#I been here for a year but just quietly observing

[svt-luna]

ʚིᵋ ⋆ CHEOLNA MOMENTS THAT MAKE ME QUESTION JEONGHAN’S BOUNDARIES (HE HAS NONE) ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── now playing…

synopsis: Seungcheol and Luna acting like an old married couple while Jeonghan watches from the sidelines, questioning his life choices and their boundaries— because they clearly have none.

i have said it once and i will say it again… this might be the best thumbnail edit i have ever made 😝 anyway! due to popular demand, here we finally have the highly anticipated CheolNa moments!! i love these two so much! it was so fun writing this and reading all your requests!! i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did! see you on the next one, my lovelies!! 💖💖💖

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST╰ ౨ৎ youtube compilations

[added captions are in brackets] ღ

bold dialogues are spoken in english ღ

indented italics are additional voice overs

Hey besties. Welcome back to the inside of my brain rot. If you’re new here— first of all, I’m sorry. But also, welcome to the void.

So. A couple years ago I dropped a video that none of us have emotionally recovered from titled: ‘Jealousy Never Looked This Good: Inside the Jeonghan-Luna-Mingyu Triangle’. It was dramatic, it was hot, and it had more tension than my last situationship. Honestly? Oscar-worthy.

BUT. As time passed, the fandom evolved, my delusions got worse, and a new triangle began to form.

Not fueled by jealousy. Not fueled by rivalry. But by pure unfiltered chaos and the complete collapse of personal boundaries.

Yes. I’m talking about the Jeonghan-Luna-Seungcheol dynamic. Or as I like to call them, ‘the soft launch polycule no one asked for but now can’t live without.’

The thing is… unlike the Mingyu situation where Jeonghan was very much “girl, don’t even look at him, look at me,” this time around? It’s giving: “yeah baby, you can flirt with him. But only because I picked him and I’m lowkey also flirting with him.”

Because now that we officially know Jeonghan and Luna have been dating for YEARS— yes, confirmed, yes, engaged, yes, I’m still spiraling— it makes so much more sense why Jeonghan watches Cheol and Luna interact like he’s observing enrichment time at the zoo.

This man has no boundaries. Zero. None. Like he’d probably hand Luna a water bottle and whisper, “hydrate before you flirt with Seungcheol again, baby.”

And what’s worse? Luna’s just as bad. She flirts with Seungcheol like she forgot she’s taken. And Seungcheol? Sweet baby Seungcheol? He’s just standing there twirling his imaginary long hair, kicking his feet and giggling like “this is fine” while his friendship with Jeonghan slowly morphs into shared custody.

So anyway. This video isn’t just about my favorite CheolNa moments. It’s also about how I realized Jeonghan is the kind of boyfriend who lets you flirt with whoever you want as long as it’s someone of his choosing.

Honestly? Power move.

Anyway. Let’s begin.

THE CRUSH CONFESSION

Let’s start strong, shall we?

The chaos began exactly twenty-eight minutes and sixteen seconds into the live.

The set was a Carat fever dream— colorful streamers twisted around balloon garlands, paper confetti on every surface, and a massive “Happy 7th, Carats!” sign hanging crookedly above the sofa line where all fourteen members sat side by side. Platters of fried chicken, ramen bowls, sliced fruits, and soda cans were stacked like a tower of bad decisions on the table in front of them.

The whole vibe felt like a sleepover with too many extroverts and not enough filters.

Luna was settled toward the middle, comfortably with her hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, wedged between Dino who had been quietly hoarding grapes and Seungkwan who was already eating dessert before dinner. A few seats down, Seungcheol was half-lounging with his arm hooked around the backrest, the very image of relaxed leader energy— until, of course, the chaos began.

They’re laughing, eating, throwing subtle jabs, and fielding live chat questions. Halfway through the stream, the conversation naturally veers off the rails (as always). It starts with reminiscing.

[i love them 🥹]

Seungkwan, mouth half-full and eyes already glinting with mischief, suddenly perked up. “Okay, wait,” he announced with the enthusiasm of someone about to start drama on purpose, “was there anyone you didn’t think you’d get along with during trainee days?���

A few members made thoughtful noises, but Luna didn’t even hesitate. She reached for a chopstick, picked up another bite of japchae, and said with complete nonchalance, “Cheollie.”

[girl said no hesitation. she’s been waiting for this moment since forever.]

Seungcheol’s offended “Why me?!” came just as the other members burst out laughing.

He wasn’t even seated directly next to her, but he craned his neck dramatically over the heads between them, his pout exaggerated and comical.

[when your gym crush says you were the reason she developed anxiety]

Luna just smirked and popped the noodles in her mouth before explaining, tone perfectly casual, “Cheollie was so annoying during our trainee years. He used to tease me so much during practice or during break… constantly. He would pop out of nowhere just to scare me, or pull my hair when I was tying my shoelaces. Constantly. It was like he had a sixth sense for whenever I was at peace.”

[CHOI SEUNGCHEOL!!!]

A mix of loud laughter and nostalgic groans erupted as a few members nodded knowingly. Jeonghan, sipping his drink lazily, just raised an eyebrow as if to say Sounds about right.

[Be so real this sounds exactly like a 6th grade crush and a lawsuit waiting to happen]

“Ah, so you didn’t think you’d get close because of that?” Seungkwan summarized between bites, his tone amused.

Luna nodded and reached for her soda. “Exactly.”

She lifted the can to her lips mid-sentence— and that was when Seungcheol, who had been eyeing her smugly the whole time, chose chaos.

[He WAITED until she started drinking. I can’t.]

“I liked you, duh. That’s what teenage boys do when they have a crush on a pretty girl.”

[HWHEHBEJWBUSNSHEVUW]

[I REMEMBER WATCHING THIS FOR THE FIRST TIME!!!]

[THE WAY MY SOUL JUST EJECTED FROM MY BODY]

The words hit like a bomb.

[If Luna had a nickel for every SVT member who confessed to her, she’d have two nickels… she’d have three but I’m convinced SHE confessed to Jeonghan 🤭]

Luna choked.

Literally.

She sputtered mid-sip, the soda going down the wrong pipe as she bent over in a fit of coughs. Dino and Seungkwan instantly reached over to pat her back, both of them half-helpful and half-hysterical. Dokyeom clutched his chest like he’d just watched a K-drama twist happen live, while Hoshi let out the most high-pitched shriek imaginable.

[Miss thing went from sipping to slipping into the next dimension]

“Yah! Choi Seungc-c-heol!” Luna wheezed between coughs, eyes watering as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

Seungcheol was grinning from ear to ear, looking entirely too pleased with himself. He leaned forward slightly with that same teasing glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying every second of her meltdown.

[Cheol, please, she’s on the brink of death]

[He woke up and chose ✨MAYHEM✨girl you mean to tell me he had a crush while calling her a goblin?!?]

Jun was howling, and even Vernon cracked a smile as if the simulation had finally glitched beyond repair.

Once Luna finally recovered, cheeks flushed from choking and the statement, her voice was raspy, “What kind of excuse was that?!” she tried to brush it off as she waved her hand, not wanting the fans to freak out even more than they already were.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan sat there unfazed, calmly chewing on a rice cake and nodding like this was all very old news. “A lot of people liked you back then,” he said with an easy shrug, his voice muffled slightly by food.

There was no jealousy. No surprise. Just casual confirmation.

Luna whipped her head toward him, scandalized. “You knew?!”

[Bae Jiyeon.exe stopped working]

Jeonghan didn’t even flinch. He just glanced at her, one brow lifted in amusement, before going back to his plate. “Mmm.”

[Not Jeonghan acting like she was the community crush]

[She was… she is.]

[Also! THESE TWO WERE ALREADY DATING AT THIS POINT!!? He is unfazed.]

And then, in perfect timing, Seungkwan deadpanned under his breath, “Only back then?”

[That moment when seungkwan becomes the voice of the fandom]

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even meant to be heard. But the camera caught the way he side-eyed Jeonghan, Mingyu, and Seungcheol— who were, in a tragic twist of fate, all seated directly next to one another.

Luna clocked the implication instantly.

[She said “Not today!”]

Eyes widening, she sat up straighter and immediately waved her hands. “Anyway!” she declared a bit too loudly. “What’s everyone’s favorite trainee meal memory? Huh? Remember ramen Sundays? Let’s talk about that!”

The boys groaned, some still laughing, some shaking their heads at the abrupt subject change, but they followed her lead.

[Diversion tactic 101 with Bae Jiyeon]

[She changed the topic like her publicist was in the room]

Later, the video would be clipped, subtitled, slowed down, and analyzed frame by frame.

For months, fans would speculate on that exact moment— on Luna’s reaction, on Seungcheol’s confession, on Jeonghan’s complete and utter chill.

But it wouldn’t be until a couple years later— when Luna and Jeonghan’s relationship was finally confirmed— that Carats would go back and realize what Seungkwan really meant.

And this scene? It became canon. Iconic. Historical footage.

[This live aged like wine and a little bit of delusion]

Jeonghan literally lets another man confess to his girl and just eats his food. Sir, where are your boundaries?!

He has none. This is what this video is for.

IN THE SOOP S2EP3

One of the cutest CheolNa moments 🥹 it’s so wholesome!

The sky was still dusted with traces of night when the camera panned to the main house, nestled in the quiet serenity of In the Soop.

It was just past 6 AM— early enough that the surrounding woods still hummed with the hush of dawn. Inside the house, most of the members remained fast asleep, cocooned in their blankets and dreams, unaware that one of them had already stirred.

Luna shuffled quietly out of her room, clad in oversized cotton pajama pants and a hoodie that draped over her frame like a blanket. Her hair was sleep-tousled, bangs puffed from the pillow, and as she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palm, a soft pout tugged at her lips.

[She said: “I woke up like this. I’m flawless.”]

She had no real destination, only the sleepy instinct to move. The main house was dim and still, the sun rays filtering through the windows and casting lazy stripes on the floor. She tiptoed past the kitchen, glanced toward the living room where someone had left a half-empty bag of chips open, then turned toward the sliding doors. With a tug, she slipped outside, the crisp morning air meeting her cheeks as she made her way across the grass toward the playhouse.

[The sun isn’t even up and she’s already giving drama main character energy]

The smaller cabin creaked slightly as she opened the door. She wasn’t expecting anyone to be there— why would anyone else be up at this ungodly hour? But when her eyes landed on the sofa, she paused mid-step.

Seungcheol was already there.

[BE SERIOUS. WHY IS HE READING AT 6AM LIKE A DAD?!?]

He was lounging with one leg tucked under the other, a book in hand, glasses perched low on his nose. He looked up the moment he heard the door open— and paused when he saw her.

His eyes softened instantly, the crease between his brows folding with concern. He closed the book without marking the page and asked quietly, “Why? What’s wrong?”

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

Luna didn’t answer right away. Instead, she walked toward him slowly, like a kid navigating the weight of a rough dream. Her voice was barely a mumble as she whispered, “Had a nightmare.”

[my baby 🥺]

Before he could respond, she threw herself down beside him and curled into his side, arms wrapping around his waist without a second thought. Seungcheol instinctively draped his arm around her, pulling her in as he adjusted slightly to make room. His hand rubbed slow circles against her back.

[JAJSBHWJWHSHSBHSHSHSB]

“What kind of nightmare?” he asked softly, his voice still a little raspy with morning.

[good lord 🫠]

But Luna didn’t answer. Her head was now resting on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed again. “Don’t remember,” she muttered, voice muffled against the fabric of his hoodie.

[she’s so fluffy, I’m gonna die]

Seungcheol let out a quiet chuckle, eyes warm. “Of course you don’t.”

He didn’t press her after that. Instead, he reached for his book again with one hand while the other remained loosely curled around her.

The camera lingered on the two for a moment, wrapped in a hush that felt sacred.

[Why does this feel illegal to watch?]

[she literally crawled into his ribs like it was her bed. he didn’t even flinch.]

[boyfriend? no. service animal.]

Minutes passed. The page turned. Luna’s breathing evened out against his shoulder.

And then—

The crunch of gravel outside. Footsteps. Voices.

“Hyung, I swear the deer literally stared at me like I owed it money,” Dokyeom’s voice could be heard clearly before the door creaked open.

Jeonghan entered first, holding a coffee mug with one hand and the other stuffed in his hoodie pocket. Joshua followed with sleepy eyes, and Dokyeom brought up the rear, still laughing at whatever he’d just said.

They all froze the moment their eyes landed on the couch.

There was a beat of silence.

Jeonghan raised both brows and tilted his head slightly.

[The boyfriend be like: “Should I leave?”]

Then, Seungcheol— without shifting even an inch from his position— held a single finger to his lips.

“Shh,” he mouthed, glancing down at Luna, still curled against him.

[HE DID THE DAD SHHHHHH]

Joshua let out a silent “ohhh” as if they’d just walked into a room mid-confession. Dokyeom just gave a cartoonishly exaggerated wink before dragging Joshua by the sleeve toward the art supplies set up at the other end of the playhouse.

That left Jeonghan standing in place, mug halfway to his lips, eyes trained on the two on the couch.

Silently, he made his way over. The camera zoomed in just a little.

He didn’t say a word as he sat down on Luna’s other side, moving with the kind of casual intimacy only Jeonghan could pull off. His hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against Luna’s cheek with the back of his hand, the gesture so gentle it was barely a touch.

[I want what they hAvEee!!?]

His voice was quiet as he looked at Seungcheol. “What happened?”

Seungcheol glanced at him, then looked down at Luna, who had shifted slightly in her sleep but hadn’t stirred. “She had a nightmare,” he said simply.

[that’s all he said. BUT IT’S ENOUGH.]

Jeonghan hummed once and didn’t say anything else. He just leaned back against the sofa and kept watching Luna like he was trying to memorize her breathing pattern.

[THE WAY JEONGHAN JUST STARES AT HER FOR A SOLID MINUTES OR SO HAS ME 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[IT’S SO NATURAL FOR THEM!? WTF!??]

[THEY ARE SOOOO DOMESTIC]

The scene faded with the morning light growing brighter through the window, the sound of quiet brushes of paint and muffled laughter from the other side of the room.

GOING SEVENTEEN EP45 TTT #2 (HYPERREALISM VER.)

Here I present to you, one of the most chaotic GoSe episodes in existence.

Dinner had descended into pure, unfiltered chaos in the best way possible.

[MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE TTT EPISODE!]

The sun had long dipped behind the trees, leaving a soft navy blue sky streaked with moonlight and the warm golden glow of the outdoor lights the staff had set up earlier.

Inside the house, the long dining table was littered with empty bottles of soju and beer, tangerine peels, used chopsticks, torn napkins, crumpled tissue, two abandoned slippers, and at least one opened container of yukhoe that no one claimed.

[If you find your slipper at the end of this episode please DM us.]

The members had eaten like they hadn’t been fed in six days. Meat grilled at lightning speed, rice stuffed into lettuce wraps, screams exchanged over who stole the last piece of samgyeopsal, and five separate toasts later, everyone was just slightly too full, way too tipsy, and aggressively competitive about the dumbest drinking games.

“SEUNGKWAN, IT’S YOUR TURN, PICK A NUMBER!” Dino shouted, voice cracking as he waved a beer can in the air like a sword.

“I PICK SEVEN!” Seungkwan yelled back.

“That’s the punishment number! YOU’RE DOING THE DANCE!”

“WH—WHY IS SEVEN ALWAYS THE PUNISHMENT?!”

“BECAUSE WE SAID SO!”

[SVT x alcohol is another beast entirely]

And just like that, Seungkwan was up on a chair doing Twice’s choreography with a scowl on his face the mic up his mouth.

[This is not dinner. this is psychological warfare.]

[do you hear the people sing? singing the song of unhinged men.]

By now, the house had splintered into different zones of madness.

In the entertainment room, a whole arcade corner had been discovered, and Wonwoo and Vernon were now aggressively button-mashing a 2D fighting game, faces stone cold like it was a life-or-death situation.

“I swear to God if you spam that kick one more time—”

“Skill issue,” Vernon replied flatly.

[Testosterone levels are dangerously high.]

Right next to them, in the same room— because SEVENTEEN doesn’t believe in volume control— was the karaoke area, where Hoshi, Dokyeom, Seungkwan, and Dino had unofficially formed a boyband.

And they were screaming.

[They have absolutely lost what’s left of their minds]

Hoshi was on the floor, dramatically belting out Taeyang’s ‘Eyes, Nose, Lips,’ while Dokyeom provided backup vocals with tears of laughter streaming down his face. Dino was adding adlibs that didn’t exist.

[This is a live exorcism. please send thoughts and prayers.]

[Hoshi is actively going through a breakup with air right now.]

Meanwhile— on the other side of the room, nestled into the largest couch like royalty on thrones— were Jeonghan, Luna, Seungcheol, and Minghao.

They had drinks in their hands, snacks on their laps, and the same expression of bemused detachment as parents watching their children go absolutely feral.

[THEY ARE IN DISBELIEF ���]

Jeonghan sipped lazily from his glass, legs crossed, eyes twinkling as he watched Dino hit a high note that sent the dog somewhere outside barking.

Minghao was leaned slightly into him, talking about something art-related that Jeonghan was nodding through without actually understanding.

And next to them— on the opposite end of the couch— was Luna.

She was curled into a pretzel shape, her knees pulled to her chest as she faced Seungcheol, who sat beside her with an arm resting lazily on the back of the couch. She was deep in story mode now— tipsy, glowing, and absolutely unstoppable.

[Drunk Luna is a vibe]

[She gets so chatty, it’s adorable]

Most people wouldn’t clock that she was drunk. She wasn’t slurring or stumbling. But to the people who knew her best— the rest of the members — it was so obvious.

The giggles. The clinginess. The nonstop storytelling. The pout that kept threatening to take over her entire face.

“—and then I told him,” Luna was saying, brows furrowed like this was the most serious tale she’d ever told, “I told him, ‘Sir, that’s not how you make kimchi jjigae, okay?’ Like. I’ve eaten that dish my whole life. My mommy would cry if she saw what he did to the tofu. She would cry, Cheollie.”

[I legit want to know how they got to this point in the conversation]

She poked his chest to emphasize her point. “He put pickles. PICKLES!”

[How dare he?!?]

[That’s actually nasty 😀]

Seungcheol chuckled, his eyes crinkled in amusement as he nodded along, clearly entertained. “That’s criminal behavior,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

“I KNOW!” she gasped, throwing her head back in horror before bursting into giggles again. “Like— like if I went to your mom’s house and put ketchup in galbijjim! You’d disown me!”

“I’d file for emancipation,” he nodded solemnly.

[Luna drunk-ranting about tofu is my roman empire.]

Luna pouted dramatically. “He ruined the tofu. The tofu did nothing wrong. It was just living its little tofu life.”

[Someone get her a mic she has THINGS TO SAY.]

[SHE IS ADORABLE THO 🥺]

“You should’ve called the police,” Seungcheol said with a straight face.

[Idk if he’s serious or if he’s messing with her!?!]

“I thought about it!” Luna wailed, before breaking into another wave of laughter.

Seungcheol just watched her, head tilted slightly, grin soft and fond in the corners of his lips. He looked utterly relaxed— shoulders slouched, eyes warm, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than here, letting this girl drunkenly yell about tofu and food crimes.

[HE IS SO SOFT FOR HER SJNSKWHDSJSUSUS]

[I mean, I don’t blame him.]

Minghao, who had been talking to Jeonghan beside them, turned then, tapping Seungcheol on the arm. “Hyung, I meant to ask you— what time are we starting that basketball thing tomorrow?”

Seungcheol blinked and turned away from Luna to answer. “Oh, I think around ten? The staff said we have time—”

But Luna had stopped talking mid-sentence.

Her gaze shifted back and forth between Minghao and Seungcheol, mouth parted in offense. Her pout deepened like she’d just been personally betrayed.

[GOOD LORD I WANT TO KEEP HER IN MY POCKET AND TAKE CARE OF HER 🥹🥹🥹]

[She was MID-STORY. HOW DARE HE.]

[the tofu deserves JUSTICE.]

Jeonghan spotted it instantly. He grinned into his drink, then leaned over and pointed a single finger at her. “Aigoo,” he laughed. “You’re so cute right now, Nana-ya. Seungcheol-ah, look— she’s sulking.”

He tapped Seungcheol’s knee twice like he was pressing a notification alert. “Your tofu queen is mad.”

[Jeonghan seeing Luna’s face change first 🤭]

Seungcheol turned back to find Luna still staring at him with wide doe eyes and a matching pout, curled tighter into herself like a very offended shrimp.

The second their eyes met, she didn’t even say anything— just looked at him with betrayal so pure and dramatic it could win awards.

Seungcheol burst into laughter. “Aigoo, Jiyeonie, okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he cooed, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her gently into his side. “My bad. I’m back. I’m listening. I’m all ears.”

[I simply cannot handle this anymore.]

Luna narrowed her eyes like she didn’t trust him.

“I promise,” Seungcheol whispered, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head. “Tell me the rest. What happened to the tofu.”

[LAHHSHSHEVEJHDJEHSHHSJWUSEH]

“Well,” she huffed, shifting so she was pressed into his side, legs still curled up. “After he destroyed the tofu, he served it with this weird rice that had corn in it—like, not the good kind of corn, like the soggy canned one— and I just sat there like, ‘Is this a prank?’ Like, am I being filmed? Are there hidden cameras?”

[WHERE THE FUCK DID SHE GO?!]

“You were the victim,” Seungcheol nodded solemnly. “A culinary victim.”

“I was! And the worst part?” she said, gasping like she was about to drop the biggest bomb yet. “He said he learned it from YouTube. YouTube, Cheollie!”

“Immediate jail.”

Luna nodded furiously, pleased that he understood. “Thank you! Exactly!”

[her honor. her tofu.]

Seungcheol kept nodding along, completely focused on her, laughing at all the right moments, murmuring little “no ways” and “you’re kidding me” like she was reciting the epic tale of the century.

Which to her? She was. This was her TED Talk. Her tofu trauma testimony.

[This is the most unhinged therapy session i’ve ever witnessed.]

[THE TOFU DID NOTHING WRONG!!!]

Meanwhile, Jeonghan— who had been sipping his drink and watching the two like he was at a play— grinned slowly and tilted his head at the sight.

“Cute,” he murmured with a knowing smile, before he pushed himself up off the couch and walked across the room to where Hoshi had collapsed dramatically on the karaoke floor, head tilted back like Juliet in her final scene.

“Hoshi-ya,” Jeonghan said, crouching beside him. “Are you okay?”

[Hoshi was going through it this ep]

“No,” Hoshi croaked.

“Come on.” Jeonghan hooked an arm under his and pulled him up like dead weight.

And just like that, the night pressed on— wild and warm, full of laughter, chaos, karaoke, and tofu justice.

[We will never forget the tofu]

[tofu 4ever. pickles 4 never.]

LUNA’S AIRPORT SAESANG INCIDENT

This DESEVES an honorable mention.

Okay, okay, okay— Because THIS moment? DESERVES an honorable mention in the Best of CheolNa highlight reel.

No, actually— it deserves its own documentary.

Now if you’ve already watched my video “All Eyes on Her: Seventeen’s Ultimate Protective Moments,” then you KNOW exactly what’s coming.

If you haven’t? Babes. Pause this. Go watch it. Come back. Because the way Seungcheol launched into action like a man on a mission?

Chivalry is ALIVE and it looks like Choi Seungcheol.

So yeah. Honorable mention? Absolutely. Man of the century? YES. Hot as hell for reacting faster than anyone? YOU BET YOUR ASS.

And if this doesn’t confirm that Seungcheol is Luna’s unofficial bodyguard slash soft protector hybrid? I don’t know what does.

Anyway–

LOS ANGELES ‘RIGHT HERE’ WORLD TOUR DAY 1

This CheolNa moment is so bittersweet. Idk if i should cry or… cry…

The night had already been unforgettable.

The stage pulsed with light and sound, casting glows of red, blue, and gold over the packed arena. Fans screamed themselves hoarse, their chants rising in perfect rhythm with the beat.

Seventeen, Seventeen, Seventeen!

The energy in the arena felt like it could split the roof in half.

It was Day 1 of the ‘Right Here’ tour in Los Angeles.

[Day 1 of ‘RIGHT HERE’ tour LA was a MOVIEEEE.]

And despite the bittersweet sting of not having Jeonghan— who was back in Korea serving his military duty— or Jun, who was in China due to conflicting schedules, the show went on. And God, did it go on.

The eleven boys and Luna had brought the damn house down.

They laughed. They danced like their bones were made of rhythm. They screamed into mics and encouraged fans to scream back. They cracked jokes, stole water bottles from each other, and hit every choreo like their rent depended on it.

There were confetti. There were ballads. There was Hoshi screaming “WHERE MY TIGERS AT?” so loud a baby might’ve cried in San Diego.

[The Horanghae cult remains superior]

And through it all, Luna was radiant— shimmering in her sleeveless custom silver crop top and pleated skirt, her voice ethereal, her expressions playful, her dance lines sharper than ever.

[GODDESSSSSSSSS]

[MOTHERRRRRRRRRR!!!! LOOK. AT. HER.]

But more than her performance, fans couldn’t help but watch her… when she wasn’t trying to be watched.

Especially when she was next to Seungcheol.

[No because i was RIGHT THERE (*wink wink*) and they were literally in their own drama.]

Now it was the final ment of the night.

The lights had dimmed to a golden hue, warm and nostalgic. The music was soft in the background, and the energy had shifted from high-octane to heartfelt. All twelve present members were seated on the elevated stage platform, legs dangling off the edge. They looked out into the ocean of light sticks and banners, eyes glassy with gratitude.

The members took turns speaking into their mics, thanking Carats, reflecting on the tour, on missing the others, on what it meant to be here.

Luna was seated between Seungcheol and Dino. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, and her gaze stayed front and center, respectful as Dokyeom shared his thoughts— his voice sweet and trembling with emotion.

“I know this is only day one, but I feel like it’s already a gift just being here with all of you again,” he said. “Thank you for always waiting for us, even when we’re not complete. Jun-hyung, Jeonghan-hyung… I hope we get to be on the same stage again soon. We miss you.”

[Brb… my eyes are sweating…]

The crowd cheered, a soft, collective “Awww…” washing over them like a wave.

Luna smiled softly. But from the corner of her eye, something tugged her attention sideways.

Seungcheol.

He was massaging his left knee.

Her stomach dropped.

It wasn’t dramatic— he was subtle about it, trying not to draw attention. But her eyes narrowed as she watched his thumb press slow circles into the joint, his brows pinching slightly before smoothing out again.

[she looks so worried]

It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed it. Even during the high-energy numbers, there were flashes of hesitation. Small moments where he would stop dancing for a beat. Grimace. Breathe in through his nose sharply before catching up again.

Ever since he tore his ACL, his knee had never truly been the same.

[THIS MAKES ME SO FUCKING SAD BRO]

[I hate seeing Cheol in pain 🥺]

And now, despite smiling and leading with his usual strength, she saw the truth in his fingers. In the way his other hand gripped the edge of the platform like he was grounding himself.

Her expression shifted. Worry crept in.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his eye.

He noticed her gaze instantly— and of course, he smiled. A small, practiced curve of his lips that tried to say, I’m okay. Don’t worry.

[What did he do to deserve this?!??)&@2)62]

But Luna wasn’t buying it.

She reached up and carefully removed one of her in-ear monitors, leaning closer, murmuring just loud enough for him to hear her or read her lips.

[🥺🥺🥺]

“Are you okay?”

Seungcheol blinked at her, then nodded once, his lips barely moving as he replied back:

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Luna’s eyes didn’t budge. He could feel her doubt.

Still… she didn’t push. She just scooted a little closer, subtle and slow, until her thigh gently pressed against his. She leaned down and placed a hand on his knee. Her thumb started to move in small, precise motions over the muscle— mimicking his earlier touch, but gentler, more comforting.

Seungcheol exhaled quietly and leaned back onto his hands, watching her fondly. His eyes softened instantly.

[NOT HER MASSAGING HIS KNEE LIKE A WIFE AFTER HE TOOK OUT THE TRASH.]

[But on another note, she’s so sweet]

And then— Luna suddenly reached down and pinched the air above his knee with two fingers, like grabbing an invisible bug, then theatrically flicked it away with a dramatic wrist flourish.

[HER. THROWING. AWAY. HIS. PAIN. I CANNOT.]

[OWUEUEHUSHEJWJSIHWJWIWNSIEJSISJ]

[SHE IS THE BEST PERSON ALIVE WTF?!?]

She did it again. This time, she rolled her eyes in exaggerated annoyance and muttered something like, “Ugh, take your pain and go.”

[She said “be gone THOT” to his injury.]

Seungcheol burst into laughter.

Real, full-bodied, head-tilted-back laughter that shook his shoulders. His hand flew up to cover his mouth but he was already gone.

[I’m honestly so thankful to her for making him laugh at least]

“Stop,” Seungcheol whispered in a huff between laughs, shaking his head.

“You’re welcome,” Luna grinned smugly.

Then, without thinking— Luna leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on top of his knee. A gentle little kiss that made time stop for a split second.

[SON OF A BITVCHKSJEHEJBSJENJSJSB]

Seungcheol’s smile melted into something warmer. Softer. He looked at her like she’d just rewritten every rule about how to love someone.

His hand came up, brushing through her hair affectionately before settling on her bare knee. His fingers splayed across her skin gently… then slowly began opening and closing like a blooming flower.

That annoying little tingling thing he always did. The one that gave her goosebumps.

Luna flinched with a surprised squeal, her mic barely catching the sound as it escaped her throat.

[HOLY SHIT HER MIC PICKED IT UP SO GOOD I’M DECEASED.]

She slapped a hand over her mouth too late, eyes wide as several members turned to look at her. Mingyu paused mid-sentence, blinking in surprise.

[I CANNOT 😂]

“What?” Seokmin asked.

Luna waved her hand in the air frantically. “Nothing! Nothing. Keep going!”

She motioned toward Mingyu to resume his ment.

The moment the attention slipped away again, she turned back to Seungcheol and smacked his arm playfully.

“Asshole,” she mouthed.

Seungcheol bit his lip, failing to look sorry.

[Me giggling like a child in church. this is illegal levels of cute.]

[Little moments like these… i’m living for it.]

And just like that, under the stage lights of Los Angeles, surrounded by twelve of their closest friends and ten thousand screaming fans… Luna and Seungcheol existed in their own little bubble.

And not a soul dared pop it.

TOKYO CLAW MACHINE JEONGHAN-LUNA-SEUNGCHEOL SIGHTING

This fucking video right here! I– I don’t even know what to think anymore… just watch.

This clip in a nutshell: Tokyo streets. Luna being babygirl. Jeonghan and Seungcheol being down BAD. Let’s unpack this.

