#simple-slideshow

[jestersroute66]

dt @midtown-cowboys

[divinector]

Automatic Image Slideshow

[4linos]

when the past knocks.

seo changbin x f!reader, kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: you left to protect your son and yourself. but healing gets complicated when old ghosts return… and one of them still makes you laugh.

warnings: angst, infidelity, emotional distress, mild swearing, jealousy, unresolved feelings, hurt/comfort.

wc: 12,629

The air in your childhood bedroom never really changed. It still smelled faintly like old wood, laundry detergent, and whatever fabric softener your mom used, floral, a little powdery, like a scent from another decade. You’d hoped it might feel comforting after everything, but all it did was remind you that you didn’t belong here anymore. Not really. You weren’t a child anymore. You weren’t a daughter. Not just that. You were a mother. A wife, sort of. Or maybe just someone who used to be married. The line was blurry. The divorce papers were still unsigned. You hadn’t touched them since the day you left Seungmin.

Roan had adjusted better than you thought he would, not that that said much. He didn’t throw tantrums, didn’t cry at night or beg to go back. But you saw the way he lingered by the front window, how he never said Seungmin’s name anymore but would still quietly tuck the stuffed lion his dad gave him beside his pillow every night. He didn’t talk about his old friends, or his old school, or the home you left behind. He just colored a lot. Long, quiet afternoons bent over crayons and sketchpads, like he was trying to give shape to things he didn’t have the words for yet.

Your parents didn’t ask too many questions. They welcomed you back like it was just temporary. Like it was a little break while you and Seungmin sorted things out. Like it wasn’t the wreckage of everything you’d been holding together for too long. You let them believe it. Because explaining would mean exposing yourself, and you didn’t have the strength for that yet.

“Just a trial separation,” your mom had said that first night. “Sometimes space is good. Men panic when things get hard. But if he really loves you—”

“He cheated,” you’d wanted to scream. “He cheated and then told me he still loved me. Like that meant anything. Like love excuses betrayal.”

But you’d just nodded. Quiet. Hollowed out. You let her hug you and serve you leftover bulgogi and rice like nothing was broken.

It was three days later that the note came home in Roan’s backpack. Written in soft cursive with a smiley face beside your name. “Looking forward to meeting you at Parent-Teacher Night!” It made your stomach sink. You didn’t want to go. You weren’t ready to face small talk with strangers, other parents with their lives in order, smiling faces and matching wedding rings. You didn’t want to sit through a slideshow about math curriculum while pretending your life hadn’t just imploded.

But Roan was excited. He showed you which table he sat at. He told you that his teacher, Ms. Lee, was “super nice” and let them choose from the “big crayon bucket” on Fridays if they finished their reading.

So you went.

Your mom helped you pick an outfit. Something presentable. Not too formal, not too casual. You ended up in dark jeans and a beige cardigan over a clean white tee. Simple. Safe. The kind of outfit that said, “I’m doing fine.” Even though you weren’t.

The classroom smelled like floor polish and old books. The kind of smell that never really left these places. Parents were already filing in, chatting in little groups. Some you vaguely recognized from your own time here. Faces that looked older now, slightly more worn.

Roan was already tugging at your hand, dragging you to the back of the room where the kids were gathered, coloring and playing with puzzles. You ruffled his hair, kissed his forehead, told him you’d be right over there if he needed you. He nodded, too busy choosing crayons to really listen.

You sat down. Alone. The rows of chairs were filled with clusters of couples, some laughing together, others nudging each other as the principal began to talk. You were trying to pay attention. Something about volunteers. Fundraisers. A school play. You couldn’t focus. Your hand moved unconsciously, rubbing the skin between your thumb and forefinger. A nervous tick you hadn’t realized had come back.

“You still do that thing with your hand when you’re not listening.”

The voice beside you was soft. Familiar.

You froze. Your fingers stopped moving.

Slowly, you turned.

He looked different. Older, definitely. His hair was shorter, the lines around his eyes deeper. He looked tired, but in that way people who carry grief tend to look. Like something had settled into his bones and refused to leave. But he was still unmistakably him.

“Changbin?”

He smiled, lopsided. “Hey.”

Your heart did something strange. Twisted, maybe. Or maybe it just broke a little more.

He looked at you for a second longer than polite. His eyes dropped to your hands, still frozen in your lap. Then up to your face again.

“I thought that was you earlier,” he said. “Wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”

You swallowed, found your voice. “What… what are you doing here?”

He jerked his thumb toward the group of kids in the back. “Yuna. My daughter. Seven. Same class as your son, Roan, Right?”

You blinked and nodded. “Your daughter?”

“Yeah.”

You processed that slowly. Looked toward the coloring table. You hadn’t noticed her before, but now that you knew, her dark eyes, the way her nose scrunched up when she concentrated, it made sense. She was beautiful. She looked like him.

“She’s adorable,” you murmured.

“Thanks.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Her mom picked the name.”

You looked at him again. Hesitated. Asked before you could stop yourself: “Your partner…?”

His expression didn’t falter. Just grew heavier.

“She passed away. Last year.”

The words hit like a quiet blow. Not sharp. Just… devastating in a way that took the air out of your lungs.

“I’m so sorry,” you said quietly.

He nodded once, like he’d heard it too many times to react anymore.

There was silence. Not awkward, but full. Heavy. Weighted by history you both hadn’t touched in over a decade.

He looked over at you. “What about you? Are you married…?”

But before he could finish, the teacher called your name. “Mrs. Kim? Roan’s mom?”

You stood too quickly. “I—yeah. That’s me.”

Changbin looked like he wanted to say more. You didn’t give him the chance. You stepped away, fast, and walked toward the front of the room where the teacher was smiling too brightly, talking about reading levels and handwriting improvement, and all you could think about was the fact that Changbin had been sitting beside you. That his wife passed away. That he had a daughter. That your son and his went to school together. That the past had just reinserted itself into your present like it had never left.

You answered the teacher’s questions. Nodded at the right times. Smiled when prompted. But it wasn’t real. None of it felt real.

When the meeting ended, the parents filtered out. Some lingered, chatting. You tried to leave quietly, but Changbin caught you by the exit.

“Hey,” he said, stepping in front of you. “Sorry if that was weird.”

You shook your head. “No. It’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting—”

“Me?”

You hesitated. “Any of this.”

He nodded. Looked down at his shoes for a second, then back up. “It’s weird being back here.”

“You moved back?”

“Few months ago. My parents are helping out with Yuna. I couldn’t do it alone anymore.”

You nodded. You understood that. In your own way, you were doing the same.

He hesitated. “So… are you okay?”

You wanted to lie. To say yes. But your voice cracked. Just barely.

“No,” you said, and that one word felt like a floodgate breaking.

He didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t push. Just looked at you like he saw right through all the walls you were barely holding up.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said softly. “But if you ever want to… I’m around.”

You nodded. Bit your lip. Blinked fast.

Roan came up then, holding your hand. “Can we go home now?”

You ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, baby. Let’s go.”

Changbin smiled at Roan. “See you at school, buddy.”

Roan tilted his head. “Who’s that?”

You paused. “Just… an old friend.”

Roan nodded, accepting that. You started walking away. Changbin didn’t follow. But you could feel his gaze on your back all the way to the parking lot.

When you got home, your mom was waiting up.

“How’d it go?” she asked.

You shrugged. “Fine.”

She gave you a long look. “You sure?”

You nodded. Roan ran past you toward his makeshift bedroom that was once the guest room. Your mom smiled after him.

“Seungmin called earlier,” she said casually. “Said he was thinking of coming by this weekend.”

You froze. “Did he say why?”

She shrugged. “Said he misses you both. Wants to talk.”

You didn’t answer. You just went upstairs. You didn’t have the energy to tell her not to get her hopes up.

Later that night, when the house was quiet, you sat on your old bed, the divorce papers in your lap. Blank. Still unsigned.

You didn’t cry.

You just sat there, staring at them, while outside, the town you once left behind breathed quietly in the dark. Somewhere across it, Changbin was probably doing the same thing, navigating the ruins of what used to be, trying to find some kind of shape to rebuild from.

But you weren’t rebuilding. Not yet. You were just surviving.

And that had to be enough for now.

-

It had been a rough morning.

You barely slept the night before. Tossed and turned in the narrow bed, the blankets tangled around your legs, heart heavy in your chest like a rock that refused to dissolve. The silence of your parents’ house wasn’t comforting, it was deafening. And knowing that Seungmin might come by, might try to see you, that turned every breath into a burden. You didn’t want to see him. Not in this house, not in your childhood bedroom, not where everything already felt too small, too loud, too exposed.

You didn’t want to see him because you couldn’t trust yourself not to crack. Not in front of Roan. Not in front of your parents. Not when every part of you was still raw and bleeding.

And when you finally did fall asleep, maybe an hour or two at most, it was like sinking into darkness with your fists clenched.

You were pulled out of it by a light nudge at your arm. You stirred slowly, bleary-eyed, your first instinct assuming it was Roan, coming in to tell you he was ready for school.

But then you heard it, that voice.

Soft. Familiar. Too gentle.

“Hey,” he whispered, almost lovingly. “Baby, wake up.”

Your eyes snapped open like something inside you had been shocked awake. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t your imagination.

It was Seungmin.

You jerked upright, heart hammering as you blinked the sleep from your eyes and looked at him, standing there in the pale morning light, like he had every right to be in this room, like the last few weeks hadn’t happened. His voice, the way he said your name, the way his fingers had brushed your arm, had sounded too much like before. Before everything.

Before he’d shattered you.

You opened your mouth to curse him, maybe. To scream, to demand why the hell he thought it was okay to come into this room, to look at you like nothing had changed.

But your mother’s voice came from the doorway before you could say a word.

“Oh good, you’re up!” she said, chipper, unbothered. “Look who’s here!”

Like it was a surprise. Like it was a gift.

You could’ve told her to leave. You could’ve asked for privacy.

But then you heard it. Roan’s voice. A sudden, thrilled cry from down the hallway.

“Dad?!”

You heard the thump of feet running on hardwood before Roan threw himself into Seungmin’s arms.

You watched it happen. You watched your son’s arms wrap tightly around his father’s neck, his face buried into his shoulder like he hadn’t slept in weeks without that exact kind of comfort.

“I missed you!” Roan mumbled against his chest, holding on like he never wanted to let go.

Seungmin was grinning, holding him close, swaying just a little, as if everything was fine.

“I missed you too, buddy,” he murmured, voice soft.

You felt your throat tighten. This was why it was so hard. This, the joy in your son’s voice, the love in his eyes, the complete adoration for a man who didn’t deserve either of you anymore. You couldn’t take that away from Roan. You wouldn’t. But it made your chest ache in that sick, hollow way, the ache of watching your own pain become invisible to the people you loved the most.

“Why don’t you go get ready for school?” you managed to say to Roan, gently. Carefully. “We’re leaving soon.”

Roan pulled back, nodded, and turned but not before Seungmin crouched down and said, “I’ll take you with Mom, okay? I’ll drive.”

Your heart skipped, something twisting deep in your stomach.

And of course, your mother jumped in again from the hallway. “That’s a great idea! The three of you. Just like before. You need this time. I’ll go finish breakfast. You two talk.”

Then she was gone.

You stood there in silence as Roan padded off, humming to himself, oblivious to the storm behind him.

Then it was just you and Seungmin.

You stood up slowly to close the door, your movements stiff, every muscle tense. He took a step forward, arms already open like he could hold you and fix everything with the same touch he once used to make you laugh, to calm you down, to convince you you were safe.

You stepped back. Immediately. Sharply.

His arms dropped.

“Are you serious right now?” you asked, your voice flat, brittle.

He sighed, like you were being difficult. “What, are you still on this?”

You blinked. Your mouth dropped open just slightly.

“Still on this,” you echoed, voice low. “You cheated on me.”

“It was a mistake,” he said quickly, as if that word made it smaller. “You left. You packed up and left, you took Roan—”

“I took him away from you?” you snapped. “You’re the one who ruined everything!”

His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You’re being dramatic. You didn’t even let us work through it.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Work through what? You slept with someone else. You lied to me. Repeatedly. And now you’re standing here, in my parents’ house, acting like I’m the problem because I won’t let you hug me?”

His voice lowered, sharper now. “You ripped our son away from his home. His school. His routine. You think that didn’t hurt him?”

You faltered because he was right, in some twisted way. Roan was hurting. You saw it in the quiet moments. In the way he didn’t ask about friends. In how he always looked to you first, like he was afraid something might shift again.

But you didn’t do that. Seungmin did. You left because you had to. Because staying meant breaking completely.

He reached for your hand. Gently. Like he always used to. Like those early years, before everything got heavy.

But you didn’t realize what he was doing until he stopped, eyes flicking down.

“You’re not wearing your ring.”

You pulled your hand back, slowly. “Of course I’m not.”

The silence between you was cold now. Thicker.

He didn’t let go of it, though, the guilt, the insinuation. “You think you’re the only one in pain?” he said softly. “You think I didn’t stay up every night after you left, thinking about Roan, about you, about what I—what we—could’ve fixed?”

“You should’ve thought about that before you started sleeping with your coworker,” you snapped. “Before you made me think I was going crazy. Before you stood in our kitchen and told me you still loved me after everything.”

He stepped back, but only slightly. “Because I do. I always have.”

The door knocked lightly. Your mother’s voice followed: “Breakfast’s ready! Seungmin, you’re welcome to stay, of course. Even a few days, if you want!”

Your heart seized.

You turned toward the door, ready to open it, to tell her no. That it was a terrible idea. That she didn’t know the truth, any of it.

But before you could say anything, Seungmin looked at you with that familiar, quiet smile. The one that used to charm your parents, used to make you feel like the most cherished person in the room.

“I’d love to,” he said loud enough for her to hear. “Let me just talk to my office. I can work remote for a bit.”

You could see it already, your mom beaming. Roan cheering. The quiet assumption that this was the beginning of a fix, not the deepening of the fracture.

Your fists clenched at your sides.

He was doing it again, weaving his way back in, without apology. Without accountability.

You stared at him, your voice caught somewhere between rage and heartbreak.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you said, your voice shaking. “You don’t get to just… move in and pretend we’re fine.”

He tilted his head. “But we could be. Eventually.”

And just like that, the cracks inside you deepened.

Because part of you wanted to believe it. Wanted to reach out and rewind time.

But another part, the part that remembered the nights you cried in silence, the lies, the hollow apologies, knew better.

The door creaked slightly, your mom’s voice warm and hopeful again: “Come eat before it gets cold!”

Seungmin brushed past you, opened the door, like he belonged there.

And you stood alone in your childhood bedroom, heart in pieces, knowing that the worst kind of betrayal wasn’t the one that came from an enemy.

It was the one that came wearing your husband’s smile.

Breakfast was unbearable.

Not because of the food, your mom, as always, had made more than enough: golden pancakes with just the right crisp on the edges, scrambled eggs, a fresh fruit bowl, and toast she always left slightly burnt because she knew your dad liked it that way. Everything smelled like comfort. Like childhood. Like home.

But the weight in the room made it all feel distant. Like you were watching a scene you didn’t belong in anymore.

Roan, on the other hand, was glowing.

He talked nonstop, bouncing in his seat as he told Seungmin every little detail about his new school from how his new teacher smiled a lot and had a frog-shaped pencil case, to how another kid in class had Pokémon stickers, to how he was trying to memorize the name of every student even if he couldn’t remember which of the twins was Ava and which was Emma.

“Ms. Lee said we might get to do a science experiment next week,” Roan grinned, syrup on the corner of his mouth. “And she said I’m a really good reader!”

Seungmin was nodding along, eyes bright with pride, one hand gently ruffling Roan’s hair.

“That’s my smart boy,” he said, voice warm. “You’re amazing.”

Your heart tightened. Not at the compliment, but at how seamless it was for him to just be here. At your kitchen table, in this house, pretending like he belonged again. Like he hadn’t destroyed something precious and just decided he could waltz back in and act like the glue was already drying.

Your parents were eating it up.

“I thought you were going to visit this weekend,” your mom said suddenly, taking a sip of coffee and glancing at Seungmin with a smile that felt far too affectionate. “What brought you down early?”

You didn’t even try to hide the way you rolled your eyes just a small, weary gesture, hoping no one would notice. But of course, Seungmin did.

He set his fork down gently and leaned back, giving the most concerned sigh he could muster. It was so calculated it made your skin crawl.

“She hasn’t been answering my texts,” he said, voice low. “Not about Roan. Not about… anything, really. I couldn’t sleep. I was worried something had happened. So I just got in the car and drove.”

You scoffed softly into your mug, shaking your head. Worried.

