ches.

Your eyes drift to the game. Natasha sinks the next two balls with laser precision. You have to give it to her—she’s good. Controlled, confident. The kind of woman who walks into a room and owns it.

As she lines up her fourth shot, your attention is pulled elsewhere. To the man at the far end of the table.

Blonde hair. Chiseled jaw. Uniform clinging just right. The kind of guy who’d be front and center in a Navy recruitment ad. He’s not your type. You know that instantly. There’s a smugness that clings to him like cologne, that I-can-have-whoever-I-want air you’ve never found attractive.

Still, he’s staring. At you.

Toothpick between his lips, he grins slowly, confident, then tips his chin in your direction.

You blink. Look away. Barely react. 

Probably eyeing Ches. You brush it off as nothing, and turn your attention back to Nat.

A moment later, Natasha heads over to the table, dropping a quick kiss on Tin’s cheek. Tin lights up like a sunbeam.

“Babe, these are my best friends—Ann and Chesca,” she says with a proud grin. “Girls, this is Natasha.”

Natasha flashes a smile. “Babe, it’s cute how you still use my name. I got a rep to maintain.”

Then, turning to you and Chesca, she adds, “Call me Phoenix.”

Your brows knit together. “Phoenix?”

“Is that like… your middle name?” Chesca asks, tilting her head.

To be fair, Tin once dated a girl named Tiger, so it wasn’t a ridiculous question.

Natasha laughs. “Your friends are as cute as you, babe.”

Tin just smirks, clearly pleased. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“It’s my call sign,” Natasha explains casually.

Two very civilian pairs of eyes continue to stare at her blankly.

She exhales with a smile. “It’s a name you get when you become a pilot. Usually something that suits your... essence.”

As if summoned, the mustached guy from earlier wanders over with another man wearing glasses.

“This here is Rooster,” Natasha says, gesturing to him.

“Why Rooster?” Chesca immediately asks.

Bradley pops a peanut into his mouth with a wink. “Can’t just give that away. Gotta stick around and earn it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “He’s been milking that line for five years.”

She turns to the man beside him. “And this is Bob.”

You blink. “Just Bob?”

“Just Bob,” he replies with a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

Adorable. Not in a jump-his-bones way. More like a golden retriever you want to wrap in bubble wrap.

You pat the seat beside you and grin. “Alright then, Bob.”

Taglist: @Lynnevanss @khouse712

[lotus-holloway]

Lotus had stood beside Juno like the pillar of strength she’d always been for the people she loved. That was her place—shoulders squared, jaw set, spine straight—anchoring Juno as she cracked open her most private trauma for the world to dissect. It was bravery most people would never understand. And Lotus was there, exactly where she was needed.

But her mind… her mind was elsewhere.

She’d never admit it—not to Juno, not to Claire, not even to herself out loud. Not when they needed her present, steady, unshakable. But beneath the surface, she was drifting. Drowning in thoughts of Ryan. No matter how she tried to claw her way out, his name stayed lodged in her chest like a shard of glass.

She wanted to hate him. God, she tried. She reminded herself of how he walked away. How he said he loved her one night and started seeing someone else the next. How he said he’d protect her—always—and then left because her father's sins were too big for him to stand beside.

And yet, it wasn’t just him. It was Sam, too. That little girl had stolen a piece of her heart the first time she’d wrapped her arms around her neck and whispered, “I missed you.” Letting go of Ryan meant letting go of both of them. And Lotus didn’t know how to do that.

Realizing her thoughts had wandered again, she barely registered that they’d pulled into the long, winding drive that led up to the house. The silence in the car had stretched the entire ride, punctuated only by the occasional chime of Juno’s phone blowing up after her public declaration. People were calling her a hero. She was one. And Lotus had told her that—again and again. She just wondered if Juno knew that the woman beside her, the one who seemed so composed, was fraying at every seam.

Lotus was the strong one. The unshakable one. But what did it mean if that strength was an act? A mask she wore so no one would see how broken she really was?

They were just getting out of the car when she felt it: the familiar buzz of her own phone. She didn’t check it immediately. Part of her hoped it was Ryan. Maybe—finally—he’d ask to see her. To talk. To say he was wrong. She told herself it was just for closure. Just to finish things properly.

But deep down, she knew better. She didn’t want closure. She wanted him.

Except it wasn’t him.

It was the one person she never wanted to hear from.

Dax.

Her stomach turned as she played the voicemail, already expecting some new manipulation, some thinly veiled threat she could hand over to the police. But this message… this was something else.

“Hey little flower, I know you're still mad at me, but I heard what your friend had to say and quite honestly, I'm hurt that you would believe those lies. Is that why you stopped talking to me? That's why you decided daddy wasn't a good man anymore? Because of some lies out of a whore’s mouth?”

Her blood went cold.

“You know what she said was all bullshit. She got drunk, fucked some guy, and forgot about it, and now she's trying to get attention by saying it was worse than it was and throwing me into this mess. See, my temper’s getting the best of me again. I just wanted to tell you that I miss you, baby girl. Call me so I can explain, please.”

She stared at the screen, the recording finished, her thumb hovering over the delete button but not pressing it.

It was pathetic. The message. The manipulation. The denial. The rage barely masked as remorse.

And yet… it wasn’t just his voice that made her feel sick. It was hers, too—the one in her head that still longed for Ryan. The one that missed him even as her father’s evil clung to her name like tar. The one that kept wondering what she had done wrong, why she was always the one people decided was too much, too complicated, too broken to stand beside.

She let out a hollow breath. The kind that rattled in her ribs.

The truth slammed into her all at once, cold and sharp:

Ryan didn’t leave because he stopped loving her. He left because she reminded him of everything he was afraid of—violence, mess, trauma. And Dax? Dax was the reason any of that fear existed in the first place.

Maybe it wasn’t Ryan who ruined her.

Maybe it was always her father. The man who broke her world so completely that even the people who claimed to love her ran when the dust settled.

And as much as she wanted to scream, cry, break every mirror in the house, she didn’t.

She just stood there—still, silent—and hit delete.

Because if the world was going to keep treating her like she was built from glass, they were about to learn just how sharp she could be.

[nsuyeula]

Need the world to understand how much I love this girl. She is my blorbo, deserves so much better, and also deserves the most deranged lovers to enemies to lovers again plot line known to mankind. Seriously, she has given me so much joy in the few weeks I have had her. Regardless of the mess the show is / becomes, they can never take her away from me. I've adopted her, she's mine now.

[averlym]

wow wow wow wow i came here to say it’s jane seymour’s deathday and saw that you have done so much improvement it’s crazy everything looks so lovely and amazing you’re doing great

~ holiday anon

quick portrait i did a while back. lovely reminder to see you again ily holiday anon

[cloudbattrolls]

the thing about me is I will just share trading cards with people

[driftingballoons]

remembering one time in high school where this girl was telling everyone what they “looked” like. One girl got dubbed a plum, another christened as a coconut, and I?

this abomination