A phone camera shakily zoomed in from across the crosswalk, capturing a trio that didn’t even try to blend in— not when were literal K-pop demigods.

“Is that… wait— IS THAT LUNA? AND—SEUNGCHEOL? JEONGHAN?!” the fan whisper-screamed behind the camera, nearly dropping their phone in the process.

A second voice gasped beside them. “They’re here together? In public? IN TOKYO? I’m gonna cry.”

[Same. Same.]

The footage zoomed further as the trio strolled through the narrow Tokyo street, colorful shopping bags swaying in their hands. Their managers and bodyguards lingered a polite distance away, eyes scanning the street with military precision— but none of that mattered.

The holy trinity was right there.

They stopped outside a cutesy pink arcade nestled between two cafés, the claw machine outside practically glowing like a beacon of destiny.

Sure enough, Luna let out a soft squeal and dashed toward it, her shopping bags rustling against her arms. Her boots clacked against the sidewalk, skirt bouncing with every step.

[Luna saw the claw machine and sprinted like her life depended on it.]

Jeonghan chuckled behind her and picked up his pace, while Seungcheol just grinned and followed with a shake of his head.

[Those two just trail behind like loyal golden retrievers I can’t.]

Reaching the machine, Luna turned around and extended her arm toward them, palm out.

“She wants coins!” one of the fans cackled.

[SHE SAID PAY UP, BOYS.]

Jeonghan smirked like he’d been expecting this exact moment his entire life. Without hesitation, he nodded toward Seungcheol, wordlessly nominating him as tribute.

[Jeonghan said “that’s yo sugar daddy right there.”]

Seungcheol huffed a laugh and patted his coat pockets before pulling out a few yen coins and handing them to Luna. Her eyes twinkled as she bowed her head dramatically, muttering what had to be a “thank you” before inserting the first coin.

[She is so real for just holding out her hand like that.]

Luna’s brows furrowed in concentration as she gripped the joystick.

Her target: a My Melody keychain, nestled cruelly between two plush Rilakkumas. She pressed the button, the claw descended, grazed the keychain—

—and dropped it.

“NOOOO!” the fan behind the phone whispered dramatically. “She missed!”

[LOVE the commentary by these two btw 😂]

Luna turned to the two boys with the most theatrical pout in history, her lower lip wobbling slightly.

[GET HER THAT DAMN MY MELODY KEYCHAIN]

Jeonghan raised both brows in mock offense at her expression, clearly amused. Then, wordlessly, he took another coin, stepped forward, and popped it into the machine himself.

[Hannie said “I got this. Watch and learn.”]

He didn’t push her away— instead, he stepped behind her, draping himself over her like a second skin. His arms slid around her, hands gently covering hers on the controls. His chin hovered just next to her cheek, their heads nearly touching.

[MY PRONOUNS ARE J.E.O.N.G.N.A RAGGHHH 🦅]

[I’m not breathing. Is anyone else not breathing.]

Together, they moved as one— Jeonghan guiding her, whispering something into her ear that made her giggle.

[MY MOM AND DADDDDDDD ENJEJRJSHUSBEUS]

The claw descended again— this time, snatching a Hello Kitty keychain instead.

Luna gave a little bounce of excitement as it landed in the prize chute. Jeonghan bent down, retrieved it, and presented it to her with a slight bow and a flourish.

[He gave it to her like it was a proposal I’m gonna go feral.]

She accepted it like royalty, beaming as she clipped it onto her purse. Then, without missing a beat, she turned and pointed again at the screen— then at the elusive My Melody still taunting her from inside.

[She want My Melody!]

[We know damn well why 😏]

Whatever she said wasn’t audible, but it was very clear from her animated gestures and Jeonghan’s dramatic shrug that she was not giving up.

That’s when Seungcheol stepped forward. Cool. Calm. Collected. He slid another coin into the machine like it was second nature.

[“Fine. I’ll do it myself.” –Seungcheol Thanos Choi.]

As Luna busied herself rearranging her new keychain like they were her prized possesion, Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed at the claw. He moved it carefully, finger hovering with surgeon-level focus. Jeonghan stood beside him like a coach, pointing occasionally, giving him little nods of encouragement.

[Not them tag-teaming a claw machine for her.]

[This is a hilarious sight btw 😂]

Then— it happened.

The claw dropped.

It closed.

It lifted.

And the pink bunny-shaped keychain wobbled precariously in the air before— miraculously— dropping into the chute.

The camera shook violently.

“HE GOT IT! OH MY GOD— HE GOT THE MY MELODY!”

[THESE CARATS CRACK ME UP]

Luna’s head turned just in time to see Seungcheol reach into the chute and triumphantly hold out the prize. She beamed like the sun, jogged up to him, and snatched it with a grateful, “Thank you, thank you!” before adding it to the growing collection on her purse.

She looked at them both with such a smug little smile. She didn’t even have to beg. She just pointed— and they delivered.

[“I want it, i got it” ~]

[Luna really said “get me that one” and both men complied.]

[I need whatever delulu potion she’s drinking.]

With the keychains now swinging happily from her purse, Luna clutched her shopping bags again, let out a soft sigh of satisfaction, and turned toward the street.

Jeonghan and Seungcheol fell into step beside her, one on each side, as their little Tokyo adventure continued— bodyguards resuming formation behind them, blissfully unaware that a viral fan cam had just been born.

[Luna doesn’t chase. She attracts. Always.]

[Girl math = one pout = two keychains = two whipped men.]

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #1 - PARIS PUDDLE

Before we start with this next clip, I just want to introduce this next little segment.

So we talked about that moment at the airport when Seungcheol almost rearranged someone’s ancestors because a sasaeng got too close to Luna?

Since you guys absolutely lost your minds over that, and rightly so, we now present to you…

‘PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE: THE SERIES.’

Four clips. One man. Infinite threat levels.

From “awww he held her bag!” to “SOMEONE HOLD HIM BACK HE’S ABOUT TO THROW HANDS,” we’ve compiled every flavor of Papa Seungcheol being the emotional support Rottweiler he is.

HE’S A MAN! HE’S A WALL! HE’S A SECURITY SYSTEM WITH FEELINGS!

So buckle up. Grab your water. Stretch your delulu joints. Because Protective Cheollie is in the building and he came swinging (we are not responsible for any emotional damage caused by what you’re about to see).]

Let’s start off easy and cute— this little moment I like to call ‘The Paris Puddle’.

It had rained hard earlier in Paris— classic cinematic downpour with thunder cracking like it was scored by Hans Zimmer.

The clouds still loomed heavy and gray above the Haussmann-style buildings, casting a moody tint over the hotel entrance, where a modest cluster of devoted fans were still waiting in the damp cold with umbrellas, posters, and Carat Bong light sticks in hand. Their shoes sloshed slightly on the rain-slicked pavement, but none of them cared. No weather could stop them. Not when Luna and Seungcheol were in the city of love.

[Carats in the rain like we’re in a rom-com. Not even God’s tears can stop the grind.]

Some were tourists who had caught wind of the photoshoot schedule. Others were locals— true Parisians— yet all of them shared the same pulse-racing anticipation as a sleek black van finally pulled up in front of the hotel. It glided to a stop, tires hissing against the wet asphalt.

Immediately, a ripple of movement ran through the crowd. Umbrellas were lowered, phones raised like shields, and the fanbase collectively inhaled like they were about to meet God Himself.

[Black van pulls up — everyone: activate fangirl stance.]

[Honestly same]

But they stayed respectful. No one rushed. No one shoved. Just hopeful eyes and shivering hands holding out albums and Sharpies, trying not to scream so loud they’d get kicked off the sidewalk.

The first to emerge was their security, a walking brick wall in a black puffer and earpiece. He looked around, did the usual silent scan, then stepped to the side.

The car door opened.

Cue chaos.

“S.COUPS!!!” a few screamed in perfect unison.

And there he was— Choi Seungcheol, fresh off a shoot, dressed in a tailored camel coat with black slacks and a moody silk scarf around his neck like some kind of K-drama second male lead who was definitely going to steal your girl. His hair was styled soft and parted, glinting under the dim Parisian light.

[GODDDAMNSJJEBSUSHEIHSUEHDISJUS]

He grinned at the reaction, his dimple flashing like a well-timed jump scare.

Then, lifting one finger to his lips, he gently hushed the crowd with a chuckle.

[I AM SAT]

[I’ll go mute if he wants me to]

That was when his hand came up— smooth, natural, instinctual— and rested gently on the top frame of the car door. He tilted slightly, head lowered, eyes tracking the next figure stepping out of the van.

Luna.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[heEeee hEeeeeee¥|$]$?\\>\>\>>\%\2]

She emerged slowly, one hand holding the edge of the door, the other clutching her coat. Her long skirt fluttered delicately in the cold wind, the hem twirling like a petal around her calves. Her heels wrapped around her legs with thin straps that laced up to mid-calf, giving her an almost Grecian look. Her hair, loose but styled, bounced slightly as she moved. Despite the weather, she looked like she had walked straight off the cover of Vogue Paris.

[WHATTHEFUCKISWRONGWITHTHEBOTHOFTHEM?!!??]

The fans gasped again— this time softer, more reverent. A few called her name.

“Luna!”

“Luna!”

“Jiyeon!”

She smiled warmly and waved at them. “Hello! You guys are so cute for waiting in the rain!”

[I WOULD WAIT IN A HURRICANE FOR YOU, BAE JIYEON! DON’T TEST ME!]

Seungcheol glanced toward the street and instinctively placed his palm on her back, guiding her closer to the curb and away from any random Parisian car that might dare disturb the sanctity of their moment. They started walking toward the hotel entrance.

[Bonjour bitches. Protective Choi Seungcheol just landed.]

But then— it happened.

A puddle.

Correction: a miniature lake disguised as a puddle. It stretched directly in their path, a deep basin filled with murky post-storm water, glinting ominously under the streetlamps.

Luna slowed, eyeing it, then glanced at her shoes. Her heel hovered cautiously above the edge. She looked like she was calculating a leap.

Big mistake.

[GIRL, I WOULD LAY ON THAT PUDDLE SO YOU CAN STEP ON ME AND WALK PASS…]

[I have a problem…]

Seungcheol had already clocked it. The heels. The slick pavement. The perilous depth of the puddle. The potential clownery if she slipped.

Absolutely not on his watch.

Before Luna could even lift her leg, Seungcheol took one large, confident stride across the puddle. Then, without asking— without even warning her— he turned back, placed both hands gently but firmly on her waist, and lifted her like she weighed nothing.

[Bro thought he was in a drama and HE WAS RIGHT.]

Luna made a startled laugh. “Wha— Cheol!”

She was already on the other side before she could argue. He set her down with the delicacy of a man placing a crown on royalty.

The fans exploded.

“OH MY GOD—”

“S.COUPS, YOU ARE SO STRONG?!”

“NOPE. I’M OUT. I’M DECEASED. I’M GONE.”

“PRINCESS TREATMENT? IN THIS ECONOMY???”

[Accurate reactions because same 🫠]

Still chuckling, Luna waved to the fans, flushed but not flustered, brushing her hands down the sides of her coat. “He’s so dramatic,” she called out playfully.

[Girl just say you enjoyed it]

Then— like this wasn’t already a K-drama finale— Seungcheol crouched down.

[HE 👏 IS 👏 NOT 👏 DONE 👏 YET 👏]

Right there on the wet sidewalk. In his expensive coat. Knees bent.

Luna blinked. “Cheollie— enough— what are you—?”

He reached for her ankle. One of the long straps from her heel had come undone in the lift. Without a word, he began to wrap it back around her leg carefully, pulling it snug and retying it in the neatest little bow like he’d done this a thousand times before.

[A man. A man. A maAaaAnN]

[He served. He slayed. He accessorized the fantasy.]

Luna looked down at him, the softest smile curling her lips.

“Thank you,” she said quietly when he stood again, brushing invisible dust off his knees like it was just another Tuesday.

He shrugged. “Can’t have you tripping. Not on my shift.”

[Every man in France just turned to dust.]

And then —just like that— they turned to the fans.

[Acted like nothing fucking happened]

No explanation. No pause. They stepped up to the barricade and started signing posters and albums like nothing had happened.

“Hello! Did you guys wait long? You guys didn’t get too wet, right?” Luna asked sweetly.

“No! We are okay! I love your outfit, Jiyeon!” one fan squealed, practically vibrating.

Seungcheol reached out and signed an album cover, nodding. “Hello.”

“S.COUPS, DID YOU CARRY LUNA LIKE THAT JUST NOW?!” another gasped.

He smiled, completely unbothered before nodding. “She… was gonna… ruin her shoes,” he said in English after hesitating.

[This man is not real. He’s a figment of our collective delusion.]

[ALSO! HIS ENGLISH IS SO FUCKING CUTE!!]

The signing went on for several minutes— ink flying, fans squealing, photos snapping like fireworks. Despite the drizzle still misting from the air, neither Luna nor Seungcheol seemed rushed. They signed each item with care, made eye contact, nodded along to fan comments, and even laughed when someone shouted, “You two better drop a collab next!”

[YESSSSSSS PLEASENEJEJEJHEJSJS]

“Maybe we already did,” Luna teased, shooting a playful glance at Seungcheol, who just grinned and gave a non-committal shrug like “Who’s to say?”

[IM SICK OF THEM. I LOVE THEM SO BAD.]

One by one, the fans started getting their moment. Seungcheol gave polite bows, flashed that dimpled smile, and even signed a phone case with a cartoon version of himself. Luna took pictures with fans, even making matching poses when someone nervously asked her to do a heart. Her voice was sweet, her laugh louder than expected, and she touched her hand to her chest every time someone complimented her outfit.

“I was scared my skirt would fly off in the wind,” she admitted at one point, earning a collective gasp and more screams.

[I LOVE HOW THEY MADE SURE THEY SPOKE TO EVERYONE 🥹]

Eventually, the staff gave a subtle nod— it was time to head inside.

Luna waved both hands toward the crowd, voice ringing out cheerfully. “Thank you for waiting for us! Go get warm, okay?! Drink something hot!”

“Bye, Luna! Bye, S.Coups!”

“Rest well!”

Seungcheol stepped back, waving with one hand as the other found its way instinctively to the small of Luna’s back. It was a featherlight touch, guiding her gently as they turned toward the hotel entrance.

[HAND. PLACEMENT.]

Her heels clicked softly on the wet pavement, and just before the stairs, she paused ever so slightly— eyeing the slick marble steps.

She didn’t need to say anything.

Seungcheol was already there.

Without a word, he extended one hand toward her. Luna placed her palm into his like it was second nature, fingers curling. He helped her up the first few steps, steady and slow, his other hand hovering protectively behind her like a safety net. When her heel caught for half a second on the edge of a step, he caught her waist with the kind of ease that said he’d do it a hundred more times if needed.

[HELP. THE FIRM HAND ON THE BACK. I’M UNWELL.]

[I HAVE REPLAYED THIS ONE TO MANY TIMES]

“Careful,” he murmured near her ear.

She chuckled softly. “Always am.”

[AT THIS POINT I DON’T NEED A MAN LIKE CHOI SEUNGCHEOL… I NEED CHOI SEUNGCHEOL.]

They reached the top step and turned slightly— one last wave to the fans still waiting outside.

Luna blew a kiss with both hands. “Bye bye~”

Seungcheol gave a short, respectful bow and winked.

[HE HAS LOST HIS GODDAMN MIND]

[I’m calling the cops.]

[WHAT ABOUT MY SANITY, CHEOL!?!?]

And with that, they disappeared into the warm golden glow of the hotel lobby, the heavy doors closing behind them with a soft hiss— like the end of a perfect scene.

I’m crying in French.

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #2 - SPIDER SAVE

And here we have the next scene where chaos, fear, and absolutely zero brotherly instinct collide.

This next clip is a collective effort on saving Luna… a collective effort for SOME of them..

Viewer discretion is advised— especially if you’re scared of spiders or watching your faves scream like children.

It was the night after the MAMA Awards in 2023. Fresh off their Grand Prize win, SEVENTEEN had returned to the hotel, finally shed of their glitzy stage outfits and makeup. The tension of the night had melted into laughter, oversized hoodies, bare faces, and that delicious post-win glow. The air buzzed with pride.

[This live cracks me up istg 😂]

In the cozy glow of Luna’s hotel room, all fourteen members squished together in front of their Weverse Live setup. The camera rested precariously on a pile of stacked water bottles and a room service tray— real idol behavior. They’d gone live to thank Carats, express their raw emotions, and bask in the surreal moment they’d worked their whole lives for.

Woozi, Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Joshua, Wonwoo, Hoshi, Dino, Jun, and Minghao were all squished together like an idol burrito on the couch at the side. Mingyu, Dokyeom, and Luna were settled casually at the edge of her bed, and Vernon and Seungkwan took the floor like the two gremlins they were.

Everyone was glowing— some sleepy, some energized, most just buzzing.

Luna was in the middle of speaking when it happened. Her voice was steady but tinged with emotion, hands fluttering like always when she spoke from the heart.

“I just… I still can’t believe it,” she said softly, her hands waving gently as she leaned forward, her all-black long-sleeved top clinging slightly to her frame under the heat of the lights. “We all worked so hard… and getting this kind of acknowledgment? It’s beyond anything I ever dreamed of. Thank you for giving us this chance—”

Then she froze.

Her words got caught in her throat like static.

Her hand had felt something shift. Something weighty. Something… alive.

[THAT THING WAS HUGE]

Her eyes widened, a gasp ripping from her chest like a fire alarm as her arms immediately raised into the air in total surrender.

[NOPE. NOPE. ABORT MISSION.]

Everyone looked at her.

“Jiyeon-ah?” Seungcheol and Jeonghan asked first in unison, confused, brows furrowing.

“Are you okay?” Woozi leaned forward.

“What happened?” asked Joshua from the couch.

“Did you forget what you were saying?” Dino asked innocently.

[The fact none of them saw it is terrifying]

She didn’t answer.

“H-Hannie…” Her voice cracked.

[THE. FACT. SHE. CALLS. FOR. JEONGHAN. FIRST.]

[I’m not okay…]

And that’s when Jeonghan’s head snapped back toward her, expression instantly alert.

“What’s wrong? Nana-ya — what is it?” he asked, pushing off the couch halfway.

Her hands trembled, still hovering above her shoulders like she was under arrest. “It’s on me,” she whispered hoarsely.

[It’s. On. HER!!!]

The moment she said it, Seungkwan, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her feet, turned his head to look.

And saw it.

[KWAN MADE EYE CONTACT WITH IT 🫠]

The massive, hairy, actual demon from hell clinging to the fabric of Luna’s black shirt like it paid rent.

His scream could’ve cracked concrete. “AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH— IT’S A TARANTULAAAAAA!!!”

[YEAH NO. I WOULD’VE DIED RIGHT THERE.]

Seungkwan launched himself backward in a barrel roll so dramatic it deserved its own OST. Vernon saw it next and flinched so hard he flopped flat onto his back like a ragdoll.

[I FUCKING CANNOT WITH THEM 😂😂😂]

Jeonghan was now standing.

“Jeongie…” Luna whimpered, her eyes shimmering with tears. “A spider.”

[Luna said: “Jeongie 🥺” AGGHHHHHHH]

That was all it took.

Mingyu and Dokyeom, who had been right next to her, leapt off the bed like it had become lava, tripping over each other and nearly taking out the lamp as they scrambled.

[HAHAHAHHAHAHAHSBSHEHSJWB]

[THE WAY THEY JUST DOVE AWAY FROM HER 😂]

“I’m sorry, I can’t, I’m sorry!” Mingyu shouted, already halfway across the room, arms flailing like a windsock.

Dokyeom screamed, “IT HAS FUR. FUR, GUYS!”

[It was literally every man for themselves!!]

Woozi, Jun, Hoshi, Minghao, and Dino all collectively cringed and began shuffling away like penguins trying not to fall off an iceberg.

[SO NONE OF Y’ALL ARE GONNA HELP HER??]

The camera— still streaming live to tens of thousands of fans— jolted from the tremors of fleeing members.

In fact the fans saw it first, however, they were so immersed in their conversation, they didn’t see that chat.

The tarantula shifted again. Luna squealed and slammed her hands over her eyes, trying not to move.

“Save me,” she whispered helplessly. “Save me. Save me.”

“I CAN’T, I’M SORRY!” Mingyu shouted again from behind a chair. “LU-LU, I’M SO SORRY, I LOVE YOU BUT I GENUINELY CAN’T—”

[KIM MINGYU USE YOUR MUSCLES AND YOUR HEIGHT?!?]

Tears were now streaming down her face. She felt it crawling. Her breath hitched with every tiny movement.

[“SOMEONE SAVE HER!” I say as I hide behind the screen.]

“Move, move,” Jeonghan barked at them, finally crossing to her.

Seungcheol was right behind him. “Wonwoo, come.”

Joshua was already beside her, crouching. “It’s okay, Jiyeon-ah. It’s fine.”

[I love you Joshua but it really isn’t fine.]

“It’s okay, Nana-ya,” Jeonghan whispered, carefully reaching out, trying to touch anything but the spider. “It’s okay. We’ll get it off.”

“Don’t move,” Wonwoo said, calm but firm.

“Seungkwan! Give me that empty glass and the menu,” Seungcheol said.

“W-Wait—what?!” Seungkwan held them up like he was handling plutonium.

[HE DIDN’T WANT TO BE INVOLVED AT ALL 😂]

“NOW, KWAN.”

Seungkwan half-crawled, half-tossed them over like a reluctant courier. “TAKE IT, JUST TAKE IT!”

[I AM DEAD HAHSHAHHSHSJAHSHSH]

[I rewatch this clip whenever I’m sad.]

“Get it off. Get it off. Get it off,” Luna cried quietly, her voice breaking over and over as her eyes stayed squeezed shut.

Wonwoo and Seungcheol coordinated, slowly, precisely, while Jeonghan kept her locked in place with his touch and voice. Joshua’s hand never left her knee.

With one swift motion, Seungcheol slammed the glass over the spider and slid the menu underneath. It hissed. Or maybe that was just Mingyu and Dokyeom screaming again.

[Those two were ✨YELLING✨]

As soon as it was off, Jeonghan yanked Luna into his arms.

Her entire body crumpled against him like a puppet with its strings cut, trembling and limp.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, carrying her across the room and sitting on the couch with her practically in his lap. “You’re okay, pretty girl. It’s gone. It’s gone now. Just breathe, okay?”

Her face was buried in his neck, shaking like a leaf as he rubbed soothing circles into her back.

[PRETTY GIRL?!!? HOW DID WE NOT SEE THE SIGNS!?]

[I know this is a CheolNa moments video but I cannot help but gush about JeongNa. Sue me.]

Wonwoo and Seungcheol hurried out the room with the spider, muttering something about throwing it out the hotel.

And once everyone was back and settled, the room fell silent.

Shocked. Processing. Haunted.

[The silence after 😂]

Then Luna slowly sat up in Jeonghan’s lap and wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her shirt.

“Does anyone want to switch rooms?” she asked weakly.

[😂😂😂]

“No.”

“No.”

“Hell no.”

“I love you and all but… no.”

[Just the collective “no’s” is killing me]

The chorus came in like a wave.

“I’ll switch,” Seungcheol said.

[🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

“Please,” Luna whispered without missing a beat, looking at him with the desperation of a woman betrayed by the universe. No hesitation.

“The spider was just trying to congratulate you for being a Grand Prize winner,” Jeonghan said lightly, tightening his arms around her waist.

[A MENACE]

That made them all laugh— some still recovering, some still sweating.

But Luna? She blinked at him, deadpan. “It’s a hater.”

[LUNA. PLEASE.]

[NO CAUSE FACTS.]

“Awww,” came a collective coo from the couch as Jeonghan kissed her temple and tightened his arms around her, rocking them slightly like he was calming a toddler post-vaccine.

[SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING BITCH]

Just a cute little moment for my main ship!

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #3 - FIT FIX

We are now LIVE from Mexico and this is historic behavior.

The bass was thumping like the pulse of the crowd, relentless and euphoric as the final chorus of ‘Very Nice’ exploded across the Tecate Pa’l Norte stage. Spotlights chased after twelve bodies sprinting across the vast platform— chaos incarnate in white, glitter, sweat, and sound.

It was the end of their ninety-minute set, and if anyone was tired, no one was showing it. SEVENTEEN were everywhere at once— on the main stage, the wings, the extended platforms jutting into the sea of screaming Carats— grabbing water bottles and launching them like missiles into the sweltering crowd, pointing mics to the sky, hips jumping in sync, hearts pounding out of their chests.

[I’m sweating and i’m not even there. this is cardio.]

[Aju Nice is just that song yk?!]

The fans were feral. They were drenched. They were howling. And still, they sang along.

By the edge of the extended stage, Luna was crouched low, balancing effortlessly on the balls of her feet in her sky-high black combat boots, her mic pointed toward the front row as she grinned wide at the sea of hands reaching for her. Her black mesh tank clung to her glistening skin, her leopard bralette peeking through beneath. Sequined leopard print shorts hugged her hips, glittering under the lights every time she moved. Her jewelry sparkled— rings, earrings, bracelet, and necklaces— and the tattoos along her rip cage looked like they’d been inked by the stars themselves.

[No because this is LITERALLY the mother we all collectively share.]

[RED HAIR BAE JIYEON IS SUPERIOR!]

She held her mic out again, laughing as the crowd screamed the next “Aju nice!” back at her, nearly shattering the sky.

Then she saw it— an arm in the pit, holding up a brown cowboy hat. It waved wildly in the air, fingers curled in desperate offering. Luna’s grin widened like the start of trouble. With a wink, she reached forward, snatched the hat clean from their grip, and dropped it onto her head like she’d worn it her whole life.

[NOT THE COWBOY HAT. NOT THE COWBOY HAT. I CAN’T BREATHE.]

[ALSO THAT FUCKING SMIRK AND WINK 🧎‍♀️]

[THANK YOU TO THE CARAT WHO GAVE HER THAT]

The fans lost their collective minds. Deafening shrieks pierced the humid night as Luna smirked, tilting the brim of the hat low over her eyes, full Yeehaw Mode activated.

[I CANMOT DEAL WITH HER!?!]

[y’all she just gave us yeehaw Luna. she just served country slay. i am unwell.]

[YOON JEONGHAN COME COLLECT YOUR FIANCÉE]

Still crouched, her laughter barely contained, Luna leaned back into the chorus, belting the next “Aju Nice!” with a fire that could’ve burned down the northern half of Monterrey. But as she stood back up, bouncing to the rhythm, the motion tugged her glittering shorts a little higher up her thighs, the hem riding just a bit too far without her noticing.

[hold on. HOOOOOLD ON.]

From somewhere behind her, Seungcheol saw it happen. The man had been spinning water bottles in both hands, soaking the left side of the stage with his usual finale chaos— until his eyes found Luna.

[Cheol’s guard dog sensors activated in 0.2 seconds flat.]

He was on the move before anyone clocked it. Making a beeline straight for her, dodging Hoshi’s flailing limbs mid-jump and ducking past Dokyeom who was scream-laughing into a mic with his head thrown back. In three long strides, Seungcheol was beside her.

[HE IS A MAN ON A MISSION 🫡]

And then— like it was muscle memory— he reached around her lower back with one arm, planted himself close against her side, and dipped low enough to slip his other hand down the curve of her hip.

[STOP. STOP RIGHT NOW.]

[I CANNNNOISYSGAHSBHSHSJSBHSSHHSB]

Still singing, still grinning, Luna barely reacted as Seungcheol’s fingers ghosted the hem of her shorts, looped through it discreetly, and tugged it down ever so slightly to keep her from flashing half of northern Mexico.

[HE ADJUSTED HER SHORTS. HE SAID MODESTY FIRST. I’M BARKING.]

The crowd erupted. If the energy had been chaotic before, it was now full nuclear meltdown. Phones were raised at lightning speed. Screams climbed into glass-shattering territory. Fans grabbed at their friends, mouths hanging open, full-body shaking.

[Honestly same]

[The way my soul left my body like. that was biblical. that was primal.]

Still wrapped in his arm, Luna glanced sideways at him, smile softening just enough to show something tender beneath it all. Her voice dropped with her next line, sweet and amused as she mouthed, “Thank you.”

Seungcheol smirked, giving her hip a final pat before his eyes flicked up to the top of her head.

[SHUT THE FUCK UP!/7626)/6/)@29]

[He clocked that HAT.]

Luna caught the look instantly.

“Oh,” she said with a wicked little smile, “You want it?”

Without waiting for an answer, she reached up, plucked the brown cowboy hat off her head, and spun it once on her fingers like a lasso.

Then, with exaggerated flair, she placed it right onto Seungcheol’s head, adjusting the fit before tipping the brim low over his eyes.

“There. Much better,” she grinned.

[LET US ALL THANK MOTHER LUNA 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️]

[I’M IN LOVE WITH HER. BUT ALSO HIM. BUT ALSO BOTH.]

Before he could retaliate, Luna trailed one hand down the front of his soaked black tank top— slow, gentle, teasing fingers ghosting over his chest as she passed him by— and then turned on her heel and walked away like she hadn’t just wrecked everyone’s life.

[WHERE IS HER OSCAR. WHERE IS HER GRAMMY. WHERE IS MY INHALER.]

[WHAT?!? IS?!? WRONG?!? WITH?!? HER?!?]

Seungcheol stood frozen in place for a beat, the brim of the cowboy hat shadowing his face.

[Choi Seungcheol.exe stopped working]

Then he laughed. Low. Dangerous. Delighted.

When Luna glanced back over her shoulder, she saw him watching her— smirk crooked, dimple deep, eyes locked like a loaded gun. He tipped the hat at her in return, and she— still walking backward now— winked at him before spinning around and bolting back toward the others at center stage.

[AND SHE WINKED. SHE WINKED. YOUR HONOR THEY ARE PLAYING WITH ME PERSONALLY.]

[CHOI SEUNGCHEOL STAND UP!]

[i need therapy. i need a priest. i need this live in 4k.]

And just like that, Luna vanished into the chaos again— racing back to the group, voice rising in the final chorus of ‘Very Nice,’ leopard shorts glittering, laughter ringing, while the fans continued losing their absolute minds.

Absolute tease. The both of them.

PROTECTIVE CHEOLLIE #4 - LENS LOCKDOWN

Tho clip makes me so feral but also makes my BLOOD BOIL every time. the way some people are so CREEPY to Luna.

Cheol handled it like a KING but I still want to fight everyone.

He said “i will bodyblock for her in 4K” and I cried.

It should’ve been a cute moment.