Your mother gasped like it was a scene out of a drama.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. “That’s so romantic.”

You looked at her, stunned. But she was already turning to your father, eyes sparkling.

“Isn’t that romantic? Driving all this way, just to check on her? That’s love, right there.”

You felt your stomach twist.

“It’s like I always say,” she continued, voice rising with that hopeful little lilt she used when she was narrating the story she wanted to believe. “Every couple goes through hard moments. That’s what makes a marriage strong, weathering the storms together. Don’t you think, honey?”

Your father nodded solemnly, like he was offering some sage wisdom. “I’m just glad you’re here, Seungmin.”

“Thank you,” Seungmin said quietly, giving your dad a respectful smile. “And thank you, really, for breakfast. It’s… it’s good to be here.”

You didn’t miss the glance he threw your way as he said it.

Like he was laying it on, just enough to keep the illusion going.

You clenched your jaw, pushing your barely touched plate a little to the side.

You’d had enough.

Roan was still mid-sentence, telling Seungmin about how there was a garden outside his classroom and the teacher let them pick mint leaves to smell, when you stood abruptly, your chair scraping back against the floor.

“You’re going to be late, Ro,” you said, already walking around the table. “Get your stuff. Shoes, backpack. Let’s go.”

Your voice was firm. Not sharp, but final. The kind of tone Roan knew meant not to argue.

“Okay!” he said, popping the last strawberry into his mouth before hopping off the chair.

Seungmin stood as well, grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, still holding that calm, casual air like he wasn’t carefully engineering a performance.

“I’ll be in the car,” he said, smiling at your parents. “Thanks again for everything. I’ll be back after drop-off,”

You froze.

You wanted to say no. To say he wouldn’t be. To explain that your mother’s hospitality wasn’t a free pass for him to pretend the last weeks of your life hadn’t just collapsed in on themselves.

But you felt your mom’s hand on your shoulder as she passed you to start clearing plates, and you couldn’t.

You didn’t have the energy.

So instead, you just walked. Quietly. Past your father still sipping coffee. Past Seungmin, who followed behind you like nothing was wrong.

Out of the room. Out of the comfort. Into the chill of a mid-morning that felt far too bright for how heavy you were inside.

-

By the time Roan had his shoes on and his little arms were shrugging into his backpack, Seungmin was already in the driver’s seat of the car, fiddling with the mirror like this was his routine. Like you were just an accessory to it all.

You opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, not looking at him.

Roan climbed into the back and buckled himself in, already humming some melody he’d picked up from a show. Oblivious. Happy.

You hated how hard that made everything.

Seungmin started the car. Silence sat between you like an unwanted guest.

You stared out the window, jaw tight, hand fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve the way you always did when you were overwhelmed.

“You still do that,” Seungmin said softly, glancing at you. “That little fidget thing with your sleeve.”

You didn’t respond.

He let out a soft breath and turned his eyes back to the road.

“I just want to talk,” he said, voice lower now, just for you. “After we drop him off. Just… please.”

You still didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, you weren’t sure you had anything left to say.

And yet, you knew as the school building came into view, as Roan waved goodbye and ran up the steps that you'd be forced to speak to him.

And you'd have to face the wreckage of everything he'd broken… with no one left to protect you from it.

-

The ride back from Roan’s school was quieter than the one there.

Not in the peaceful, comfortable way quiet sometimes is but heavy, thick, like the air had turned to smoke. You kept your eyes on the road ahead, even though Seungmin was the one driving. You didn’t speak. You didn’t look at him.

And he didn’t say anything at first either. Like he was waiting, testing how long he could sit in your silence before cracking it open.

The school faded behind you. The morning light had warmed into late morning, hazy and humid, the trees lining the side streets full of buzzing cicadas. You wanted to disappear into the sound. Dissolve.

When he finally spoke, his voice was too soft. Too rehearsed.

“You’re really going to let everything go, just like that?”

You didn’t respond. Your gaze stayed fixed out the window, watching a woman walk her dog past a florist you used to visit with your mom. Everything about this place was stitched into your childhood, and now it felt like a cage.

“You’re not even going to try?” Seungmin said again, more firmly this time. “After everything we’ve built together?”

That made you laugh dry and bitter.

“Built?” you muttered. “We didn’t build anything. You bulldozed it.”

He gripped the wheel tighter. You could see the white of his knuckles.

“Come on,” he said, glancing at you. “Don’t let all these years just go to waste because of this—this thing.”

You turned slowly. Looked at him. Really looked at him.

“This thing?” you repeated, voice dangerously low. “You mean you sleeping with someone else?”

His jaw clenched. “You always twist things—”

“I always—?”

“Roan’s hurting,” he cut in. “And you don’t even see it. You moved him two hours away from home. From me. From everything he knows. And for what? A fight?”

Your eyes widened. Your mouth opened, then shut, then opened again because you were too stunned to even choose the right reaction.

“It wasn’t a fight, Seungmin. You cheated. You lied. You broke every ounce of trust I gave you, and now you’re sitting here calling it a fight?”

He turned into your parents’ driveway too fast, jerking the car slightly. His voice raised for the first time, sharp and impatient.

“Get over it already! You’re acting like I murdered someone!”

You stared at him, breathing hard, heart beating like a drum in your throat.

“You should’ve never come back.”

Your voice wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Dead cold.

You got out of the car before he could say anything else.

You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. You just walked back into the house like you’d walked into a burning building because at least then you could pretend the smoke choking you was from fire and not from everything else he’d left behind.

-

You didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day.

Not when you passed in the hallway. Not when Roan asked the three of you to play Uno together and you politely declined. Not when your mother insisted on putting Seungmin’s favorite tea in front of him at dinner and asked, with a too-bright smile, how he liked working at the firm now.

You didn’t speak when your father nodded along like a quiet referee, reading the air and choosing silence. You didn’t speak when Roan leaned on his father’s shoulder while watching cartoons, clearly desperate for things to feel normal again.

You only spoke to Roan. And even then, your voice was gentler than it usually was, like you were trying not to let any bitterness bleed through. You didn’t want him to absorb it. He was seven. He deserved peace. He didn’t ask for any of this.

The sun went down slow, casting a warm gold through your old bedroom window. You’d cleaned the space up a little, stacked a few of your old books on the nightstand, put a photo of Roan in a small frame. You were brushing your hair in front of the vanity, watching the soft reflection of yourself, looking more exhausted than you’d ever allowed yourself to admit.

You didn’t hear her at first.

Your mother’s knock was light, almost timid, as if sensing the tension even through the closed door. She was standing there in her robe, a small stack of folded blankets cradled against her chest, her eyes warm.

“Is Roan asleep?” she asked, already stepping halfway into the room.

Seungmin, who had been sitting silently on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone answered first.

“Just checked on him. Out like a light.”

Your mother beamed. “He looked so happy today. I think seeing you really lifted his mood,” she said, directing the comment at Seungmin.

You rolled your eyes and looked back at your reflection, brushing slowly, carefully, ignoring them.

“I brought a few extra blankets,” your mom said, walking over to the foot of the bed. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight.”

You didn’t answer. Just kept brushing.

But then she added, breezily, “Thought you two might want them, since you’ll be sharing the bed tonight.”

The brush stilled in your hand.

Your reflection didn’t blink.

You turned your head slightly, unsure if you heard her correctly. “What?”

“Just like old times,” she went on, either not noticing your reaction or choosing to ignore it. “The bed’s plenty big. I know it’s been a hard few weeks, but maybe some closeness would help.”

You opened your mouth to speak to correct her, to set the record straight, but Seungmin spoke first.

“Thank you,” he said smoothly, before you could even draw breath. “That’s really kind of you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly. You turned, eyes burning into him.

Your mother just smiled. “Of course, honey. Goodnight, both of you.”

She left. Just like that. Blankets at the foot of the bed, hopeful energy lingering in the air like cheap perfume.

The door clicked softly behind her.

You turned to him. “Why the hell would you say yes to that?”

Seungmin shrugged, like it was nothing. “I didn’t want to make it weird.”

You laughed once, sharp and humorless. “It’s already weird, Seungmin.”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled one of the blankets over his lap and leaned back against the headboard, like he hadn’t just signed himself into your space for the night.

You stared at him, heart pounding, fingers still tangled in your brush handle.

The air between you was thicker now, like every truth you couldn’t say had taken physical form and was slowly filling the room.

You turned away, back to the mirror, and continued brushing slowly, methodically because it was the only thing you could do that didn’t feel like drowning.

And behind you, in the reflection, Seungmin sat in silence.

Still acting like this wasn’t a nightmare of his own making.

You slept on the edge of the bed like you were afraid the mattress might betray you, lying stiff and still, your spine nearly aligned with the seam of the bed’s edge. The line between you and Seungmin was vast, even if physically it was only a few feet. You felt every inch of it.

The silence stretched.

There was no comfort in the dark, only the constant, low hum of your thoughts. You could hear the subtle sounds of the house, the creak of pipes, a faint breeze against the windowpane, the occasional scuff of a car passing by too late into the night. Roan’s soft breathing from the next room.

And then, from the other side of the bed, Seungmin’s voice.

“I’ll stay on my side,” he said softly, like it was some olive branch. “I’m not trying to make things worse.”

You didn’t answer. Your hand was curled near your chest, tangled in the fabric of the blanket.

So here you were.

Lying inches from a man you no longer recognized, in a room that used to belong to someone you no longer were.

He didn’t speak again.

Eventually, you turned your back to him. Not because it helped, but because it was the only direction you could face without breaking.

You woke before your alarm.

Roan was already moving in the next room, his usual morning rustling of trying to pick an outfit, deciding which Pokémon socks were lucky, which book he wanted to bring in his backpack. He called your name once and you responded quickly, happy for the excuse to leave the room.

You slipped out of bed carefully, barely glancing at the other side.

Seungmin was still asleep, or at least pretending to be.

You didn’t care.

Downstairs, the smell of toast and eggs filled the kitchen again, your mom moving around like she had a thousand good intentions tucked into her apron. She smiled at you like nothing was wrong.

You could feel your chest tighten.

“I was thinking,” she said, flipping something on the stove, “you two should take Roan to the park after school. You know, spend a little time as a family. He looked so happy yesterday.”

You shook your head almost immediately. “I can’t. I have an appointment.”

“An appointment?” she asked, turning her head. “For what?”

“Just… something I scheduled a while ago,” you lied. “It’s nothing big, just something I have to do.”

She nodded, still smiling. “Okay, well maybe tomorrow, then.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you poured Roan a cup of juice and distracted yourself with folding his lunch napkin.

“Also,” you added, casually, “I’ll take Roan to school today. Alone.”

She looked at you, blinking. “Oh?”

“Seungmin probably has work to catch up on,” you said, smoothly now. “Emails, meetings, all of it. He shouldn’t miss any more days than he already has.”

There was a pause. Barely half a beat, but it said everything. Your mother wanted to say something, something hopeful, something intrusive, but Seungmin had just walked into the room, ruffling Roan’s hair.

You kept your expression neutral.

“I told Mom I’d take Roan this morning,” you said to him directly, watching his reaction. “You probably have work.”

He opened his mouth, hesitating ready to argue. You could see it. But then he caught your look.

Tired. Unshakable. Empty.

He sighed and relented.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few emails to catch up on. Go ahead.”

Roan didn’t protest. He was too busy trying to zip his backpack and carry his lunchbox at the same time.

But on the drive to school, it surfaced.

“I like it when Dad drives me,” Roan said, swinging his legs in the seat. “He talks to me about music and lets me pick the songs.”

You gripped the steering wheel tighter but didn’t respond.

“I wish both of you took me to school,” he said after a moment. “Like yesterday.”

You reached for his hand at the red light. Squeezed it gently.

“I know, baby.”

It was all you could say.

At the school, you walked him up to the entrance, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder. You hugged him tighter than usual too tight, probably, but he didn’t complain. He just laughed and wrapped his arms around your neck.

“I’ll be good,” he said brightly.

“I know you will.”

He waved once, twice, and then he disappeared through the front doors.

You hadn’t even fully turned around when you walked straight into someone, solid and warm and familiar.

You let out a startled yelp, stumbling slightly.

A deep, amused laugh.

“Oh gosh,” you breathed, hand clutching your chest. “Are you serious?”

Changbin grinned down at you, eyes crinkling with laughter.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said, still chuckling. “I think I might’ve scared you half to death.”

You lightly smacked his chest. “You did! Are you stalking me?”

“Only mildly,” he teased. “Nah, I just drop off Yuna a little later on Wednesdays. Lucky me.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling despite yourself. The sharp edge in your chest softened for the first time that day.

He looked good. The same, and not the same. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the faint veins of his forearms, and he had that same relaxed, easygoing charm that used to be your undoing when you were seventeen.

He looked like a breath you’d forgotten how to take.

“I’ve been meaning to see you again,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t get your number at the school meeting. I wasn’t sure if you were avoiding me or just busy.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you said honestly, folding your arms but not stepping away.

He smiled again, this time softer.

“Look,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “I don’t want to make anything weird. I just thought it’d be nice to catch up. You know — talk. Laugh. Drink something stronger than school cafeteria coffee. My treat, obviously.”

You hesitated, lips parting, unsure what to say.

Because you hadn’t laughed genuinely laughed in weeks. Because you hadn’t had anyone look at you like you in even longer. Because part of you hated how much that brief moment the banter, the touch, the easiness made something flutter low in your stomach.

“Coffee?” he added, sensing your hesitation. “Or food. I know a great place just off Main. I’m flexible. Just say the word.”

You looked at him, still smiling at you like there wasn’t a single crack in your armor he couldn’t see and wouldn’t touch unless you let him.

Something in you shifted.

“I’ll think about it,” you said quietly.

He nodded, backing up slowly with both hands raised. “That’s all I’m asking.”

And then he winked.

“See you around, heartbreaker.”

You didn’t walk any farther.

You’d barely made it halfway across the school parking lot when the thought hit you like a brick to the chest, the image of your front door waiting to open to more of the same. Your mother’s voice sweet and persistent, urging you to see the good in your marriage, like the betrayal was just a lapse in Seungmin’s character, not a rupture in yours. Seungmin’s voice, too, soft and heavy and manipulative pulling on history and guilt and the shared weight of Roan’s little heart like it was enough to glue together something already cracked beyond recognition.

You couldn’t do it. Not this morning.

Your hands were trembling not from fear, but from the tiredness of having to hold everything together all the time. Of being careful. Measured. Quiet.

So you turned around. Fast.

You spotted him just in time Changbin was a few steps ahead, walking down the sidewalk toward what seemed to be his car, his stride relaxed. He hadn't noticed you yet.

“Changbin!” you called out, a little breathless, your voice slicing through the low hum of early morning traffic.

He turned.

His brows lifted at the sight of you jogging slightly toward him, something like concern flashing in his face for a moment, until you caught up, and he saw your expression: flushed from decision, not panic.

“Everything okay?” he asked gently, but not intrusively.

You took a breath. Then another.

“Do you have time now?” you asked, voice lower this time. “To… get that coffee. Or food. Or whatever you offered. I just—” you paused, looking away. “I don’t really want to go home yet.”

He didn’t ask any questions.

No why, no what's going on, no are you okay.

Instead, he just smiled. A little crooked, a little soft. Familiar.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’ve got time.”

He pointed at his car, a black, slightly beat-up sedan in the corner of the lot, the kind of vehicle that had seen long nights and longer road trips, mismatched air fresheners and glove compartments filled with half-written lyrics.

“I’ll drive?”

You felt something ease inside your chest as you smiled back. “Okay.”

You slipped into the passenger seat, tugging the seatbelt across your lap with a click. He tossed his backpack into the back seat before climbing in beside you, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the AC vent. He turned to you as he started the engine.

“So,” he asked, “want to try that new place I mentioned? Or…”

You hesitated.

There was something about this moment, something tender and loose and unfamiliar in its comfort. You stared out the window for a beat, then turned to him.

“Do you remember that diner we used to go to?” you asked. “The one near the overpass? We used to ditch class and get pancakes.”

His face lit up. “With the cracked jukebox and the chalkboard menus? That place?”

You nodded, the corner of your mouth twitching into the smallest smile. “Yeah. That one.”

His eyes softened. “I haven’t been there in forever. Still smells like syrup and fryer grease and bad decisions, probably.”

You laughed, and it surprised you how natural it sounded. How easy.

“That’s where I want to go,” you said.

“You got it,” he replied, throwing the car into drive. “Nostalgia breakfast. Coming right up.”

He winked at you, and this time, you let the flutter in your stomach stay.

-

The bell above the door chimed gently as you both stepped into the diner, the soft smell of syrup and coffee wrapping around you like an old blanket. It was still there, that same sticky warmth, the gentle hum of classic rock spilling faintly from the speakers, and the low murmur of early patrons with their morning mugs and newspapers.