All fourteen SEVENTEEN members— yes, fourteen,— casually gliding through Incheon International Airport like a black-and-white Calvin Klein ad with matching duffel bags and designer sunglasses. Fans screamed from both sides of the terminal, cameras flashing like strobe lights, phones held high like digital rosaries. Security moved like shadows around them. Their team led the way, airport staff politely panicking in the background, and behind them… media.

Too much media.

Too many lenses.

But Luna didn’t notice any of that. She was too busy vibrating.

[She’s so happy.]

“Guys! We’re going to my home turf,” she beamed, bouncing slightly on her heels as she clutched Jeonghan’s hand like it was a backstage pass to her childhood. “You’re gonna love the rain. And the food. And the chaos.”

Jeonghan only smiled, clearly too sleepy to banter back but definitely awake enough to let his thumb lazily run over the back of her hand as they walked. He looked like he was running on three hours of sleep, a single iced americano, and the joy of annoying airport staff by refusing to wear both shoulder straps of his backpack.

[They are so cute 🥺]

“Are your parents coming to Glastonbury?” Mingyu asked from behind, dragging a suitcase like it owed him money.

“They are,” Luna grinned. “I already warned my dad not to yell out embarrassing things in the crowd.”

“You just guaranteed that he will.”

The group moved like a unit, half asleep but polished to idol perfection. Snapbacks, masks, glasses— yes. Matching suitcases with tiny plushies clipped on them— also yes. Half the members kept their heads down. Others waved at fans. Jeonghan blew a kiss. Woozi pretended not to hear someone yell HUSBAND. Vernon nodded at a fan holding a sign that just said “YOU.”

[Vernon has had it with these signs]

Luna was radiant. Her oversized hoodie was half-tucked into a pleated skirt, and her boots stomped like she owned every square inch of tile. Her hair was up in a red claw clip. She wore no makeup but smiled like she was lit from within, occasionally squeezing Jeonghan’s hand and waving at fans who called her name.

She looked happy. Excited. Comfortable.

That’s when it happened.

They were halfway up the escalator leading toward their gate. Their team was ahead. Security circled the members like satellites. Luna leaned her head on Jeonghan’s shoulder, her arm swinging gently between them.

Jeonghan tilted his head so it rested lightly against hers.

[MOM! DAD! ADOPT ME! PLEASE!]

Seungcheol, just a step behind her on the escalator, clocked it all with a soft smile. He knew that look on her face. He knew that feeling. That joy. He loved seeing her like this.

Then—

Then something shifted.

Something moved.

A rustle. A shuffle. A weird mechanical click.

His gaze flicked sideways, over the edge of the escalator railing, and landed squarely on the camera in the hands of a man walking just behind the security line—. part of the trailing media group. Normal. Annoying, but normal.

Except the angle wasn’t.

The lens was pointed up.

And aimed directly at Luna.

No. Not her face. Not her smile. Not even her and Jeonghan together.

Lower.

Too low.

Far too low.

[PISS ME THE FUCK OFF]

[I WOULD HAVE PUSHED HIM OFF THE ESCALATOR AND ENDED UP IN JAIL 🤷‍♀️]

Seungcheol saw red.

His entire body moved before his brain did. His hand shot out and covered the lens, palm snapping over it like a lid. The camera jolted. The man flinched.

[THAT’S MY MAN!]

Seungcheol stepped off the escalator and immediately positioned himself behind Luna, blocking her completely with his body.

[CHEOL FULLY SWITCHED INTO “IF I CATCH YOU I’M BEATING YOU” MODE.]

His voice was low, dangerous.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, sharp and slow.

The media guy stammered. “I— I was just— creative shot— group angle—”

“Yeah?” Seungcheol’s eyebrows lifted in a smile that did not reach his eyes. “Real creative to angle your lens under a woman’s skirt.”

The man opened his mouth again.

“Say another word,” Seungcheol cut in, tone deathly calm, “and you won’t be flying anywhere this week.”

Their security team caught the shift instantly. Two men peeled off from formation and grabbed the man by each arm. He protested. Loudly. The commotion earned a dozen turned heads, including Vernon and Woozi, who looked back with eyes narrowed. Dino stopped walking completely. Joshua blinked, confused.

Jeonghan turned just in time to see Seungcheol’s hand still outstretched.

He looked down at Luna.

Then at the man.

Then back at Luna again.

The dots connected.

Without a word, Jeonghan moved, gently but firmly shifting Luna in front of him, placing himself between her and the now-chaotic situation. His arms came around her in a quiet, instinctive shield. Luna blinked up at him, brows furrowed.

[STFU I LOVE THEM SM 🥺]

“What’s going on?” she asked softly.

“Nothing,” Jeonghan murmured, voice deceptively light. “Just stay here.”

Luna’s brows twitched in confusion but didn’t push. She trusted him. She trusted them.

[We don’t deserve them but i will fight for them.]

Behind them, the man was being dragged away, sputtering, as Cheol spoke to their security team with clenched teeth and an expression carved out of stone. His jaw worked. His hands kept twitching. He looked like he wanted to throw a suitcase.

[🥵🥵🥵]

Then, finally, as the situation diffused and the media noise dulled, he exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

But he wasn’t done.

Without saying a word, he stepped forward again and planted both hands on either side of the escalator handles, one on each rubber grip. His body formed a triangle behind Luna and Jeonghan. Not touching them, not crowding them— but surrounding.

Blocking.

Protecting.

Anyone behind them now saw nothing but Seungcheol’s back. Tall. Broad. Furious.

[He activated bodyguard mode and I haven’t recovered.]

That was the last image fans saw before SEVENTEEN disappeared through the gate.

No waves. No bows.

Just idols, their team, their guards— and a wall of Seungcheol.

[Glastonbury hasn’t even started yet and the lore was ALREADY off the charts.]

And if I EVER see that camera guy on the street. it’s over for him.

Seungcheol if you see this I’d marry you in front of my mom right now.

KKUMA & BUG WEVERSE LIVE PLAYDATE

Just this entire CheolNa & pets Weverse live

The way this live was supposed to be about the pets but turned into a couple’s domestic comedy hour with a side of jealousy and chaos.

The screen blinked to life with the familiar Weverse Live notification pinging across CARATs’ phones, the caption reading: ‘S.COUPS & LUNA & KKUMA & BUGS!’

[You guys don’t know how fast I clicked on a notification]

The live opened with the camera a bit tilted, someone clearly struggling to adjust the tripod, which only made it funnier when Seungcheol’s voice called out, “Ya, you said you knew how to do this!” followed by a soft chuckle from behind the camera.

A very familiar chuckle.

[JEONGHAN IS BEHIND THE CAMERA I REPEAT THE SNITCH IS IN THE ROOM.]

“Okay, we’re live,” Luna announced cheerily, finally sitting on the floor mat with her legs crossed and a small blanket over them, her wine-red hair loose and fluffy around her shoulders. She looked like the picture of domestic comfort, until she suddenly yelped—“BUGS, BABY NO, NOT THE CORDS—” and lunged off-screen.

Cue chaos.

“KKUMA! STOP FOLLOWING HIM—” Seungcheol groaned, dragging his giant white fluffball in the opposite direction as the tiny brown rabbit darted behind a shelf.

[The bunny has no fear. the dog has no care. Luna has no control. Seungcheol has no authority.]

“Hi guys,” Luna finally greeted breathlessly as she returned to the frame, now with a smug-looking Bugs in her lap like he didn’t just try to commit appliance homicide. “This little criminal is Bugs. Hannie got him for me last Christmas. He thinks it makes up for for him not being here. It doesn’t. But the bunny is cute.”

A loud scoff could be heard from behind the camera.

[BOY– HAHAHHAHAHABAJBSJEBSJSB]

Seungcheol plopped down beside her, Kkuma flopping over on her side with her tongue out and tail wagging like she’d just run a marathon. “KKuma just wants to be friends,” Seungcheol whined, gesturing at the bunny now dramatically grooming himself like royalty. “But someone raised a diva.”

“He’s not a diva,” Luna defended, “He’s cautious. And elegant.”

“Elegant?” Seungcheol stared. “He tried to body slam Kkuma earlier.”

[Bugs is his father’s child]

“He’s establishing boundaries,” Luna shot back, scratching behind Bugs’ ears. “I support him.”

[Luna raising her bunny like a gen z therapist. Bugs has a trauma-informed care plan.]

The comments were already flooding in, fans crying about the cuteness overload. One caught their attention:

“BUGS VS KKUMA FIGHT NIGHT WHEN?”

Luna laughed, holding up Bugs’ tiny paw. “Bugs would win. Don’t underestimate the bite radius on this guy.”

“Okay, but Kkuma has size and the emotional intelligence of a houseplant,” Seungcheol added proudly. “She’ll doesn’t know how to lose. She’ll keep fetching until the world ends.”

Behind the camera, Jeonghan’s laughter could be heard again— quiet, but undeniably there.

Luna leaned toward the screen like she was sharing a secret. “You guys hear that? That’s Bugs’ daddy,” she added, putting air quotes around the word with a dramatic eyeroll. “But he insisted on being here because he ‘missed Bugs too much.’”

“Lies,” Seungcheol deadpanned. “He’s here to supervise you.”

[Y’all she’s blushing. someone hold me back.]

Luna did not blush. (She totally did.) Instead, she ignored Seungcheol and read another comment aloud.

“WHY DO BUGS AND KKUMA HAVE BETTER CHEMISTRY THAN HALF OF Y’ALL’S FAVORITE DRAMAS.”

“I mean…” Seungcheol squinted as Kkuma gently sniffed at Bugs, who gave him a single disapproving thump before hopping two inches away. “It’s giving slow burn enemies to reluctant allies.”

Bugs then launched himself onto Luna’s lap, causing her to shriek-laugh. “Bugs baby! Daddy trained you better than this!” she scolded.

From behind the camera: “He takes after you.”

[YOON JEONGHAN?!!]

“I— WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” Luna spun around but Jeonghan was already silent.

Seungcheol howled. “You’re gonna get smacked.”

“I dare him to try!” Luna huffed. “He’s scared of Bugs.”

“I AM NOT—”

“You are.”

“I AM NOT.”

[It’s always the ones behind the camera starting the fights.]

The pets eventually settled— Bugs nibbling on a little bowl of strawberries Luna brought, Kkuma resting her chin on Seungcheol’s thigh like a certified sad girl. Luna reached over to smooth her hand through Kkuma’s fur and the big dog’s eyes closed in bliss.

“Cheollie,” she murmured, “she’s literally the fluffiest thing ever.”

“You say that, but someone will fight you.”

“He can try,” she smirked. “He’s behind the camera. Powerless.”

[I CANNOT WITH THEM 😭]

The camera suddenly tilted.

Luna screamed. “HEY—”

[YOON JEONGHAN IS FIGHTING FOR HIS LIFE.]

Seungcheol leaned forward, squinting at the chat. “Someone said: ‘do the pets get along better than Jeonghan and Seungcheol?’”

He and Luna looked at each other. Then burst out laughing.

Luna replied, “Yes. But only because Bugs doesn’t have to sit through your leadership speeches.”

“Oh, and JeonghanNie does?” Seungcheol said.

“Every single day of his life,” she deadpanned.

“Anyway,” Seungcheol continued, brushing Kkuma’s ears back as the dog began to snore audibly, “We just wanted to do a small live because the kids haven’t hung out in a while, and it’s always good to bond with your fellow single parents.”

[KIDDDSSSSS 🥺]

“Excuse me?” Luna turned to him slowly. “Single?”

[Jiyeon really said “Me? Single?”

“Oh, right. Bugs has a stepdad.”

[HAHAHAHHAHAHAHSBJWHSJWBJWHE]

“I will throw this rabbit at you.”

[JIYEON PLEASE 😂 I AM WHEEZING 😂]

Behind the camera, a loud snort broke the tension as Jeonghan wheezed. “Don’t involve the child in your divorce.”

“OUR child is thriving!” Luna yelled.

[The fact this is our first update of Jeonghan in A WHILE]

[This live is a three-person custody battle and two pets just trying to vibe.]

Luna leaned forward again, noticing another comment.

“kkuma + bugs sub-unit when??”

“Honestly,” she said thoughtfully, “it would outsell all of us. Their logo would be a paw and a paw-pad.”

“I’ll manage them,” Seungcheol offered.

“You’re too emotionally invested.”

“You dressed Bugs in a sweater.”

“It’s cold in the studio!”

“HE HAS FUR.”

[They’re fighting again. the pets are traumatized.]

But Bugs just sat there, blissfully unbothered, chewing on a strawberry like he was above all of this. Kkuma twitched in her sleep, probably dreaming of a chew toy.

Eventually, Luna stretched her arms with a groan. “Okay, before Bugs decides to chew through another wire and Hannie drags me off-camera for defamation, we should wrap this up.”

Seungcheol nodded, giving Kkuma a little pat. “Say bye-bye, baby. We’ll do this again soon.”

Luna blew a kiss to the camera. “Thanks for hanging with us! And remember— if you don’t support Bugs and Kkuma, you’re anti-fun.”

Jeonghan behind the camera: “And anti-cute.”

[YOON JEONGHAN I MISS YOU!!!]

“Exactly.”

[This was not a pet live. this was a sitcom pilot.]

[JeongCheolNa ARE THE FOUND FAMILY TRINITY. GOODBYE.]

So. CheolNa.

The duo that radiates ‘accidentally in love in a K-Drama hallway confession scene’. They’re confusing. They’re chaotic. They’re codependent. And most importantly…

They are the funniest part of my mental illness.

We’ve laughed. We’ve cried. We’ve watched Seungcheol almost commit crimes in airports. We’ve watched Luna gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss while feeding her bunny strawberries and dodging security threats. We’ve watched Jeonghan suffer in silence behind the camera like the single mother of two bickering toddlers.

But the real takeaway?

Bugs and Kkuma need a spin-off series. Immediately. Disney+, call me.

So thank you for joining me on this 17-minute descent into hell, otherwise known as ‘CheolNa moments that make me question Jeonghan’s boundaries (he has none).’

If you came here looking for closure, jokes on you. These two have never closed a single emotional arc in their lives. They will flirt, fight, protect each other, and probably file each other’s taxes out of pure obligation— but will they ever define the relationship?

No. Never. Not until Jeonghan leaks the wedding photos out of spite.

Anyway.

Don’t forget to like, comment, subscribe, and send this video to your emotionally unavailable best friend. And remember:

If Bugs ever starts talking… we’re all in danger.

Until the next one… toodleoo!

comments…

@/lunababybae • 1 day ago ╰ Cheol and Gyu’s confession to Luna are my Roman Empire.

@/rinarieee • 1 day ago ╰ Jeonghan being so unbothered when Cheol confessed to his girl is mind blowing to me

@/gyusshadow • 1 day ago ╰ MINGYU AND DOKYEOK NOSE DIVING AWAY FROM LUNA WHEN THEY SAW THE SPIDER STILL CRACKS ME UP TILL THIS DAY 😂😂😂

@/moonbae17 • 1 day ago ╰ Cheollie is KING of hand placements 🥵

@/saythename • 1 day ago ╰ Jeonghan is fine with their flirting because Luna is fine with him flirting with Cheol

@/mad-lineeee • 1 day ago ╰ Luna going to Cheol when she had a nightmare 🥺

@/mrsbaebae • 1 day ago ╰ “Only back then?” SEUNGKWAN AS HE EYED JEONGHAN!! PLUS THE WAY JIYEON CHANGED THE SUBJECT 😫 1:00

@/alyy1625 • 1 day ago ╰ 15:18 GOOD LORD 🥵 CHEOL TUGGING JIYEON’S SHORTS DOWN

@/jeongnanana • 1 day ago ╰ Luna being a cute and clingy drunk 9:55 she really went 🥺

@/gyuuuuudaily• 1 day ago

╰ THAT WHOLE TOKYO ESCAPADE WITH THE CLAW MACHINE IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE!

@/sallluuuteee17 • 1 day ago

╰ The way Seungcheol carried Luna so effortlessly over the puddle 11:05 HAS ME ON A CHOKEHOLD!

@/lulu-nana17• 1 day ago ╰ THAT CREEP WHO TRIED TO TAKE UPSKIRT PHOTOS OF LUNA SHOULD ROT IN HELL

@/sebongrighthere • 1 day ago ╰ Our first update of Jeonghan after weeks is him supervising the pet play date live cracks me up 🤣

@/missbitchhhh • 1 day ago ╰ This is my Challengers.

@/shadowmyshadow• 1 day ago ╰ It’s always JeongNa or CheolNa not JeongNa AND CheolNa 😣

@/angel7266 • 1 day ago ╰ Our Jiyeonie kissing Cheollie’s knee 🥺

@/hannnieeeee7251 • 1 day ago ╰ 10:45 Jeonghan getting all up behind Jiyeon to help her with the claw machine 🫠

@/user763816262 • 1 day ago ╰ Cheol and Han immediately covering Jiyeonie from that creep 😣

@/ashonashonash_ • 1 day ago ╰ THESE MFS HAD ME STRESSING OUT WITH THAT DAMN SPIDER

@/jijijiyeonienie • 1 day ago ╰ Luna had Jeonghan and Seungcheol working that claw machine while she stood there and looked pretty. That’s iconic behavior 🤭

@/baebybaejiyeonie • 1 day ago ╰ I sense a pattern. Whenever Luna feels sad, anxious, nervous, scared or whatever she immediately goes “Hannie 🥺” and Jeonghan is already nose diving to figure out what’s wrong… and I am here for it.

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Taglist: @zhqvie @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt @btskzfav @billboard-singer @junhuisworld @caturdayvibe @coralbatlampzonk @sof1eya @lyraea @jihoonsbbygirl @cocopuff2424 @okoknotco @minvxq @soulphoenix1618 @whineywheeiny @rairaine @toplinehyunjin @ateez-atiny380 @cherrylovescheol @jiimtaee @blurr3db3rry @seomisaho @amanda08319 @peanutbutterslothsstuff @cheolsboo @allthings-fandoms @mystic-megumi @sherlockbye @tastyluvr @luperque @reignofraine @kpoplover-19 @star2013 @frankenstein852 @axleighkaize @jmkookie01 @shhh94 @gigglensnort @stupendouscookiehumanmug

[aventurineswife]

I am unfortunately obsessed with the blind old man we call Welt Yang 😔

Could I request a fic with a reader who is really quiet and reserved around other people, yet is somehow the most talkative person known to mankind when they’re alone with Welt? Like the minute everyone else leaves the room, they’re immediately rambling about their day or something they like. If not, that’s totally fine, I can see how this is kinda vague

I’m also here to compliment your writing because oh my god you’re one of the best writers on tumblr??? coming from another HSR x reader blog so I don’t really know any writers in other fandoms but whateverrr

“You Hear Me Like No One Else”

Summary: Welt has always observed your quiet and reserved nature aboard the Express. Though you rarely speak in the presence of others, once alone with him, you become the most talkative person imaginable. As the crew leaves for the night, you eagerly begin to share the details of your day, revealing a side of yourself that only Welt has come to know. Despite your hesitation, Welt reassures you that you’re not a burden and that he enjoys listening to you. Through these late-night conversations, you two develop a deeper bond built on trust, understanding, and shared moments of quiet connection.

Tags: Welt x Reader, Comfort, Slow Burn, Mentorship, Fluff, Character Development, Bonding, Quiet Confidence.

A/N: Hehe, thank you!! It means a lot to me, especially coming from another HSR x Reader blog 😭🥹💖

Welt had always been observant. It was second nature to him, a skill honed through years of navigating both intergalactic crises and the complexities of human nature. That’s why he noticed you immediately.

You were quiet. Reserved. Always listening, rarely speaking.

On the Express, the crew had come to understand your quiet nature and never pushed you to speak more than you wished. Himeko would offer warm smiles, March would chat animatedly without expecting much response, and even Dan Heng, reserved as he was, could only nod in mutual silence with you. It had simply become a fact of life aboard the Express: You weren’t much of a talker.

At least, not until the room was empty.

The first time it happened, Welt had been seated in the lounge, sipping his tea as the others slowly filtered out, leaving only the two of you behind. He hadn't expected much—perhaps a simple "goodnight" before you retreated to your quarters. But as soon as the door slid shut behind March and the others, something shifted.

You exhaled sharply, then turned to him, eyes bright with excitement.

"Okay, so you would not believe what happened earlier today."

Welt had barely set his tea down before you launched into a full-speed recounting of your day—the strange creature you saw outside the window, the book you found in the archives, the bizarre dream you had last night that somehow involved a sentient teapot leading a rebellion.

He had listened, utterly fascinated, as you transformed from the quietest member of the Express to the most talkative person he had ever met.

It became a pattern after that.

The moment the others left, the floodgates opened. Your voice filled the space between you and him, your hands animated as you spoke, words spilling out like a dam that had been waiting to burst. You spoke of trivial things and profound thoughts alike, your unfiltered excitement making even the most mundane details feel significant.

And Welt… found that he didn’t mind at all.

If anything, he looked forward to it.

Tonight was no different.

The rest of the crew had just finished a late dinner, the atmosphere warm and lively. As usual, you had sat quietly, nodding along to the conversation, offering a word or two when prompted but never more than necessary. Welt had caught your occasional glances in his direction, the subtle anticipation in your eyes. He knew you were waiting.

Then, as soon as the last person exited the room—

"So, you know how I was reading that book about lost civilizations? I finally finished it! And—"

You were off.

Welt leaned back, listening intently as you detailed every thought you had about the book, your theories, your frustrations, and—somehow—a tangent about what kind of tea ancient civilizations might have preferred.

He chuckled, adjusting his glasses as he rested his chin on his hand. "You seem rather passionate about this topic."

"I am! I mean, I don’t get to talk about it much because, you know, everyone else is busy with their own stuff, but—" You paused, suddenly self-conscious. "I’m not annoying you, am I?"

The concern in your voice was genuine, and for a moment, Welt simply observed you. You had been so comfortable just seconds ago, so freely yourself, and now you were hesitating.

He shook his head. "Not at all. I enjoy listening to you."

Your expression softened, and something in your shoulders relaxed. "Really?"

"Of course." He took a sip of his tea before meeting your gaze again. "It’s rare to see someone so reserved open up so completely. It’s… endearing."

A warmth spread across your face at his words, and you quickly looked away, pretending to be suddenly fascinated with your hands. "Well… it’s easy with you," you admitted. "You listen. And you never make me feel like I have to hold back."

Welt’s expression softened. He set his cup down, fingers idly tracing the rim as he considered his next words carefully.

"You don’t have to hold back," he murmured. "Not with me."

You looked at him then, truly looked, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, the moment passed, and you exhaled, shaking your head with a small smile. "Well, if that’s the case, I hope you’re ready for another hour of me rambling, because I just remembered something else I wanted to tell you."

Welt chuckled, settling in. "By all means."

And as you began talking once more, filling the space between you with warmth and laughter, he thought to himself—

Yes. He could listen to you forever.

[notgonnarememberthis]

The Balthazar fight did not go well

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[junezsq]

nice to meet ya

harry james potter x fem!reader

summary: your first day after transferring to hogwarts is up to a good start when a certain black haired boy can't stop staring at you

warnings: none really? maybe first day nerves, does this count? lol

word count: 1.3k

a/n: maturing means realising harry is underrated in his own series. i was genuinely shocked by how few harry fics there are so decided to take matters into my own hands. here's the beginning to a whirlwind of a love story, enjoy! x

── ᵎᵎ ✦

before daring to enter the great hall of hogwarts for the first time you took a moment to observe the scene playing out in front of you. the grandeur of it all was slightly overwhelming — the enchanted ceiling stretching above like a sky full of clouds, the long tables brimming with students, and the shimmering candles floating in mid-air. a weird mix of excitement and nervousness started swirling around in your stomach.

starting as a third-year transfer, you were aware that the curious glances from some students, the quiet whispers of “new girl,” and the subtle judgment that often accompanies a fresh face were bound to follow you for the upcoming days — maybe even weeks. despite this, the warmth of the hall was undeniable. the voices of fellow students, the laughter, and clinking of cutlery, almost made it feel like home — even if it was a place you'd only just arrived at.

there was something magical about the space, something comforting, like a promise that this would soon be your place, too. the smells of the breakfast feast filled your senses, making your stomach growl.

you glanced down at the crimson and gold fabric of your tie, signifying the house you were sorted in only a moment earlier. your fingers brushed over the edges of the tie as you took a deep breath, feeling uncertainty rise, but you knew that if you'd linger too long, you would only feel more out of place.

with a quiet sigh, you tucked your hair behind your ears. you glanced at the gryffindor table, and after a brief hesitation you took the first step towards your future.

seated somewhere in the middle of the gryffindor table, harry, hermione, and ron were in the midst of their breakfast; the table was littered with plates of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon.

ron, toast in hand, glanced up from his plate, it was then that he noticed you walking through the massive doors leading to the great hall. "isn't that the new girl?" he asked through a mouthful of food, "i heard she just arrived this morning."

hermione, who was sat across the red haired, looked up in curiosity. “she’s a transfer, i think." she murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "i believe she used to go to beauxbatons."

ron tilted his head, watching you intently as you adjusted your tie. “do you think she’s... i dunno, nervous?” he asked. “this place is massive. i’d be proper lost if i was new here.” he glanced at harry, "i mean, we actually did get lost, remember, first year?"

harry, who was sat next to hermione and had been quietly eating, glanced at you as well. his eyes followed your movement as you slowly walked along the gryffindor table — obviously trying to find an empty spot — and his empathy kicked in with a brief tug of understanding. “it’s probably hard, starting a new school in the middle of the year,” he said quietly. “i wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.”

ron sighed, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “i know i wouldn’t. wonder if she’s looking for somewhere to sit... we could—”

“ron, don’t be daft,” hermione cut in gently, though there was a kind smile on her face. “she’ll find her way. besides, she might not want to sit with us just yet.”

the red haired grumbled but nodded in agreement, and while he returned to their breakfast, harry couldn’t help but keep a sidelong glance on you, curious about what your story was.

as you made your way along the great hall, you felt the weight of a pair of eyes on you. when you looked around, trying to find who they belonged to, your own eventually fell on the boy with messy jet-black hair. you could sense the quiet curiosity in his look, the way his eyes lingered just a moment too long before flicking away.

your heart beat a little faster, and with a deep breath, you made a decision. instead of shying away, you slightly fastened your pace towards where they were sat.

meanwhile, across the hall, ron’s voice rang out loud enough for hermione and harry to hear, not having noticed you were now heading in their direction. “so, what d’you reckon happened with her sorting? she's in gryffindor judging by her tie.” he asked, taking a dramatic bite of a sausage.

hermione shot him a slightly exasperated look. “ron, you’re not still on about that, are you?”

ron, however, was already getting into his own theories, grinning widely. “what, i’m just saying! i bet the hat had a real hard time deciding where to put her. probably because she's already got a few years of school experience. it’s got to be tough.”

harry, still a little distracted by you, especially since you were now making your way toward them, gave his friend an absent minded nod.

ron continued, oblivious to harry’s distracted expression. “maybe it was, like, really close between gryffindor and slytherin. could you imagine? the sorting hat probably tried to put her in slytherin first, but she was like, ‘no way! no way am i going there.’ which i completely understand, by the way.”

hermione raised an eyebrow. “really, ron?”

ron leaned in slightly closer, “or maybe,” he said dramatically, “the sorting hat was just so impressed with her bravery that it just had to put her in gryffindor. It could’ve been like, ‘you’ve got the guts to stand up for yourself — gryffindor it is!’” he looked up at hermione, beaming as though he’d cracked the case.

at that moment, you had reached their table. ron looked up, finding hermione with her lips pressed together — as if she was trying to hold in her laughter — and harry whose focus had shifted to somewhere behind him. with his mouth still half full of food, ron's eyes widened in realization. “oh — she’s behind me isn't she?” he muttered to the others, a little stunned by how quickly the conversation had shifted from theory to reality.

"surprise." you gave a small, somewhat shy smile. “this is the gryffindor table, right?” you asked, your voice quiet but clear.

ron, still a little flustered, blinked at you, momentarily forgetting his elaborate sorting tale. “oh, yeah! yeah, it is. you’re the new girl, right?”

hermione gave ron a harsh glance before looking up at you, her expression suddenly kind, “you can sit with us,” she said warmly. “we’re all in gryffindor. i’m hermione, by the way.”

you were slightly taken aback at her kindness, but sat down next to ron either way. hermione motioned to her two friends, "this is harry, and ron."

"nice to meet you." you spoke softly, glancing at ron before letting your eyes fall on harry. the pair of eyes that had followed you earlier still had a sense of curiosity to them, and you couldn't help but stare at him as a small smile formed on his lips, "nice to meet you, too."

ron spoke with a grin, causing you to snap your attention away from the boy in front of you, “don’t mind my stories about the sorting hat. i tend to make them up as i go along.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at that, "you weren't too wrong, it told me it could sense my bravery the moment i stepped into dumbledore's office." you shrugged, grabbing a strawberry, "whatever that's supposed to mean?"

a mischievous grin crept upon your lips as ron looked at you with wide eyes. the tension in your shoulders seemed to ease just a little. maybe hogwarts wasn’t going to be so intimidating after all.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

SOUNDTRACK // nice to meet ya, niall horan

[pseudowho]

Stoic

When Gojo assumes Nanami Kento's lack of PDA for the reader shows a lack of desire for her, a tipsy Kento is quick to correct him.

Warnings: 18+ drabble, Kento goes on a smutty rant

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

'A quick drink' after work had soon turned into two, three, four. Shoko took full advantage of the rooftop bar's balcony, smoking and idly chatting; Higuruma and Atsuya gossipped and quipped, snorting into their drinks; Satoru observed Kento and you keenly behind his dark lens; you stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom as Kento gave you a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry," Satoru interrupted loudly when you were gone, his pot boiling over, "I just-- I just don't get it, Nanami." All eyes were on Satoru and Kento now-- Kento, with one thin eyebrow raised in quiet disdain at Satoru, and Satoru, with his elbows planted forward on his knees in challenge.

A few moments of silence. Kento huffed, "Should I be apologising for someth--"

"--you've been together for years," Satoru interrupted, "and I'm just not convinced. She could be-- she could be a coat rack for all the affection you show her, you're supposed to not be able to keep your hands off her--"

"--you want me to grope my fiancée in public, am I correct--"

"--well maybe, anything to show that you love her--"

Kento laughed out loud, deep and humourless, continuing to chuckle into his glass, scoffing to himself; "Love her," he rumbled, swirling his whiskey, amber eyes flickering and carnal in the firelight.

Shoko had turned, smirking, to watch the scene. Atsuya leaned back, scowling, chewing on a toothpick with crossed arms. Hiromi leaned, glimmer-eyed, into the drama, one hand cupping his jaw and the other clasping his wineglass. He picked up the bottle, slowly beginning to pour another glass.

"I don't love her," Kento spat, downing his glass of whiskey in one smooth swallow, hissing and slamming the glass down on the table, "I worship her. I'm obsessed with her."

Satoru was silent, mulish, as Kento continued.

"I would walk through rains of bullets for her," he mused aloud, "I would cut off fingers with blunt knives--"

"Nanami, alright, I'm sorry--"

"Any second I'm not with her," Kento continued, his voice quieter, darker, the group leaning into him, "is a second wasted. I don't know what point there was in the years I spent without her-- probably just there to build me into even a semblance of the man she deserves--"

"--why are we doing this--"

"-- and when I'm not thinking about talking to her, watching her, being near her, holding her, or-- fuck, just having her look at me goes bone-deep...I spend at least eighty-percent of my time thinking about different ways to make her cum--"

Satoru was blushing now, his face in his hands, while the others leaned into Kento's mild breakdown with awe, "--fucking hell Nanami, I didn't mean--"

"I almost died last week, at work," Kento mused, as a laughing Hiromi slid the glass of wine down the table to Kento, which he caught seamlessly, "because I was too busy thinking about how her mouth had felt around my cock the night before, because I was pondering the many applications for my tie, because I was thinking about how incredible she felt underneath me--"

Atsuya and Shoko whispered together, Hiromi now giggling to himself unashamedly; "Oh he's really going for it--" "I know I know, shhh, let him finish--"

"--and I've been sat here with her all evening, resisting the urge to strip her, tie her wrists together and have her ride me until I go fucking blind, all because of social-fucking-propriety, just for some long streak of jizz like you to say I clearly don't love her--"

Satoru had shrunk in on himself now, his soul quietly leaving his body, mortified and put to rights as Kento tsked, swirling his wine before downing that, too. He accepted the bottle Hiromi slid towards him in approval.

"...it really just is rather rude and presumptuous of you, isn't it, Gojo?"

The group sat in stunned silence as you returned, sitting beside Kento and laying a hand on his crossed knees. You felt the bizarre tension; Hiromi unable to conceal a blush as he looked at you, Shoko giving you a knowing smile around her cigarette, Atsuya unable to make eye contact. You smiled uncertainly.

"...what did I miss?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Still waters run deep 💀💀💀

[nezuscribe]

as somebody who was raised differently, there were certain things your sisters got than you. sure they had better tutors and trainers, but they always had the best of the best. the best dresses, shoes, friends, the best attention.

and they always got complimented. you would listen and observe, wondering if you looked or acted so inherently different from them that caused people to totally brush past you. for a while you felt like a ghost, wandering around life as people ignored you. your sisters were the light of everybody’s life, and you were just there. always in the back.

but with arranged!gojo, it’s so different.

he always finds a way to say something good about you, things you never considered before. sure he compliments your baking (a part of you wonders if it’s only because he wants more), but he tells you that your horsemanship is stellar or that your penmanship is amazing. it slips out to, as if he actually meant it.

you’ve spent your entire life believing that you weren’t remarkable. you spent years trying to mimic the way your sisters talked or acted, hoping that maybe if you were like them people would notice you. but with gojo it seems like the more you you are, the more he enjoys your company.

one day when you’re trying on some new gowns, courtesy of him of course, he happens to find you in your shared bedroom, having a little break in between his counsel meetings and training.

your eyes meet his in the mirror, widening as you turn around with a bright smile.

“satoru! you’re here! how’d you get here?” you ask, happy to have seen him in between his busy schedule. the tension in his body melts upon seeing and hearing you, eyes softening at your genuine excitement.

“i had some time to spare, decided to drop on by,” he answers nonchalantly, but you can tell with the slight blush on his cheeks that he intently came here, knowing you’d be trying on your new garments because you told him that last night.

you roll your eyes, looking back to the mirror as you survey the gown, pursing your lips. you feel him coming closer, close enough until his hands wrap around your waist and he’s staring at you staring at yourself.

“i liked those ones,” you point to the pile of gowns on the bed, “but i think i look ridiculous in those,” you point to the ones on the chair. alina offered to help you, but you promised you’d be fine. bedsides, this was something you preferred doing in your own.

“ridiculous? nonsense,” gojo snorted, his fingers tracing the beaded work on your stomach.

you lean back into his chest a little, silently looking at yourself in the mirror.

“i don’t think i look pretty in this,” you mutter, tugging at the sleeves.

“what?” gojo frowns, looking down as you and the clothing your staring heavily at, “i think it looks gorgeous on you.”

you huff, chewing on your cheek.

“i don’t know,” you murmur quietly, feeling embarrassed, “my fathers wife always said i looked worst in red.”

gojo feels his brows furrow even more.

“the old hag?” he tries to tease but there’s an underlying bite in his voice.

he’s watched you for a while now, silently. though you talk about your old life here and there, there are some things that have weighed in on you that you never voice.

he’s aware of how your fathers wife and sisters treated you. he knows you were just the spare, an extra part of the family they never liked to include. you told him once how your excludes from the family portrait that hangs tall in the foyer, or how you’ve been erased from the will. he can’t do anything but listen. and he knows he’ll never understand just how badly they treated you there, but every passing day he seems to find out more and more.

“i think you’re very pretty,” he whispers softly, kissing the side of your head as his hands squeeze your waist, his eyes catching yours in the mirror, “and i think you look beautiful in red.”

your gaze wavers from his and to the table, not used to this.

gojo sees the way you fidget with your fingers and the way your breathing hitches. he can only imagine how many times you’ve been told otherwise, forced to think the opposite.

because he wasn’t just saying it to say it. gojo truly believed you were the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. he knew it from the moment you met when you were teenagers, and he knew it now. there’s a certain beauty that you possess that everybody else lacks.

“thank you,” you say, swallowing thickly as you smile a little at him, “i think you’re very pretty too.”

gojo feels his heart clench at the quietness in your voice, the unassuming way you thanked him, not filling believing his words. and sure he’s been called all sorts of good things under the sun, but to hear the genuine kindness laced in your tone, it made him want to bottle you up and keep you everywhere he went.

his hands squeeze your wait tighter, pressing more kisses to your neck as your squirm, smiling widely at the feeling.

“you are always pretty,” he says as he turns you around, leaning your back on the drawer, “always.”

his hands rest on your hips, blue eyes searing through yours.

you duck your head a little bit, heat biting at your cheeks.

“really?” you ask, looking up at him as he sees a shine in your eyes, trying your best not to shed those tears.

gojo feels his hands tighten on your dress, the fabric snagging under him as he breathes deeply through his nose.

he wonders if this is the first time anybody’s ever told you that. he doesn’t want to know if that’s true.

“really,” he repeats, his voice caught in the back of his throat. sometimes, you find a way to reduce him down to a few words. this man who’s been trained to sway others with his speeches, and he can barely speak around you.

you smile again, bashfully, your eyes creasing and cheeks full. gojo chases after your smiles, your happiness.

because though people might’ve whispered nice things when they know you couldn’t hear, those words never reached your ears. they never drowned out the waves of things you heard around your old house or from your family. and perhaps you spent a while thinking that you were just okay, never pretty or smart or funny enough, just okay.

but gojo says it all, and he says it loud. and you lived in the quite for so long that loud is strange. but it’s new, and you think you like it.

you look down at the gown, admiring the bead and needle work. it truly was a beautiful gown.

“i think i’ll keep it,” you say after a beat, and gojo smiles, a happy smile that he only shares with you.

he leans down, pressing a soft and sweet kiss to your lips, feeling the way you melt into him, holding him close to your chest. you hope he can’t feel the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes, or hear the way your heart beats erratically.

“good,” he murmurs as he pulls away for a second, “good.”

you smile.

“good,” you say, tilting your head a bit to find his lips again.

[hoe4hotchner]

hi! can i request a hotch fic with shy!reader? like the reader has been in the BAU for a while and is known to be quiet and they start trying to open more to the team (specifically hotch) and the reader jokingly keeps calling hotch “oldman” or “grandpa” and like they get rlly close and the team wonders if their dating or not? thank you!! :))

Old man | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader CW: Fluff, Alcohol consumption somewhere in the middle, one kiss. WC: 1.3k

           Working at the BAU had been a whirlwind for you. You’d joined the team a little over a year ago, but even after all this time, you still found yourself feeling quiet and reserved around your colleagues. While they were all kind and welcoming, it wasn’t easy for you to open up, especially when everyone else seemed so close-knit. You were known as the team’s quiet one - efficient and hardworking, but not particularly outspoken.

           Your interactions with Hotch, however, had started to shift things. At first, you admired him from afar, his calm and composed demeanor had made you both nervous and intrigued. He was older, wiser, and had an air of authority that made you hesitate to speak up. But slowly, something began to change.

           It started with small things. Hotch would catch your eye during meetings, offering a slight nod or a barely-there smile when you shared an idea. You noticed how he’d linger after team briefings, giving you subtle encouragement in his own way, telling you that your insights were valuable. It was these small moments that made you feel more comfortable, and a little braver around him.

           Then, one day after a particularly grueling case, you found yourself standing by the coffee machine with Hotch. You were both exhausted, the silence between you comforting. You took a sip of your coffee and glanced at him, noticing how the lines around his eyes seemed a little deeper, the exhaustion written on his face.

           “You alright… old man?” you teased quietly, barely looking up from your cup as you spoke.

           For a moment, you weren’t sure how he’d take it, but when you glanced up, Hotch was smiling - an actual, soft smile that made something in your chest flutter.

           “Old man?” he repeated, with an amused arch of his brow.

           You shrugged, suppressing a grin. “You’ve been at this a lot longer than the rest of us, I mean except for Rossi,” you said, feeling a surge of bravery. “Just calling it like I see it.”

           Hotch chuckled, a sound you rarely heard from him. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, his voice warm. “Though I don’t feel that old.”

           It was a small exchange, but it opened the floodgates. After that, the teasing became a regular occurrence. You’d throw in a playful “old man” here and there, and Hotch would respond with a dry comment about your youth and energy. The team noticed, of course they did. Morgan would give you side glances, smirking whenever you slipped the nickname into conversation, while JJ and Emily exchanged looks with each other.

           The banter became a way for you to feel more at ease, not just with Hotch but with the whole team. But there was something special about the way you and Hotch interacted, a certain closeness that wasn’t there with anyone else. He’d seek you out in quieter moments, asking how you were doing, offering advice on cases or just sharing a cup of coffee during the rare downtime. You started to open up more, sharing little pieces of yourself that you’d kept hidden for so long.

           Then the team began to wonder. You could see it in the way they observed the two of you. During briefings, when Hotch would speak directly to you, his voice a little softer than usual, you’d catch Morgan’s raised eyebrows or Rossi’s grin. JJ had asked you once, out of the blue, if you were seeing anyone. When you’d said no, she’d hummed in response, her eyes darting briefly to Hotch’s office.

           But you weren’t dating. At least, not in any official capacity. Sure, there were moments that felt like something more - like when Hotch would brush your hand as you passed files to each other or the way his gaze lingered on you a little longer than necessary when you were deep in thought. But neither of you had acknowledged it, not yet.

           One evening after a case, the team had gone out for drinks. You were sitting at the bar, nursing a glass of wine, when Hotch slid into the seat beside you. You smiled at him, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, and leaned in slightly.

           “Old man, out at a bar? Didn’t think you had it in you,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against his.

           He chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. “I’m full of surprises,” he said, his voice was low.

           You sipped your wine, feeling bolder than usual, perhaps from the alcohol, or maybe just because it was Hotch. “Guess I’ll have to stick around long enough to see them,” you replied, your tone playful but with a hint of something more.

           Hotch turned his head slightly, his gaze catching yours. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that made your heart skip a beat. He leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’d like that.”

           Your breath hitched, your pulse quickening as you stared at him. There it was again - that tension, the unspoken connection between the two of you that was growing stronger by the day. You smiled softly, the warmth in your chest spreading.

           The team noticed. Over the next few weeks, the teasing from Morgan and Emily grew more frequent. “So… you and Hotch, huh?” Morgan had asked one afternoon when you were both working late.

           You’d blushed furiously, stammering something about it just being a joke, that you and Hotch were just colleagues, but Morgan didn’t seem convinced. “Sure, whatever you say, kid,” he’d said with a wink, leaving you flustered.

           But the truth was, even you weren’t sure anymore. You and Hotch had grown close - closer than you’d ever imagined when you first joined the BAU. He made you feel seen, appreciated, and more comfortable in your own skin. And as much as you teased him about the age gap, there was something about Hotch that made you feel safe, cherished.

           One evening, after the rest of the team had gone home, you found yourself in Hotch’s office, helping him sort through case files. The room was quiet, the only sound was the rustling of papers and the occasional hum of the air conditioning. You’d just handed him a report when his fingers brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm.

           You looked up, your eyes meeting his, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. Hotch's gaze softened, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “We’re not… you know, dating, are we?”

           The question hung in the air momentarily, and you immediately regretted asking it. But then Hotch smiled a soft, almost tender smile that made your heart race.

           “Not yet,” he replied, his voice low and steady. “But I wouldn’t mind if we were.”

           Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at him, wide-eyed. He stepped closer, his fingers grazing your hand, and you felt the familiar warmth of his touch.

           “Well… what are you waiting for, old man?” you teased, your voice shaking slightly with nervousness and excitement.

           Hotch chuckled, leaning in just a little closer. “I guess I’ll just have to stop being so old-fashioned.”

           And with that, he closed the gap between you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was gentle, sweet, and everything you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. When he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, you smiled, your heart pounding in your chest.

           “So… we’re dating now?” you asked softly, your fingers curling around his.

           He nodded, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Looks like it.”

           And from that moment on, the team didn’t have to wonder anymore.

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it's your senior year at the aerospace academy, and over the course of nine months, your connection with caleb shifts from mere classmates and acquaintances to something deeper. but there's one problem—the girl he loves back home.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, non-mc reader, feminine implied reader, some connections to caleb’s 4-star tender moments, angst/hurt + no comfort, kinda long but fast paced

★ 𝐰𝐜: 11.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: longest fic i've written yet, go me woot woot :p i wanted to write heartbreak so here it is. pls do not have your therapist bill me, thx! anyways when caleb goes, ‘i wont get a girlfriend’ in stage observer, he sounds kinda down, right? yeah imagine hes thinking about you (the reader) in this as he says that LOL. okay, (try to) enjoy lovelies!! <3

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝!

I never believed I’d let something like this happen to me. 

Yet it crept in quietly, the way all irreversible things do. A shift so subtle I almost missed it, until I was already too deep to turn back.

It was in the lingering glances, in the way the air felt charged in the spaces between us. In the laughter that came too easily, the silences that felt safe, the moments that stretched just a little too long. It was in the way he looked at me; like maybe, for a second, he saw something more.

But love, if you can call it that, isn’t always kind. Sometimes, it’s a quiet war. A battle between logic and longing, between what’s real and what’s only ever been wishful thinking. And when the person you want is still holding onto someone else, someone they can’t seem to let go of, where does that leave you?

I swore I’d keep my balance; though gravity has a mind of its own.

August-

It was breezy, as are most August days in Skyhaven. Fumbling my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to comb through any loose strands from the wind, I tried to make myself look somewhat presentable for my first day of classes. It was senior year, and I wanted to make the most of it for once, as it felt like the past few years had been me barely passing by. 

I sat down in the lecture hall, music blaring through my headphones as I fidgeted nervously with the pen in my hand. It wasn’t long before a figure sat next to me in my peripheral, and I internally groaned.

‘You have this whole ass lecture hall with so many empty seats in this row, and you sit right next to me. Dick.’ I thought to myself.

Seeing the person tap on my desk, I glanced over to notice it was Caleb.

We had crossed paths before, orbiting the same social circles through mutual friends. Our interactions had been fleeting, exchanged pleasantries at gatherings or brief moments of conversation that never really dug beneath the surface.

His lips moved as he spoke but I didn’t hear a word he said over the sound of my music. I pulled one of the speakers off my ear, ��What?”

“Well first I said ‘hey, what's up?’, then told you I’m glad to know someone in this class.” Caleb smiled, “But then I realized you weren’t listening.”

His grin was infectious. Then again, everything about him was. Caleb was a campus favorite, and for good reason; his effortless charm and magnetic charisma drew everyone in, leaving them captivated.

I smiled back, “I would’ve listened, I just couldn’t hear you.”

“Shoulda tapped you sooner then.”

We talked as more people trickled in, and conversation with him flowed effortlessly. He was almost unfairly likable, the kind of person who won people over without even trying, it was no wonder he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“Yeah, I failed this class the first time around, so if I want to graduate this spring, I have to finally retake it,” Caleb sighed, shaking his head. “The Caleb failed a class? No way…” Gasping, I clutched my chest in mock shock. “I had no idea you were even capable of failure, Mr. Perfect.”

His lips twitched into a smile at the nickname, but his eyes betrayed him. He shrugged, “Well, I can do it this time around.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I totally didn’t realize I needed this credit.” I poked his hand resting on his desk with my pen, “We’re in this together.”

The professor was about halfway through the syllabus when Caleb started writing on my notebook. 

Do you have class after this?

I looked over at him, mouthing “No”. Not for a few hours, I wrote back. 

Hangout with me after this then

And that’s how I ended up sitting in the quad with Caleb, with the itchy grass prickling my legs and a sweating can of soda in my hand beneath the warm August sun. Yet Caleb’s presence was still warmer; my cheeks and stomach hurt from laughter, and every giggle of mine only fueled the fire of his jokes. 

As the laughter died down, Caleb leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky. “Man, I forgot how nice it is to just sit around like this on campus. No deadlines yet, no stress… just kinda existing.”

I took a sip of my soda, nudging his knee with mine. “You make it sound like you’re constantly suffering.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe a little. Gotta keep up the ‘Mr. Perfect’ image, right?”

I tilted my head, studying him. For a second, he looked almost… tired. Like there was more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how.

“You know you don’t have to be perfect all the time, right?” I said, softer now. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to breathe.”

He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or relief. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned. “Good to know I’ve got my personal cheerleader.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “More like your reality check.”

“Even better.” He bumped his shoulder against mine, before laying down on the ground. The sunlight hit his eyes just right, making them glimmer like polished amethyst. With his brown hair tousled against the grass and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin, it wasn’t hard to see why all the girls fawned over him. When it came to looks, Caleb really did live up to the whole Mr. Perfect thing.

“What about you?” Caleb glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your kryptonite?”

I raised a brow. “Come again?”

He smirked. “Your weakness. What takes you down every time?”

I pretended to think it over, then shot him a cheeky grin. “Probably failure.”

Caleb let out a soft laugh, propping his head up on his elbow. “Alright, I’m sensing some hypocrisy here.”

“It’s not hypocrisy,” I defended, shrugging. “I just fail to take my own advice.”

He tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. “Mm, no, that just makes you a hypocrite. But hey, at least you’re self-aware, Miss perfect.”

Something between us just clicked, that unspoken feeling when you know you’re going to get along with someone. Nothing about our conversation felt forced, it unfolded with an ease that caught us both off guard. I don’t think either of us saw this coming, but somehow, it just made sense.

And so it continued; messing around with Caleb in class, then hanging out in the quad afterward. Our dynamic quickly shifted from casual acquaintances to good friends as our connection bled beyond the classroom. The progression was almost rapid; natural, but undeniable.

Conversations with him came naturally, filled with dry humor, shared ambition, and the kind of unspoken understanding that made being around each other feel easy. We started saving seats for each other without thinking, sharing notes even when we both knew we hadn’t written anything useful, and lingering just a little longer after class, stretching out the moments before we had to part ways.

Afternoons in the quad turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into late-night study sessions that often had more laughing than actual studying. It wasn’t just that we got along; we started to seek each other out, gravitating toward one another like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

It wasn’t just about sharing space; it was about the way we easily fit into each other’s lives like we had always been meant to.

I found myself opening up in ways I never had before, trusting Caleb with thoughts I usually kept locked away. And in return, he let me see past the carefully constructed walls he had built. 

I learned a lot about Caleb in our time spent together; I learned about his dreams and aspirations, his worries and fears, his home back in Linkon and how much of it still clung to him.

And her.

I learned about her.

MC; the kind of nickname all the cool girls had, lifted from their initials like it had always belonged to them. She was innocent, pretty, just the right balance of book-smart and blissfully unaware. The kind of girl who never had to try too hard because the world seemed to bend in her favor. She was perfect in that way, and maybe that’s why Caleb felt like he had to be perfect, too.

She had been his childhood friend, raised alongside him by his gran, their lives tangled together like roots beneath the same old house.

“She’s your sister?” I had asked, unsure of the dynamic.

Caleb hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. “No,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Not really. We just grew up together.”

She was everything to him, the quiet force that shaped him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. Everything he did, every careful step he took, was in her image. And suddenly, it all made sense.

The way Caleb kept people at arm’s length, the reason he didn’t have many real friends at the Academy. It wasn't because he didn’t want them, it was because a part of him was still anchored somewhere else; belonged to someone else.

Once, we had sat on the steps outside one of the buildings, his elbows on his knees, staring out at nothing in particular.

“You never really let people in.” I looked over at him, my statement coming out of nowhere.

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Was it that obvious?”

“I didn’t get it back then. Thought maybe you just had too many friends to be really close with any of them.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t that,” he admitted. “I just… I already had MC. Growing up the way we did, it was always just us. I guess I never really learned how to need anyone else.”

I glanced at him, but his eyes stayed on the horizon, lost in something I couldn’t see.

“You still do that, you know,” I said. “Keep people just enough away.”

He swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Some habits don’t go away easy.”

“So why am I an exception?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because you didn’t try to push your way in. You just… stayed.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

He shook his head, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. It’s more than that.” He glanced at me then, something raw in his eyes. “You just understand the way I think, and nobody has before.”

A silence stretched between us, thick with things neither of us knew how to say.

“You make it sound like some big thing,” I murmured. “Like I did something special.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “Maybe you did.”

His words awakened something in me, an ache settling in my chest. A quiet, gnawing feeling that signaled the start of an internal war; one I never really meant to step into, but quickly became hard to ignore. A silent competition I didn’t sign up for, but suddenly felt compelled to win. 

It wasn’t against MC, not even Caleb himself.

But against the undeniable truth that no matter how close we got, I may never be the one he chooses.

September-

I barely notice the shift at first; the way August hands things off to September, smooth and effortless, like they’ve done this a million times before. Like they were always meant to meet. It feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, like stepping into a conversation that’s already halfway finished but somehow still knowing exactly what’s being said. 

Things with Caleb had settled into a familiar rhythm. On campus, we were either together or in class, our days stitched together by shared moments. Being with him was refreshing, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, a quiet promise that brighter days were ahead. Silence with him was never awkward; it was understood. He always seemed to know what I was thinking, what I meant to say, even when I didn’t say it aloud.

I’d known Caleb for a while, but the way we grew close so quickly felt natural, like we’d been moving toward this all along. It was as if there had always been a space in my mind shaped just for him, waiting for the right moment for him to step in.

The cloudy sky above turned dark with the impending storm coming, but in a rush to meet Caleb, I had hardly noticed until I was halfway to his dorm. Cursing to myself, I silently tried to manifest the rain would hold off until I got back to my own dorm later. 

It was movie day; every Friday afternoon after Caleb and I finished with our classes for the day we would have lunch and watch a movie. He was on hosting duty this week, and his dorm was on the other side of campus. If I got caught in this rain, I’d still have a bit of a walk in the storm before I arrived. 

Almost as if laughing at me, the sky cracked with lightning and thunder rumbled, and I heard the pouring of rain before I felt it.

“Shit!” I picked up the pace, my sneakers splashing through puddles forming on the sidewalks as I started to run. Thunder booming in the sky, I mentally prepared to get struck by lightning and hoped I would be eaten by the campus birds before anyone found my body. 

Trying to take a shortcut through the grass was the worst decision I could have made, as I wasn’t even two feet from the sidewalk before I slipped, landing on my back and getting waterboarded by the sky. “Argh!” I screeched, tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes. I sat up, glaring at the students staring at me as they passed by with their umbrellas. 

My whole body was drenched by the time I was outside of Caleb’s; my hair, jeans, and sweater caked with mud (and probably a few stray leaves). 

Making my way upstairs, my cheeks were pink from the cold and embarrassment as everyone in the building looked at me with confusion as my clothes and hair dripped all over the floor. 

Caleb swung the door open before I could knock, something he’d do as he watched for me through the peephole in his door. Looking me up and down, the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he coughed, stifling a laugh.

He leaned against his door frame, “What happened here?”

“Shut up.” I pushed past him, annoyed but a bit guilty as I continued to drip all over his floor.

“You look like a sad wet cat,” Caleb patted my wet hair, frowning when he saw I was shivering, “a cold, sad wet cat.”

He started to rummage around the room, going through his drawers and closet, pulling out clothes. Tossing them at me, he pointed to the bathroom, “Go shower, I don’t want you all soppin’ wet on my stuff.”

I glanced at the clothes he handed me; hoodie, sweatpants…his boxers? 

“Um, Caleb-”

He shook his head, “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

Pursing my lips together I nodded, heading into the bathroom. I called out to him, “Caleb, do you have a towel?” 

“Just use the one in there.”

Okay, we were close, but I wasn’t aware we had crossed into this land.

Peeling my clothes from my body, I threw them into a pile in the corner. I nearly moaned when the hot water hit my skin, and basked in the feeling for a bit. I stared at Caleb’s shampoo and body wash, conflicted on if I should actually use them or just try to rinse myself off the best I could.

Feeling the mud and tangles in my hair, I accepted defeat.

By the time I was done, clad in Caleb’s warm clothes with every inch of me smelling like him, it felt like he was smothering me. Like I was enveloped in one of his bear hugs.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I felt my heart jump a bit. There was something about wearing a boy’s clothes as is, but Caleb’s clothes? 

A bit ago, I had felt the shift before I could name it. 

It’s in the way my eyes flick to my phone more often than before, in the way my chest tightens, just a little, when his name lights up my screen. It’s in the way my pulse stirs when I spot him at our usual spot in the library, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d show up (and he always did). 

And maybe that’s what unsettles me the most, not just that I notice these things, but that a part of me already expects them. Like I’ve been pavloved.

It was ignorable at first, but it’s become this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. A tugging at my heart. It’s annoying, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear that’s too quick for me to smack it away.

The feeling that I didn’t want to just be friends anymore.

Coming out of the bathroom, Caleb was already sitting on the floor in front of his bed with two cups of tea and food, and my mouth watered when I saw he made my favorite.

He smiled at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You look pretty good in those.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re just saying that because I look like you.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Caleb nodded toward the bathroom. “Your hair’s still wet. Grab the towel.”

“It’s fine,” I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You already got caught in the rain once. Stay damp any longer, and you’ll catch a cold.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “And I can’t be left alone in class. That’d be tragic.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel, grabbed the towel, and tossed it at him. “Right, of course. That’s all I am to you, entertainment in class.”

“For sure,” he said smoothly, catching the towel with ease. “Now sit.”

I sat beside him, reaching for the towel, but before I could take it, his hands found my shoulders, gently turning me away. I barely had time to protest before he took the towel himself, carefully running it through my damp hair.

“Caleb, I can do it myself—” I started, trying to shift back, but his grip was steady.

“Shush,” he murmured. “Let me help.”

I could have argued, but the warmth of his touch, the slow, deliberate way he moved, made it impossible to resist. My shoulders relaxed as he worked, the soft scratch of the towel against my scalp lulling me into stillness. Silence settled between us, easy and unspoken, the only sound the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the window. It was peaceful, grounding. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, let myself be cared for.

Before long Caleb tugged on a strand of my hair, “Okay, done.”

“Thank you” I pinched his cheek, his lips curved upwards and his eyes went soft.

“Now, what should we watch?”

“Nothing crazy, I don’t think my brain can function right now after today.”

Caleb laughed, flicking through the movies, before settling on some random cartoon. I sighed dramatically when I took a bite of the food he made, “Caleb, you’ve outdone yourself yet again.”

He looked at me mischievously before stealing a bite, and I punched his shoulder, “You have your own!”

His phone lit up and I saw the name, looking away as he picked it up to respond to the incoming texts.

MC.

A wedge of jealousy crept up my throat. It was our movie time, and here she was, almost on cue.

I always listen—really listen—when he talks about her. About how much she means to him, how she’s one of the only constants in his life. And it stings, sharper than I expect, because I want to be that constant. I don’t say it, of course. Instead, I throw myself deeper into the friendship, as if proving my place will make it true.

I laugh at his jokes a little too hard. Memorize the way he takes his coffee without meaning to. Notice the small things that make him tick, the way his expression shifts when he’s lost in thought, the songs he hums under his breath.

The internal competition I created against her wasn’t intentional, but once I noticed it, everything about it became hard to unsee.

He sets his phone down just as quickly as he picked it up, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry, MC just had a question about something.”

‘That stupid question could’ve waited’, I think, irritation curling in my chest. But I shove it down, nudging his shoulder with a forced smile. “S’alright. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He settles back into the movie, but I barely hear it now. The feeling of her lingers, clinging to the space between us, and I try to shake it off.

His presence beside me soothes the sting, like a bandage over a wound, and I start to loosen up, letting my head rest against the bed. The warmth of his clothes, the comfort of a full stomach, the quiet rhythm of rain against the window; it all starts to pull me under, drowsiness settling into my bones. My eyelids grow heavy, and I barely register the way Caleb shifts beside me.

“Sleepy?” His voice is soft, almost amused.

I peek one eye open, managing a lazy smile. “A bit.”

Without a word, he moves closer, wrapping an arm around the back of my neck. His hand finds the side of my head, cradling it gently as he guides me to rest against his shoulder. The touch is careful, deliberate, something more than our usual play punches and casual grabs in a crowd. This is different. More intimate.

For a moment, I forgot about the competition. Because my head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and the slow, absentminded way his fingers trace shapes on my shoulder feels so easy, so natural. He watches the TV like this is nothing new, like having me this close is just the way things are meant to be. And for the first time I let myself believe, just for a second, that maybe he feels the same way about me too.

October-

There's a charge in the air alongside the change in leaves, a quiet pull I feel every time Caleb leans in a little too close or looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.

But then, there’s her.

She’s not here, but she is. Always lingering in the pauses between sentences, in the spaces Caleb leaves open without realizing it. She’s in the way his face softens when he says her name, in the light that sparks behind his eyes when he talks about her. And I hate how it makes me feel; petty, ridiculous, like I’ve stumbled into a battle I was never meant to fight.

I just can’t shake it.