You both slid into a booth near the back, the one that curved along the window, the same one you used to claim every time you skipped class and wanted to pretend you were older than sixteen. Changbin sat across from you, his hands still calloused but somehow gentle-looking as he grabbed a menu he probably didn’t need.

You didn’t need one either.

“It smells the same,” you muttered, eyes scanning the room. “Like grease and… rebellion.”

Changbin laughed. “And questionable hygiene.”

You laughed with him, the sound coming easily now. Lighter.

A waitress came by familiar face, maybe a little older than you both, her name tag crooked and took your orders without fuss. Two coffees, two plates of pancakes, a side of bacon for him, fruit for you, like muscle memory.

After she left, Changbin leaned back against the booth, stretching his arm across the back like he used to when you were younger though now, he wasn’t trying to flirt. Just relax. Be.

“I still can’t believe that was actually you,” he said, shaking his head. “Like, at the school. If it wasn’t you, and I said something stupid like ‘you still do that fidgety hand thing,’ I would’ve had to change my name and leave town.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Would’ve been hilarious though.”

“I don’t think my ego could’ve taken it,” he teased, grinning.

You took a sip of coffee, watching him as he stared out the window for a second. The sun hit just right, the gold catching on the edge of his jaw, in the little crow’s feet near his eyes, the slight exhaustion in his frame. Life had happened to him, clearly. It had happened to you too. But in this booth, it felt like the world slowed down.

You ended up talking about high school. Not the painful parts, not yet, but the funny, absurd pieces. The time you both got caught making out behind the gym during prom. The time you threw a soda can at someone’s car because they catcalled you and Changbin wanted to defend your honor. The camping trip where you two shared a blanket and he screamed at a raccoon in the middle of the night.

“That raccoon was at least 30 pounds,” he insisted.

“It was five, tops.”

“It had rabies in its eyes.”

You laughed again. A real, full laugh.

He was halfway through his second pancake, slicing through the stack with syrup-covered enthusiasm, when he suddenly froze. His fork hovered in midair, dripping slightly.

“Oh my god,” he said through a mouthful. “I just remembered something.”

You raised an eyebrow. “This could go in so many directions.”

“No, no, listen,” he said, swallowing his bite dramatically. “Do you remember… Seungmin?”

Your heart stilled. Like it had tripped over itself and forgot how to keep beating for just a moment.

“Kim Seungmin.”

Of course you remembered. Of course you did.

But Changbin didn’t know. He had no idea.

You stiffened slightly. “Yeah…” you said cautiously. “I remember.”

He didn’t notice the way your fingers curled around your cup, the way you leaned just slightly back, preparing for the hit.

“Geez,” he muttered with a grin, shaking his head. “I hated that guy.”

Your head snapped up.

“I was so jealous back then,” he continued, chuckling. “Everyone knew Seungmin had the biggest crush on you. Dude would always hang around after classes, try to sit near you, act like you and I weren’t even dating. Like… you were just this free agent waiting for someone better.”

He laughed a little bitterly at the memory, like it didn’t actually sting anymore, just existed.

“I mean, I get it,” he added. “You were… you. You were always so bright. People wanted to be around you. I didn’t blame him. I just wanted to punch him.”

You finally breathed. A slow, careful breath. It was now or never.

“Changbin,” you said quietly.

He looked up.

You hesitated for only a beat. Then:

“Seungmin is my husband.”

The fork in his hand froze. Slowly, he set it down.

He blinked.

Once. Twice.

“You’re serious?” he asked, voice lower.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He sat back, visibly trying to process. “You… married him?”

You didn’t answer with words at first. Just gave him a look that said, Yes. It's as complicated as it sounds.

And maybe because this was Changbin, and he knew you too well, he didn’t laugh. Didn’t react with some big dramatic sigh or over-the-top comment.

He just let out a quiet, “Wow.”

You looked down at your plate, picked at a strawberry.

“After you left,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I was in a bad place. I think you knew that. And he… he stayed. He was always there. At first just a friend, then someone who made me laugh again. It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t even romantic at first. I just… I needed someone. And he was there.”

You glanced at him, trying to gauge his expression. It was unreadable, his lips slightly parted, brows furrowed in that faint way they always did when he was really listening.

“We ended up going to the same college,” you continued. “Out of town. Different majors, but… he stuck around. And somewhere between trying to get over you and trying to survive being on my own, I fell in love with him.”

You looked down again. Your voice cracked slightly. “We got married after college. Roan came a year later.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then Changbin let out a soft breath and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

“Can I say something?”

You nodded.

“I’m not mad,” he said gently. “I don’t have a right to be. I left. I hurt you. And Seungmin… I guess he didn’t.”

You looked at him. “He did. Just… not right away.”

Understanding flickered across his face.

You didn’t need to explain more. Not yet.

“He cheated,” you whispered.

Changbin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

You laughed bitterly. “Everyone thinks we’re just going through a phase. A rough patch. My parents love him. Roan loves him. And I’m the only one who knows the truth. And now you.”

He stared at you, like he was searching for something in your eyes.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, after a pause.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” you said, voice small.

“But I want to,” he said.

You looked at him.

“I want to be here,” he said simply. “Even if it’s just as someone who listens.”

You smiled a slow, aching thing. “Thank you.”

And for the first time in a long, long time maybe since before everything shattered, you felt like someone really saw you.

Not as Seungmin’s wife. Not just Roan’s mother.

Just you.

And it felt like hope.

-

By the time the soft clinking of cutlery had dwindled, and the hush of the post-rush lull settled over the diner, you noticed the waitress throwing not-so-subtle glances your way. Her polite smile was stretched thin now, the kind of weary look that screamed, You two have been here way too long, please let me clean your table and go home at a decent hour.

Changbin caught it too, offering a sheepish laugh as he polished off the last sip of his now lukewarm coffee. “I think we’re being evicted.”

You sighed, smiling reluctantly. “Feels like old times. Except now we’re overstaying because of emotional baggage instead of teenage hormones.”

He grinned. “Emotional baggage is way more interesting.”

You reached into your bag for your wallet, reflexive and automatic. “Let me at least get half —”

He was already sliding his card across the table to the waitress, not even looking your way. “Don’t start. I invited you.”

“No, but—”

“I said I wanted to treat you.” He smirked, leaning back with exaggerated smugness. “You can get the next one.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just want me to feel obligated to see you again.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Exactly.”

You stared at him. A beat passed. Then you chuckled, the sound quiet and honest.

Outside, the light had softened into that almost-golden afternoon hue, the kind that makes everything look washed in nostalgia. When you stepped out of the diner and into the sunlight, you blinked against it, stretching your arms above your head with a groan that came from deep in your chest. Changbin walked beside you, keys twirling between his fingers.

It wasn’t until you were halfway to the school, laughter still lingering in your chest from some half-told story about his failed attempt at teaching Yuna how to ride a bike that you realized the time.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, sitting upright in the passenger seat. “It’s pickup time. Like right now pickup time.”

Changbin’s eyes widened. “You said it was later!”

“I thought it was!” you said, quickly grabbing your phone and checking the clock. “I didn’t realize we’d been sitting there for five hours! You were too interesting.”

He grinned. “Flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be,” you snapped, panicked, swatting his arm. “Drive!”

He did. Fast enough to make it right as the trickle of students began flooding out the school gates, colorful backpacks bouncing, parents chatting in clusters by the sidewalk. You both barely made it out of the car when familiar voices caught your attention.

“Mom!”

You turned just in time to see Roan running toward you cheeks flushed, his bag half zipped and bouncing against his back. His hair stuck to his forehead from play, and his voice cracked with excitement.

Right behind him, Yuna’s squeal echoed as she launched herself at Changbin, who caught her with ease, laughing as he staggered slightly from the force of her affection.

Roan flung his arms around your waist, and you caught him, bending slightly to hug him properly.

“Hey, baby,” you said, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “How was school?”

“I drew a frog with wings!” he announced proudly. “And Ms. Lee said it was very imaginative.”

“Of course she did,” you laughed. “That sounds very… avant-garde.”

He nodded solemnly, then tilted his head. “Where��s dad?”

The question hit you like a soft thud. Not painful. But heavy.

You hesitated for half a second before answering, “He’s at home. He had work.”

Roan frowned slightly but didn’t say more. He leaned into your side, rubbing his eyes with a little yawn.

“Hey,” Changbin’s voice came from behind you, softer now. “Thanks for today. It really… meant a lot.”

You turned around, finding him with Yuna still perched on his hip, her arms looped around his neck as she played with the ends of his hair. Her small eyes fluttered sleepily.

“I should be thanking you,” you said, adjusting Roan’s backpack on your shoulder. “I really needed to… not be home for a while.”

He watched you carefully, his face gentling. “You didn’t have to explain.”

You smiled weakly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Still.”

There was a pause. A tiny, breath-held moment.

“I didn’t get your number,” he said suddenly, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his phone. “And if I don’t ask now, I’ll probably regret it for another ten years.”

You laughed under your breath. “Smooth.”

He passed you the phone, and you typed in your number, pausing only once before hitting save under your name.

“Done,” you said.

He smiled this time, quieter. “Maybe next time… drinks? A real dinner? My treat, again. Unless you really want to fight me over the bill.”

You snorted. “Oh, I will.”

“I’m counting on it.”

And then Roan tugged at your hand, murmuring that he was tired and wanted to go home. You nodded, your heart heavy again but full in a different way now.

Changbin and Yuna waved as you started walking toward your car, and Roan ever the polite boy waved back, yelling a cheerful, “Bye, Yuna! Bye Yuna’s Dad!”

Yuna waved so hard her ponytail bobbed with the motion. “Bye Roan! Bye Roan’s Mom!”

You paused at that, warmth spreading in your chest despite yourself. You looked back just once.

Changbin was still watching you. Not staring. Just… present.

And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like you were walking alone.

-

You smiled the entire ride home. Not a loud, ecstatic grin, but that quiet, involuntary kind of smile, the one that lingers at the corners of your lips long after a warm memory. Changbin had made you laugh today, not just once, but more times than you could count. Honest laughter, too the kind that didn't feel forced or coated in guilt. For a little while, it was easy to forget how heavy everything else was. It was easier to feel like yourself again.

But the moment your front door creaked open, reality swept back in like a bitter wind.

The sound hit first: low murmuring, the subtle clink of bottles, a laugh that didn't belong to you. It was Seungmin’s, quiet, practiced. Familiar. Too familiar. Then your father's gruff voice, amused and relaxed in a way that made your skin prickle. As you stepped inside, the weight came crashing down again.

There, in the living room, Seungmin sat next to your father both of them holding beers, the kind your dad only pulled out when he was feeling particularly welcoming. Seungmin's sleeves rolled up in a way that once made you feel comforted. Now it made your stomach turn.

Your mother was curled up in her armchair with a book resting open on her lap. She looked up the second you stepped in, her eyes lighting up like she'd just spotted good news walking through the door.

“There you are!” she chirped, her voice far too cheerful for how tight your chest had suddenly become. “Where were you? Seungmin’s been so worried. He was about to go out and look for you.”

The mention of his name, that carefully woven narrative of him being “worried,” instantly soured your mood. You hadn’t texted. You hadn’t wanted to. You’d had one afternoon, just one, where you could breathe without his voice tugging at your every memory, and now you were being pulled right back under the water.

Roan ran past you before you could say a word. “Dad!” he squealed, flinging himself into Seungmin’s arms with no hesitation. “I drew a frog with wings today and Ms. Lee loved it!”

You stood frozen in the entryway, your smile long gone now, watching Seungmin smile as he ruffled Roan’s hair, responding with a soft, “Of course she did, bud. That’s awesome.”

Your mom turned to you again, brows lifting. “Honey? You alright? Why didn’t you come home after drop-off?”

You felt the muscles in your jaw tighten. The question felt too pointed, too soon. You hadn’t even set down your keys yet. Your pulse rose with the sudden sensation of being cornered.

“I just… needed some air,” you said flatly. “Ran some errands. Got a headache.”

“Oh no,” your mom said, eyes full of concern now. “You should rest. You look pale.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think I will. I’m going to lie down.”

There was no room for more conversation. You turned on your heel, making a beeline for your room, practically choking on the tightness in your throat. The moment you were inside, you shut the door behind you not hard, but firm. It wasn’t a slam. It was a boundary.

You slipped off your shoes and collapsed onto your bed without turning on the light. You lay on your side, staring blankly at the wall, your back to the door. You hadn’t even bothered to change clothes. The ache in your chest had returned, dull and gnawing, the contrast between now and the afternoon with Changbin cutting deep.

You heard the knock a few minutes later. Not loud just a gentle knock, followed by the door creaking open.

Of course. It was him.

“Hey,” Seungmin’s voice was soft. Carefully rehearsed. He closed the door behind him, and you could feel his eyes trying to find you in the dim room.

You didn’t move.

“Heard you weren’t feeling well,” he added, as if that excused the way he came in uninvited. “I just wanted to check.”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t need to. The silence was thick enough.

“Where were you?” he finally asked, the first question that wasn’t wrapped in false concern. Just a little more pointed. A little less kind.

You still didn’t answer. You stayed on your side, back to him. Your arm folded under your head, breath steady. But he knew you weren’t sleeping.

A sigh. A pause. The shift of the mattress behind you as he stepped closer, probably expecting some sort of response, a confrontation, anything.

“Look,” he began, his voice tightening. “I’m just trying to talk. You can’t keep shutting me out like this.”

Still nothing. You stared at the wall, heart slowly rising into your throat again. If you opened your mouth, you might say something too honest. Too cruel.

Seungmin sighed again, louder this time. “So this is it? This is how we’re going to do this now?”

You turned slowly, finally, to face him. Your voice was quiet, but it was hard-edged. “How we’re going to do this? You don’t get to walk in here and pretend like we’re on the same team.”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been trying. You’re the one who left.”

You sat up, your hands trembling in your lap. “You cheated.”

His eyes flashed with something guilt, maybe, or frustration. “We had a fight. We were already falling apart.”

You flinched. “And your solution to that was to sleep with your coworker?”

“That’s not fair—”

“No, Seungmin,” you cut him off, your voice rising, “What’s not fair is you coming here, acting like you’re some loving husband, winning my parents over, making them think this is just a bump in the road. You know what you're doing.”

“You didn’t correct them either,” he shot back. “You’re letting them believe it too.”

You hated how easily he turned the blame. How calm he tried to stay when you were crumbling. It made you feel insane like you were the one unraveling in a perfectly tidy room.

“You should’ve never come,” you muttered, standing now, pacing. “I told you not to. I told you this isn’t your home anymore.”

He looked at you with a wounded kind of disbelief. “You’re really willing to throw away years because of one mistake?”

“One mistake?” you scoffed, incredulous. “That’s how you talk about it? You made me feel like I was crazy, Seungmin. You came home late, you lied to my face for months. And then you had the audacity to tell me you still loved me after. What kind of love is that?”

“I do love you,” he said softly, almost defeated.

And for a moment, the smallest flicker you saw the man you had once believed in. The one who held your hand in college hallways, who fell asleep with his head on your stomach as you read aloud your thesis. The man who cried in the hospital when Roan was born.

But that man cheated. That man let you cry alone the night you packed your bags. That man chose himself when you needed him the most.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “Not right now.”

He nodded, reluctantly stepping back, but he didn’t leave without the final blow.

“Roan misses you. The you we used to be. Just… think about him before you throw everything away.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He slipped out the door and closed it gently behind him.

You sat on the edge of the bed long after he left, the ache crawling back into your chest like it had never left.

The only lightness in your body now was the faint echo of laughter in a diner booth. A brief moment where you didn’t feel like a wife. Or an ex-wife. Or a disappointment.

Just a woman. Who used to love pancakes. Who used to skip class. Who used to dream.

And maybe, just maybe was learning how to again.

You liked taking Roan to school. It was the one part of the day that still felt soft, simple. His tiny hand in yours, the way he talked the entire way about his drawings, or what he thought the cafeteria would serve for lunch today. It helped you start the morning with something solid, something good before the noise of your fractured reality crept back in.

Today, you made sure he got into class okay, even lingered longer than usual near the door as he turned to wave at you. You waved back, a small smile tugging at your lips.

And then you felt a poke.

Right at your side.

You jumped so hard you let out a yelp, loud enough that a few parents turned to look and immediately whipped around to find the only person who’d have the audacity to poke you like that.

Changbin.

You immediately slapped his chest with a hand, playfully but firm. “You really have to stop doing that,” you huffed, glaring at him.

He was already laughing, loud and shameless. “I live for it. You should see your face—every time!”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you.