Because lately, there’s been something else. An even bigger shift, subtle, but impossible to ignore. The way his hand lingers a beat too long when he passes me something, like he’s reluctant to let go. The way his gaze finds me, even in a crowded room, like I’m the only person worth looking at. The late-night texts, filled with thoughts that could have waited but never do.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see. But a part of me, deep down, knows he feels this too.

My phone began to ring as I was getting ready for the Senior Gala the Academy holds every year for those graduating in the spring. 

“Yes?” I already know who it is without looking.

Caleb’s voice drifts through the speaker, soft and warm. “Are you almost ready, honey?” The pet name catches me off guard, a shy smile pulling at my lips before I can stop it. He’d started using it recently, and I hadn’t dared to question it out of the fear it would stop.

He was my date tonight (as friends of course), and I was running a little behind.

“I still have to finish my makeup, do my hair, and put on my dress,” I groaned in frustration, “I’m sorry Caleb, I’m trying to go as fast as I can.”

He laughs sweetly, “Well, I’m almost there. I can help you out.”

“Help me…?”

“Yep, Captain Caleb is gonna be there to save the night. See you soon!”

The phone clicks before I can respond, and not a moment later, Caleb is strolling through my door like he owns the place. 

I turned to face him, and my breath caught in my throat. His suit was a deep navy that matched my dress, the rich fabric adorned with his pilot and aviator pins. His hair, tousled yet intentional, framed a face that always felt like home. Caleb stood there composed, sharp but still him; and there was something about the way the badges gleamed against his chest that nearly brought me to my knees.

His gaze sweeps over my desk, taking in the chaos of makeup scattered around, before pausing on my curling iron.

“Is this plugged in?” He picks it up, inspecting it.

“Caleb, you are not putting that anywhere near my head.” I instinctively flinch as he reaches for a lock of my hair.

But he’s quick, his hand firmly grasping the top of my head, holding it still. “I always helped MC with her hair. I know my way around a curling iron.”

The words land harder than he meant, and I can’t help but squint at him, a frown tugging at my lips. He misreads it, thinking I’m questioning him, and gives me a serious look.

“Trust me here.”

I let the assumption hang in the air, letting him believe my discontent is just doubt. I sigh, giving in, “Alright, but if you make me look bad for my Senior Gala, I will hate you forever.”

He starts to section my hair and I raise my brows in approval, ‘Okay, yeah,’ I think, ‘Maybe he does have this’.

Caleb’s touch is gentle as I apply my mascara and lipstick, careful not to mess me up, his hands steady as he moves around me. It doesn’t take long before he pulls back, setting the curling iron down as I finish up with the last touches of my makeup.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” His hands rest on my shoulders as he leans down, chin lightly resting on the top of my head, both of us watching our reflection in the mirror.

I tilt my head, inspecting my hair with a playful smile, running my fingers through a few strands. “I suppose you did an okay job.”

He pinches the bridge of my nose, a mock scowl crossing his face. Laughing, I stand up, reaching for my dress hanging in the closet.

I headed to the bathroom, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I slipped the dress on, the blue silk molding to my body, the delicate sleeves draping off my shoulders. It was beautiful, I was beautiful; but as I caught my reflection, doubt crept in. Would I look out of place next to Caleb? He was all polished perfection, and I was just… me. Not bad, but not him.

She would look perfect beside him.

‘No.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’m Caleb’s date tonight, not her. He could have asked her, but he didn’t. He chose me. It’s just us.’

Fumbling with the zipper, I let out a frustrated breath before finally pulling the door open. “Caleb, can you help me with this?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening as a flush crept up his cheeks. “Of course.”

Caleb stepped forward, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed against my back. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cool fabric clinging to my skin. Gently, he gathered the dress, his knuckles ghosting along my spine as he found the zipper.

I held my breath.

Slowly, he pulled it up, the quiet sound of the zipper filling the space between us. With each inch, his fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of my back, sending shivers down my arms. My skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve was tuned to him and him alone.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away. Instead, his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place. His breath was warm against my shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, as if caught in some silent battle with himself. The air between us was thick, charged, pulling me toward him.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely steady.

His hand lingered for just a second longer before he finally let go, stepping back, but not too far. Not far at all.

I turned around slowly, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. His eyes traced the length of me, starting at the hem of my dress and lingering as they traveled upward, taking in every detail before finally meeting mine.

Caleb swallowed, his lips parting slightly as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, as if shaken from a spell, he smiled—soft, almost bashful.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice was quiet, reverent, like he wasn’t just saying it, but feeling it. Like the words weren’t enough to capture what he saw.

Warmth spread through me, creeping up my neck, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I’d spent so much time wondering if I looked right beside him, if I fit; but now, standing here, bathed in the glow of his gaze, I didn’t feel out of place.

I felt chosen.

“Hold your compliments until you’ve seen the whole look,” I teased, holding up a finger to silence him. “I still need to put on my shoes and pins.”

Caleb smirked. “Need help with those too?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I can manage strapping on my own heels and pinning a badge to my dress, thanks.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He plucked my heels off the dresser, twirling them lazily around his finger, his gaze practically daring me to challenge him.

I huffed but gave in, sinking into my chair. “Fine.”

Caleb knelt in front of me, his fingers warm as they wrapped around my ankle, steady but gentle as if I were something delicate. He slipped the first shoe on, fastening the strap with practiced ease.

“I can do most things myself, y’know,” I muttered, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

“I know.” His fingers lingered against my skin for a fraction too long before he reached for the second shoe. “I just like to be helpful.”

But he still wouldn’t look at me when he said it, and something about the way his voice softened made me think he wasn’t just talking about shoes.

I stood as he finished, reaching for my pins amidst the clutter of my desk and fastening them carefully over my heart. Turning to the mirror, I shifted from side to side, checking every angle, making sure everything was just right.

I glanced back at Caleb. “Are you sure I look okay?”

Without hesitation, he took my hand and lifted it into the air. “Twirl. Let me see.”

I spun for him, the silk of my dress catching the light, and when I turned back, there was something bright in his eyes, something warm, something real.

“You look more than okay,” he said, voice sure with conviction. “I promise.”

I held out my pinky. “Pinky promise?”

He grinned, hooking his finger around mine. “Pinky promise.”

“Lock it,” I reminded him, and he chuckled before pressing his thumb against mine, sealing the deal.

His fingers lingered for a second before he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now come on, we’re definitely going to be late.”

When we arrived at the gala, it didn’t take long for Caleb to be swept away by a group of guys he often talked to. I lingered around, exchanging polite small talk with a few people I still considered friends. I didn’t see them much anymore, as most of my time was spent with Caleb.

“So, are you two dating?” one of the girls asked, tilting her head. “I thought he was seeing that girl from his hometown… What was her name again?”

“MC.” I said, a little too quickly.

“Right, that’s the one.”

I forced a smile. “No, we’re just good friends.”

But even as I said it, my gaze drifted to where he stood, laughing easily with his own friends, his posture loose and carefree. A quiet ache settled in my chest.

I wanted to be next to him.

But then again, I was; just not in the way they all saw. I knew him in moments no one else did, in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the unspoken gestures and late-night confessions.

And for now, that was enough. It had to be.

I excused myself from the conversation, weaving through the crowd until I reached one of the drink tables. Grabbing a glass, I slipped into the quieter halls, letting the hum of conversation and music fade behind me. The walls were lined with grand, extravagant paintings, each one demanding attention. I paused in front of a few, sipping my drink as I took them in, letting my mind settle.

I wasn’t antisocial, I could hold my own in a room full of people, I just needed a break from the carefully choreographed chaos of the ballroom. 

The rhythmic click of shoes against marble echoed through the quiet hallway, followed by a familiar, soft laugh.

“How did I know I’d find you out here?”

I hummed against the rim of my glass. “Maybe because you can read my mind.”

Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes I wish I could.” Then, extending his hand toward me, he asked, “Dance with me?”

I glanced at his outstretched palm. “Out here?”

He tilted his head playfully. “Well, my possible mind-reading powers tell me you’d rather not go back in there.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I laced my fingers with his. “I think you might be psychic.”

The distant music from the ballroom barely reached us, muffled and softened by the grand halls, but somehow, that only made the moment feel more intimate. Caleb’s hands found my waist, warm and steady, while mine slipped around the back of his neck.

He guided us into a slow, easy rhythm. I rested my head just below his chin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his suit.

We moved without words; his breath against my hair was the only thing I could focus on, like everything else had paused around us.

The world outside the two of us faded, the grand chandelier lights dimming, the chatter and laughter of the crowd becoming a distant murmur. All that remained was the softness of the moment, our steps in sync, and the quiet, unspoken connection between us.

I could feel his thumb tracing gentle patterns against my back, the touch soft in a way that wasn’t rushed. There was no need to hurry, no need to speak. We simply existed in this space, suspended between the melody and the quiet.

His fingers moved up to brush a lock of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender, almost shy. I looked up at him, and his eyes held mine, reassuring.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned in a little closer, savoring the rhythm of our slow dance, the feeling of him holding me like this, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at all.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Caleb tapped my shoulder lightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel suddenly too wide. It wasn’t much, but the shift left a coldness in the air, and I immediately wanted to fall back into him.

“Where are you thinking?” I asked.

He pointed toward the window. “There’s a park across the street. We could go there. Away from all… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if the chaos of the gala was still buzzing around us.

I nodded without hesitation, and soon we found ourselves at the park, sitting on an old, rusty swing set. The contrast was stark; our lavish clothes against the worn, weathered metal, but I didn’t care. My dress snagged on the rust as I sat down, but I was too lost in the quiet to be bothered by it. All I wanted was this moment, the stillness, just the two of us away from everything else.

The night air wrapped around us, cool and still, with only the rhythmic creak of the swings and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees breaking the silence. It felt like we existed in a world separate from everything else, suspended in something fragile, something fleeting.

Caleb leaned back against the chain of his swing, his fingers gripping the metal tightly as he looked at me again. That look—like he could see through me, past all the walls I tried so hard to keep up. My pulse hammered in my chest under his gaze.

“You ever feel like… you don’t know where you stand with someone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “Yeah,” he said quietly, but with a certainty that made my stomach twist. “All the time.”

For a second, just a fleeting, breathless second; I wondered if he meant me.

I forced a smile, trying to ease the tension hanging between us. I nudged my swing into his, making it sway slightly. “You have a really good sense of self-restraint,” I teased, the words a shield to keep myself from feeling too much. “It’s almost a talent.”

His lips curved, but it was thin, hollow—there was something sad in it. “Is that a bad thing?”

I tilted my head, watching him. “No… well, maybe. Sometimes, I guess. I think you have a habit of depriving yourself of what you really want.”

Caleb looked down, his boot dragging against the dirt beneath him. “What if I can’t have what I want?” His voice was rougher now, lower. “What if it’s not allowed?”

I reached forward, gripping the chain of his swing, giving it a slight shake to bring his eyes back to mine. “If it’s within your reach, it’s legal, and you’re not hurting anyone, I don’t see a problem.” My breath hitched, and my chest tightened as I spoke. “If I had to guess, you’re trying to convince yourself you can’t have something.”

His exhale was shaky, and a bitter laugh barely escaped him. “Maybe, yeah.”

I saw it then—the decision in his eyes, the surrender.

And then, he moved.

Caleb leaned in first, closing the space between us with a quiet certainty that made my breath catch. I barely had time to react before his lips met mine; soft, warm, real. My fingers clenched around the swing’s chain for balance, but it didn’t matter. My whole world had already tilted.

The kiss started slow, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Caleb’s hand found my jaw, his fingers brushing my skin, grounding me as he deepened the kiss. There was no hesitation, no pulling away—only the quiet urgency of something inevitable, something long overdue.

I let myself sink into it, forget everything outside this moment. The cold night air, the weight of the past few months, the uncertainty of what came next—it all melted away as Caleb kissed me like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, our foreheads nearly touching, Caleb let out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. His thumb brushed over my cheek, lingering there like he was memorizing the feel of me.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything—just letting the silence settle between us like something sacred.

I tried to catch my breath, still feeling the warmth of his touch all over me. “I—uh, I didn’t think that was how tonight would go.”

“Me either,” he admitted softly.

I bit my lip, searching for something to say, but my thoughts were still tangled up in the kiss. The taste of him lingered, sweet and unfamiliar, like a song you’d heard once and couldn’t forget. The warmth of his breath was still etched into the space between us, and the silence felt heavy, like it was holding something fragile; something we both weren’t quite ready to name. I felt the words sitting at the edge of my mind, waiting, but they were lost in the echo of his touch, the weight of everything unsaid.

Caleb gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch so tender it almost felt like he was afraid to break something.

There was a quiet moment, just us sitting there, the air between us charged and delicate. Caleb’s fingers brushed along my wrist, and he gave a small, hesitant laugh.

“Is it weird to say I’m kind of glad we did this here?”

I smiled, the tension easing slightly. “Not at all. There’s something nice about having a moment that’s just ours.”

He glanced up at the dark sky, the stars scattered above us. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in our own little world. Just us.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle the fluttering in my chest. “Then let’s not rush back. Let’s just stay here for a little longer.”

He grinned, that easy smile of his, and nodded. “I’m in.”

We swayed gently, both of us still lost in the quiet, the stillness of the park and the soft feeling that somehow, things were different now. 

Better.

November-

The moment on the swings stays with me long after it’s over, a quiet echo that pulses in the back of my mind, haunting the spaces between my thoughts. It lingers in the way Caleb reaches for my hand without thinking, in the brief touches we exchange. The kiss, though, that’s the one that lingers the longest; the warmth of him, the certainty that wrapped around me like a promise. 

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hold back.

I tell myself it was nothing, that it was just a rush, a fleeting spark that will eventually fade with time. 

But it doesn’t. 

Instead, it settles into the corners of me, a quiet undercurrent beneath everything else.

Everything is subtle at first, in the little things. His hand brushing against mine when we walk, his knee grazing mine when we sit side by side, the way his texts come more often now, careful and soft. When we’re together, it feels like we really have built our own little world, a space apart from everything else. And I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

Though one night, I find him distant. His gaze fixed on his phone, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold something in. He barely speaks, his words sharp and short, his mind somewhere else entirely. I don’t ask, don’t press him for an answer. But I know.

It’s her.

And in that moment, something clicks.

I’m not the only one caught between two worlds. Caleb is, too.

The realization doesn’t ease the ache, it only makes it worse. Because if there’s a choice, I already know who he’ll choose.

Training’s getting harder, and graduation is only a few months away. The exhaustion is catching up to all of us, but I feel as if it's hitting me the hardest. Barely sleeping, too many long nights and even longer days, each one blending into the next until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I can feel my body wearing down, but I keep pushing, because what else is there to do? Let myself stop and think?

Ha.

No.

Caleb notices, though. He’s just as drained as I am, but he’s still there, watching me. He always makes sure I eat, even when I don’t feel like it. Reminds me to drink water when I forget, and always seems to be there after training, hanging around like he’s making sure I don’t collapse right there on the floor.

I try not to let it mean anything, try not to read too much into it. He’s just being a friend, right?

But it’s hard to ignore the way he lingers, the way his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place when I sway slightly on my feet, too tired to stand straight. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand is there, steady on my arm, holding me like he doesn’t want to let go.

Caleb picked me up from the Academy airport after a training flight. We were supposed to grab lunch, but when his eyes landed on my exhausted form, something in his expression softened.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the exhaustion. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just go—” But before I could finish, my body betrayed me, and I stumbled forward, barely able to keep myself upright.

Caleb’s hand was there in an instant, steadying me by the shoulder and wrapping his arm around me like he wasn’t letting go. “I think you’d fall asleep in your food and suffocate. When was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday… no, Tuesday? I don’t really remember.”

I threw on my coat, but Caleb’s gaze was still on me, studying me like he could see right through the act I was trying to put on.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, glaring at him. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry before we miss the bus.”

Standing outside at the bus stop, I shivered against Caleb's arm around me (that was still trying to hold me up). He asked me about my day, if I had eaten breakfast; simple questions that didn’t require much thinking on my part and patient, non-expectant responses from him. I pressed my body closer into his, trying to soak up his warmth, and maybe even share a bit of my own. 

He looked down at me and chuckled, ruffling my hair, “Just a bit longer, honey.”

And he was right, seconds later the bus pulled up. I was practically bouncing to get inside and out of this weather.

Snatching the window seat, I stuck my tongue out at Caleb as he situated himself next to me. “You’re evil, you know that right.” 

The bus was a welcomed relief from the biting cold outside, the warmth inside wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. My coat was serving as a blanket, and I don’t even remember when I drifted off, but at some point I found myself asleep on Caleb’s shoulder.

I half-awoke to him nudging me gently. “Hey, this is my dorm, let’s get off here.”

Groggily, I shook my head, struggling to form a thought. “No, s’okay, my stop is next…”

He chuckled softly, and I could hear the concern in his voice. “I don’t trust you not to fall back asleep and miss your dorm.” His fingers brushed through my hair to comb the strands away from my eyes, his touch tender as he looked at me. “Just come back up with me. You can sleep there until you’re good to go back.”

I barely had the strength to argue, so I let him lead me, sleepily leaning against him the entire way. By the time we reached his room, I was barely conscious. He helped me take off my coat and shoes, and without a second thought, I crawled onto his bed, curling up into a ball as sleep claimed me again.

When I woke, the world outside was dark, and it took a moment to realize where I was. The blanket was soft against my skin, and I noticed Caleb beside me, his face relaxed in sleep. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look so at ease, so… soft.

I felt a pang of guilt when I noticed the clock beside his bed. It was nearing one in the morning. He probably wanted to sleep, but I had taken over his space.

I started to sit up, but before I could move, an arm wrapped around my waist.

“Where are you going?” Caleb’s voice was thick with sleep, and I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I turned to see him blinking slowly up at me.

“I have to go home,” I murmured, my words barely above a whisper. I reached out, hand instinctively brushing his face, but then I stopped myself and pulled it back.

He toyed with the hem of my t-shirt, and I felt the warmth of his touch spread through me. I could feel myself melting under his proximity. “It’s too late,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea. “Just stay here.”

“Caleb—”

“Or I can walk you home,” he added, his eyes still half-closed, and he stretched as if to get up, but I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No, really, it’s okay.”

He smirked a little, still mischievous even through sleep. “You pick. I either walk you home, or you stay here.”

In that moment, the stillness of the night seemed to press in around us, and my heart ached. Caleb was a vice. He was dangerous.

“Okay,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling. “I’ll stay.”

The room is quiet except for Caleb’s steady breathing. The city of Skyhaven hums faintly outside, the night stretching endlessly around us. I’m awake now, but I can’t bring myself to move. Caleb’s hand rests lightly on my waist, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s nothing, really. Just a small, almost casual touch. 

But it feels like everything. 

It sets my entire body on fire, this little contact. I shouldn’t be here, not like this, not after everything. But I don’t leave. Instead, I sink back down, letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence pull me under.

We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. No explanations, no excuses—just this fragile moment, suspended in time, hanging between us. Caleb’s breathing evens out again, his grip loosening as sleep pulls him back under. I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of the night. I know this is a mistake. I know when the sun rises, when the reality of the world outside finally settles in, things will go back to how they were.

He’ll wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from his eyes, and we’ll pretend like this never happened. He’ll go back to talking about MC, and whatever this—whatever we—will remain suspended in the realm of “almosts” and “what-ifs.” But for now, in this quiet moment, I close my eyes. I let myself have this, just for tonight. Because even if it means nothing to him, it means everything to me.

Morning comes too quickly.

I stir first, blinking against the soft light filtering through the blinds. For a second, everything feels warm and comforting. Caleb’s steady breathing beside me, the weight of the blanket, the quiet hum of the city waking up outside.

Then, reality crashes back in. I shouldn’t be here. Not like this.

Carefully, I try to slip out from beneath the covers, but the moment I move, Caleb stirs. His grip tightens around my waist, pulling me closer just a little before his eyes flutter open.

He looks at me, caught between sleep and consciousness, and for a second, there’s something in his gaze; a softness that makes my breath catch in my chest. But then, he blinks, and it’s gone.

“You’re awake,” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy, and it twists something inside of me. He doesn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I should go.”

Caleb doesn’t respond at first. His fingers absently trace the hem of my sleeve, like he’s thinking, weighing something.

Then, finally—

“You don’t have to.”

It’s quiet. Hesitant. It feels like a confession wrapped in uncertainty.

I swallow hard. “Caleb…”

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just know this, this tension, this dangerous line we’re walking, is too much.

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and then he looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and it makes my heart clench.

“Look,” he sighs, like this is some sort of explanation. “I know things have been… complicated.”

Complicated. That’s one way to put it.

I scoff and shake my head. “You think?”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And that hurts more than it should. Because I know what I’m doing. I’m falling. I’ve been falling for so long, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit the ground.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, my voice barely steady.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Something inside me cracks.

“Then stop making me feel like I’m something you have to choose.”

Silence. And that’s when I know.

He won’t say it, but I already have my answer. Because if I was ever truly an option, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging for clarity.

I nod to myself, standing up. “I need to go.”

This time, he doesn’t stop me.

December-

It hurts, it really hurts. 

My chest aches like it’s been hollowed out, and every breath feels too heavy, too sharp. My body trembles, like it’s trying to hold itself together, but it’s already unraveling. 

Is this what dying feels like? 

Is this death? 

The slow suffocation of something that was once whole? 

Or is this grief?

Endless, suffocating grief—bleeding through my veins, consuming everything I am.

I can’t tell anymore. Only that it hurts. So much. 

I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

I feel like a hollow shell.

January-

The snow falls lightly, dusting the pavement with delicate flakes as I walk across campus. The world feels quiet, wrapped in winter’s cold embrace, but inside me? There’s nothing but noise, a clamor I can’t silence. Just as fast as everything had began, it ended just as quickly. 

I didn’t expect Caleb to reach out. After everything, after the silence between us that’s stretched since November, I thought he’d let the distance settle. Let whatever we had fade into something unspoken, unresolved.

But then I got the text.

can we talk?

And because I’m weak, because no matter how much I want to convince myself I’ve moved on, I know I haven’t, so I agreed.

Now, I’m here, waiting outside the coffee shop, my breath clouding in the cold air. Caleb’s already inside, sitting by the window with his fingers curled around a paper cup. When he sees me, he gives a small, hesitant smile. He looks the same, yet it feels so foreign.

I steel myself and walk inside.

“Hey,” he says when I slide into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” I echo, my voice flat, unreadable.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us.

He exhales, looking down at his coffee. “I hate how things have been between us.”

I don’t say anything, just let him speak.

“I miss you,” he admits, and for a moment, my heart stumbles. But before I can process it, he adds, “I don’t want to lose you, I want us to still be friends.”

Friends.

I should have expected this. Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve just been foolish enough to hope for something else.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around my cup. “Friends.”

He nods, earnest, like he doesn’t realize he’s twisting a knife into my chest. “Yeah. I mean, we were good at that, right? Before things got… complicated.”

Complicated. That word again.

I take a slow breath, trying to force the ache in my chest to quiet. Maybe this is what we need. Maybe being friends, just friends, will hurt less than losing him completely.

So I offer a small smile, one that feels forced but I try to make it real. “Yeah. We were.”

Relief flashes across his face, and something deep inside me tugs painfully. But I ignore it.

We can do this.

We have to.

“Are we okay?” he asks carefully.

I hesitate for a second, just a moment, but then I nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

And maybe, if I say it enough times, it’ll start to feel true.

We step outside together, the cold air biting at my skin. We walk side by side, but it’s different now. Less certain, more fragile. But for now, it’s enough. We’re still in each other’s lives. And that has to count for something.

February-

The cold of February feels different this year. It’s sharp, biting at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way the distance between Caleb and me has settled; thick, suffocating.

We’re friends. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

But every interaction feels like a shadow of what it used to be. We pass each other on campus, exchanging forced smiles, awkward pleasantries. He texts me sometimes, but the messages are clipped, casual. The playful banter, the inside jokes—we don’t have those anymore.

I’ve gotten good at pretending it doesn’t hurt. I laugh at his jokes when we’re in class together, crack a smile when he waves in passing. I tell myself that being near him, even like this, is better than nothing.

But it isn’t. It isn’t better at all.

One afternoon, after class, Caleb waits for me while I pack my things, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes meet mine, but they flicker away quickly, like he’s not sure how to look at me anymore.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than it used to be.

I force a smile, but it feels too tight, too stretched.

We walk together, but the silence between us is thick. We’re not really talking anymore. Not like before.

“How’s everything?” I ask, trying to fill the space with something. Anything.

Caleb shrugs, his gaze far off. “Same as usual. You know how it is.”

I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.

“And you?” he asks, almost apologetically, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he pushes too hard.

“I’m good,” I say, too quickly. Too easily. I wish I could say something that would make it sound like we haven’t drifted so far apart. But I can’t.

The truth is, I don’t feel good. Not at all.

The rest of the walk is silent, and when we reach the place where our paths diverge, Caleb gives me a tight, awkward smile.

“Catch you later,” he says, already turning away before I can say anything else.

I watch him walk off, the weight of all the things we never said hanging between us.

It’s painful. But I swallow it down. I have to.

The days pass, and we continue this dance; one of shallow conversations, stiff smiles. Every text feels like a performance. Every interaction, a reminder that we’re no longer who we used to be.

One night, I sit at my desk, the glow of my laptop screen casting a pale light over my face. My phone vibrates on the table beside me. Caleb’s name.

I hesitate before picking it up.

hey, are you free later?

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to respond.

Yeah, what’s up?

There’s a long pause before his next message.

i was thinking we could grab coffee. but no pressure, just thought it might be nice.

The words “just thought it might be nice” sting more than I expected. It’s so casual, so simple—like the idea of spending time together doesn’t carry any of the weight it used to.

But I can’t back out now. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not still craving his company, even if it’s not the same.

Sure, sounds good.

When we meet at our usual café, the air between us is thick. We talk, but it’s like we’re strangers, circling around the things we used to share so easily. Caleb talks about his classes, and I nod, smile at the right times, but it doesn’t feel like we’re really connecting anymore.

I tell myself it’s fine. This is what we agreed to. That being friends is better than nothing.

And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m over it, no matter how many times I remind myself that this is what I chose; it still hurts.

When we part ways that evening, Caleb gives me a small, almost apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I reply, throat tight. “See you.”

I watch him leave, and I can’t help but feel like a piece of myself is slowly drifting farther away.

March-

I can’t keep doing this.

April-

The months start to feel like a slow, inevitable slide into something I can’t quite escape. The air has warmed, and the snow is nothing more than a distant memory, but the silence between Caleb and me cuts deeper than any winter chill.

We still see each other every day. We still share the same spaces, the same halls, the same class. But now, we’re nothing more than shadows of what we once were. Just two people who used to mean something to each other, now standing on opposite sides of a wide, unbridgeable gap.

We promised to be friends. We promised we’d make it work. But those promises feel empty now. There’s no joy in our interactions, no spark. Every conversation is forced, every laugh hollow. We’ve become experts at pretending, at wearing the mask of “just friends,” even though neither of us believes it for a second.

I’ve tried to move on, but when I see him, it’s like a miserable cold wave crashing over me. His eyes, once warm and inviting, are distant now; like he’s holding back something I’m not allowed to know. Even though he’s still there, still around, it feels like he’s lightyears away.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, sitting alone in the student lounge, my books spread out in front of me though not really focused on them. My phone buzzes, and I glance down at the message, already knowing who it’s from.

Caleb.

I hesitate before opening it, my fingers lingering over the screen.

i’m outside the library, want to grab coffee?

My heart skips. I want to say yes. 

I want to say yes more than anything. 

But a part of me knows how this will go. Another awkward conversation. Another round of small talk and unspoken feelings.

I’m tired. Tired of pretending things are fine when nothing is fine.

I can’t, sorry.

May-

The day is warm, but there’s a crispness in the air, the kind that signals a transition; between seasons, between chapters, between what was and what will be. The hum of excitement fills the air, the kind only a graduation ceremony can bring. Students in their uniforms mill around the venue, laughter and shouts of celebration ringing through the open space.

I move through the crowd, my diploma and badges in hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I should feel proud, should feel accomplished. And I do, somewhere deep inside. But there’s something else, something heavier, lingering beneath the surface. The kind of feeling I’ve spent the past few months pushing away, convincing myself I’ve moved past.

Then, I see them.

Caleb stands a few feet away, surrounded by the floods of people. I notice he’s staring ahead into the crowd, and a girl comes crashing into him with the kind of ease that twists my stomach; MC.

She leans in, close—too close. And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the fragile balance I had built, she presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s celebratory, happy, and by the look on Caleb's face, just enough.

The world tilts.

For a second, the sounds around me blur into static, the conversations and cheers fading into the background. The weight of months of restraint, of quiet acceptance, of pretending I was fine, collapses all at once. The carefully built walls around my emotions crack under the force of everything I had tried so desperately to move past.

I thought I had let go. I thought I had made peace with everything that had happened. But in this moment, watching him, watching them, it all comes rushing back. The late nights, the quiet moments, the unspoken words that once sat between us. The way he once looked at me, the way he’s looking at her. The realization that, despite all my efforts, my heart had never truly stopped waiting.

I force my feet to move, to carry me past them, past the reminders of what could have been, of what wasn’t mine to hold onto anymore.

The weight in my chest is suffocating, but I refuse to stop, refuse to break—not here, not now. Because this is supposed to be a celebration, the closing of a chapter, the start of something new.

Maybe in another life, it was never a competition. Maybe in another universe, I don’t have to worry about her. In that world, I am her—running into Caleb’s arms, stealing his hat, and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Yes. In another universe, I am her.

[okay-j-hannah]

Mama Bear | Smosh 💛

Smosh : Multishot

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, Spencer pining, reader is struggling in LA, not a lot of money, poor studio apartment, abusive boyfriend, physical/verbal abuse, lots of musical theatre talk

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: Thank you for all the love 🥰 I've really needed to get this story out of my system

Part 1: The Kickstart

Part 2: Mama Bear {You Are Here}

The next few months have been a whirlwind.

You grow accustomed to the inner workings of Smosh. You have become an integral part of the team. Many turn to you for help and advice – always eager to do what you can.

Though sets make you camera shy and rooms with more than your closest friends make you quiet, everyone knows who you are.

Your famously large fanny pack, full of essentials, becomes the new ‘mama bear bag,’ as it is lovingly called by the cast and crew. You somehow always have exactly what everyone needs, almost like you can sense their need of help before they do.

On the set of Reddit stories, you walk in with your setting powder, ready to pat away any shiny spots on the cast. You stand behind Brennan at the camera, quietly observing. They were still setting up lights and sound.

You watch as Shayne unknowingly has a food stain on his face. Angela is having a bad hair day, unable to keep her hair out of her eyes. Chanse beside her has discovered a cut on his finger from opening cardboard packages that morning.

Without a word, you walk onto the set, opening your mama bear bag. You hand Shayne a wet wipe and gesture to the stain on his chin. You give some bobby pins to Angela, helping her make crisscrosses above her ears to hold back her hair. And you grab Chanse’s hand, carefully wrapping his cut with a band aid.

On your way out you crumble the band aid wrapper and take Shayne’s wet wipe.

“And yet again, we’ve been humbled by the mama bear bag,” Shayne chortles. “I swear I don’t know how we survived without (Y/N) all these years.”

“She might be the most observant person I know,” Chanse says, getting comfortable on the couch.

You stand back, waving them off as the cameras start to roll.

The trio get into the Reddit stories, laughing about the ridiculousness of the posts. The audacity of some of the writers has you giggling in the back. Angela is rioting on the couch, flinging herself around with laughs.

At one point she falls to the ground, smacking Chanse on the leg. When she gets back up, the bobby pins in her hair are off centered and no longer pinned in place.

She starts to wail as a bit. “(Y/N)! I ruined my hair.”

Shayne starts laughing heartily, holding onto the iPad, “Quick, everybody freeze. (Y/N) is coming to the rescue.”

Everyone giggles as you move onto the set, refraining from showing your face. You’d ask the editors to cut you out of the shot later.

~~~

Over on the Games set, you help a coworker behind the camera who has a headache. You pull a little organized container of medicine from your bag.

A few members of the cast were playing another round of Moose Master and Amanda was complaining about her dry hands.

You put your medicine pack away and extract a bottle of coconut milk lotion. You walk to the edge of the set and wiggle it in the air for Amanda to see.

She lights up, “Oh, yes please! Thank you, (Y/N).”

You toss the bottle and watch Amanda catch it.

“I will forever be impressed with how much that bag holds,” Angela shakes her head.

“The mama bear bag,” Courtney giggles.

Amanda tosses the bottle back at you, “Thanks, honey!”

“We love our mama bear (Y/N),” Arasha smiles.

~~~

On the set of SmoshCast, you walk in during an active shoot with Amanda, Shayne, and Spencer. In an act of retaliation, Amanda had jokingly texted you for drinks and snacks. Spencer was doing another one of his bits where he brings a crazy number of drinks on the podcast.

Completely disregarding his own rule to not have drinks and snacks while filming.

Shayne spots you and immediately starts wheezing, covering his face with both hands. Amanda is wide eyed and stunned.

“You actually brought stuff!”

Spencer is in the middle subtly shaking his head and looking at you with such warmth.

You bring a container of delicious looking fruit danishes, serving them on little platters. Then you reveal actual teacups that you generously pour a honeyed tea into.

“Holy shit – you brought a whole spread,” Amanda continues, narrating into the microphone for those that aren’t watching on video. “(Y/N) has brought actual porcelain teacups and cream cheese danishes.”

Shayne is still occupied with his wheezing, tears now developing in his eyes. “Like we’re on the set of fucking Bridgerton.”

You smile, “Now you can properly spill the tea.” You know your voice will be muffled on the podcast without a microphone, and you awkwardly shuffle away to keep your face off camera.

“I’ve just had the most brilliant idea,” Amanda says, taking a sip of her tea and devolving into an English accent.

“And what is that, good sir?” Spencer asks, eyes still lingering on you.

“Gentleman’s episode of Smosh Mouth,” Amanda continues, “Where we delve into the explicit details of our illegal mines and mistresses.”

Spencer chokes on a laugh, “That is quite astonishing.” He gives you a wink and you smile.

~~~

The latest Smosh Games idea was to have a Gentleman’s video playing Ultimate Werewolf. At one point, the other gentlemen gained up on Spencer and pretended to beat him up because he was the werewolf.

It was a hilarious bit and Alex, being the director, cuts the video and asks for you to do some special effects makeup on Spencer while the others have a lunch break.

You lead Spencer to the makeup vanity outside the set rooms.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Agnew.” You turn the chair towards him and grab the clothing protector apron.

Spencer places his fake cigar onto the vanity and continues his English accent. “Thank you, young chap. I say – I should very much like for you to deliver a most formidable contusion to my eye.”

You giggle, wrapping the apron over his front, like a hairdresser. It protects his costume from getting makeup on it.

“I shall deliver the most fearsome blow to your face – using my delicate brushes.” You remove his top hat while he laughs.

“Powerful brushes, I say.”

You pull out some stage makeup and a stippling sponge. With Spencer’s hands confined to beneath the apron, you lightly take away his glasses and place them on the vanity.

Spencer watches you with a warm gaze. As you near his face, he tries to look straight ahead instead of directly at you.

“I’m thinking a bruised cheek that grows into a black eye. And maybe some fake blood around your nose. I could do a busted lip too?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “Whatever makes me the ugliest.”

You smile, grabbing the yellow cream makeup. With your free hand, you push his hair away from his temple.

He closes his eyes at your touch.

You begin with a thin layer of yellow, then start to stipple purple and blue on top.

“Amanda is upset that we still have not had a hangout since you taking Angela to see my musical.”

He smiles, refraining from opening his eyes. Seeing you so close to his face would send his heart into overdrive.

“I’m still surprised that Angela wanted to come in the first place. She’s the one making jokes about how hanging out with coworkers is embarrassing.”

You use a maroon color to show a split in the middle of the bruise. “I was just thinking… maybe we should do something tonight. Can you look up for me?”

Spencer opens his eyes and looks toward the ceiling. You use the sponge and your fingertips to blotch color around his eye and cheek.

You smell like a flower garden. His pulse quickens. His throat bobs.

“We can celebrate another successful filming week,” you continue, oblivious to his visceral reaction to your presence.

“Y-Yeah,” he chokes out. “We can play games at my house and maybe watch a movie?”

You continue to blend out the cream makeup. “Awesome! I think Amanda, Shayne, and Courtney are down.”

You miss how his face dips a little when you mention other people.

“What about Aaron?” he asks.

You grab a different brush and start working on his lip, laying a base of concealer and dark colors.

He was finding it hard to take a full breath.

“I don’t think I’ll invite him,” you say quietly.

Spencer is unable to talk with you painting his lip. But his eyes snap to your focused ones. Was everything okay?

“He’ll be fine,” you continue, just as quietly. “I just… want to hang out with my friends.”

There’s something strange and suspicious about your tone of voice. Spencer starts to scrunch his brow, trying to figure you out.

You notice the worry in his expression. “It’s fine. I just… want to be out of the apartment.”

That doesn’t help his nerves.

You’re now applying a small amount of latex to make a visible wound on his lip. Letting it dry, you look at Spencer’s eyes to see him asking you a question with his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry,” you start to color the latex, “It’ll be fun.”

Spencer tries to say something, “Is there… ow!”

You smack his shoulder, “You’ll ruin your lip.” Your face seems a little sullen, but you give a small smile.

He slouches in the chair and gives you a penetrating look.

Back on the Smosh Games set, Alex continues to direct and you can already picture the cut scene in the video where Spencer is getting beat up to him now sitting in his chair with a messed up face.

It’s making you giggle as the other gentlemen comment on the bruising.

“I say, look at that ghastly contusion to your eye,” Shayne shouts.

Amanda flails her cigar around, “I do declare, it rather suits your complexion.”

Spencer readjusts his top hat, “I must profess, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I simply have some tenderness to my face.”

You laugh off stage – knowing that the editors would most likely put subtitles that said ((Y/N) laughing).

~~~

After the last shoot, you’re cleaning up the makeup vanities and grabbing some remover for Spencer. Your enormous fanny pack is strapped across your chest, almost all coworkers out of the building already.

The sets door flies open and causes you to jump.

Amanda and Spencer are there chatting away but pause when seeing you scared.

“Woah, you okay?” Amanda asks with a smile. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to startle you.”

Spencer looks really rough with his face still full of bruise makeup. But his eyes consider you quietly.

You wave them off, “I’m just a little jumpy. Here Spence.” You offer the makeup remover and a little bottle to take the latex off.

“I have to say, you are amazing at that, (Y/N),” Amanda says, leading the group toward the front doors. “Spencer literally looks like he’s been mauled by a bunch of gentlemen.”

“Man, I should have done a bite mark,” you laugh, “Mauled by a bunch of gentlemen.”

Amanda laughs again, “Gentleman Angela would 100% gnaw on your arm for accusing her as a werewolf.”

Spencer starts to laugh at that mental image, rubbing his face with the remover and a cotton pad. “Feral gentleman game would be so funny.”

“Because the irony is that we are gentlemen that are shitty people. Then we can take it a step further by being gentlemen that are shitty people with rabies.”

You snort, “I guess we have a new video pitch for the next meeting.”

“So, um…” Spencer opens the door, “I can give you a ride and we can all meet at my place?”

Amanda agrees, saying how Shayne and Courtney were planning on that anyway. You smile at him, causing strange things to fly around in his stomach.

“Is it weird of me to say I’m excited to see what your apartment looks like?”

He laughs, “Curiosity did kill the cat.”

“I can’t believe you just confessed to taking me to your place to kill me.”

“Not before I show you my katana,” Spencer smiles, opening the passenger door for you.

You laugh, “The murder weapon.”

Driving towards his apartment, Spencer is being hyperaware of how you’re acting. He was still suspicious of your motives for wanting to spend the night out. He notices you cowering into the car door.

He’s never noticed that before.

“Are you okay?”

You take a shaky breath, “Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t like driving much.”

“Is… is that why you take the bus? Did you choose not to have a car?” He keeps moving his eyes from the road to you.

You try to straighten out, “No, I can drive if I have to. I just don’t like to.” You hold onto your purse to give your hands something to do. “What should we play at your place?”

Spencer tries to let your explanation settle, but he’s still curious about your disklike of cars. “We could play Super Smash Bros.”

“Or Super Mario Party?”

He smiles, “Not before some pizza.”

The drive to his apartment is full of pleasantries, Shayne and Courtney already parked and holding boxes of pizza and breadsticks. Amanda is just helping them carry a box when you get out.

“Happy weekend!” you say cheerily. “Ready for some food and games?”

Amanda puts one arm around your shoulders, “I’m excited to get to know you more.”

“Yes!” Courtney adds, following Spencer to the door. “You’ve been at Smosh for a few months, and I still feel like we don’t know much about you.”

“Well, I’m… I wouldn’t say I enjoy talking about myself much,” you laugh awkwardly.

Amanda snickers, “Clearly.”

They walk inside the little apartment and are immediately welcomed by the mewling of a gray cat. You are obsessed.

“Aw!” you fall to your knees, “Hello, sweet girl.” You offer a hand and wait for the cat to sniff your fingers. “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

The little gray cat lifts her nose to the air before rubbing her face against your hand. You begin to melt.

Shayne starts laughing, startling the cat. “I think we know why (Y/N) wanted to hang out.”

“That’s Cleo,” Spencer says sweetly, putting his keys down and going to grab some drinks.

Courtney puts their share of the pizza boxes on a small dining table before joining you on the ground. “She is the prettiest little lady.”

Amanda helps to set out some paper plates and napkins before starting to serve. Shayne grabs himself and Courtney some slices before sitting on the couch in the living room. You stay with Cleo the cat, completely content to sit with her for the rest of the night.

It’s not until you notice a pair of feet standing in front of you that you look up, Cleo in your lap. Spencer stands there with an ice cold Diet Coke from the fridge.

You smile, taking the drink, “I didn’t know you were a Diet Coke fan.”

“I’m not,” he says.

Your smile falters for a second before a warm feeling swells in your chest. Cleo hops from your lap and Spencer offers a hand to you.

You take it, standing with ease. The others are already chatting and eating their pizza in the living room.

“Do you have any pets, (Y/N)?” Amanda asks.

You sit down beside her, Spencer quick to sit on your other side. “No, I couldn’t afford one,” you laugh awkwardly. “I don’t really have the space for one either.”

“Shame, it seems like you’re an animal person,” Amanda continues.

You nod enthusiastically, “I love animals.”

Shayne reaches for one of the switch controllers, “Fancy a game, Chosen?” he speaks in a silly lisp accent.

Spencer chuckles, settling in beside you. “Of course, Chosen. The only acceptable opponent… is obviously myself.”

A strange anime laugh comes from Shayne, and you smile. You’re rubbing shoulders with Spencer every time he moves his arm with the controller.

“Finally, girl talk,” Courtney says sarcastically. “(Y/N), how long have you lived here?”

“For about two years,” you say shortly. You don’t elaborate and you can feel the sudden shift of an awkward pause after you speak.

Amanda gives a laugh to fill the space, “What made you want to move here?”

“Probably the same reason many others do…” you say quietly, taking a sip from your soda to buy you time. “I wanted to live somewhere that might support my creative side. LA has a lot of creative and performing arts.”

Courtney agrees, putting an arm over the couch and behind Shayne. “Right, you’re a bit of a theatre nerd.”

“More than a bit,” Spencer butts in.

You nudge your shoulder into him. “I do love theatre.”

“I’m glad you’ve continued working with it to some capacity,” Amanda says. “I’ve been doing improv troops and sketches for years. The black box is my home.”

You smile, knowing that a black box was a dark room in a theatre where actors can improv something out of nothing. Sometimes people perform shows there, utilizing the empty space to be more creative.

“Are you a part of an improv group right now?” you ask, glad to steer the conversation off yourself.

“I’m a part of the Groundlings Improv Theatre and I keep doing performances at UCB as a Maude performer.”

You find that Spencer’s arm isn’t so much bumping into you as fully pressed against yours now. “What’s a Maude performer?”

Amanda perks up, “It’s someone that’s a part of UCB’s sketch comedy group. You have to audition annually and then help write for and perform sketches.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” you remark. “What about you Courtney?”

“I’ve found my way into being a main writer and a director on the Smosh channel. That’s where I’ve found my most creativity. I’ve helped with some FX makeup on some music videos, and I’ve made an online apparel rental subscription service. It’s called Courtney’s Rack,” they giggle for a second, “And it’s inspired by my own style.”

“You guys are so cool,” you say warmly. “Way to follow your passions.”

Amanda waves you off, “You too, girl. You’ve worked your way into a sketch group.”

You nod, but don’t elaborate. Instead you feel a chill – you shiver. “Are you guys excited about our next karaoke livestream?” You miss the way Spencer side eyes your shivers.

Courtney holds an invisible microphone, “Hell yeah! I think it’s time to get our Madonna on.”

“You haven’t seen how wild our karaoke streams go,” Amanda laughs, “Throw a bunch of attention seeking performers in front of the camera and all bets are off.”

Courtney shoves her, cackling, “Just calling all of us out.”

Spencer hits pause on the game and jumps from the couch. You watch him walk awkwardly around the ottoman and to the hall.

“Ha!” Shayne says in his silly voice. “The Chosen has realized that he can never beat himself. Therefore, I – the multiverse Chosen – have succeeded in defeating him.”

“We’re off set, Shayne,” Amanda rolls her eyes, “You can cut the act.”

Shayne combs his hair off his forehead, “Sorry, it’s just a part of me at this point.”

Spencer reappears with blankets. He tosses one toward the other couch with Shayne and Courtney. He lays the other over your lap and retakes his seat beside you.

You smile at him and whisper, “Thank you.” His arm presses against yours as firmly as before.

“Welcome.”

“Are you planning on making a guest appearance, (Y/N)?”

You hum your confusion. “Hm? Me do karaoke on the stream? I don’t think so.”

“Why not! We invite crew on it all the time,” Amanda says cheerfully.

You shake your head, sipping your soda. “I couldn’t – not in front of all those people.”

“I bet you have a lovely singing voice,” Courtney smiles, “All those musicals you’ve been in.”

“Once upon a time…” you say quietly, “Maybe.”

“Well,” Amanda says warmly, “Maybe it’s time to try it again.”

You feel an ache enter your chest. It quells the ever constant anxiety roiling in your stomach.

Shayne cries his defeat, “Curses! Bested by the best.”

Spencer nods his head in acknowledgement, “Would the ladies like to participate?”

“I’m ready for a movie,” Amanda says, putting her pizza plate down. “I’m feeling something epic.”

“Like Interstellar,” Spencer says, putting his controller down.

Courtney sighs, “Like 13 Going On 30.”

Shayne starts laughing, leaning back and putting a hand on Courtney’s leg. “All right let’s compromise. Let’s watch Megamind.”

“I second that,” you say, “Or a Marvel movie.”

“Let’s watch Avengers,” Courtney says.

You all agree, Spencer flipping through his smart tv to get a streaming service. His arm against yours is full of warmth. You gravitate towards it, leaning into him more.

Cleo the cat pads over and jumps onto the couch between you and Amanda.

“Hello, sweetie,” Amanda coos. But Cleo turns her eyes onto you. She blinks slowly and crawls onto your blanketed lap.

You’re very pleased with yourself, petting her fur as she settles. Spencer looks at you, eyes moving from your contented face to the cat. He suddenly has to hold his hands in his lap to keep them from wrapping around you.

The movie begins with everyone settling in. Cleo the cat purrs in your lap, snuggling into a little ball. You pet her, subconsciously leaning into Spencer.

The longer the movie plays, Shayne and Amanda cracking jokes about certain parts, you feel sleepy.

Cleo is fully asleep in your lap, stretching her cute little paws.

Your body slumps more into the couch and into the side you’re leaning into – right into Spencer. He tries to keep his cool as your head falls closer and closer to his shoulder. He tries to ignore the looks the friends are giving you two.

He tries to keep his eyes on the tv screen, his hands being tightly held in his lap.

You fall asleep on his shoulder.

His heart beats faster.

The movie ends with the end credit scene and the friends begin to excuse themselves.

“We’ll just leave you to it,” Amanda says in a teasing tone. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Remember to breathe,” Courtney snickers, getting her shoes on.

Shayne salutes him at the door, “Good luck, dude.”

You begin to stir as they shuffle out the door. Cleo turns onto her back, still asleep. Spencer turns his head to watch you wake.

He traces the outline of your face with his eyes. It’s soft and careful and warm.

His arm pleads to be moved around your shoulders. Hold you to him. Urge you back to sleep.

“God, I’m sorry,” you mumble sweetly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“That’s okay,” he says just as quietly. “You must’ve needed it.”

You stretch, lifting your chin from his shoulder. He hates the rush of cold that it leaves against him.

“Thanks for letting me drool on your shirt.”

“I will never wash this shirt again.”

You giggle in a groggy way, eyes heavy. “That’s disgusting.”

“How dare you say that about your drool. Nothing about you is disgusting.”

You sit straighter, running your hand down Cleo once more. She begins to purr again in her sleep.

“She likes you a lot,” Spencer says quietly. “She latched onto you real quick.”

“I’m an animal whisperer,” you say, rubbing at your eyes. You still hadn’t noticed how enraptured Spencer was with you beside him.

He finds it hard to swallow – the dim light, quiet room, and comfy couch all tempting him.

“Are – Are you ready to go home?”

You heave a heavy sigh. “I guess.”

“You guess?” he asks playfully. “You frozen in place with Cleo in your lap?”

“Partially,” you hum. “I have to get home sooner or later.”

Spencer feels that itch that something is wrong. The same feeling he had when you asked to hang out. “Is… everything okay?”

“Fine,” you say sleepily.

“(Y/N),” he asks slowly, “Why did you want to be out of your apartment tonight?”

There’s a silence that speaks volumes. Your face falls in a way that scares Spencer. He turns his body to see you better – his arm falls onto the back of the couch.

“(Y/N)?”

You clear your throat. “I just wanted a break from Aaron. That’s all.”

“Why?”

You pat Cleo’s head, waking her up. She sits and stretches her back on your legs before hopping off. “Sometimes your partner frustrates you and you need to walk away, right?”

“Depends on what’s frustrating you,” Spencer says, watching you stand and fold the blanket.

“I don’t know, Spencer. He… I shouldn’t complain. He’s helping with the bills.”

Spencer stands with you, “But that doesn’t mean you have to deal with whatever’s bothering you.”

“It does when it puts food on the table and a roof over my head.”

“But you did that before him.” He follows you to the door to drive you home.

Walking outside in the cold, you start to get upset. “You don’t understand.”

“Maybe I don’t. You have a new job that pays those bills, (Y/N). There shouldn’t be anything tying you to him like that.”

“I… I don’t like talking about this, Spencer.”

Now in the car, you drive down the street with momentary silence. Spencer feels anger brewing in his stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to butt into your relationship.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, arms around yourself. “My friends are entitled to their opinions.”

“But not when I make you upset like this,” he says. “I’m just worried.”

You look at him with sad eyes. “Why?”

He flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. “I just… you’re my friend, (Y/N). Of course I worry about you. I care about your wellbeing.” There’s a pause where he feels a joke bubbling out of him. “And not just because I need you on set for my job to function properly.”

You smile and it relieves him.

“Thanks, Spence.”

The car parks outside your shabby apartment and Spencer stares at the chipped door with slight disdain.

“I’ll see you next week,” you say, opening the car door.

“Hey,” Spencer says suddenly, drawing your attention.

You bow down to see him still inside the car, “Yeah?”

“Call me if you need anything,” he says firmly. “Okay?”

You look at the seriousness in his face and start to nod a little bit. “Okay.”

~~~

The next week begins with a new round of meetings and writing. You are not needed until characters are decided for sketches, but you help the other art coordinator Alex to organize a few other set items.

You’re able to come in later than usual to do this.

You get off the bus and begin your walk toward the Smosh office. Your hair is down and slightly obscuring your vision. You try not to touch the makeup on your face too much.

“Good morning, Selina,” you say in your same sweet tone.

Selina waves at you, “Good morning to you too.”

You walk past the lunch tables and toward the art department by the costume and props storage. You wave at Erin and Josh before sitting at your desk.

Cassie fills you in on a few projects that the writing room is working on. You begin by cataloging what you’ll need to set on costume racks for the next filming week. You give a list of makeup and hair care refills to be ordered.

It’s into the afternoon when you head toward sets to organize racks and vanities for the coming week.

“(Y/N)!”

You turn toward the hallway of pods where the cast and crew work on the media side of things. Tommy and Spencer are heading towards you.

“Have you seen some of the new videos that’ve posted?” Tommy asks.

You ruffle the sides of your hair, making sure they lay to hide some of your face. “No, I don’t really look at the views and things like you guys.”

Spencer has a big smile on his face, “Well, the comments on the last few have been pretty good.”

“Meaning?” you say, walking into the empty sets to reach the costume racks. You don’t want to give them enough time to look at your face.

“Meaning that the fans have started to notice how often we talk about you on set.”

You turn sharply on your heel, Tommy and Spencer running into each other. “I’m sorry?”

“Look at some of these comments,” Tommy says, holding an iPad to your face. You grab it and begin to scroll, seeing line after line that’s asking about you.

“Angela asking for mama (Y/N) to fix her hair is so funny!”

“Does anybody know who (Y/N) is?”

“Is (Y/N) a new member of the Smosh crew?”

“Face reveal for (Y/N) please!?! We want to see who you guys are talking about!”

“Amanda saying yes please and then a lotion bottle being launched at her head took me so off guard.”

“Mama bear bag is my new favorite character.”

“Video for what’s inside (Y/N)’s mama bear bag!”

“Ah! (Y/N) almost being revealed on Smosh Mouth!!”

“(Y/N) bringing a full English tea set is hilarious.”

“We love a supportive crew member trying to encourage spilling the tea.”

“I love hearing (Y/N) laugh off set.”

“Spencer’s gentleman is so feral. His true self comes out with that top hat.”

“Do you think (Y/N) was the one that did his makeup?”

“I swear I hear the cast mention (Y/N) every video now. How can they tease us?!”

You start to feel a tightening in your chest, your breath a little shallow. “All of these… people recognize my name?”

Tommy is still giddy with the comments, “Yeah! Isn’t that crazy? We might have to have you guest star just to tease them a little bit more.”

Spencer notices that you are a little tense. “But we don’t have to do that. We just wanted to show you the positive response from the audience.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “Thanks, but maybe we should hold off for a while longer.”

Tommy seems a little disappointed, but Spencer waves him away. He wants a moment with you alone. He watches you sort through some old costumes on the rack.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean for that to stress you out.”

“It was a little overwhelming is all,” you give a strained smile. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

Spencer puts his hands in his denim jacket. “We’ll wait until you’re ready.” His brows scrunch when he notices something on your face.

“Got anything fun planned for Games this next week?”

He leans over to see your complexion better, starting to get in your way. “Um… we’re thinking about some guessing games and… and a Throw Throw Burrito…” His hand lifts from his pocket and you lean away.

“What are you doing?”

“What’s that on your face?” he asks.

You turn away sharply, “What do you mean?” You start walking towards the vanities on the outside of the sets.

Spencer is close on your heels. “There’s something by your eye.”

At a mirror, you open your giant fanny pack to find your makeup. Under the lights, you notice some smudging around your eye where pristine makeup had been before. Yellowing spots that still hold a hint of blue and purple.

“Oh dammit,” you mutter, pulling out your concealer. “I ran into a cabinet this weekend and got a black eye. I thought I could keep it painted to avoid any awkward questions.”

You smudge concealer and foundation under your eye. You can see Spencer behind you in the mirror.

“That looks like a nasty bump,” he says lowly.

“Yeah, it hurt a bit.” You say, feigning a smile. You can hear a hint of disbelief in his voice. “I’m fine, really. It’s just a little bruise.”

Spencer purses his lips and nods his head, “Sure.”

You pat the makeup down and walk back to the sets to grab the sorted costumes.

~~~

You walk through the office with a few little presents and gifts of food. Your fanny pack is full of essentials, your arms full of plastic bags and a large drink carrier in your hands. A ballpoint pen sticks awkwardly from behind your ear, and you mumble the checklist you made earlier that day.

In another writing and meeting week, you find other things to occupy your time when your usual responsibilities are completed. It keeps you busy.

And out of your apartment.

Sharply turning a corner, you tap on the glass door of the conference room. People at the table smiling and waving you in, you quietly slide open the door to enter. The look of concentration leaves your face to reveal a wide grin.

Ian pauses his presentation of a fresh project by waving at you and gazing excitedly at what you brought.

“Don’t mind me,” you whisper. The same thing you whisper every time you make one of these deliveries.

All the main cast were there, along with a few representatives of social media and the heads of production. They were going over ideas for the next livestream to raise money for a foundation.

But you were more focused on getting this little ‘side quest’ done. Side quest meaning it wasn’t on your usual list of responsibilities. You start to pass out drinks to their corresponding owners, doing so in such a fluid motion that no one doubted their cup was exactly what they ordered.

Next, you open the plastic bags digging into your arms to hand out sandwiches and salads. You normally pitch in a few extra dollars to buy a better lunch for your coworkers and friends. You can see a speculating eye from Anthony as he accepts his deluxe meal.

You put on your best smile and wave a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” And before you leave, you reach into your fanny pack to extract a small box of cookies. “For dessert,” you whisper with a wink.

And before anyone can protest the homemade treat, you run out of the room with a few more drinks and meals to pass out.

There was a smaller number of people in the office today as it was primarily a writing day. You go searching for the few editors that were still working on things.

You find Kiana and give her another box of homemade cookies, then you find Tim to give him a coffee.

This became another routine for you. Just like how you use your mama bear bag to help on set so much, you use this spare time to help all the editors and production teams. People at Smosh start to expect your little visits and gifts.

Many know you by name, by smile, and by gifts. They come to love the sight of you because it meant something sweet was on the way – whether it was a thoughtful treat or a thoughtful conversation.

You took this self-proclaimed occupation very seriously. You love caring for your coworkers and friends.

That didn’t mean you never got stressed.

Your steps are quick again as you make your way to other editing pods. That checklist in your head never seems to grow smaller:

Get Damien his coffee

Give cookie box to art department

Ask Angela and Amanda about seeing that play together

Give Spencer his drink

Give Tommy a hug and see how he’s doing

Make sure Spencer actually ate a lunch

Update portfolio with some special effects makeup

Ask Spencer if you were…

Someone suddenly crashes into you, sending the last few cups of coffee into the air and all over your shirt. You jump at the steaming hot liquid, pulling against the fabric of your shirt to keep it from your skin.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

You wince and look up to see Spencer’s sympathetic face. “It’s… it’s fine. I’ll just bump a few things on my list and go get changed and grab more coffee.”

He immediately knelt down to pick up the remains of the cups and carrier. One foam cup had an off-color soda dripping from it. “I’m guessing this one’s my kickstart? Serves me right not looking where I’m going.”

He gives you a smile, his eyes sloping in natural concern. His heart beats in an uneven way. You look so flustered and worried – making your cheeks turn pink.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just…” You hold your sticky shirt a few inches from your stomach, closing your eyes and thinking hard, “I’ll figure something out.”

Spencer sighs, “I just ruined your whole agenda, didn’t I?” He picks up your ballpoint pen and quietly slides it to behind your ear, “Please don’t stress out about it.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I guess I could find a costume or merch shirt to wear.”

“You know I have one of my Smosh sweatshirts in my pod. You want to change into that? Get yourself out of brewing in your own shirt.”

When he laughs at his own joke, it makes you giggle. “Uh… actually, that’d be really nice.”

He leads the way toward his pod, “I know you’re not working on any art coordinating today.” He goes under his desk to extract a simple pastel colored hoodie. “So you know you could take a short day instead of making up errands to do.”

You grab the sweatshirt and head to the bathrooms, “Yeah, but then I’d be stuck at home.”

He follows you down the hall, “You make yourself intentionally busy to avoid being at home?”

“Precisely,” you say, opening the bathroom door. “I’d rather be with all you guys.”

Spencer waits patiently outside, smiling to himself and shaking his head. You think you’re so clever, but he knows there’s something going on in your apartment. Something that makes you afraid to stay there.

It only took one minute to change, but maybe two minutes to stare in the mirror and identify the smell that was undeniably Spencer. A clean laundry detergent smell, like the ocean, but with something spicy.

You walk out to see Spencer eyeing you.

“You look cute.”

Something tightens in your chest. “Thanks weirdo.”

His eyes notice something along your chin. “What happened here?” he points to a spot on your jaw.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Probably some clumsy accident,” you laugh off.

It looks like another bruise. Smaller than your eye. But a bruise nonetheless.

Spencer frowns, something protective and angry beating in his chest. “You seem to get a lot of those lately.”