He fell into step beside you as you started walking away from the school gates.

“I didn’t realize you walked here,” he said after a few beats, glancing around the sidewalk like he was piecing it together.

“Yeah. Just needed the air.”

“Need a ride back?” he asked, casual, like it wasn’t already obvious that’s what he was going to offer.

You let out a quiet sigh through your nose. “You’re relentless.”

He grinned. “That’s a yes.”

And it was.

You followed him to his car, sliding into the passenger seat like you had yesterday only this time, it felt less like a spontaneous escape and more like… routine. Something easy. Something welcome.

The ride home was quiet at first, not awkward, just easy like neither of you felt the need to fill the space. But halfway there, he spoke.

“You know,” he began, eyes on the road, “you can talk to me. Anytime. About anything. You don’t have to, obviously. But just… I’m around.”

You turned your head slightly, watching his profile. The curve of his jaw. The soft worry at the corner of his mouth.

“I know,” you said, quietly. “Thank you.”

He nodded once but didn’t look at you. “I don’t know what happened with you and… him. I’m not prying. But I can see it in your eyes. You’re tired.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just quiet, heartfelt observation.

Your throat tightened at that. Because he wasn’t wrong. You were tired. Tired in your bones. Tired in your mind. Tired of pretending.

You turned toward the window, blinking fast. “I am.”

He didn’t press for more. Just drove.

You were already nearing your neighborhood when he let out a soft laugh and said, “Do your parents still hate me?”

You looked at him sharply, surprised, and then laughed, really laughed for the first time since the diner.

“Oh,” you said between giggles. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget? Your dad used to literally grunt when I came over. I thought he was going to bury me in the backyard.”

“To be fair,” you said, covering your smile with your hand, “you did sneak into my room at 2 AM and set off the fire alarm trying to microwave nachos.”

He shrugged. “Worth it. Those nachos were killer.”

You shook your head, still laughing. “Don’t take it personal. They were overprotective. I was their only kid.”

“I’m not taking it personal,” he said, mock offended. “But do they still hate me?”

You gave that some real thought, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I don’t think so,” you said. “Honestly, I think they barely remember. You’re ancient history.”

“Ouch,” he gasped. “And here I thought I left a lasting impression.”

“You left a mess in my kitchen, not an impression,” you teased.

He was still chuckling when he glanced at you and asked, “Do they like Seungmin?”

Your smile faded slightly, but it stayed on your face out of habit.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to make it sound lighter than it felt. “They… treat him like he’s their own son.”

He looked genuinely scandalized. “Seriously?”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Don’t take that personal either.”

But it lingered, that realization. That your parents had accepted Seungmin with open arms in ways they never had with anyone else. In some ways, it made everything harder.

You were still thinking about it when he pulled into your driveway.

As he parked, he turned to you with a grin. “Don’t forget. You still owe me drinks.”

You groaned. “Right. You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope. I’m petty.”

You were still laughing when you unbuckled and stepped out of the car… only for your breath to catch in your throat the moment you saw who was standing on the porch.

Seungmin.

Arms crossed. Shoulders stiff. His expression thunderous.

He didn’t move when he saw you. Just stared. A storm in his eyes. His gaze shifted briefly to Changbin, and you swore something in his jaw clicked.

Changbin, still in the driver’s seat, gave a cheerful wave through the open window. “See you, mystery woman.”

You smiled faintly and waved back. “Thanks for the ride.”

He gave a wink, and then he was gone, the car pulling away, tires quiet on the pavement.

You barely had time to turn toward the porch when Seungmin snapped.

“Who the hell was that?”

You blinked.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, seething. Cold.

You climbed the steps slowly. “It was just someone I know.”

“Someone you know?” His voice dropped lower, more dangerous. “That someone just happened to be driving you home? You left early this morning without a word and come back laughing in some guy’s car?”

You kept your face neutral, trying not to react, trying to keep your pulse from flaring.

“I walked Roan to school. I didn’t want to come straight home. I ran into someone and accepted a ride back. That’s it.”

“Is that what this is now?” he asked bitterly. “You disappearing with strangers?”

“He’s not a stranger.”

That was a mistake. You said it too quickly, too defensively.

Seungmin’s expression shifted, suspicion to realization to something uglier.

You could practically see it on his face. The puzzle clicking into place.

But you weren’t about to confirm it. Not now. Not here. The last thing you needed was seungmin exploding on your first heartbreak, in front of your childhood home.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” you said, stepping past him.

“Oh, so now we’re doing that?” he called after you. “You disappear all morning, and I’m just supposed to smile and wave when some guy drops you off at my son’s house?”

You stopped cold.

Spun around.

“This isn’t your house anymore. And he’s not just your son. He’s ours.”

Seungmin’s mouth opened, but you didn’t let him speak. You turned, stormed into the house, and let the screen door swing shut behind you.

You didn’t bother to see if he followed.

Because you were too tired. Too full of guilt and rage and the faint remnants of laughter that still clung to your sleeves like perfume.

And in the quiet that followed, you let yourself remember the way Changbin looked at you.

Like he saw you.

Not the wife. Not the failed marriage. Not the tired mother.

Just… you.

-

You could tell Seungmin was angry.

He hadn’t said anything explicitly, not since earlier on the porch, but his silence wasn’t quiet, it was loud. Too loud. The tension in his jaw, the tight way he held himself when he walked past you in the hallway. The pointed slams of cabinets when he was in the kitchen and you were in the room next to him. You tried not to acknowledge it, but it was there. Like a storm cloud in every corner of the house.

That night, as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror brushing your hair, trying to find some stillness before bed, your phone buzzed on the vanity.

Once.
Then again.

You glanced down. An unknown number.

[Unknown]: Okay so maybe I did rehearse that joke in the car. Rate my delivery, 1-10.

You blinked at the message. And then smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile because you recognized the tone. You didn’t even need the name to know.

You typed back.

"That was a solid 6.5. I’m being generous because you’re funny when you’re smug."

A moment passed.

[Changbin]: Oh, a 6.5? Harsh. I'm wounded. Drinks on you for that.

You laughed under your breath. Actually laughed. That warmth again. That ease you thought you’d lost.

"Fine. Drinks on me. One drink. Don’t push it."

You were still smiling when your mom called your name down the hall.

“Can you come here a sec, sweetie? I wanted to ask about Roan’s weekend plans!”

“Coming!” you shouted back.

You set the phone down on the bed, the screen still lit for a few seconds before dimming. You didn’t notice the shadow in the hallway. The way Seungmin had paused in the doorway, leaned against the frame with crossed arms, eyes locked on your smile.

And when you left the room, your phone buzzed again.

He didn’t mean to do it. Not really.

But his jaw was tight. His stomach was churning.

He walked over and picked up the phone like it offended him just by existing. The way it lit up again with another message.

Roan’s birthday had been your password for years, unchanged. He hadn’t even needed to think twice. Muscle memory.

It unlocked with a soft click.

[Changbin]: So how’s the house of chaos? Still surviving?

He scrolled.

Each message painted a clearer picture than the last, Changbin flirting, light and easy, poking fun, asking you about your favorite drinks, joking that he might actually dress up if it meant seeing you smile again.

Seungmin’s blood pressure spiked.

That was him. That was the guy from the car.

Changbin. Seo Changbin.

He froze.

His chest tightened, and his grip on your phone turned white-knuckled.

Changbin. That Changbin.

High school Changbin. First boyfriend Changbin. The guy Seungmin loathed, not because of some petty rivalry, but because he had what Seungmin wanted first. You.

The guy who laughed too loud, kissed you in the hallways, held your hand like you were already his long before Seungmin had even found the nerve to tell you he liked you. The one you skipped classes with. The one who broke your heart when he left and left just enough space for Seungmin to be there, to pick up the pieces.

And now he was back? Now? When everything between you and Seungmin was still splintering, still bleeding?

He was seething.

When you came back into the room, Seungmin was sitting at the edge of the bed, your phone in his hand. His eyes locked onto you the second you stepped in.

You stopped mid-step, your expression shifting instantly. “What are you doing with my phone?”

He didn’t respond at first. Just lifted it and tilted it slightly in his hand.

“Really?” he said, voice tight. Controlled.

You narrowed your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“You really came all the way back here, dragging Roan with you, telling everyone you needed space, but really you just wanted to see him again?”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned the phone to show you the screen, Changbin’s messages still open, bright against the dark of the room.

You froze.

“You were with him,” he said. “Changbin. Of all people.”

Your lips parted slightly, more from shock than guilt.

“You read my messages?”

“You left them wide open.”

“That doesn’t mean—” You stopped yourself. “You had no right to go through my phone.”

“No right?” he barked a humorless laugh. “You disappeared this morning, left without a word, came back laughing in some guy’s car, and now you’re texting your ex-boyfriend like you’re sixteen again!”

“He’s not just my ex—”

“I know exactly who he is,” Seungmin snapped. “He’s the guy who dated you while I sat there like an idiot watching it happen. I remember him.”

You clenched your jaw. “And I remember what you did. Don’t throw a tantrum because someone actually makes me feel sane for five minutes.”

His nostrils flared. “So that’s what this is? You’re punishing me. Using this whole situation as an excuse to flirt with an old flame while pretending you’re the victim.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” he spat. “You left. You took Roan. You’ve barely looked me in the eye since. And now it all makes sense—you came back to fix things? No. You came back to relive your past with him.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, feeling heat rush to your face not from shame, but rage.

“I came back because I needed air. I came back because you broke something in me I don’t know how to fix. And I’m trying to survive trying to hold it together for Roan. And if one person out there gives me a second to breathe without feeling like I’m drowning, I’m not going to apologize for that.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you with a glare so sharp it could’ve cut straight through your chest.

“I can’t do this with you tonight,” you said quietly, turning away from him.

And this time, when you walked out of the room, he didn’t follow.

//

masterlist. dad!skz series masterlist.

❌proofread

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

a/n: finally!

[baekhyoris]

bf!shisui who is a golden retriever in a clan full of black cats.

bf!shisui who's primary love language is physical touch. who—when alone with you—can't keep his hands off of you. who finds it so cute when you give him a hug before he heads out on a mission. who always whispers "one more," whenever he's caught up with kissing you. it's never just one more with him.

bf!shisui who's an absolute menance that loves teasing you. it's one of his favorite pasttimes.

bf!shisui who's second language is quality time. who loves nothing more than to be at home with you and just be. who in those moments, doesn't feel like shushin no shisui, the shinobi who has a flee on sight order. for a moment, he allows himself to forget about everything related to his life as a shinobi and simply focus on the feeling of you in his arms.

bf!shisui who loves when you play with his hair. who can spend the entire day laying on your lap and let your gentle fingers scratch at his scalp. he'll insist that he won't fall asleep on your lap this time, but he always does.

bf!shisui who regularly trains with you (if you're a shinobi). who takes great pleasure in pinning you to the ground and can't help but tease you when you squirm and try and break free from his grip. expect a kiss on the nose during these instance, his playfullness coming out.

bf!shisui who never thought domestic life would be so sweet. waking up next to you every morning, greeted with the sight of your relaxed, sleeping face. who holds you from behind whenever you're cooking. and whenever he doesn't have any missions, is purposely slow with eating just to indulge in the simplicity as long as possible.

bf!shisui who keeps dates simple, but meaningful. who's favorite is when he would take you out to a small clearing in the outskirts of village, lay down next to you and watch as the stars. who is much more interested in watching your face, illuminated by the moonlight.

bf!shisui who can read you like a book, perseptive to the point you wondered—one more than one occasion—if he can somehow read your mind. you can't hide anything from him. who's incredibly attentive, notices the smallest things like if you have a new favorite food, or if you got a new pair of sandals. it comes to a point where it feels like he knows you better than you know yourself.

bf!shisui who confides in you about a lot of things, but never about the situation regarding his clan and the brewing coup de'etat. he can't bring himself to do because he knows you'll worry, knows that you'll try and get involved for the sake of his safety. who refuses to put you in harm's way.

bf!shisui who starts to distance hisself towards the end of his life. who knows that he doesn't have the willpower to go through what must be done if you try and talk him out of it. as much as he loves you, he has to do it. for the sake of the village and for the people who he holds dear to his heart.

bf!shisui who—after giving itachi his right eye—asks him to send you one last message and handing him a small box before falling to his death. who's thoughts are filled with your smile and laugh and his favorite moments with you playing like a slideshow in his mind.

bf!shisui who leaves behind small trinkets in the box, things that remind you of your time together over the years which itachi gives you in the days after his death.

bf!shisui who's guilt is palpable on the pages of the letter he wrote for you before he died as he apologizes for leaving you behind. who hopes to find you again in another life and thanks you for being with him when he was still alive.

bf!shisui who's love for you is eternal.

requests are open!!

[jlheon]

୨୧ — stalker (lhs)

pairing. secret bf! lee heeseung x fem! reader synopsis. you get paired up with your bf's younger brother on a project genre. est. relationship fluff wc. 1487 notes. ft. leehan of bnd library.

unfortunately, your saturday plans of rotting in your boyfriend's bed while he played on his computer were pushed aside. you were still going to heeseung's house but not for him, but for his younger brother.

"why can't you just tell him you're busy?" your boyfriend said.

"the project is due on monday,"

"i don't careee," heeseung whined over the phone. "just tell him to do his part on his own."

“i need a good grade on this seung,” you sighed again, rolling over in your bed. tap back on your screen to see your boyfriend's face close to the camera pouting.

"you'll live," you told him as you screenshotted his face. "i have to get ready now hee."

"can you wear pink?" he asked, making you raise an eyebrow at him. "so we can match!" heeseung showed himself in the pink hoodie you bought him for your one-year anniversary a couple of weeks ago.

picking out a simple white skirt and pink sweater and throwing it on, then moving to do some simple makeup as you knew heeseung would sneak you into his room as soon as you were done, so you wanted to look nice.

the walk to heeseung's house was short as he only lived about two blocks away. you walked up the front foot steps and knocked on the door, already knowing that his doorbell was broken.

"hi ____!" leehan answered the door smiling.

"hey leehan!" you smiled back, seeing heeseung staring at you from the living room couch. "hi hee...seung!" you called out while waving.

"oh, are you guys friends?" leehan asked from behind you.

"we have some mutual friends," you quickly answered, knowing heeseung would give an obvious hint that you were together. "i finished my part of the project so i'll just help you with your parts!"

"okay, let's work in the kitchen," leehan started walking further into the house.

following behind him and poking heeseung's shoulder as you passed him in the living room. he brought your hand that poked him to his lips, kissed the back of your knuckles, and let go so his brother wouldn't notice.

sitting at the kitchen island, you had a perfect view of your boyfriend sitting on the couch watching a random show. he also had a view of you in his peripheral vision.

leehan opened up his computer to the slideshow presentation for your english class. curse him for being the only underclassman in your class. why did he have to be heeseung's younger brother?

"so i need you to complete the places i left blank with your commentary and i'll be out of here," you explained, failing to make any direct eye contact with the boy sitting on the stool next to you, instead staring at heeseung's side profile the whole time.

"are you in a rush or anything?"

"no," you shifted your eyes back to leehan. "i have to use the bathroom though." you stood up walking towards the staircase.

he thought it was weird how you didn't ask where the bathroom was. he also thought it was weird that he doesn't remember giving you his address. so he asked his older brother while you were gone.

"heeseung?" he called out to the living room.

"yeah?" heeseung answered mindlessly, eyes still glued to the television.

"has ____ ever been here before?" leehan asked, causing heeseung's eyes to widen.

"nope."

when you returned from the kitchen leehan felt even more suspicious of you. how did you know where they lived and where the bathroom was?

he continued to edit his portion of the project until he caught you in the corner of his eye alternating staring at heeseung and then at your phone. a small smile across your lips. leehan started to feel something weird about you so he spoke up.

"how come you didn't ask where the bathroom was?" leehan questioned, not giving you any time to respond before asking you another one. "have you ever been here before?"

caught off guard you started coughing on the water you were drinking, heeseung looking over with concern when he heard you.

"oh um me and heeseung did a project together last year!" you replied after you stopped coughing.

"mhm, sure..." he responded side-eyeing you due to the two different answers he received from you and heeseung.

leehan was sure he knew what was wrong.

you were a crazy stalker in love with his older brother!

maybe you had bribed your english teacher to be his partner for this project just to see his brother. heeseung would never lie to him so you surely got their address on your own and have never been here on invite.

you were probably wearing pink to match heeseung, and you knew what color to wear since you had a camera in his room to watch his every move. you were wearing nice clothes to impress heeseung!

he had to tell his brother as soon as you left.

"i think i'm done!" leehan lied nervously. "you can look it over at home."

you let out a sigh of relief you stood up and put your empty cup in the sink.

"okay great!" you smiled, packing your stuff into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

saying bye as you walked out of the kitchen and towards the front door where your boyfriend was already waiting for you. he picked up your shoes and opened the door to simulate you leaving. calling out one last goodbye to leehan, heeseung slammed the door and took your bag from you. quickly following him up the stairs so leehan wouldn't see you both.

"finally!" heeseung crashed on top of his bed, pulling you down with him. "why did you let him take so long?"

"it was just an hour seung!" you giggled, pushing some hair out of his eyes.

"way too long." he wrapped his arms around your waist. "are you hungry?"

you knew there were leftover cupcakes from leehan's birthday in the fridge so you asked heeseung to get you one. he got up and headed down to the kitchen.

wrapping yourself in his duvet you started to feel warm with your sweater. you got up and went through heeseung's drawers and picked out the first shirt you saw. going over to the mirror to change into it and fix your hair before getting back into bed.

"HEE YOU ARE NOT GOING TO BELIEVE- ____?" leehan burst through the door, shrieking when he saw you instead of his brother. "YOU'RE A STALKER! HEE GET UP HERE RIGHT NOW!"

"no i'm not-" you tried to calm him down, thankfully heeseung entered the room.

"look she's even stealing your shirt!" leehan pointed at you accusingly. "i knew something was up when you didn't ask for my address and just showed up."

heeseung set the cupcake and drink he had gotten for you on his desk and came to your side, wrapping an arm around you.

"he's my boyfriend, leehan."

"look at her gaslighting you- STAND UP." leehan scolded his brother, still waving his finger around.

"she is my girlfriend!" heeseung shouted back. "now can you please leave us alone? she was supposed to come over today for me but you just had to do your stupid project today-"

you put a hand to cover your boyfriend's mouth before he could say anything else to his brother.

"oh..." the younger boy's ears turned red due to embarrassment, walking out and closing the door behind him.

"you're so cranky today," you said while taking a bite of the vanilla cupcake once you were alone, some getting stuck on the corner of your lips.

"i barely saw you this week," heeseung frowned, wiping the frosting from your face and bringing his thumb to his lips to eat it.

the calm atmosphere was again interrupted by the door opening to reveal leehan. heeseung groaned, stood up, and got ready to kick his brother out again.

"wait! before you kick me out i have one question," leehan explained quickly, heeseung reluctantly nodded. "how long have you guys been dating?"

"our one year was last week."

"WHAT?" leehan screamed, jaw hanging open.

heeseung pushed him out the door and flopped back onto the bed. you finished your cupcake and threw the wrapper in the garbage bin under his desk, returning down next to him on the bed. your boyfriend rolled over on his side, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your perfume.

"we should stay like this forever," he mumbled into your neck.

"forever is only like three hours," you giggled. "i have to be home by seven."

"sleepover?" heeseung raised his head to look at your face.

"maybe..." you sighed, thinking about his offer. "i'll tell my parents i'm at rina's."

"good because i wasn't going to let you go anyways," he tightly squeezed you and came as close as possible, kissing your neck. 

[azsazz]

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Nine

author's note ⸺ HEY Y'ALL I LIED LAST WEEK SORRYYYY!! Here is chapter nine...Sorry for the delayyy I am planning a trip to ASia for a wedding <3 LOVE U PLS GUYS LMK UR THOUGHTS ON THIS I LOVE THE DRAMAAA pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, smoking mentioned(weed + cigs), themes of substance abuse, taglist at end, 4k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

**Monday, 10:03 a.m.**

“… and if we can get those decks consolidated by end-of-day, we’ll be in a good place for the client check-in on Wednesday.”

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of a mouse somewhere near your left ear. 

A bulky early-2000s style keyboard clacking distantly to your right. 

The gentle, yet oh so persistent hum of the conference room's overhead light—just enough to give you a headache without actually qualifying as a noise complaint.

You blinked slowly at the screen in front of you. A slideshow you did not make. Fonts you did not choose. Bullet points someone definitely wrote with way too much enthusiasm for phrases like "brand narrative integrity" and "consumer-forward visibility."

The meeting had technically started four minutes ago, but the pace of it had already gone syrup-slow. Everyone pretending to care about the quarterly roadmap. Everyone nodding a little too earnestly.

Your eyes darted to the bottom of your screen.

Slide 3 of 37.

Ughhh.

“…thinking we could pivot to something more user-centric. Thoughts?”

You weren’t sure who had said that or what it was in reference to. You watched the mouse cursor drift lazily across the shared screen, circling a graph that didn’t matter. Your eyes glazed over.

Your camera was off, thank god. You were slumped half-sideways in your chair, the lopsided croissant you’d eaten on the train still threatening mutiny somewhere in your chest. 

The coffee in your paper to-go cup had already gone tepid. You took a sip anyway, taking into consideration how exhausted you felt—Regretted it immediately.

“…if we could circle back on the Q2 assets sometime this week—maybe a quick sync before close of business Thursday?”

A brief silence. Then a chorus of agreeable hums. Someone said, “Yeah, totally.” Another voice chirped, “Sounds good.”

You felt a laugh bubble somewhere behind your ribs—not real amusement, just a small, spiralling hysteria at the sheer cliché of it all.

You closed your eyes for one half-second too long.

And there it was—uninvited but not unwelcome.

The memory arrived all at once.

The door. The rain. Him.

He had just stood there for a second—on the other side of your doorway. Rain still clinging to his coat, hair down and heavy with water, dark strands stuck to the curve of his cheek.

The hallway behind him had been cold and dim. But the light from your apartment had spilled forward into it, warm and low, and when it hit him like that—

God—That image of him felt like it was plastered onto your retinas.

The rain had soaked through everything, clinging to him in a way that felt indecent. 

The more you thought about it, the more you’d come to a simple conclusion—he’d looked good like that. Rain-damp and quiet, his voice a soft hey that had settled low in your stomach and stayed there.

You hadn’t expected to notice it. The flush on his face, the way he’d touched the back of his neck, the slow drag of the towel through his hair.

Coat open. Hair heavy and wet, that slow way he blinked, like the light took a second too long to register. Water dripping from his collarbone to the fabric below.

Back in the walls of your cubicle, someone said, “Can we flag that for the legal branch before sending up? Just to be safe on any future liability issues.”

A few murmured yeahs followed—some yellow ‘thumbs-up’ emojis flew around the screen, you decided to send a thumbs up too, what the hell, why not.

You reached for your coffee again. This time, pinching your nose with one hand and taking it like a shot to avoid tasting how awful it was.

Thank god weed doesn’t give you hangovers, or you’d be absolutely screwed.

Still, there was something off about your composure this morning. Not tired, not hungover. 

You had made a promise to yourself, after everything that went down in school, that you would stop smoking—initially, you meant mostly the weed, you just decided you may as well throw the cigs in there too, start a new ‘era’. 

Well…you ended that era last night. 

By the time he had even lit it, you’d already committed to the lie. No turning back.

Your thumb brushed his knuckles as you took it from him, smoke curling into the dark—and behind your eyes, that slow, familiar warmth had already begun to gather.

Not that it mattered now. What’s one night? One shared filter, one familiar haze. An old habit, quietly resurrected under city light and the kind of silence you didn’t want to break.

You shifted slightly in your chair, hoping that shifting your body might shake him loose from your thoughts.

It didn’t.

The air in the office felt stale, over-warmed from too many bodies and not enough ventilation. Somewhere nearby, a coworker was chewing with their mic still on—wet, deliberate bites that made your eye twitch.

Your phone buzzed once on the desk. Then again.

You flipped it over, glancing down just in time to catch:

Gojo: So. Gojo: Suguru’s texted me three times already this morning

Buzz.

Gojo: Direct quote “went over to her’s. smoked. felt like old times.” Absolutely no follow-up. He’s so dramatic

Buzz.

Gojo: Anyway Gojo: We’re smoking again now??

Buzz.

Gojo: Thought you came over to my side?? Gojo: Clean lungs? moral superiority?? Green juice and judgment???

You exhaled slowly through your nose, thumb hovering.

You: It really is not that deep.

Gojo: That’s what they all say before they’re bumming lighters and talking about “missing the ritual” Gojo: Seen it a thousand times You: K. Well I don’t think this is something you need to lose sleep over Gojo…I’m at work attempting to pay attention You: So bye bye!

You swiped downward on your screen and quickly turning on DND mode before you could be bothered by his texting habits. 

The black screen caught your reflection—eyes tired, jaw tight, the faintest trace of a smirk still lingering at the edge of your mouth. You set the phone down. Shifted your focus back to the meeting. 

Well—Tried to.

And—yeah. You did kind of miss the ritual.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

**Monday, 6:07 p.m.**

The subway car was too hot.

Your coat stuck awkwardly to one side of your body, and someone’s elbow was wedged with absolute conviction against your ribs. 

The car jolted. You swayed along with it. 

Someone’s tote bag kept hitting the back of your knee with each sway of the train, and the guy next to you was breathing way too confidently for someone who obviously hadn’t brushed their teeth today.

You did not have it in you to judge. Not today.

The air was thick with collective resignation. Monday exhaustion. The kind that pressed in from all sides, like wet cotton. 

Your forehead itched, but you couldn’t raise your arm to scratch it without elbowing the woman scrolling TikTok behind you. Instead, you shifted your weight, pressed your shoulder harder into the metal pole, and tried not to sigh audibly.

You had been a little bummed today. Nothing tragic—just one of those dumb, tiny disappointments that shouldn’t matter and yet somehow did. 

One of your coworkers had been out sick, which meant no homemade bread on the corner of the office kitchen island. No little Ziploc bags of sourdough or rye to take home, all lovingly baked and evenly sliced. No absurdly good focaccia with salt crystals big enough to break a molar.

You had spent the first half of the day thinking about that bread. And then the second half of the day, realizing it wasn’t coming.

A tragic arc, honestly. A true Shakespearean fall.

The subway lurched again and a collective sway passed through the car like a wave. You closed your eyes, let your head bob with the jolts of the commute. The movement outside blurred into smears of white light, tinny station announcements rising and falling in the distance like some garbled chorus.

Your phone buzzed once in your pocket. Then again.

You didn’t reach for it. You didn’t need to. You already knew.

Gojo had probably sent another unsolicited monologue about lung purity and self-betterment.

You’d let him rot in DND purgatory. At least for now. Till you had the energy for him

Your reflection in the dark subway glass stared back at you—tired, vaguely wilted. Your eyeliner had migrated slightly southward. 

The train hissed and stuttered to a stop. A voice over the PA said something unintelligible. The doors opened, and half the car shifted like a living thing, bodies brushing past each other with silent, city-trained apathy.

You moved with them.

Out onto the platform. Up the stairs. Into the strange blue air of early evening—where everything smelled like oil and wet concrete and someone’s cheap cologne.

It wasn’t until you turned the corner onto your block that you let yourself fish out your phone. A few texts from Gojo, exactly as expected. You ignored them.

And then, below those—

One new message.

Geto: [Spotify link]

Just that. 

A blue hyperlink tucked beneath his name.

The cooler evening air caught the collar of your coat. Wind pressed lightly against one side of your face. Despite the weather finally starting to warm up, that lakefront breeze was persistent.

You kept walking, thumb hovering over the message for a beat too long before tapping.

The app lagged. 

A black screen. The little wheel spinning – evidence of your shitty data plan.

You adjusted your grip on the phone. Slipped it into your palm with more care than necessary. The sound of your shoes echoed faintly off the concrete walls of the narrow side street—quick, metered steps. A soft gust carried the scent of someone’s dinner from a cracked apartment window overhead. 

The playlist loaded slowly. 

Cover image first: that old blurry photo you'd used years ago—some grainy snapshot of a rainy street corner you thought looked poetic in college. And then the title. Still there. Still lowercase, still pretentious. Songs you’d rearranged a dozen times over the years.

It played automatically, the first song of the playlist playing softly in your headphones, the familiar warm, looping guitar, steady drums that you played around your apartment.

Confused, you slowed your pace, causing the man behind you to passively-aggressively walk past you while shaking his head in frustration. 

Before you had any time to think, his name was at the top of your screen.

Underneath it, the second message:

Geto: Thought I recognized last night's playlist…

No emoji. No follow-up. Just that.

Your fingers froze around the phone and you stopped in your tracks. 

A strange pressure gathered behind your ribs as you put two-and-two together.

He actually listened to that playlist?

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

**2 Years and 5 Months Ago: Gojo & Geto’s House  1:37 am**

The party had started loud.

Someone had spilled beer on the welcome mat. Someone else had duct-taped glowsticks to the ceiling fan, which you kind of liked.

Gojo was already shirtless in the kitchen for some reason no one had asked about, he always got like this when he and Suguru hosted parties — the little attention seeker.

You liked house parties. 

People handed you drinks with way too much vodka. The couch never cost you ten dollars to sit on. And at 3 a.m., you could order pad thai without judgment. 

Way better than the bars.

It must’ve been after 1 a.m. by the time you ended up on the living room couch—your usual post, worn-in and sagging at the center. 

The room was dim, lit mostly by string lights sagging in the corners. A bassline thudded through the drywall, probably coming from the Bluetooth speaker Gojo kept threatening to take into the shower with him.

Geto sat to your right, one knee drawn up on the cushion. The joint balanced between his fingers glowed faintly, orange and steady. He passed it to you without looking.

Outside the window, the sky had gone ink-black. Inside, someone was playing a drinking game too loudly in the kitchen.

Geto leaned back a little, socked foot nudging the coffee table.

“Is this your music?” He asked, after a long moment.

You nodded, exhaling a refreshing cloud of smoke. “I think Gojo gave me the aux without realizing it.”

“Makes sense,” he said. “Didn’t sound like his usual headache-inducing mix.”

You smiled, tipping ash into a mug that wasn’t technically an ashtray but had seen worse.

Geto shifted slightly, leaned his elbow on the back of the couch. His voice stayed even, and carried a casual tone. “You have a playlist, or do you just shuffle by vibe?”

You let the question settle between you. A warm beat passed, the joint still resting between your fingers.

“I have a few playlists.”

“Mhm.”

Your head turned slightly toward him, eyes narrowing just enough to catch his profile in the dim light. “Why?”

“Send me one,” he said. 

His gaze stayed forward, attention seemingly on nothing. One hand draped loosely across his knee, fingers curled like he couldn’t be bothered to tense them. “I want to listen later.”

You scoffed, sharp and instinctive. “No.”

His brow lifted in quiet surprise at your quick reaction, the corner of his mouth tugging faintly. 

“C’mon. One. Just one.”

You pulled your feet up on the couch cushion, crossed them beneath you, and tucked your cold feet under your knee. “Nope.”

A soft laugh rumbled low in his chest—short, almost self-contained. It barely broke the air between you, but you felt it anyway. The sound of it made the room slightly warmer.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t share those,” you said, pinching the joint between thumb and index, then tipping the ash into the mug beside the couch. The ember flared as you took another hit, your fingers twitching slightly to adjust for heat.

“Says who?”

“Says me.” You paused, voice thinning with something not quite defensiveness. “They’re personal.”

His leg shifted. The knee nearest yours bumped gently into your shin, casual but deliberate. A light contact. 

“Oh, so personal,” he said, feigning gravity. “What, are they all, like, secret love ballads?”

You exhaled, smoke leaving your lips in a slow ribbon. “Hmm, wouldn’t you like to know?” You said, your voice long and shaped by the drag you’d just taken.

His grin broke then, easy and bright. This one cracked his face open fully—teeth and all. A flash of something fond in it. He turned to you properly now, the space between your knees barely there.

“Don’t be greedy,” he murmured, lazy in his seat.

Your eyes stayed forward, locked on the mess of red solo cups littering the floor across the room, but the corner of your lip tugged. “I’m not being greedy.”

He leaned back a little deeper into the couch, spine melting into the threadbare cushions like he belonged there. Which he kind of did. 

His hand draped loose over the backrest, fingers dangling near the top of your shoulder, the distance between them and your skin a live wire. He smelled faintly like weed and clove and something older—familiar.

“Yeah?” He exhaled smoke through his nose, grin tugging wider. “Could’ve fooled me.”

His hand flexed a little behind your shoulder, arm still draped lazily over the couch. The look he gave you was all teeth and warmth, just bordering on cocky.

“C’mon,” he said, voice dipping just under the music—huskier now, scratched faint at the edges like the smoke had caught somewhere in his throat. “You gonna pretend we don’t know each other like that?”

There wasn’t enough air between you. 

Not with the way the couch dipped. Not with the way his voice scratched low from smoke, but still came out smooth.