You shrug your shoulders. “I gotta pass out these last lunches to Bailey and Brennan.”

~~~

After a long day of reorganizing, passing out homemade treats, and checking in on people – you are exhausted.

So when you walk out the front doors a little before everyone else and see the pouring rain… it doesn’t lift your exhaustion in the slightest.

Preparing yourself, you walk outside, lifting the hoodie that you borrowed from Spencer to cover your head.

The bus stop is just a couple blocks away, but you are soaked through by the time you sit on the bench. You wait with your hands in your sweatshirt pockets, hoping the bus will be there earlier than usual.

A coldness begins to drip down your back and you’re sure this will develop into an unwanted flu.

Shivering, you hardly notice when a car pulls over on the side of the road and directly in front of you.

It’s Spencer who jumps out, baseball cap on to shield his glasses from the rain. He runs around the car and crouches in front of you.

“What are you doing!?”

“Waiting for the bus like I do every day,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He’s not happy about it. “Even in the rain? Didn’t you think to ask somebody for a ride home?”

You pause for a second. “No, I didn’t.”

“Well,” he puts on a cheesy smile, “This is a prime time to start. I’ll give you a ride.”

“Really, Spencer – it’s okay. I’m fine with waiting.”

He straightens out and gives you a deadpanned stare. “Are you also fine with contracting pneumonia?”

You roll your eyes, and he knows he’s won. “All right, let’s go.”

He open the passenger door and you clamber in. You’re nearly chattering with cold by the time he sits down. He promptly turns on the heat.

“Why didn’t you call someone when you noticed it was raining?”

“Because I didn’t think of it.”

“Ms. Independent over here,” Spencer laughs.

You playfully punch his shoulder, “So what? I would have been perfectly fine on my own.”

He looks at you sincerely, “I know. I know you are capable of doing it on your own. But I still would like you to let me help you.”

You hold yourself, beginning to shiver. Though your head was protected by the hood, the strands of hair spilling out were soaked. It wasn’t helping that your clothes were all damp and now resting on your chilled skin.

Spencer feels a sympathetic ache settle into his chest. “Aaron couldn’t pick you up?”

You bite down to keep your teeth from chattering. Then you use your favorite word. “I didn’t want to inconvenience him.”

It makes the ache pulsate in Spencer’s chest. “Because you know he’d be upset by you asking?”

“It’s understandable when I ask so much of him.”

Wonderment befuddles Spencer. When have you ever been someone to ask too much? If anything you don’t ask for enough things. “I think if you love someone, you’d be willing to do pretty much anything for them.”

“There are different kinds of love,” you say in a soft voice.

Spencer doesn’t like it. It sounds afraid.

“You might be right about that,” he swallows, driving down your street. “Remember to call me if you need anything.”

You smile like you always do when he says that. It’s become a regular thing.

“Sure,” you get out of the car, “Get home safely, Spence.”

And he watches you walk inside and even a little bit after that. Unsure of how to interpret the ache still in his chest.

~~~

You sit at the vanities with Shayne, helping him look like a ghost for an upcoming sketch. You put in white hair color spray and attempt to tame it while he sits patiently.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You say with an easy smile, “Are you okay?”

He returns your smile, “Yeah, you seem a little tired.”

Was it the circles under your eyes or the lack of color in your face? “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“That sucks,” he winces, “Anything keeping you up?”

You feel vulnerable for a second, “Just taking care of my boyfriend.” You give an uneasy laugh, “He’s been having a lot of boys nights out drinking.”

Shayne furrows his brow, and you smack his shoulder as you try to smooth his ghost makeup.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “Doesn’t sound very fun.”

You shake your head, “But then I get to come here and be with all of you!”

He contemplates your expression, seeing the smile you put on top of the stress. “Have you noticed the number of commenters asking about you?”

“Of course I have. Spencer loves to bring them up.”

“They love you already,” Shayne chuckles, “They love how you help on set, especially when you throw in a little joke with it. They love that you take care of us.”

You feel that anxiety of the audience always watching eating at you. But it starts to be smothered by another feeling of pride as you realize people are acknowledging you for your efforts.

“That’s kind of them. I’m just doing my job.”

“Above and beyond your job, more like it.” Shayne closes his eyes as you put makeup around them. “They’ve really adopted calling you mama bear because of your mama bear bag.”

That makes you chuckle, “You have to be prepared for anything.”

“I’m glad we got to hang out,” Shayne says, his eyes moving to follow you, but staying still while the makeup settles. “We should plan another one soon.”

“That’d be a lot of fun.”

“Spencer never hosts big hang outs,” he says with a little smirk. “I was surprised when he was so willing.”

You pat down the makeup with some setting powder. “Well, I think when I mentioned hanging out he thought it was just going to be us two. Then I told him I’d invited all you guys. He was kind of roped in by that point.”

“That explains it,” Shayne says with a sigh. “Of course he’d be more willing to host when it’s just you two.”

“Why do I have a feeling there’s something more to that?”

Shayne shrugs, letting you take off the black apron that protects his costume from the makeup. “I just mean that Spencer would rather have one on one hangouts than be a part of a big group. It’s the black cat in him.”

“The black cat,” you laugh. “I’ve never heard of someone being called that before.”

“You know… like how people call some dudes golden retriever guys?”

You raise your eyebrows, “Kind of like you?”

Shayne gives a funny look. “Sure. Spencer is a black cat kind of guy. Just watch, you’ll notice.”

“What do you think I am?” you ask, cleaning up the vanity. “Do I have cat energy?”

“Maybe a little,” Shayne says, considering you. “But you remind me more of a… sunflower.”

“Never heard that one before,” you say, walking with him to the Smosh set.

“It’s just… you're bright and pretty and fun,” he says casually, “Especially with your smile.” You pass some writers and producers on their way to help with lunch. The caterers must’ve been seen pulling in.

Spencer is among them with Alex Tran.

You walk right up to them, “Do I give off sunflower energy?”

He looks taken aback and Alex smiles instantaneously. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You know…” you point at Shayne, “Golden retriever energy,” you point at Spencer, “Black cat energy.” You then point at yourself, “Possible sunflower energy?”

“What a nice way to say you’re a grumpy old man sometimes,” Alex says hilariously.

Shayne starts to snort with laughter. Spencer gives them a glare but tries to answer you seriously.

“Um… y-yeah I would consider you a sunflower.” He watches you start to smile, “Especially right now. And the fact you smell like a garden all the time.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you look at him with confusion. “I smell like a garden?”

“Uh…” Spencer starts to splutter in his panic of possibly offending you. “You know, like flowers. You smell like flowers all the time. It’s just… something I’ve noticed.”

“From all the times you’ve been sniffing her?” Alex asks incredulously. That sends Shayne over the edge and the wheezing starts to come out.

You fold your arms, sucking in your lips to hide a smile.

“No, I didn’t say that,” Spencer retorts loudly, waving a finger at his friends. “People can smell people unintentionally. When you’re in the same vicinity. And (Y/N) smells like flowers whenever she walks by.”

You smile at him, completely endeared by him. “Thanks Spencer. It’s lilies.”

All the boys stop their antics and look at you.

“I love lilies,” you say, “Or lily-of-the-valley.”

Alex shrugs their shoulders, “I feel like I’m missing out. I have no idea what lilies smell like.”

You tilt your head to the side and expose your neck to them. “Then take a whiff.”

Shayne shakes his head, “That’s so unhinged.”

Spencer is stuck staring at the exposed skin of your neck, your head turned away and your hair falling behind your shoulder. He’s still daydreaming as he walks to lunch.

~~~

There’s something about Spencer today that is not sitting well with you. He seems a little nervous, a little fidgety, like anything could scare the living daylights out of him.

You wonder what is ailing him while you check in on all the editors in their pods. You leave a little treat on Erin’s desk and ask Courtney for her opinion on a cardigan you want to buy. You give a new guitar pick to Josh, telling him how the engraving of a sun reminded you of him. He beams afterwards.

You compliment Damien’s desk, asking him how he’s been lately. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Spencer spinning side to side in his chair. He’s looking at you with a straight face.

You talk to Shayne about sharing a Kristin Hannah book that you love, and you notice Spencer wiping his hands down his pants, fixing his glasses a worrisome number of times.

You pick up a bakugan that has fallen off Alex’s desk. You ask about it while noticing Spencer licking the corner of his mouth as he watches you.

It takes another five minutes before you’re at Spencer’s desk. “Hey!”

“H-Hey,” he says in return. He clears his throat and you can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek. You furrow your brow.

“Are you okay?”

His eyebrows raise, “Y-Yeah, of course I’m okay.” You miss how Alex starts to smile.

“Sure. You just seem a little… on edge today.”

“Yeah, just… thinking about an upcoming shoot.”

You nod slowly, squinting your eyes like you don’t believe him. “Alrighty then. I’ll see you later on set.”

He waves you off and then hides his face in his hands. The pod of boys starts to laugh.

“You are completely hopeless,” Shayne wheezes.

Damien is more sincere, “You’re in a tough spot.”

“I think it’s gotten worse,” Alex says, taking a sip of a drink to hide their smile.

Spencer starts to bounce his legs with the nerves, his head bouncing with them. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s sad,” Shayne chokes out, “You got to tell her.”

“Tell her what?” Spencer slumps back in his chair, “Hey, (Y/N)! Guess what? I’ve had feelings for you since you worked at that gas station, and I’ve been trying to get rid of them for months but seeing you every day has only made it worse. So anyway, you should leave your douchebag boyfriend and be with me instead!”

Damien sucks in his lips, trying to be genuine. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to go over well.”

Spencer groans, rubbing at his face with his hands, messing up his hat. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this distraught before,” Shayne says, “It’s more than a little disconcerting.”

“It’s starting to scare me a little,” Alex confesses, “Why is it worse today? You look like you have a ticking time bomb up your ass.”

There are some laughs until Spencer wipes the sweat at his temples. “I’ve been trying to ask her to hang out, just us.”

“To do what?” Damien asks seriously.

“I never pictured you as a homewrecker, Spencer,” Shayne says surprisingly.

Spencer waves his hands around, “No, not anything like that. I’m trying to be her friend.”

“And spending an evening alone together will prove that?” Alex asks with a funny look on their face.

“No, I just… I don’t know.” Spencer is at a loss. “If I can’t be with her, then I want to be good friends.”

“With benefits?” Shayne asks in a low tone, less with humor and more with serious questioning.

Spencer is mortified, “No! Just being good friends. I think having her in my life, even as a friend, will make me way happier than without her.”

“That’s sweet,” Damien says with rosy cheeks. “I think you should ask her.”

Spencer thought he could fit the role of best friend rather nicely. Maybe it would help him put his feelings to rest. Maybe it would help convince him that being friends was enough. Just to have part of you would be worth it.

But the thought of having all of you… to unashamedly hold you, touch you, kiss you, call you his. It put that all too familiar ache in his chest. The same warm, pounding ache that he feels whenever you’re near. Whenever he thought of you.

It’s what he’s feeling as he walks toward the green room – a little section next to the hallway of pods. It has a velvet green couch and a black vanity beside it.

You’re sitting in the makeup chair, spinning around mindlessly while looking at your phone.

Spencer stands there awkwardly, hands stuffed into his pockets, thumbs tapping a restless beat against his thighs.

You finally notice him. “Oh, hey Spencer.” He gives you a quiet greeting and you sit up with that same worry you’ve felt over him all day. “What’s up?”

He clears his throat. “Well, I… I was wondering if maybe… um – well, what…” He shakes his head, using a hand to fix his glasses. “I was wondering what has you so engrossed in your phone?” He’s mentally kicking himself. “A new Ghost Files episode?”

You smile as he remembers one of the ghost investigation channels you really like. “No, I was just contemplating buying the new Wicked on Amazon Prime.”

Spencer raises his eyebrows, “I think as an established theatre kid you legally have to own that movie.”

“Have you seen it?” you ask with a wider grin.

He feels warm at seeing you smile. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“That’s…” you contemplate his tense demeanor. “That’s not what you wanted to ask me, was it?”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “No, you’re right. I wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out tonight.”

“Oh, yeah! What’s everyone doing?” you lean forward.

His throat gets drier, “Um… no, I meant just you and me. I don’t really feel like hanging out with a bunch of people.”

“Ah,” you say funnily. “The black cat emerges.”

Relief starts to trickle in as he takes in your smile. “Right.”

“Well, what did you have in mind? My place isn’t exactly free with Aaron being there. He’s having a poker night with his work buds. It gets… well, I wouldn’t want to be there while they’re playing.”

Spencer feels something steely grow in his stomach. “We can go to my place. Play a game; watch a movie. Or maybe a musical.”

Your eyes get wide, “You really know how to woo a lady. A night in with a musical?” you give a chef’s kiss.

And that night you do head to Spencer’s house. He offers you a ride, but you’re flustered as it is with evading Aaron and his poker friends. It would make it a lot worse if he were to see Spencer picking you up.

You grab your purse and leave a platter of finger food for the boys. Aaron is already three beers deep when he demands a kiss from you.

“You think you can leave without giving me a kiss?” He slouches in his folding chair, the plastic dipping dangerously.

You patter over and leave a kiss on his cheek. Aaron grabs your upper arm and pulls you closer, “A real kiss.”

After a beat where his poker friends are snickering, you lean over to kiss his lips. They’re sour with beer. He smacks your ass for good measure. “Don’t stay out late – I’ll think this company meeting is actually a rendezvous.”

You wave him off, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can. You speed to the bus stop, excited to have a night in the company of someone that you like being around.

Walking to Spencer’s apartment took longer than you were expecting, but it was worth it to see he had set up a Jenga game, favorite drinks out, and Wicked already on the tv.

“I’m so excited,” you say a little breathlessly, taking off your shoes. You wince a little when you notice that above your socks, there were open blisters from your shoes rubbing your heel. “Shoot, um… Spence, do you have some band aids I could use?”

He slides from the kitchen with worry in his expression, “Yeah, what’s wrong?” He looks at you twisting around to look at the back of your heels, “Damn, that looks like it hurts.”

“I didn’t realize my socks had slid down,” you laugh it off.

Spencer grabs two band aids from a cupboard, “Here, sit on the couch.”

“That’s all right, Spence, I can put them on.”

He’s already unwrapping one of the bandages, “I know you can, but let me do it.”

“Seriously, Spence, you don’t have…”

He stops you, pointing to the couch. “Hey, just because you’re able to do it, doesn’t mean you always have to. Let me help – you’ll be doing me a favor – letting me feel useful.”

You smile with embarrassment in your cheeks. You sit down and twist your hips so you can show the wound on your heels. Spencer sits on the coffee table and gingerly lifts your leg to his knee.

He carefully lays the band aid on your heel, holding your socked feet with warm hands. He’s gentle in how he puts your leg down and grabs the other. You accommodate by twisting your hips the other way to expose your heel to him.

He repeats the process, “Was it a far walk to my place?”

“Not too far.”

“Can you explain what not too far means?” he asks with a smirk.

You play with your fingers, pinching the skin around your nail. “Maybe fifteen-twenty minutes from the bus stop.” You notice his eyes look a little upset at that. “I was walking pretty fast. I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

“And you wouldn’t let me pick you up because…?” he moves to throw away the band aid wrappers.

You continue to pinch and pick at your fingers. “Because my boyfriend is having a poker night with his friends. They get a little rowdy and drunk and I know he’d do something stupid if he saw you pick me up.”

Spencer returns to the coffee table, sitting on the carpet, “What kind of stupid?”

“Like…” you slide off the couch to meet him on the carpet. “He might try to pick a fight.”

“With whom?”

Spencer was definitely probing for a specific answer. He tries to be nonchalant.

You watch him remove a block from the Jenga tower. “Either of us, I guess.”

Something sad enters you. Something big and scary. It weighs on you and makes your shoulders sink. Spencer can hear it in your voice; can see it in your stance.

“That’s not very nice of him.”

A sad smile grows on your face but doesn’t meet your eyes. “No, I guess not.”

“Is he like that a lot?” Spencer asks cautiously.

You remove a Jenga block. “Maybe.” You look at Spencer and see the sincerity in his gaze. “Yeah.”

“And you’re with him still because…?”

You take a deep breath, leaning against the couch and pulling your knees to your chest. “To be honest, I don’t know.”

“Then why don’t you leave him?”

“Because he’ll be angry.”

Spencer looks at you with a furrowed brow, “You don’t want to make him angry?”

“And I don’t know – I still care about him.”

“Do you love him?”

You pause, the Jenga game still ongoing. “I’m not sure.”

“I’d take that as a sign.”

“It’s not as easy as it sounds,” you say quietly.

Your tone makes that ache in his chest pulse painfully. He hates to hear you sound sad and afraid. “You’re thinking about it, at least?”

You nod your head and silence consumes you. You did not want to dwell on boyfriend problems. “Can we watch the movie while we play?”

Spencer nods, grabbing the remote to start the show. Your mood instantly lifts. Like a flower turning towards the sun. He beams at your radiance.

He’s even more astonished when you start to sing.

“Holy shit, (Y/N). You can sing!”

You giggle as you continue to follow along with the musical. The Jenga game is eventually finished, blocks spilling over Spencer as he tries to pull some crazy move. You’re laughing as you pick up the blocks.

Spencer finds one of his blankets, Cleo the cat waking from her after dinner nap.

He sits on the couch beside you and drapes the blanket over you two. He is purposeful in how close he sits beside you.

“You should sing on our karaoke livestream.”

You shake your head, “No way.”

“But you sing so well!” he protests, gesturing to the musical you’re watching. “The viewers would go nuts for it.”

“I don’t know,” you say, leaning back into the couch. Your arms are fully touching. “They talk about me enough as it is.”

Spencer is determined, “I’ll sing a duet with you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, playing with your fingers again.

He watches you pick at your soft skin. “Of course, the fans have been begging to see you for months now. What a better way to do a face reveal than with a livestream for charity?”

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

Spencer grabs your hand, keeping it from picking at your nailbeds. “Good.” He’s not sure what to do after that, letting go of your hand promptly.

You smile, content with leaning your head against his shoulder, unaware of how that little action caused his heart to pound.

That familiar ache consuming him.

An ache that Spencer is now beginning to wonder about. Wonder what would cause it. He was starting to recognize it as something equally terrifying and wonderful.

That ache was how he felt about you.

How he loved you.

~~~

Taglist: @maggiecc @tinkerbellsgf @georgeweaslysgirl

[girlsworldillusion]

we can't be friends

Ex!Aemond - Fem!Reader

Exes to lovers

Summary: After a whole year together, he broke up with you like it was no big deal. What happens when you see each other after four months apart? In the middle of Baela's birthday party, can you control yourself enough not to cause a scene? You just need to get through the night and then you can forget again the man who broke your heart, something that becomes increasingly difficult as the hours go by.

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 9k

Dividers: @cafekitsune

Enjoy!

⚠️ English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find ⚠️

Daemon and Laena Targaryen’s luxurious mansion buzzes with polite conversation and classic music. The expensive, sophisticated decor and lavish catering service speak of the family’s high status — a grand, refined event that not even the birthday girl could refuse, even though she had vehemently expressed the entire way that would prefer something far less formal and elegant than this.

A raucous celebration at a bar somewhere in town, surrounded by loud laughter and the indiscreet company of her truly friends, if you were to guess.

A celebration that you, like any good friend would, were secretly orchestrating to throw after this seemingly endless event — a sort of surprise after-party so that she could actually enjoy her own birthday.

But the Targaryens had a reputation to uphold, and the birthday of Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter was a social event that could not be easily ignored. So, in a moment induced purely by her almost desperate pressure, you promised that you would be here tonight, supporting your friend during this unnecessarily ostentatious party with people that, for the most part, you didn't even know.

But that was a monumental mistake.

Well, realistically, you know why you were here and you know that it was the right thing to do. But still...no, you don't know why you thought for a second that this would be a good idea.

"Maybe you should just talk to him."

Baela, the sole reason you had subjected yourself to being among these people, comments quietly to you. Her violet gaze peeking discreetly over the rim of her glass at something - someone - behind you.

"Wait, w-what -" You ask more shrilly than you intended, almost spitting out the bubbly sip of champagne you had just poured into your mouth, narrowing your eyes at her. "Why? Why would you say something like that?"

"Um, maybe because he's been staring at you all night? Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if there were holes in the back of your head right now. He's not being the least bit discreet about it." She shrugs, giving a tight, artificially friendly smile when a lady twice your age walks by and compliments her on the elegant decor of the party. Baela rolls her eyes as she walks away, determinedly taking another generous sip of her drink, as if seeking liquid encouragement to continue enduring these interactions.

"You guys should just talk, is what I mean." She waves her hand lightly at you, as if the situation were so simple.

You don't agree out loud with her first observation, but inwardly you find yourself unable to deny it. Your skin is crawling and your senses are on high alert, feeling the weight of his attention on you like a tangled web of webs that you can't untangle.

"Don't be dramatic, I won't do such a thing. Just ignore him, he'll give in eventually." You mutter sullenly.

Baela tilts her head and arches a silver eyebrow, sending you a look that you immediately interpret as a 'you know who we're talking about, right?', but you just roll your eyes as click your tongue, determined not to let her push the subject any further.

"Anyway, don't you have anything better to do than sit here worrying unnecessarily about my life? For heaven's sake, you're the birthday girl, go entertain your countless guests and leave me alone for once."

She's about to argue, but fate seems to be on your side for once and Laena, her mother, appears at that moment.

"Baebae, sweetie, come with me, I'd like to introduce you to a great friend from the office. Oh, you're going to love her!" The elegant woman beams with excitement, sending you a mischievous wink as she basically pulls her daughter away.

"Hey, mom! W-wait, I was in the middle of an important thing and-!" Baela stumbles, both over her words and her own feet, as she is insistently dragged into the room, turning her head to you with a frustrated cry. "Don't even think this ends here, we'll talk more once I get rid of her!"

"Sure, sure, I'll be waiting right here." You shout back, pressing your lips together to suppress your smile before lifting the glass and taking another sip of champagne.

The funny scene, however, distracts you for only a few seconds and soon you find yourself alone and very out of place in the center of the main hall, surrounded by strangers and fancy music, with your ex's intense gaze burning into the back of your neck like lasers.

With a polite tilt of chin you greet a university fellow who passes by you, taking the opportunity to gracefully turn your body and face the other side of the hall. And, despite your common sense, you find yourself unable to stop from peeking over the rim of your glass in the direction of he-who-must-not-be-named.

And oh, yes, there he is.

You haven't seen him in months — at least four, since he broke up with you on the eve of the university graduation. And, unlike what you imagined for him all this time, the breakup didn't do him any apparent harm. He seems as good as ever.

You and Aemond had an unexpected but incredibly intense dating history. You both met through Baela many years ago. Neither of you hit it off right away — he openly ignored you, and you disdained even his shadow. It was a perfectly comfortable relationship for both of you that lasted for years, until everything changed during a single drunken night. You don’t remember exactly how it started, but one moment you were downing glass after glass of your fruity drink, glaring daggers at him from across the balcony, and the next you were kissing and making out in the dark upstairs hallway.

There was no awkward conversation the next day or either of you trying to pretend it never happened. You just made a mutual agreement to keep doing it, gradually sinking into a frighteningly perfect relationship that lasted a full year.

You burned brightly. You were both madly in love, and it was obvious to anyone. Within just a few weeks of dating, everyone on campus had come to associate you with each other, so great was your rapport. Baela wasn’t surprised when she found out, claiming it was obvious that all that blatant disdain and sharp glances meant a lot of pent-up sexual tension.

Together you were intense, a force to be reckoned with. Like fire and ice, but even greater — like all the light and darkness in the universe, somehow intertwined to create the perfect pair.

And then you fell.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly where things took a turn for the worse. But finals season was approaching, as were the pressures of careers and futures after graduation, and reality set in for both of you. Slowly you stopped going everywhere together, and your couple’s banter began to evolve into intense arguments that made everyone in the dorm cringe. Suddenly Aemond had no time for you anymore, divided between his studies and his internship at the family business. You were relegated to the background, like a toy that had been used for too long and was now of no use.

Until the day inevitably came when he just stopped showing up at your dorm. You sought him out some time later for some kind of explanation and he seemed so different then, and yet so identical to the Aemond you knew all those years ago; disinterested, overwhelmed, serious, unreachable. In that moment you knew it was over.

Then finals passed, graduation came, and your intense relationship melted away under the weight of adulthood.

And it didn’t matter anymore. You wanted to settle down, to get deeper into your newly started career, and the two of you were not supposed to contact each other anymore. And things were going well — you couldn’t go so far as to say you were completely over him, but you had accepted the fact that the relationship was over. Everything was fine.

Until tonight.

Aemond is casually leaning against the wall, one leg folded over the other, arms crossed in front of his broad chest. A petulant king with boredom and entitlement dripping from his posture.

He is the same, in every visible way.

The same pale, flawless skin and the same surgical eye patch hiding the severe wound over his left eye. The same long, icy white locks carefully arranged to look purposefully disheveled in the low ponytail he wears tonight, two long strands framing either side of his face. Well-defined eyebrows lowered over an intense violet gaze that watches you with unabashed interest through an aristocratic nose. The flushed lips, pressed expressionlessly together, belonging to the same mouth you’ve lost yourself in so many times before…oh…the memories come to you unbidden, leaving your skin warm in response.

Shaking your head discreetly, you try to focus on his attire for the evening. And at first glance, you could tell he would be more suited to a funeral than a birthday party. But that wasn’t anything new either.

Dressed entirely in black, from the dress pants to the blazer, to the soft silk shirt underneath and shoes that are surely worth more than the small apartment you bought for yourself, he looks like an elven king of the shadows or a seductive vampire from a romance novel. The haute couture pieces fit the length and curves of the muscles on his body as if its had tailored specifically for him - and you know its had.

Nothing has changed in his outward appearance or his personality, from what you can tell. Aemond still exudes power and dominance in the room as if it were some kind of natural substance seeping from his pores, choking your throat as you struggle to maintain an indifferent gaze, trying to remain unfazed even though you feel anything but.

He even has the same look in his eye, Aemond is almost always watching. His one eye is fixed on your skin, heated and electrifying. It hasn’t changed, especially, the way it sets you on fire. His scorching gaze on your skin.

Flustered and embarrassed by this, you tip the champagne glass to your lips in order to keep your nerves in check, only to realize that you’ve already drunk it all.

Cheeks flushing at having made such an embarrassing faux pas under Aemond’s annoyingly watchful eye, you lower the glass to the table next to you.

With a fake bored sigh, you try to pretend that none of this happened, prepared to go back to pretending that he doesn’t exist. Until, out of the corner of your eye, you see him push his body away from the wall and then your attention is painfully fixed on him again, his gaze locked on yours as he stoically marches in what is turning out to be exactly the direction you’re standing.

Your heart races in your chest, palms beginning to sweat at your sides as he intercepts a waiter in the middle of the room with an elegant wave of his hand, grabbing two glasses of champagne from the tray before continuing to walk towards you.

And you, deeply torn between the desire to run as far away as possible and to stay exactly where you are so as not to show any sign of weakness, end up deciding to do something in between. You don't run, but there's a distinctly uncomfortable swaying on your feet as you stand there and you pray that he attributes it to some kind of natural movement due to the classical music playing in the room and not some nervous reaction caused by, gods above, his presence.

"Hey," he says when he's close by, extending his right hand to offer you the glass of champagne, his lips slightly stretching into an almost compassionate expression. "Here."

His voice, all soft, lazy velvet, a little rough around the edges, still makes your head spin.

“Hey you,” you say, the red dust on your cheeks deepening, all too aware that you were just fantasizing about those same lips just a few minutes ago. You accept the drink without a second thought, needing it now more than ever. Your fingers brush against each other for a single awkward second, seemingly long enough to send a subtle shiver through your body. “Thank you.”

“Having fun?” he asks as you take a sip of the sparkling beverage.

With a shrug you lower the glass, sending him the most casually indifferent look you can muster at the moment, considering the frazzled state of your nerves. God, you’d somehow forgotten how tall he was; athletic and tall enough that even in heels you still had to look up to meet his gaze and respond.

Tonight was going to be a bigger ordeal than you’d thought.

“It’s a perfectly nice party.” He knows you well enough to know you’re lying, and it’s clear from the unsurprised raise of his eyebrow, an amused smile barely concealed by the rim of his glass as he sips his own champagne, his other hand elegantly hidden in the pocket of the pants. You pout a little, irritated that he thinks he can still read you like this.

“Hm, you look beautiful tonight,” he comments, so calm and sincere, looking straight into your eyes, and you forget your earlier irritation. “Blue looks really good on you.”

You glance shyly down at the light blue dress you’re wearing; the satin straps held together by a delicate bow on each shoulder, the top fitting tightly across your chest - soft, full skirt starting at your waist, falling gently down your hips and thighs, to just below your knees. On your feet are a delicate pair of high-heeled sandals, thin straps wrapped around your ankle. Your hair slides over shoulders in soft waves. And on your face the lightest of makeup. You looked passable, in your opinion. Elegant, but understated compared to the others in the room.

“I—huh, thank you. You look good too.” You mumble, cheeks warm, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “B-but what about you? I didn’t think you were the type to attend birthday parties so easily, even those of your relatives. I thought you couldn't stand that kind of thing.”

You rush to change the subject, a sympathetic smile on your lips as remember how uncomfortable he felt when he was asked to attend such events — avoiding most of them whenever possible.

Aemond shrugs, unfazed by your abrupt change of subject, but blessedly going along with it.

“I knew you’d be here.”

For the second time that night, you nearly choke on your drink.

Your eyes wide and surprised stare at him, unsure of what to make of this information thrown out so naturally.

So what if you were here? You’re done, aren’t you? Why should Aemond care where you are or what you’re doing?

“Aemond, what are you—”

“Can we talk?”

He cuts you off in a lower voice, taking a step closer, close enough for you to smell his woody, masculine scent, the smoky notes of cigarette.

"But..." You blink quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. "We're already doing that."

He breathes out in frustration, looking away subtly.

"Alone."

You look away too, noticing some attentive glances at the two of you, curious to know what the ex-lover couple was doing together again. The embarrassment grips you tighter.

"Aemond, we have nothing to talk about alone. Look, it was nice to meet you tonight, but I really should go look for Baela and..." You look back as speak, trying to locate the woman among the crowd of people, but a soft, almost imperceptible touch on the back of your hand makes you suddenly freeze, slowly turning your face to the contact. His knuckles are brushing against your skin, discreet and gentle, only drawing your attention to him again.

When you look up, lips parted and eyes uncertain, he’s staring at you with such intensity and focus that it makes your knees feel weak for a moment.

“Please.”

Unfortunately, it’s not just your knees that are weak.

Whatever he’s planning to do now is a very, very bad idea. You should refuse; any interaction with Aemond after so long apart is a slippery slope, especially after his earlier cryptic statement.

But with a stiff and mostly unconscious nod of your head, he steps away to lead you to a more private place.

You know you shouldn’t. You know.

But you do it anyway: you follow Aemond up the stairs, focusing on the silky sway of the strands that are loosely tied in the ponytail at the nape of his neck, falling down the length of his spine almost to the middle of his back. The icy white contrasts with the darkness of his blazer.