Your gaze flicked up—just once. Just enough to catch the weight of his eyes on you, heavy and patient. Then dropped again.

You blinked once, slowly.

A flicker of something moved through your chest—tight and inconvenient. You swallowed it down. Turned toward him slightly.

Your lips parted. The joint burned low between your fingers, forgotten for a moment. Your thigh brushed his when you shifted, but he didn’t move. If anything, he angled closer.

You inhaled. Letting the smoke linger in your lungs before speaking. “It’s not about that.”

“No?” His smile was soft now, barely there. “What’s it about?”

Your voice came quieter this time. “It’s just…y’know…you build your music collection throughout your whole entire life. Like, your whole life. It’s not just songs that you like. Each playlist is a collection of memories. Stuff you never intended to share.”

A beat passed. 

The joint burned low between your fingers. You held it out toward him, offering it to him rather than saying anything else, but his eyes weren’t on the joint.

They lingered instead—on the way your leg had started to lean into his, just slightly. The way you hadn’t moved. 

That look of his—half-lidded, lazy, but pinned so squarely on you it felt like a touch. His head tilted faintly to one side, hair falling in front of his cheekbone, and when he grinned this time, it was full—slow and real. A little lopsided. Something that wasn’t a common expression of his.

That grin had no business being on a face so calm.

“Fine.” You said, finally giving in as you tugged your phone from the pocket of your jeans. 

The screen lit your face faintly blue as you thumbed through your music app, already knowing which one you’d send.

He didn’t say anything. Just watched. And that might’ve been the first time you noticed the quiet gravity of his gaze—how present it made him feel, even without words.

A second later, his own phone buzzed in his lap. He glanced down at the notification.

You lifted your eyes, deadpan. “And don’t get all weird about it. It’s like...not even a sliver of my soul. Practically a crumb.”

Geto huffed a laugh, crooked and pleased, thumb still hovering over the screen. “Oh, just a crumb? That’s all I get?”

You nodded confidently, “Mhm, one’s more than enough.”

He grinned, the kind that pulled deliberately at one side of his mouth. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“I do,” you said, exhaling smoke toward the sagging lights. “And I’m not using any of those skills right now.”

He leaned back again, face tilted toward the ceiling like he might laugh, but didn’t. Just smiled—quiet and real and a little tired around the edges.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

**Present Day**

Your thumb hovered above the screen again. Not moving. Just… resting there.

The song played on—its chorus quiet but insistent, winding its way through your earbuds like it knew something you didn’t.

You looked up absently, eyes catching on nothing in particular: a wet glint on the sidewalk, a flickering lamplight across the street, your own faint reflection in the glass window of the laundromat. 

The world felt off-center suddenly, like someone had rotated it a few degrees clockwise while you weren’t looking.

You remembered sharing your playlist with him that one night. You were both so crossed—in your usual spot together on the couch. You protested, but despite all of your best efforts, you sent him the link to one of the playlists.

And then—he’d never said anything. Not really. 

Maybe a polite “thanks,” some comment about the song titles being cryptic. You’d assumed he hadn’t listened. Or if he had, not more than once. Maybe not even all the way through.

But now…

Now you couldn’t stop thinking about him hearing it again. Recognizing it.

Of all the songs you played. Of all the nights.

It had taken you hours to curate that playlist. You'd aimed for something lowkey—comfort music, stuff you knew inside out, the kind of songs that felt like woodgrain and soft light and a warm couch you could sink into.

Not something you expected him to notice. Not something to place so easily. 

And most definitely not something he would remember over two years later.

Suddenly your whole chest felt… out of sync. Too hot, too tight. You started walking again, slower this time, even though you were less than a minute away, you were in no rush.

You hadn’t realized you were still holding the phone until the screen dimmed in your palm. You tapped it back awake. Then stared.

Geto: Thought I recognized last night’s playlist…

There was a part of you—an unhelpful, fluttering part—that wanted to write back:

MY playlist?? How many times have you listened to it? You never even brought it up again after I shared it?????

But you didn’t.

Instead, you slipped your phone back into your coat pocket, let your fingers curl around it. Like that might settle something in you. Like it might slow the strange, quiet tremble that had started under your skin.

The music played on, and you let it.

Same guitar loop. Same steady drums. But your thoughts did not flow with the music as usual, no, they were stuck on Suguru.

After a few moments of overthinking, your feet brought you to your apartment.

The door clicked open beneath your hand, hinges sighing the way they always did. A slow breath passed through your lips as you stepped inside, the soft shuffle of your shoes against the mat filling the silence.

The music still played—muffled now, one earbud still tucked in, the other hanging limp against your collar. A gentle guitar loop unfurled through the wires, slipping into the apartment with you like something remembered.

You didn’t bother turning on the lights. 

The early evening gloom had settled in—soft and blue, the kind that bled into the corners of rooms and made everything feel like it belonged in a dream. Or maybe just the part after waking.

Coat still on, you walked toward the kitchen. No purpose at first—just movement. Just something to do with your limbs. But then your eyes landed on the sink.

Those two damn space animal mugs, sitting exactly where you'd left them the night before byv the sink. 

They weren’t remarkable, not in shape or colour. But they now, for some reason, evoked a different reaction in you.

Your chest gave the faintest ache. Not sharp. Just a weight, settling in beneath the ribs like a familiar guest.

The music threaded on, drums steady. The chords moved in slow circles. You’d chosen this playlist for comfort. But now it felt like carried too much. 

Your fingers moved to the tap, as if that might help.

Warm water, soft foam. The sponge moved on instinct. One mug. Then the other. But your body felt distant from the motion—like it was happening a few steps outside of yourself.

His voice lingered in your ears—not in the music, but beneath it. Not a word-for-word memory. 

More like the frequency of his speech. The vibration of his words. That low, amused tone he used when something caught him off guard—in a good way.

Your chest pulled tighter.

It didn’t make sense, how many ways the past twenty-four hours had folded themselves around you. How easily he slipped into all the quiet parts of the day. The parts that used to feel yours alone. 

Your eyes glanced to the balcony door.

The sheer curtain stirred faintly in its frame, catching a breeze you couldn’t feel from where you stood.

Outside, the city smudged against the glass—dull orange streetlights, a shifting silhouette of branches, a flicker of someone else’s life a few floors down.

The track was ending—fading into the brief silence between songs. You stood in it, feeling the way it clung to your skin.

And then the thought came, uninvited but unmistakable.

“God,” you muttered, barely above a breath. “I could really use a sesh right now.”

The words hung in the air for a moment—half a joke, half a prayer—and then you turned, the tile cool beneath your socks as you padded down the hallway, the music still playing quietly behind you, like it knew exactly what kind of night this was becoming.

taglist ⸺ @killak9mi; @nikilig; @pinkhoneydrop; @armfloaties; @sat-hoe-ru; @kaqua; @rriwyu; @erenspersonalwh0re; @dishs0pe; @rwirxles; @yourname-exee; @pyruvic; @marianaz; @you-transfix-me; @simplyyyuji; @zoldyi; @linaaeatsfamilies; @anuncalledbridge; @aseqan; @starmapz; @nina-from-317; @kang-ulzzang; @hashahasha; @maybe-a-bi-witch; @zeunys; @pandabiene5115; @shibataimu; @enchantinghonymoon; @gradmacoco; @re-tired-succubus; @aspiring-bookworm; @idkidk32; @paintedperidot; @yourfavbabigirl; @tellria; @ruby-dubydu; @susanhill; @arabellasolstice; @getosshampoo; @xoxoblueyy; @bxnfire; @ayumilk; @hanatsuki-hime; @aldebrana; @jomijase1622; @garden0fyves; @luvaerina; @clearalienjudgeartisan; @smskhee; @vertigoswan; @blackstxnszz; @getoe1s **please note: if your name is striked out, that means I was unable to tag you, please check your settings if you'd like to be tagged**

[crazysodomite]

we used to be satisfied with a simple slideshow of drawings with lyrics written on them. now you need to make professional quality animations or die

[sweetshuga]

ⓘ content warnings: smut ⋆ +18 ⋆ fratboy!oc (dani) ⋆ pet names ⋆ sexual tension ⋆ dual pov (?) ⋆ friends with benefits (?) ⋆ mentions of a butt plug being used ⋆ fluff ⋆ anal ⋆ bottom!nick ⋆ missionary & cowgirl + more.

Nick woke up quite late today since he didn’t have any early lectures. And as per usual, he laid in bed, scrolling through his phone—or insta reels to be specific.

A few minutes of doom scrolling was enough to have him bored out of his mind and just as he was about to close the app, he suddenly came across a post from Dani—aka the annoying fratboy that’s been trying to act all chummy with him.

Before he knew it, he was scrolling through Dani’s post, his heart stupidly skipping a beat at a picture of him beaming at the camera, shirtless and holding a solo red cup with a backwards hat on—just the usual image of a fratboy.

But something about Dani, out of all the fraternity guys, made him feel undeniably attracted.

Nick’s heart almost leaped out through his mouth when he suddenly got a message from Dani.

«read the text messages»

Dani sat in the kitchen of the frat house, actually sporting a huge hard-on, trying to will his dick to behave.

His face began to burn with embarrassment because frankly? He never got hard over a simple and innocent selfie—and it made him feel worse knowing Nick clearly didn’t mean anything by it.

Thankfully, there were just a few of his fratbros and some chicks lounging in the kitchen so he stood up from the chair he was sitting on and casually walked towards the staircase before speed walking upstairs to his room—to jerk off.

Dani stared into space. A few balled up tissues were thrown haphazardly around the trashcan, but his mind was elsewhere.

A low curse left him as he adjusted himself. His dick was still hard as a rock despite having jerked off already, bulging the front of his camo shorts.

"This is fucking unbelievable," he groaned, falling back on his bed with a soft thump.

Meanwhile, Nick sat in the lecture, watching with raised eyebrows as the new lecturer came back looking slightly disheveled.

His eyes trailed to the girl that came into the lecture hall just before the lecturer.

"That’s... suspicious..." Nick murmured to himself before shrugging it off, focusing back on the slideshow—the lecturer was droning about—instead.

Later that evening, just as Nick got out of the shower, his phone rang with a call from Dani, causing him to roll his eyes.

"Great timing," he mumbled sarcastically as he picked up his phone, barely holding back a scoff at the cocky tone on the other end.

"You coming over or am I?" Dani drawled, voice all slow and teasing.

"You don’t sound sober so no-" "C’mon, you promised you’d come over." Dani cut him off, his voice now having a slight whine to it.

"Wha- I did not." Nick scoffed, drying his hair with a towel.

Dani sighed. "You didn’t," he admitted, "but please? I’ve been horny all day because of the photo you sent me this morning."

Nick’s breath caught in his throat, but he composed himself quickly and answered with the most annoyed tone he could muster. "And? That’s my problem?"

"It’s not... but fuck, Nick," Dani breathed out, "I need you so bad."

Nick’s rational side screamed for him to say no and end the call. But somehow, he didn’t do any of that, and instead mumbled a reply he knew would please Dani. "Fine... I’ll be there in a bit."

Before Dani could say anything, Nick hung up the call.

"What am I getting myself into?" He questioned his reflection in the fogged bathroom mirror, his own face staring back at him with blush adorning his cheeks like some middle school girl whose crush just told her he liked her back.

With a heavy sigh, Nick began wearing his PJs so he could get out of the bathroom.

Once in his dorm room, he walked over to his drawer and took out a pair of loose jeans and a simple black t-shirt, and a pair of white socks.

Suddenly, a thought flashed through his mind. One that made his stomach flip.

He opened his drawer again, heartbeat quickening as he searched for the butt plug he hid in there. When he found it, he quickly walked back into the bathroom with it clutched in his hand, anticipation eating him alive.

Nick came out of the bathroom about an hour later, face all flushed and heart thumping.

"Just in case." He told himself.

Just as Dani gave hope and was taking a few hits from his joint, Nick’s number flashed on his phone, causing him to cough a few times, surprised.

He quickly took the call, clearing his throat. "Changed your mind?"

Dani could almost imagine Nick rolling his eyes at the tone he used.

Nick sighed slowly, sounding annoyed. "I’m outside."

That had Dani’s eyes widening.

"What?" He asked dumbly.

"It’s kinda cold tonight, open the door before I get summer cold-" Nick sneezed, cutting himself off, eliciting a small laugh from Dani.

"Alright, babe, I’ll be right there."

"Don’t call me babe-"

Dani ended the call before Nick could say anything else, smiling to himself like an idiot as he walked downstairs to open the front door.

When he opened the door, Nick was standing there, arms crossed, his cheeks and the tip of his nose slightly rosy from the chilly breeze, a tote bag slung over one shoulder and his glasses perched on his nose.

Dani ushered him inside and closed the door behind him.

"You look cute." Dani commented, an arm reaching out to wrap around Nick’s waist, pulling him closer to himself.

"Shut up," Nick mumbled, looking around as if someone might walk into the living room any moment, even though everyone was in the kitchen.

"Don’t worry, they already know about us." Dani chuckled softly, reassuring him.

"I’m not worried..." Nick denied, even as his darted to the kitchen one last time.

Dani laughed softly, his grin almost sickeningly lovestruck. "Okay, whatever you say, baby."

Nick’s brows bunched at the pet name, making a disgusted face even as his heart rate—stupidly—picked up again. "Don’t call me that ever again."

"Alright, Mr. Grumpy." Dani laughed again—really laughed this time—the sound warm and infectious. And Nick caught himself smiling slightly before he quickly schooled his expression.

Dani led him upstairs so they could lounge in his room.

Once in the privacy of Dani’s room, Nick finally let himself relax, letting out a slow exhale as he sat on Dani’s bed.

Just as he shifted to get into a more comfortable position, the plug nestled inside his ass pressed against his prostate, causing Nick to yelp softly, catching the attention of Dani.

"You okay?" Dani asked, slightly concerned but mostly teasing.

"Uh, yeah... I’m, I’m fine." Nick quickly answered, maybe a little too quickly, a flush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

Dani didn’t look convinced though.

"Right... And that’s why you’re squirming and looking so damn fuckable on my bed." Dani said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "C’mon, just tell me what’s wrong."

Nick groaned softly, embarrassed. "It’s nothing."

Suddenly, Dani pushed him back on the bed, hovering over him as he began to tickle him. "I won’t stop unless you tell me what’s wrong. C’mon, spit it out."

"H-hey!" Nick shrieked, laughter forcefully clawing its way out of his throat as he squirmed to get away from Dani’s fingers.

"St-stop-- You-you, I’ll-- Daniii-"

Dani stopped abruptly upon hearing his name in that breathless whiny tone, the sound immediately going south and stirring awake his dick.

He panted softly from exertion as he leaned down to nuzzle his face in Nick’s neck, leaving soft kisses there.

His hands slowly slid down and under Nick, groping the supple flesh of his ass, kneading it. "God, I love your ass..." He murmured, nipping at the sensitive skin of Nick’s neck.

Nick’s eyes closed as he let out a shuddering sigh, his fingers tangling in Dani’s fluffy locks to pull his face closer to his neck, tilting his own head to the side to give Dani more room to work with.

Dani’s fingers sank into Nick’s clothed ass over and over again. But then he froze, making Nick open his eyes, confused.

"Is something wrong-" "What is this?" Dani cut Nick off, tapping his finger against the hard base of the butt plug.

Nick’s face burned, mouth opening and closing.

"You have a butt plug in?" Dani guessed, lifting himself up on his forearms to look at Nick.

Nick avoided eye contact, his breath hitching.

"Yeah..." He finally mumbled quietly, almost too quietly.

"Fuuck, really?" Dani groaned, his own breath hitching at the image that appeared in his mind at Nick’s confirmation. "You drive me fucking insane, Nick."

One thing led to another and Nick found himself tangled with Dani in his bed, spread open and vulnerable. His length slapped against his stomach—throbbing and leaking—as Dani’s cock plowed in and out his stretched out hole.

One of Dani’s hands clamped over Nick’s mouth, silencing his growing moans.

Dani groaned softly, feeling Nick squeeze around him.

"You love this shit, don’t you? Being silenced and fucked like a bitch in heat." A slow grin stretched across his lips when he felt Nick’s whimpers vibrating against his hand.

Nick’s hands clutched onto Dani’s forearm and biceps, his eyes rolling back when Dani’s length hit just right.

"Haahh... Look at you," Dani rasped, "already looking like you’re in heaven when I’ve only just began ruining you."

Nick’s cock bounced along with his body, slapping against Dani’s stomach with each descent.

"You’re going so deep," He whimpered.

"And you ride me so fucking good." Dani rasped, his hand delivering soft smacks to Nick’s flushed ass cheeks, causing his moans to grow in volume.

Nick clamped a hand over his own mouth, the other one on Dani’s chest to keep himself balanced.

Nick looked completely fucked out, body shuddering and tensing as he tried his best to keep bouncing on Dani’s thick cock, his own length leaking copious amounts of precum.

Dani’s eyes darkened when he saw the erotic sight.

One of his hands left Nick’s hips and tugged on his arm, causing Nick to drop his hand from his mouth.

"They’re gonna hear." Nick tried to protest but his words died in his throat when Dani suddenly held his hips tightly and began pounding into him from below.

Nick’s eyes rolled back in ecstasy and his mouth hung open in a silent scream as Dani’s cock plowed in and out of his tight hole rapidly.

"Then let them fucking hear," Dani growled, his hips blurring as he fucked up into Nick.

Nick’s greedy hole spasmed around Dani’s pistoning shaft. His release was so close he could almost taste it.

"I’m gonna... gonna-- mmph, fuck! I’m cumming!" Nick screamed in pleasure as his orgasm crashed over him, his dick twitching with each spurt of cum, painting Dani’s stomach and chest white.

"Fuuuck, you’re so fucking sexy like this." Dani groaned, slowing down but not stopping.

Nick slumped on top of Dani, his body shuddering with aftershocks. But Dani was still hard, having climaxed only once even though Nick had come more than three times tonight.

"Already tired?" Dani whispered, his hands leaving Nick’s hips and instead sliding down to grope his ass.

Nick simply nodded, his brain still short-circuiting from the intense orgasm.

Dani’s hips started to pick up pace, his arms wrapping around Nick to keep him in place on top of him as he murmured sweetly. "That’s too bad, sweetheart, I’m not done with you..."

Nick whimpered softly but didn’t stop Dani.

He was going to be so sore tomorrow.

✿ english is not my first language! || wc: 1.9k ✿

Isa’s rambling ۶ৎ The fics for this au won’t follow a certain order (for example, this fic takes place in the future when they start to be in this weird relationship between fwb and lovers) so it might get confusing mb chat lol

(Also, I got kinda lazy on the smut part ’cause I wrote so much in one sitting.)

⟢ nerd!nick taglist: @oopsiedaisydeer @shortnsweetsturnz @sagesturns @corspebridedelrey @anonymouslyachrisgirl @v33angel @heartsforvin @poolover123 @kier-with-a-k

[justliketoreadsowhat]

Not So Simple 𖣊

𖣊𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

𖣊𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.

---------------------------------

College is hard enough, early morning classes, late nights spent studying, countless hours of being on campus, eyes glued a to computer screen with a sore back and raging migraines. So why do you do it? Why not get a full-time job after high school, move out on your own, and try to make good meaning of your life? It could all be so simple, yet you chose the not so simple route.

“Class will resume Wednesday, make sure you all of our sections 1-4 and come back ready to discuss” The chirpy behavior seemed so painful to bear at 8 am on a cold Monday morning. A cringing realization that this profession will soon become your reality, teaching.

Standing to your feet with all the feeling rushing back through your veins that had fallen asleep hours ago due to inactivity. Slinging on your bookbag slowly making your way into the empty halls of the Education Department. The fresh morning sun beamed through the tinted windowpanes with a poorly faded decal of the infamous UConn Husky mascot plastered in each corner. By the time the rusted elevator reached the lower level, there were exactly 10 minutes left to arrive to your next class “Identity and Communication”

This was another hard stop in the hard you’ve solemnly adjusted to after finding out you had to take a graduate class as an elective in order to graduate next year. Nevertheless, the class only had an underwhelming total of 15 students with little to no excitement. Granted it was only week 3, yet it felt like years had passed.

Within 5 minutes to spare, you sat in the middle row as you do every day, causally observing the students dragging their feet through the doorway. The professor never really left his desk unless he felt like actually teaching us something besides numerous PowerPoints. As the slideshow went along you found yourself getting lost in the coloring app you used religiously on your iPad, since nobody sat behind you, there was no use in hiding it. Picking out your next color carefully, a cold breeze moved past you nearly sending your Apple Pencil flying to the ground. Looking up in annoyance you were met with nothing. Swiftly turning your head just enough to look behind you, you were met with a pair of blue irises glossed over, accompanied by a shade of purple glasses that framed her face to near perfection.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your uh.. coloring thing” her eyes darting to your screen on full display. A small smirk formed across her face “What app is that tho? I might need to download it”

“It’s called um- Color Rouge” answering softly to hide the sheer panic rising through your blood. Out of all the years you’ve attended UConn, not once have you seen their star-studded player, at least not this up close and personal before. Social media doesn’t give her enough justice.

“Bet say less” She nodded, sitting back in her seat, spreading her long legs, knees slightly pushing the back of your seat. Her slim veiny hands pulled out an iPad similar to yours, except hers was much bigger, fitted with a lavender-purple case. You didn’t dare let your eyes wander further down, shifting your attention back to the front of the class, no longer interested in the content being shown on the screen, or your “coloring thing”

How have you never seen her before in this class?

You’re not the greatest when it comes to paying attention but surely you wouldn’t miss someone like Paige.

An airdrop notification appeared on your screen, the name PB starred at the top. Slicing your thoughts in half as you accepted it without thinking twice. The notes app opened as it read “do you happen to have a charger?"

Your eyebrows raised as you searched through your bag, praying you had remembered to grab it this morning. Eventually grabbing the cord that was accustomed by bright pink protectors to keep it from tangling, Turning back to her figure you placed the charger in her hands, softly grazing her fingertips unconsciously.

Paige's eyes wandered across your face shameless before dropping her gaze to the cord "Everything's gotta be pink huh?"

She had already observed your pink iPad case, pink phone case, pink water bottle, and of course, your pink bookbag. Usually your nails would be coated in a shade of pink but, in honor of the fall season, you decided to go with a deep shade of mocha brown with gold accents swirled on your ring fingers.

"Yea I love pink, you don't like pink?" you prodded in confusion, more so amused by her way of conversing so easily with a stranger.

"No I like pink but, Ion think I'll ever achieve your level of favoritism", I appreciate it though"

Her tone was hard to read, you couldn't tell if she was being smart or if it was just her. To make matters worse, you kinda liked it.

"You're welcome, y'know you could've just asked me instead of sending me a note" you voiced, now completely facing her.

"Nah there's no fun in that" shaking her head “I jus wanna make sure I keep your attention pretty girl”

Oh She had it, easily.

This was going to be a long semester

[somegrumpynerd]

A little animation I made of Dream and Nightmare for fun, it's pretty short and simple but not bad for my second go at animation I think ^^

The music is from here, I highly recommend listening to the full thing cause it's so beautiful!

Quick explanation for the song and a gif version under the cut

So when I was first dipping my toes into utmv stuff like a year ago, I made a slideshow for my sister with a bunch of au Sanses, let her guess what kinda vibe she thought they had and then gave her a list of names/ aus to see if she could figure out who was who (she did surprisingly well and I'm proud of her).

Well, when I first showed her pictures of Dream her immediate reaction was "this guy looks like he's from zelda" and it's just always stuck with me. Somewhere along the way I started headcanoning Dream playing some kind of instrument when they were kids and when I heard the pan flute version of zelda's lullaby everything kind of fell into place.

So here they are, having a little moment of peace finally, brothers together again c:

[callmrmorrow]

to make up for my last post, here’s what i think the invincible characters would do as content creators

mark grayson/invincible: comic book channel who analyzes and breaks down different in-world comics, particularly seance dog. very critical. has those really dumb cheesy thumbnails of his jaw hanging while he points at the new issue in blatant shock. is on youtube. think star wars theory but with less alt-right pipeline bs. has a somewhat decent following

nolan grayson/omniman: this motherfucker hates social media and thinks it is one of the most moronic things to come out of humanity. has a twitter account to post about his books, only follows his wife and son (maybe his publisher) but doesn’t like mark’s tweets bc they’re mostly complaining, flaming, or talking about comic books (average male teen activities)

debbie grayson: house hunters for superheroes, or maybe closer to selling sunset with the entire company? could sell you a house with two murder victims on the floor ten feet away from you. if it’s something like selling sunset, she’s definitely the most popular with the fans because she’s super humble, competent, and shockingly compassionate on the camera. has a couple superfans who are largely middle-aged men and the occasional teenage girl (she has to manually block them on nolan’s phone; i imagine he’s not insecure but maybe a bit possessive)

amber bennett: probably runs a tiktok account on social justice topics. might have a tumblr or some other online blog where she breaks down current events and shares petitions for world betterment. anything but performative, frequently starts or attends protests for various causes. insanely well-spoken, lots of posts about her work at the soup kitchen, and you just know she donates money to everyone who pops up on her feed. such a good person it almost makes you feel like you’re not doing enough (and that’s lowkey the point).

eve wilkins/atom eve: science tutoring on youtube. faceless, think like khan academy, but has voiceovers. covers simple to super advanced stuff in a very understandable format that made her super popular. its some shit like “atomswitheve,” and it’s wildly popular but she literally never talks about it #humblequeen. while she and rex were dating, she let him edit a video and came back to like six explosions superimposed over chemical formulas.

the immortal: fucking history channel but it’s all about things he’s actually experienced, but nobody fucking believes him. voiceovers a slideshow of images. incredibly boring, comments are full of people saying “source” and he replies “I was there.” but again… no one believes him. a couple college professors cite his videos for historical inaccuracy — and they are inaccurate because immortal has an ego, but his content is actually closer than other firsthand accounts because he survived most of the stuff (and remembers it well).

oliver grayson: debbie screens his online time so he doesn’t go all ultron (we all know this motherfucker has little care for human life). mostly posts skating stuff or gaming clips that aren’t particularly good. does not get much traction but mark is always in his comments hyping him up, but he’s always wrong about what tricks oliver performs; it’s become a habit for oliver to march up to mark and say “this was actually a nollie inward heelflip you MORON”

rex splode: runs his own fan account that has like 7 posts of the druski dance with himself and captions like “yes i’m rex splode, yes i’m the best guardian, yes i bagged atom eve, yes i can defeat omni man, did i mention i can defeat omni man?” relatively popular. does tiktok live reactions of WWE fights — since he’s not wearing his costume, no one knows who he is — or anything else that his viewers submit. got cancelled twice but nobody seems to care, least of all him.

shrinking rae: runs a youtube account that is like… emulating one of those “day in the life of a [insert occupation] student” videos where she just kind of pretends to be normal. also makes cooking videos, videos about cleaning her apartment, self-care tips and tricks for young women (can’t imagine she got a lot of advice from her gung-ho superhero parents), and study habits for struggling college students. she kind of pretends to be who she wants to be irl.

kate cha: lowkey a music producer, since all her clones just play different instruments or harmonize with each other. she doesn’t get a lot of chances to do it with her hero work, but releases nothing but bangers when she can. featured rex yelling at her for cheating on him as an intro for one of her songs (like that one guy on tiktok) and it blew up. has a lot of songs about death, which most think is odd (important to remember she’s died a lot).

cecil stedman: does NOT post on social media and i can’t think of a world where he would. but if he did, it’s probably just a fake bot account that reposts pro-government propaganda. “more funding for the GDA” “cecil was right” “lets double the US defense budget” he’s the kind of guy to like everything on his fyp just to throw off the algorithm.

i do have more but this post is getting too long for most people’s (including me) low attention spans. will do a part 2 with requested characters if this is well-received

[formulakracing]

cat & mouse - s.p.

pairing: female driver!reader x red bull!sergio pérez

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of divorce, murky areas of morality, freshly divorced checo, smut, sex in a public place (oopsies!), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it y'all!), penetration (p in the v guys), creampie, cursing, allusions to infidelity (mainly checo thinking about you), mutual yearning & pining (that good shit), angst, yadayadayada

sergio was a virtuous man.

well, more like he considered himself a virtuous man.

he was a husband, a father of four children, a popular and prominent figure among his home country, and got along with just about anyone he met. he was an established driver in the world of formula one over the course of thirteen years, spending time with approximately five differing teams.

he considered himself to be kind, honest, and flexible. several qualities that you would consider to be appealing or excellent qualities.

that all changed the second you signed your contract to drive for scuderia alphatauri for the 2024 season as their second driver.

although daniel ricciardo was considering one last season of racing for the team, he opted out, pursuing a simple life of retirement from the racing world. however, he still hung around, joining various media teams for racing commentary and analysis.

actually, daniel was the one who advocated for your position within the team, presenting a lengthy powerpoint slideshow to christian horner and laurent mekies. as the latest f2 champion, daniel stated that you were the perfect candidate for the team. additionally, the press and publicity surrounding your win was nothing but positive, so it would not only bring a stream of publicity to the team, but potential sponsors.

as the first female driver for the alphatauri team, christian harbored his reservations. however, laurent was all for it, stating that as long as you proved yourself to be an asset, he would happily take you in.

and that is exactly what you did, scoring points at the first grand prix of the season in bahrain.

when you were first introduced to yuki tsunoda, he was not entirely over the moon, but he was civil enough. however, over the course of the first few weeks, the two of you got to know one another more, quickly becoming inseparable.

not only did you establish a close friendship with yuki, you were able to become more acquainted with the other drivers on the grid. a few of them had hesitations at the thought of competing with a woman, but yuki was quick to remedy that.

after calling a few of them misogynists, they quickly shaped up, becoming more friendly and encouraging over the course of the season.

yet, there was one driver in particular who caught your eye.

sergio pérez, lovingly referred to as checo by fellow drivers, the formula one community, and his team, oracle red bull racing.

sure, he was attractive with his fluffy dark hair, his radiant, bright smile, five o'clock shadow, and the freckles that dotted his cheeks and nose.

yet, it was his demeanor that really drew you in.

he was far more reserved than the other drivers, often remaining quiet during press conferences, only speaking when directly asked a question. he was not one to hog the spotlight, as he often praised his fellow driver, max verstappen often. his comedic timing was unmatched, the punchlines of his jokes hitting exactly when they needed to.

he was thoughtful, often giving you advice when the other drivers didn't, providing you with insight that you needed. he stuck around after races, often congratulating you on your position or complimenting your qualifying time.

to you, he was the perfect man. a wonderful combination of devastatingly handsome features and great personal qualities.

there was one thing though. there's was always a catch when it came to things that were too good to be true.

he was married. happily married, at that.

and the father of four children.

the thought of pursuing a married man? shameful, tasteless, and absolutely classless.

yet, there were a few things that you were blissfully unaware of.

sergio wanted you.

actually, he yearned for you.

nearly every second of every day, his thoughts were filled of ridiculously lewd and filthy images of ruining you. pounding that pussy until you reached that peak. devouring absolutely every inch of you until you were a weeping, whimpering mess beneath him. coating your body with his cum, claiming you as his and only his.

your presence was enough to send him spiraling, his cock throbbing in his pants or suit, aching for your touch.

to him, you were an angel that happened to walk this earth, gracing everyone with your wondrous and pure light.

another thing that you were unaware of was the fact that he was divorced, signing the papers merely months ago.

he just happened to wear that band on his left finger for the sake of preserving his personal life.

which, is part of the reason why he felt so fucking guilty.

although he was a single man, he still had a family and an amicable relationship with his ex-wife. he needed to focus on maintaining those relationships rather than fantasizing about a fellow driver.

yet, he couldn't control the fantasies. they just happened to appear. you were constantly on his mind, whether he was conscious of it or not.

he could be seconds away from the finish line on the track, and the only thing he could picture was how your lips looked wrapped around his cock.

to say that he wanted you was an understatement at this point.

he craved you.

and that satisfaction of finally getting you where he wanted you?

fuck.

that was going to glorious, euphoric even.

ever since max let it slip one intoxicated evening that you mentioned having a little crush on him. he even went into detail, describing how you admitted that if you were going to fuck one driver, it would be checo. the confession only confirmed that he wasn't the only one driving himself insane over this. you were in the same boat, pining after the driver for months now.

so, he was going to have to tread lightly, though. find that perfect window of time and somehow get you alone long enough to fulfill that ravenous hunger.

almost like a game of cat and mouse.

he was the predator, poised and eager to pounce on his prey.

there were moments in which he almost had you.

like last week, when you were on your way to your motorhome, with no one beside you. no yuki or daniel, just lost in your own little world on your phone.

sergio had to fight every voice in his head screaming at him to catch up to you, ask if you wanted to go out for some drinks or some food. if things went according to plan, you would accompany him to his own place.

however, he didn't.

and fuck, did he regret that.

yet, here you were beside him, sitting so delicately on the plush cushion of the couch, flipping through a random magazine, the pages fluttering. the silence was not necessarily comfortable, but it wasn't awkward either.

which, would hopefully work in his favor.

"how do you think this weekend is going to go?"

his voice, so soft you almost didn't hear it, fills your ears. you glance up, clearing your throat as you shrug, "i'm not sure. the weather conditions aren't looking too hot. do you know where everyone is? are we too early?"

sergio's gaze falls on the clock resting a few inches above the doorframe, brows furrowing, "i'm not too sure. i thought the email said 3:00 p.m. maybe there was a typo?"

the four red bull drivers were supposed to meet with a potential new sponsor, promising a hefty sum if all went well. it was for some type of new energy drink. you didn't really pay too much attention to the email, you just happened to remember the location and time you were supposed to meet.

the meeting was located in a tiny office in the red bull paddock, tucked away in one of the corners. it was not the most brightly lit space, as there was only one overhead light. there were no windows, almost reminding you of a detention space or solitary confinement due to the lack of posters or decor on the walls.

the only places to sit were two quaint couches, along with a tiny table situated between them. you were the first one to arrive at 2:15 p.m., figuring you could just mess around on your phone. not like you had any other plans anyway.

checo was about five minutes behind you, flashing you that beautiful grin the second he noticed you were already there.

as you flip to a new page, you can't help but feel a sort of tension hanging in the air, almost clouding the two of you. he's on his phone, his knee bouncing, almost as if he was anticipating something.

but what? you weren't quite sure.

"okay," he exhales, "ican'tfuckingtakethisanymoreandsincewe'realoneithinkit'sjustbestitellyouwhati'vebeenmeaningtosayforthelastfewmonths."

the words come tumbling out of his mouth so rapidly you can barely distinguish them. tossing the magazine on the table, you turn, facing him.

"checo, what the fuck did you just say?"

he straightens his posture, leaning in so that his mouth is merely centimeters from yours, "i'm very fucking attracted to you, okay? i can't fucking think straight right now because all i can think about is fucking the shit out of you."

you blink, heat billowing into your cheeks, flourishing down your neck as he licks his lips, his eyes fixated on one thing.

your mouth.

"i-i-," you stammer, scrambling for formulate some sort of response, "i mean, i'm very flattered that you-"

"and i know your little secret," his lips curl into a smug smirk, "max told me about your crush."

"oh fuck," you groan, burying your face in your hands, "when did he-"

"it doesn't matter."

his hands envelop yours, pulling them away from your face, "i have an idea of how we can pass the time before this meeting."

"sergio, there are literally people who could walk in at any minute-"

"i know," he nods, "and that's why i locked the door after i came in."

"you're ridiculous," you roll your eyes, folding your arms across your chest, you cock your head, "how exactly are we going to pass the time then?"

"well," he begins, "i want you. you want me. there's a few things we could do."

"how about you demonstrate?"

"oh?" he tilts his head, "you want me to?"

"i do."

"that's all i need to hear princesa," he leans in, so close that the tip of his nose brushes yours, "we'll have to be quick, though."

"i'm sure you could be quick-"

his mouth crashes into yours, both hands grasping your face as he sucks the air out of your lungs, kissing you with such a fiery intensity that it left you reeling, your mind struggling to process any coherent thought.

"usually i take my time," he pulls away, nearly panting, "but i need to be inside of you."

he prompts you to lay down, hovering above you as he fumbles with the drawstrings of his sweats, your fingers hooking the hem of your leggings. you pull them down, just enough so that the fabric is bunched up around your ankles.

at the sight of you spread open beneath him, sergio nearly comes undone.

your pussy was far more perfect than any of his fantasies, glistening in the light as his fingers trace along your folds. he's breathless, deeply entranced by the way your hands wrap around his base and shaft, feeling the entirety of his length.

this was all too much. too much for his mind to process.

yet, he was fueled by that burning lust, desperate to quench that flame.

desperate for you.

he situates himself between your thighs, wetting his fingers with spit. his hand glides along his cock before pressing against your entrance. you arch your back, in a vain attempt to get closer.

the moment he's inside, your walls stretching so wonderfully to fit him, his hand covers your mouth, the driver fighting to suppress a moan himself.

picking up the pace, his hips roll, ensuring that not too much noise is made as he pounds into you, bliss rippling in his chest.

the way your head rolls back, eyes squeezing shut with pure pleasure. the way your figure was so breathtaking under him. the way your tight walls squeezed around him, nearly gripping him, coaxing him in even further.

this was heaven.

it had to be.

and fuck, if he had more time?

oh god.

sergio could feel the accumulation of pressure in his abdomen, the way the euphoria was building by the second. fuck, he wasn't even in you that long and he was already on the verge of cumming.

as flustered as he was, perhaps it would be a blessing.

after all, the clock on that wall now read 2:42 p.m.

max and yuki would be there any minute now.

"sergio," your voice is a whisper, "y-you're going to make me-"

"cum princesa," he coos, a hand reaching out to caress your gorgeous face, "cum for me. i want to feel you cum."

he can barely finish his sentence before you're tensing up, inner thighs spasming as you orgasm, your plush lips parted every so slightly.

the sight is enough to bring him over that edge, his chest heaving as he releases inside of you, coating your walls with his cum. as he pulls out, the two of you exchange a shared glance, untangling yourselves from one another.

"fuck," you suck in a breath, pulling your leggings up, "fuck, fuck, fuck."

"i am so sorry," sergio pulls up his sweats, "i can buy you a morning after pill if you-"

"we'll talk about it later," you swiftly cut him off, "sergio, you need to get the door."

"oh fuck," the realization washes over him, "right."

as he crosses over to the door, you carefully fix your hair, ensuring that there were no strands out of place. the driver glances over his shoulder, tutting.

"you don't need to fix anything. you already look insanely beautiful."

"thank you," you murmur, fighting a wide smile as his mouth places a tender kiss on your temple, "we need to look like we didn't just-"

"i'll try my best to act normal," a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, "i don't think i will be able to focus on this meeting though."

"and why's that?"

"because i just fucked the-"

that's when the door handle wiggles, max popping in his head in.

"oh hallo! i didn't know you guys were already in here! how long have you been-"

"only a few minutes," you respond, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone.

"okay," he shrugs, strolling over to the couch, "hey checo?"

"yeah?" the driver's head swivels towards max, his brow arched.

"why are your pants on backwards?"

[themostimportantnight]

😼💥💪 SHIKI GEKIDAN MUNGO AND TEAZER 💪💥😼

I found this channel that's got a bunch of adorable, old-ass videos that are just fun little slideshows of cats put to songs from the Japanese Cats soundtrack (any titles that start with 「ミュージカル　キャッツ」 feature songs from Cats). This then inspired me to put what Japanese abilities I have to good use, so I translated Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer back into English 🙀🙀🙀🙀

(+ translation AND translation notes under the cut)

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

マンゴジェリーとランペルティーザ　小泥棒 / Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer: Thieves

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

A notorious couple*

From comedians to tightrope-walking acrobats, and everything else

Now, we’ve made a fortune

And we live in a fine home*

This is merely our zone of operation*

We were born to be drifters*

We only passed by the scene*

Wherever we go, our names are always a bit too well-known

The window is narrowly opened

The basement was vandalized*

The roof’s red tiles are peeling away and falling off

If a drawer is opened and your shirts have disappeared

If you lose a glass ring again

The whole family will all say at once,

“Again, Mungojerrie

And Rumpleteazer

Just accept it, they’re the ones who did it”*

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

Extraordinarily smooth talkers

Stealing, sneaking, snatching

Our skills are top-notch

We have a very fine home,

But we don’t live there

We have the most fun when we’re chatting with the police

When the family assembles for dinner

And orders a luxurious meal of meat on the bone,

The cook will come out, crying sorrily, and say,

“Excuse me, you’ll have to try again tomorrow*

The meat has gone missing from the oven”

The whole family will all say at once,

“Again, Mungojerrie

And Rumpleteazer

Just accept it, they’re the ones who did it”

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

A wonderful team*

It could be a fluke, or just good luck,

Or could it be the weather?

We show up like the wind

And we’re gone like the wind

Hey, Mungojerrie and

Rumpleteazer

Or maybe it was some completely different cats!

If from the kitchen or dining room you hear a loud noise

If from the study your precious vase is heard being smashed

The whole family will all say at once,

“Again, Mungojerrie

And Rumpleteazer

Just accept it, they’re the ones who did it”

*While in English the lyrics are “[...] we’re a notorious couple of cats” (leaving the exact meaning of “couple” open to interpretation – “couple” as in quantity, or “couple” as in the dynamic?), the Japanese lyrics treat “couple” like a borrow word (「カップル」, which is just the English word for “couple” in katakana); this suggests that Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer are being referred to as a literal couple/duo. I only mention this because it implies a specific dynamic between the two, rather than the English lyrics which keep their relation vague – the Japanese lyrics don’t necessarily suggest that Mungo and Rumple are a romantic couple; simply that they work as a couple (the word could be used to mean a lot of different things – they could be twins, inseparable friends, simple partners in crime, or something else).

*Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer’s home is explicitly referred to as 「立派な一軒家」 (“rippana ikken’ya), with 「一軒家」(ikken’ya) meaning a detached house, or a house that stands on its own separate from others around it. This phrasing may have been used to help with worldbuilding, as Mungo and Teazer are established to come from a well-off family that would presumably live in quite a large home.

*”This is merely our centre of operation” is a fairly innocuous line in English; in Japanese, however, the line is 「そこは単なる作戦地」. 「作戦地」 (sakusenchi) is mostly used in a military context to describe where a fleet is operating, from planning to attacking – this phrasing is less open-ended than the English lyrics, and really helps to sell Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer as sweet little terrorists).

*「ながれもの」 (nagaremono) translates to “wanderer” or “drifter” and refers to a person who doesn’t tend to stay in one place for very long.

*Rumpleteazer sings first, but it made a bit more sense to place what she said after Mungojerrie’s bit upon translating the line. This whole line (「狙った所をちょいと/通り過ぎるだけなのに」) was a hard one to translate – 「狙った所」 (neratta tokoro) can be translated as “target (specifically, a place)” or “scene (of an incident)”. The line reads as if Rumpleteazer is saying “all we have to do is walk by, and we get recognized”.

*The phrase used here, 「荒らされて」 (arasarete), can literally mean either “to damage” or “to break into” — I went with “vandalized” as I felt it captured the essence of both of these definitions.

*「二人の仕業は泣き寝入り」 was difficult to translate – 「二人の仕業」 can mean “Our/their fault”/”our/their actions” (usually in a negative context); 「泣き寝入り」 is used to describe giving up and accepting a situation.

*This line, 「すみません明日にしてください」, is incredibly basic in Japanese. 「明日」 (ashita) means “tomorrow”, and 「して」 (shite) means “do (it)”; I tried to add some context to my translation instead of just making the line “Excuse me, do it again tomorrow” (I’m not normally one to try and add a ton of spice to a translation if I want it to be direct, but the line just felt so strange without it).

*The phrase used here, 「二人三脚」 (nininsankyaku), literally means “three-legged race”, but can also be used to describe two people who work together to achieve a common goal (ex. Teammates, collaborators, etc), just like racers in a three-legged race (they operate as one).

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 4

Masterpost

"Okay, so like. We start with this video." Bernard says, bumping Tim's shoulder lightly. Huddling over a laptop together is a familiar experience; before they actually started dating they both regularly used laptop videos as an excuse to get close. It's a memory that Tim sort of cringes at, because now it seems so silly to be scared of Bernard not liking him back, and yet now he finds himself thinking back to those early days. The thrill of huddling together to solve a mystery is a little different from the thrill of being around your crush, but there's something there, a sort of excitement in questions yet to be answered.

"All right, hit me." And as Tim leans into Bernard a little harder, his boyfriend presses play.

The video is definitely weird. That much is immediately obvious. It seems to be a slideshow of pictures, complete with audio, but the pictures just seem off in a way that Tim can't describe and the audio is - it's a little sticky, but that is definitely Space Oddity, only it sounds kind of wrong like somebody's playing certain notes off key.

"Oh, that is definitely a Caesar cipher, huh?" Tim mutters. There's a line of text written beneath every photo in the little slideshow, but they're all garbled nonsense - it would seem entirely random, but Tim can already see a touch of pattern, some of the letters definitely appearing more common than others.

"Spy phase, huh?" Bernard teases. "I should've known you would already be on this stuff."

Tim grins and does his best to pretend he's not blushing. He's never been more grateful for his tendency to go overboard with his interests. The last thing he needs right now is Bernard asking questions about why he knows so much about code-breaking. Sure, he wants desperately to tell him all about Red Robin, but it's complicated with the rest of the family being implicated in your own identity.

The video continues in the same line for the whole duration of the song, then abruptly cuts off the second the last note of the song plays.

"Well, my first thought is that it seems kind of basic." Tim offers, at Bernard's expectant look.

"Right? Like when I first watched it I was kind of like what's the hype even about? But like, every video follows this general format, but the gradient of apparent code just keeps increasing, and it's like. What if there's more here and nobody ever realized they needed to look for it?"

"Okay well, the text has already been deciphered, right? So what does it say, and how'd they decode it."

"Here," Bernard switches tabs, to a document with screenshots of the various images. The first image was a simple photograph of a man, with the translated text reading Jonathan, January Thirteenth. The next photo, which was of an empty street, dusted with snow, read Hawthorn Way, Johnny's birthday. The rest of the photos followed in the same line. Simple labels describing who or what the photo showed and when they had been taken. None of the information seemed odd or suspicious, just the kind of photos that a family might take.

"Okay, it's a Caesar cipher, but each time the alphabet is being shifted a different amount."

"Yeah. And I already tried writing down the amounts in order to see if that meant anything but like.... No luck." Bernard gestures to his notes, where there is indeed a long number sequence.

"Okay, but how'd you solve it? Did anybody look for a clue to imply the shift or did they just brute force it?"

"I mean, there's literally websites that will run it for you, so I think people just did that." Tim hums, tapping his pen against his ear. The number sequence Bernard had shown him -

"None of the shifts are greater than eleven." Tim says. Bernard blinks, and glances back over his list.

"Huh. You're right, but what does that mean?"

"Means we need to figure out what's eleven." Tim reaches out and switches back the video and starts it again. The music still seems weird to him. He's no expert musician by any means, but he did take piano lessons for a bit when he was little, and more than that, he trusts his instincts. "There's only seven notes in a scale so it's not that..."

"A scale? Do you think there's something in the music? I mean other than it just being creepy?" Tim stares at Bernard.

"Bernard, you literally told me that you think it's all been more intentional than anyone realized. If that's true then the music definitely means something."

"Huh. Yeah, that is. Oh, we definitely needed new eyes on this, huh?" Bernard's huffs, then leans into Tim. "Okay well some the notes in the song are just straight up rank so maybe it's something to do with that?"

Tim hits play on the video again, focusing on the music. Six seconds in, a note hits, sounding very off.

"See?" Bernard says hitting pause. "It does that sometimes. Just plays a wrong note. I thought it was just to fuck with us, make us on edge, but maybe it means something?"

"We need the sheet music on this."

"Yeah? Do you know how to transcribe it?"

"Not reliably enough. But I know how to find someone who can."

"Babe, you're doing it again." Bernard laughs. "That could not have sounded more like Mafia energy if you tried."

"Oh my god, shut up."

[valsfavorite]

VALERIA AS A TIKTOKER | @ vltp6

she would be one of those masc lesbian thirst trappers, but not on purpose. she's just hot and move in her tiktoks in a way that attracts women.

her tiktok is covered in audios of spanish songs. she barely uses songs in english unless she really loves the song.

her bio is pretty plain with a simple "mexico. 87' born." valeria's icon is a selfie of her in bed; her head against the headboard, one of her arms above her head, a straight expression on her face, the red LEDS in her room are on. her name is val and her user is vltp6

barely posts but still gets tons of views every time she does. has around 900k followers, but only follows like 20 people.

doesn't reply to the comments on her posts especially the flirty ones but if she does reply it's usually a "😂" or "Lol." when people ask why she doesn't post much she either says "Because" or "I have a life"

actually sees the edits people be making of her and she reposts them all.

goes on live occasionally and valeria is pretty nice unlike what people expect. the longest she stays on is an hour. mostly speaking in spanish and answering whatever questions people type up in the comments. she'll speak english if people ask though.

people are always surprised she is in a late thirties.

in most of her tiktoks she's wearing black clothes and stay with that cross necklace + rosary combo.

ignores all of her DMs

does alot of slideshow posts of her at the gym

doesn't like any comments that are from men

posts tiktoks where she's smoking and blows the smoke out onto the camera.

in some of her slideshows it's photos of her holding up money stacks. doesn't address not one comment asking her what she works as

everyone goes crazy over her voice the first time she goes live

does those showing off tattoos trends every time they come around