You ignore the knowing look Baela sends you when you spot her a few feet ahead - still caught up in a visibly boring conversation with her mother and that woman from the office, raising her glass to you in an encouraging and mischievous motion.

Your face burns with shame and humiliation, feeling weak for being in this situation - for having been unable to say no to him, as you should have.

"Please be direct, I don't want to linger here and give people the wrong idea." You say, awkward and nervous, as the two of you enter one of the guest rooms upstairs. Aemond closes the door with a tired sigh, and you swallow hard at the sound, adjusting your posture to appear colder than you actually feel.

"I never got over you."

His delivery is abrupt and direct, everything you had asked him to be, and yet the statement catches you off guard. It unsettles you enough to make you stagger back slightly, your lower back hitting the corner of a dresser. He continues, despite your obvious daze.

“It crossed my mind that you might come tonight, being Baela’s friend and all. But I didn’t see you at first, so I figured you had something else planned for her.” And you did, but you don’t say it, afraid that he’ll interpret the comment as an invitation and the situation will get even worse. “I was hoping to see you...the last time we spoke didn’t go well, since—”

“Since you dumped me,” you spit before realize, recovering from your daze with a speed that’s surprising even to you. Aemond shivers at the sudden, icy words. “I mean, what else is there to talk about after that?”

“Clearly there’s something I should talk about. Because I think you hate me,” he says, still calmly, but a little more frustrated - pulling his blazer down his arms to toss it on the bed in an uncharacteristically eager gesture. He pulls an expensive pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter, lighting the end to inhale slowly; everything under your watchful scrutiny. “Which you have every right to if that’s the case, but it doesn’t mean I like it.” He finishes the thought with a puff of air, the smell of nicotine and swirling smoke making you wrinkle your nose in response, your expression showing all the distaste for it. Aemond knows how much you disapprove of his little vice after all.

“Well, that’s too bad. But those are my feelings. It’s none of your business what they are or not.” You cross the arms in front of you, feeling petulant and provoked. “So don’t go around assuming I hate you or anything. That just makes you an asshole.”

He brings the cigarette held between his fingers to his mouth again, inhaling slowly as he looks at you with his nose up and narrow gaze - having clearly noticed your bratty attitude. You reinforce your defiant expression, even though feel yourself wilt considerably inside at that look.

Memories. So many memories.

In a nervous gesture, provoked by the absolute silence he maintains after that, nothing but soft drags on his cigarette and thick puffs of nicotine as he stares at you intently, you shake your hair back. The mistake is recognized immediately, but it is already too late to correct. His gaze, unwavering and dark, descends the delicate curve of your neck in a familiar movement, but quickly freezes when he notices something different there.

The mark of a particularly rude hickey left by Benjicot Blackwood - better known among students as Bloody Ben. A drunken mistake made a few nights ago. The man, also a fellow student, was not only a nerd with strange tendencies as some claimed, he was also absolutely wild in bed - which, of course, seemed like a good idea at the time. Not the next day, though.

And maybe it wasn't just the alcohol. Yes, you were drunk that night - you don't think you would have had the courage to flirt with Bloody Ben if you weren't. But it wasn’t just that, if you were being honest. There was something else there, something motivating you to make such a bold move.

Revenge, maybe. Something to rub in your ex’s face, something to hurt him. It wasn’t decent, or the adult thing to do, but hey, you didn’t say you were being coherent. And your actions couldn’t be taken seriously in the drunken state you were both in, could they? You just wanted to hurt Aemond as much as he had hurt you.

And if that was the case, so what if you let some guy with weird fetishes bite on you like a chew toy? Who cares?

Aemond, apparently.

“Who…?” He asks, lowering his cigarette slowly, his jaw clenched.

“None of your business.” You repeat your earlier argument immediately, even though your heart is fluttering in chest and cheeks burning with shame at your own actions. "It's none of your damn business who I sleep with or not, Aemond. You made it very clear four months ago that you don't care about me or our relationship. It's over."

The months may have dulled that unbearable bite of pain that burned in your throat, but you remember those last few days all too well. The tortuous stab of being slowly abandoned, of not being important enough to be worth fighting for. Why weren't you worth fighting for? What could you have done to be chosen?

And, fuck, you don't want to cry. But just being here, facing the reason for your suffering and being able, for the first time, to truly make him understand how much he hurt you, makes unwanted tears well up in your eyes. But he's not worth it. If you're not worth it, neither is he. You blink rapidly at the ceiling to ward off the urge to cry, licking your lips.

“You’re being so,” he waves his free hand at you, face still twisted in disgust at the mark on your neck, “so fucking cold about this. For a moment there I thought we were doing better.”

“Because I accepted your drink downstairs? Because I was polite enough to answer you without causing a scene in front of those people? Is that why you thought—” You let out a tearful sigh. This is not going according to plan. It’s in direct opposition to the rule of not getting involved with this man ever again in your life.

“You know what—I’m fine. Really.” You sigh, tired, soft. “I shouldn’t have come upstairs with you. We shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

“Are you too busy?” he presses, impatient and grumpy.

“I am, actually,” you say, too honest. “I better get back to Baela, like I tried to do before, I promised I wouldn’t leave her alone with all those vultures. We can continue this some other time,” you blink away and then back at him with a raw, teary glare, “in the future.” 

You should leave now. Why are you still here? Why are you—

Aemond clearly wants to argue, but decides not to. He stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the desk next to where he stands, not looking away from yours for a moment. You hold his gaze and feel nothing but aching longing and the smoldering hurt you were so sure you had managed to put behind you.

“Okay.” He murmurs with a sharp gaze, but he’s approaching you with careful steps, afraid you’ll back away.

“Okay.” You murmur back.

Except neither of you move toward the door. What you both do is Aemond stares at you and you stare back.

Alarm bells blare in the back of your mind, screaming at you to run immediately or you’ll never know peace.

Because that imposing, intense stance sounds so much like Aemond Targaryen, and that’s all well and good, except this is the Aemond you know, someone you’ve sworn never to let near you again. And he’s so close now and the room is quiet except for your anxious breathing and the distant purr of the air conditioning system — and when his thumb comes up to rub the skin just below your bottom lip, you stay there and let him pull it down.

He gives you only a second to absorb what that means before he crashes his lips to yours, end of conversation. He licks his way past your lips to swallow the agonized noises in the back of your throat. And it’s nostalgic, instinctive, a little bit needy and a lot of longing, the kind that would drive anyone crazy. And it feels good, letting go like this. Letting yourself sink into the familiarity of his mouth on yours, even if it ends in tears and ashes.

Aemond’s lips taste like cigarettes and mint, just like you dreamed. They’re also as soft as you remember, fitting perfectly against yours. It’s intoxicating, the way he kisses — with enough urgency to make anyone feel intensely wanted, but also with so much passion and care, with the softest touches that lull you into the kind of state of mind you shouldn’t be in with him.

His hand is sliding down the curve of your throat now, circling to grip there — a loose, gentle grip, just using it as leverage to pull you to him.

“Mm?” he hums — pleased with himself and almost smug in his ragged breaths. “Yeah, baby?” He’s not allowed to use that voice with you. The low, breathy voice that turns into a raspy sound. This is so fucking unfair, and you’re as angry as you are aroused right now.

“You have to go,” you gasp, lashes fluttering with every lick over your own tongue, every teasing bite to your bottom lip, “please, Aemond. We—”

“I missed you,” he whispers, returning to the wet space of your lips. The hand at your throat squeezes gently, his thumb stroking the path of a pulsing vein there, leaving tremors in its wake. “I miss you so fucking much.”

You no longer have your hands clasped together, instead they’re open at your sides, shaking, and you’re dizzy. Dizzy because something painful and tight in your chest that’s lain unacknowledged for four months has finally let go. And the knowledge that this, the two of you, might not be over after all is leaving you breathless and confused.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his ridiculous velvet voice low and sincere against your skin, “it doesn’t make up for any of the shit I’ve done, it doesn’t even come close, but I’m really sorry. I’m an asshole. Such a fucking asshole for letting you go."

When Aemond meets your eyes again, a spark of heat shoots through your belly. And while his words don't erase the pain, they do burn something in you. Whether you're fighting now or not, you crave him, and nothing about that has changed in the months you've been apart. Your mind may be full of arguments and hurt, but your body never got the memo, and it's reacting hotly to this man's presence.

You want to feel him holding you again so badly. You want to feel more of his mouth on yours, his soft hair tangled in your fingers, his warm breath on your neck. Fuck, how are you still so in love with someone who broke your heart into a million little pieces without even a decent explanation?

“Tell me you're not interested,” Aemond demands, after you've been silent for too long. You open your mouth to tell him to go away, for real this time, but the words won't come out. “Tell me you don't want me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You take a deep breath and try again.

“I want you,” is what your traitorous mouth says, but Aemond looks so relieved by this that you grab the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss. He shifts his body and places his other hand on your hip, pushing you hard against the dresser. You follow him and hold him by the back of the neck, his breath heated on your throat when he breaks the kiss. You feel Aemond bite and suck gently from your collarbone exposed by the party dress to your ear. He pinches the sensitive lobe and tugs lightly and you feel a shiver run through your entire body.

His hand on your neck pushes your head back and his mouth is on yours again and this kiss feels different. Aemond isn’t holding anything back now and he’s kissing you like he’s pouring all his love, apologies and desire into it. He’s kissing you like you’re the only thing he needs in the world, and you let yourself revel in the feeling of being wanted and loved. He pulls you back with him until you’re both at the edge of the king-sized bed, and you push him so that he falls lightly onto the soft mattress.

Aemond arches an eyebrow in curiosity and amusement, but parts his legs slightly so that you can slide between them, settling his back against the headboard as you straddle his lap - and even fully clothed you feel a thrill run through your body as press yourself against him, feeling how hard he already is.

Your hand slips into the soft silk of his shirt, undoing the first few buttons to caress the hard planes of his broad chest, nails gently scratching that expanse of pale skin. He rumbles a low growl and you capture his lips in another desperate, hurried kiss, your tongue thrusting into his open mouth, tangling with his.

His fingers tighten in your hair, using it to drag you closer to him, gasping in pleasure as your hips buck against his to feel that hard cock rubbing against your panties through his pants. He continues to pull on your hair, wrapping the strands around his fist over and over and tilting your head back as he kisses you back, chasing his tongue back into your mouth. There’s nothing careful about the way he takes your lip between his teeth, biting and sucking on it like it’s some kind of punishment, and it doesn’t take long for you to remember that you don’t mind a little pain — not when he’s the one inflicting it on you.

"Fuck, I love those cute little noises you make, baby," he breathes into your mouth, gripping your hair to tilt your face up and lick your jaw, "I love the way you let me do whatever I want to you - a pretty, precious little doll to play with, hm?"

You open your eyes, looking up at him through heavy, watery lashes. His violet eye is glazed with lust, his mouth drooping with heavy pants, the tops of his cheeks lightly tinged with the dusty pink of a blush, and you tug at the surgical eye patch he wears, the movement almost like muscle memory. Your lips kiss almost reverently over the rough outline of his scars and what's left of his mutilated eye as your fingers wrap around the elastic in his hair and tug to let the silky, silver strands fall freely down his back and front of his face - longingly welcoming the same earthy, organic scent of the amber shampoo he used when you were still together.

“Aemond,” you say, and now his mouth moves to your ear, nipping lightly with his teeth before licking, “Aemond,” your fingers curl deeper into his hair — not to push away, no. To bring him closer. “Aemond,” you keep chanting his name like it’s the only one you know, like you’ve forgotten other words exist.

“Fuck yes, I’m here, baby. I got you.” When he kisses you this time, so fucking good, like he wants this as much as you do — you can feel him wanting it. You can feel him wanting it. He growls and reaches up with both hands to grab your ass.

“Ah-!” you moan, pushing yourself back into his hold, the movement sending a line of heat and friction up and down your spine as your private parts brush harder against each other.

“I—Aem, touch me please,” you beg — and you really don’t need to tell him twice — Aemond reaches for the hem of your party dress, pushing it so the delicate fabric pools above your hips, massaging your ass with his other hand, loving the small noises of pleasure you try to suppress as you kiss him. He strokes the lace side of your panties for a few seconds before pushing them aside, and then he goes for your pussy like he’s been missing it, wanting it, dreaming about it for years.

“Wet,” he pants against your cheek, sliding his thumb along the slit of your pussy. “So wet for me, baby,” he says, and sucks kisses down your neck.

“Aem...ond,” you whine between gasps, high-pitched and whiny. The way you always do when you’re too turned on, like what your body is experiencing is too much for you to handle.

Two of his slender fingers press against your entrance and you gasp as he slowly plunges them in. Your head falls back as you lets out a low moan and you can’t help the way your thighs are already shaking. Of course he’s still really good at this.

He sets a lazy pace, fingers moving in and out of you as he focuses his mouth on your neck for the next few minutes. His fingers are so long and when he curves them, you go rigid.

“Ah, ah,” you moan. His fingertips rub against that spongy spot inside you and as he drags them out slowly while grinding against it, you sigh.

“Talk to me, baby. Does this feel good? Is this what you wanted?” You give another enthusiastic nod, mumbling a string of ‘yes, yes, it feels so fuckin good’, moaning deep in your throat as you grind your hips against his fingers. It’s intense, breathy, needy and beautiful. Aemond gives you another slow thrust in and out, brushing the soft pad of his thumb over your clit once and you nearly fall forward from him, your legs are so weak.

“You feel so beautiful when you take it like this, so good, baby, so good for me,” he murmurs against your neck, kissing your throat, your pulse point - his other hand massaging your scalp in a soft but possessive grip. “Makes me want to eat you." He pants, thrusting his fingers into your heat a fraction faster, flicking your poor clit just enough to drive you wild, slow in a way that feels more like torture, “I want to eat you so bad baby, lick that pussy until all I can taste is you. I fucking miss that.”

"God! Please, l-later...please, Aemond, later..." The noise that leaves you is not unlike a sob. "I need to feel you now, I need this so bad, please - it's too much, and it's not enough. I think I'm dying." You cry, so desperate, feeling too much. Just too much. All you want to feel is Aemond.

"Yeah?" He asks with a harsh sigh, arching his neck to look at you, flushed and just as breathless as you, but somehow still maintaining such a perfectly composed, mischievous appearance that it just makes you want to shake him and cause some chaos.

Your face burns with flames as he slowly and teasingly removes his fingers from your heat, lifting them both to his lips to clean them.

“A full fucking feast as always, love - thank you.” He hums huskily, eyelashes fluttering in pleasure as he sucks your juices from his fingers without taking his gaze from yours.

“S-shut up you pervert.” You mumble and he just chuckles, letting his back fall back against the headboard, giving you silent permission to proceed in whatever way you prefer. But even so; even beneath you, without his usual eye patch and with his hair messed up by your restless fingers, shirt askew and half open to expose his defined, pale skin, lips parted and moist with your arousal and narrowed gaze - he is anything but submissive.

Swallowing hard, you eventually pull away, sitting a little lower on his thighs, hand sliding down past his waist, searching for the evidence of his pleasure. Small fingers feel the expensive fabric of his dress pants, sliding over the thick tent of his cock in the material, feeling delicately before nudging the clasp.

He lifts his hips, aiding your efforts to push his pants down over his ass, freeing his cock for your eyes, and you moan at the sight. He’s just as gorgeous as you remember. His cock is long and thick, the tip a dark flushed color, slick with precum. You close your fist around him, biting your bottom lip when you can barely wrap your fingers completely around his thickness. Your eyes are half-lidded as watch your small hand work his shaft, reveling in the way the slow thrusts make him twitch slightly, his breathing coming harder.

“You're determined to make trouble, aren't you?” he pants raspily, and you do your best not to whimper as the rumble sends another wave of fire licking your pussy.

Deciding to stop teasing, not for his sake - or at least not just for his sake - but especially because you yourself can't go another minute without having him inside you again, you move forward.

Lifting your body higher on your knees, you use a free hand to pull the small gusset of your thong aside, revealing a perfectly shaved mound to his view. Aemond groans lowly as he looks at you again and you blush, your body tingling at the thought that you still please him so much. Holding your panties aside, lowering yourself so that your soaked pussy lips are cradling his shaft, you rock back and forth a few times, coating them with your arousal and his, both of you letting choked sounds of pleasure spill freely from your lips.

Your thighs tremble every time the ridge of his cockhead brushes against your hard clit and you rock against that throbbing shaft, your desire burning through your blood as heated as his cock sliding against your slick slit. He slides past your entrance again and you can feel your walls trembling, both wanting him to push inside and fighting against such a thick intrusion. Aemond bites his lip with each teasing thrust, his entire body shaking beneath you as he tries to maintain control. With each brush of his cock over your clit, you hear yourself moaning louder, your nails digging deep into his neck and shoulder, no doubt making this difficult for him.

Unable to take any more of this, you reach down to grip his cock so you can line it up with your entrance. You slowly bring the head inside, both of you panting, your eyes locking and you use your hips and the hand at his base to take him inside.

Your entire body tenses as you try to fight against the thick intrusion, your entrance stretching as you feel yourself being filled with his cock. It’s almost painful after so many months without it, even with a random one night stand with Ben, and you cling to him, breathing deeply as you force yourself to relax.

“You’re so good to me, aren’t you, baby?” Aemond murmurs against your loose lips, savoring your breathy intake of breath and mixing it with his own, cupping your hips in his wide palms. “Such a good, sweet girl, taking my cock so fucking good. Keep going baby, you can do it.”

You moan, feeling your walls quiver around his pulsing length, allowing you to feel every inch of his steel shaft inside them - the shape of the head, the veins, the slight curve it had as it slid a little deeper when, blessedly, your walls begin to relax a little. You swallow a little air before kissing him desperately as if he were your air now, your eyes watering with emotion. He greedily devours your mouth, as if he craves it too, savagely plunging his tongue into your throat as he holds himself perfectly still, waiting for you to adjust.

A few panting breaths later, you finally feel relaxed enough. You move both hands into his hair and the back of his neck, seeking support.

“Aemond,” a sigh, your voice shaking.

“I got you, beautiful,” he replies between kisses and ragged breaths. "But please, move. It's so fucking tempting to feel that pussy squeezing me after all this time."

Aemond, unlike his stoic and silent persona in any other social setting, has always been a dirty talker during sex. But his direct, filthy words still surprise you, evoking a mix of mortifying embarrassment and pure heat in your veins.

You bite your bottom lip, holding onto it as you awkwardly begin to move up and down on his cock. He doesn't seem to notice your rusty practice, groaning at the feel of you like this again, pulling your skirt up higher so he can watch your pussy swallow his cock as you rides it.

You blush, but buck your hips for emphasis, hissing as he slides in a little deeper than before. When you move up and down again, giving a single roll of your hips that has you seeing stars as he rubs your sweet spot before he slams back up into you, sheathing himself to the hilt. Cries fly from your lips as he repeats the movements, making sure you truly were ready for him. The suspense of those agonizingly slow thrusts had you moaning, your entire body shaking.

Aemond lets out a deep growl that has you clenching around him and you lean forward, your breast pressed against his chest. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking on your skin, leaving behind a deep hickey.

“F-fuck,” you moan, rolling your hips in his lap.

“That’s it, ride me babe,” he growls, using his hands to lift your ass. “Use me.”

You help him, sinking your knees into the softness of the mattress, moving your hips back and forth in his lap. The sound your bodies make together is obscene, all lewd licks and rough slaps of skin meeting skin as your ass slaps against his thighs. You do as he asks, taking what you need, feeling close to the edge already. Aemond throws his head back against the headboard, watching you through a half-lidded slit, his lips stretched into a lazy, lustful smile. 

“There you go love,” he encourages, rocking his hips upward every time you move. “That’s it, fuck. Tell me whose cock you’re riding.”

“Y-you Aemond, your cock—” You answer immediately, your mind a little too foggy to understand the real meaning of his question.

“Oh baby, already all cute and dumb on my cock, hm?” He chuckles close to your mouth, nudging your nose with his to get your attention. “You know what I want to hear. Let's try again, come on. Who are you riding?”

And through the rhythmic slap of your skin together, the pressure of your orgasm building marginally in your belly, the confusion in your mind, and the feeling of having Aemond like this after so long - you understand what he wants.

The position you’re in, bobbing up and down on his lap, heat and sex surrounding you like a dome of ash and sin, keeping him deceptively submissive beneath you, taking what you needs…

You know what he wants to hear.

You flush bright red and mortified from your cheeks to your neck and close your eyes, straining once against his firm grip on your ass, swallowing again. You might actually be fuming, you realize in stunned amazement.

“M-my dragon. Riding my dragon.”

My dragon. A nickname you gave him a few weeks before the breakup, a representation of his abrasive, brash personality hidden beneath an indifferent, impenetrable exterior.

“Did you miss this?” he asks with a teasing, breathless grin, squeezing the soft cheeks of your ass between his fingers to help you undulate your pussy relentlessly on his cock. “Did you miss riding your dragon like this?”

"Aemond-" You blush deeply at his question, trying to look away from his, even as your body continues to roll against his in that ancient, natural dance.

"Answer." He presses, lifting a hand to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger and make you look at him, straight into that violet expanse.

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?" He pushes.

Face burning, you sigh.

"I missed riding my dragon like this. I missed it so fucking much, Aemond..."

He nodded, his eyelashes fluttering, brows furrowed.  

 "Yeah you do. Never again baby, you'll never go without riding that cock. I'll make sure of that."

Your pace quickened, despite the burning in your thighs, and he kissed your jaw, nibbling at your skin. He slapped your ass and you bucked against him, the sting making the pleasure sweeter.  

“Come on, baby, you’re doing so good, I know you’re close. Just a little bit more, I can feel it, I can feel how tight you’re squeezing, fuck, this is going to kill me…” He babbles his dirty nonsense close to your ear, his control slipping as the grip on your flesh increases to the level of pain. “Use me for what you need. Cum hard on this cock.”

But what finally pushes you over the edge are sharp teeth sinking into your throat, paired with a skilled thumb that suddenly slithers over your clit in quick strokes. Your vision goes white and you barely have time to realize you’re coming as the cacophony of sensations floods you. Your ears ring as the pain in your neck makes the pleasure burn hotter, driving you higher and higher until you’re thrashing against the heavy pressure in your abdomen. You’ve grabbed onto everything you can - his shoulders, his hair, gripping and digging.

You float and fall and fly all at once and it’s perfect, moaning breathlessly with your head thrown back, feeling Aemond grip your hips with one hand, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull your body in front of him. With you like this, bent over and still shaking with your orgasm, he thrusts his hips upward with a hellfire vigor and you can’t help but hold on to him for dear life.

“Shit, you’re so..!” He presses you tight against him as he snaps his hips upward, holding you still for his cock, making sure he gets as deep as physically possible. “Fuck, baby,” he nearly growls as your back arches and you cry out, with the overstimulation, with the pleasure, your entire body tensing as he takes his own satisfaction from you. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight, so hot around me, it feels so fucking good around my cock. I'm gonna cum. Shit, I need to pull it out, I-"

"I-inside...please, cum inside me..." You whisper desperately and tearfully into his ear, panicking at the possibility of him pulling out, feeling him shiver and groan at your words. "It's safe, Aem. I want it inside me, - give it to me, please!"

"Fuck," he growls and tightens his grip on your waist, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he begins to lose his rhythm. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby, you're so...you're so fucking..!" He can't find the right words, eye closing and brow furrowing, thrusting his hips up with enough force to push you further up his body if he wasn't holding you so tightly.

He takes a few deep breaths, and you watch him fall almost in a trance, his handsome face flushed and lips parted, a hoarse, broken groan as he thrusts himself deep one last time before exploding, a guttural sound rolling through his clenched teeth as he comes to the feeling of your walls clenching around him, milking him for everything he has. Your hips buck with the force of it, snapping against his in slow strokes as you greedily ride out every drop.

You shudder above him, exhausted body tingling with the sensation of his heated seed spilling deep inside you, filling you until you feel like there’s no more room. “Aemond,” you whimper, your voice cracking with hypersensitivity as you struggle to roll your hips one last time before you can’t take it anymore, a shaky exhale blowing past your lips as you collapse onto him. “Fuuck.”

“Yeah,” Aemond exhales, his chest heaving rapidly beneath you. “Holy shit, that was…that was…fuck, what the fuck were you thinking when you asked me to cum inside you like that?” You lift your head as you feel his gaze on you, his words making you both flatter and shy at the same time. “Was that on purpose, baby?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” you sigh, chuckling softly when he snorts. “But it’s good to know I still have a trick or two in store.”

“Well, it worked like a charm, baby.” Smiling lazily, he cups your cheek and pulls you into a soft kiss, sighing as your chest hums contentedly. You slide your hands into his hair, kissing him back until you’re both out of breath. “Are you okay?” he asks when you break the kiss to catch your breath, a worried frown on his forehead.

“Yeah,” you tell him, a blush staining your cheeks as you realize you’re still firmly joined, neither of you showing any signs of wanting to break the intimate contact. He kisses your forehead, pushing the satin straps of your dress up to your shoulders again, caressing your skin gently.

“Aemond...what does that mean?”

You don’t want to ask him that, not really. All you want is to keep enjoying this moment, for as long as it lasts. But there’s a small part of you, the one you’ve silenced for all these months, that’s terrified at the mere thought of being abandoned once again. With the thought of it being a casual encounter for him, regardless of his words spoken in the heat of the moment.

“I-I don’t want to assume, but I can’t do this again if it’s a one-time thing for you...I can’t go through this again...” your nerves start to take over when he doesn’t answer right away, your gaze shifting from his in an anxious gesture.

He guides you to him once more with firm fingers, stroking your cheek with his thumb when he makes sure you won’t try to turn away.

“I want to fight for this. For us. I know I was an asshole before, I let myself get carried away by family pressures and I lost sight of what really mattered. So pathetic. I regretted it as soon as I left, but I didn’t know how to go back...how to fix the shit I did.” He’s serious when speaks, owning up to his mistakes with a degree of confidence that leaves you speechless. “If you don’t want to...if it’s too late...I understand, but please know that I love you. I’ve loved you the whole time we’ve been together, I’ve loved you while we’ve been apart, and I’ll continue to love you even if you don’t want me anymore.” He looks straight into your eyes and says, “I want to fight for you because you’re worth it. You’ve always been worth it. I’m sorry I made you believe otherwise.”

You feel unshed tears pooling on your lashes and you blink them away, but a few still escape. Aemond wipes them away with gentle fingers, and slowly leans you toward him, barely brushing his lips against yours.

“Always a crybaby.” He teases, but you can still hear the note of affection in his voice, how he’s laid himself bare for you — even if he’s trying to cover it up with sarcastic jokes.

You can’t manage much more than a broken noise as you bury your face in his neck, and Aemond doesn’t press you. He just holds you, for a long time, he just holds you -- until you almost feel the tendrils of sleep reaching for you. Nothing but the cozy feeling of being close again; the warmth of his body heat against yours, his breath in your ear, his heartbeat in yours -- even his cock still buried inside you. You and him, together again.

"I planned a party for Baela at the Red Keep Bar later..." You mumble into his chest after a long time of silence, fingers playing with the soft silk of his black shirt. "Would you like to go? I mean...with me, you know - like...well...together...?" You stumble over the words, blushing hard as you feel his chest tremble when he laughs at that.

"Of course I would, baby. But two parties in one night? What are you trying to do to me?" He breathes, half bored, half elated, taking your nervous hand in his to place a tender kiss on your knuckles.

"Still a social butterfly, I see." You huff, snuggling deeper into the crook of his neck, letting his woody, smoky scent completely relax you.

"Only the best for you, love." He murmurs contentedly, snaking his hand between your bodies to fish the lighter and pack of cigarettes out of his pants and light another one, inhaling slowly as he keeps you tightly tucked into his body with one arm, his cock twitching inside your walls to make you blush and look at him suspiciously. But he doesn't make any move on it, just keeps dragging on his stupid cigarette.

"I hate this thing, you know?" You mumble lazily and almost disappointedly (even though you're still completely sore from the previous session) when he turns his head to blow a cloud of smoke away from you, though the smell still makes you wrinkle your nose anyway.

"Yeah, I know. And I must say, I'm looking forward to all your long, passionate speeches about how this is detrimental to my life and the lives of others." He has his one eye closed as speaks, leaning his head against the headboard with a satisfied and sincere smile on his lips. "I've missed this so fucking much, princess."

He laughs louder when you slap his arm in offense.

-----

Aemond isn’t the kind of guy who pees on his girl to mark territory. Oh no, he’s above that.

But when Aemond spots Benjicot — the infamous Bloody Ben — later that night after finally getting the scoop on who gave you that hickey, he holds the guy’s curious, dissatisfied gaze as he shifts you more comfortably on his lap, your back against his broad chest.

He’s not marking his territory when brushes the hair away from your pretty, delicate neck, gently kissing a particularly obvious bite mark.

HIS MARK.

He’s not marking his territory when he grips your waist to pull your hips toward his, making you let out a shy, startled squeak, scolding him ever so slightly with your bright doe eyes.

He’s certainly not marking his territory when he ignores your cute warning and wraps his hand around your hair to pull your head back, sealing his lips with yours in a deep, sensual kiss, hidden by the darkness of the club — but not hidden enough that damned Bloody Ben doesn’t see you both.

Aemond isn’t marking his territory.

He’s just holding on to what’s always been his, and nothing and no one could ruin that. Not even Aemond himself.

To hell with Bloody Ben.

[usedtobecooler]

the sinclairs' new neighbour arrives out of the blue on a random friday night in may and subsequently becomes the object of eddie munson's desires.

tw: explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni. virgin!eddie, oral male receiving, eddie's pov. pathetic amounts of pining. no use of y/n.

you've been around after every hellfire meeting for a month now, waiting with legs crossed and swinging from a fold-out table as you sit patiently for them to wrap it up, and fuck if you're not the most distracting thing eddie munson has ever laid eyes on.

you join in on the end-of-game conversations every week, a genuine little interest in the lilt of your voice as you ask questions and join in with the banter, which usually consisted of ribbing mike wheeler for being a little shit.

and, eddie's not dumb, okay? he knows you're only here because you're picking up the sinclair siblings every week, taking a bit of the load off steve harrington, who's been designated chauffeur for a year now, much to his own dismay.

but, sometimes, he thinks you maybe like being here and spending late friday evenings in their presence. and it's a nice little delusion for eddie to live in until he's home and safely tucked under his sheets, thinking of your cute laugh and your flirty smile when he slides a hand under his sleep shorts.

he's only a man. a pervert of a man, absolutely. but he'll feed into his delusions and feed into his daydreams, because it's not hurting anybody but himself in the confines of his room.

things are shadowy and hazy this particular friday, and eddie sure as shit is not on his game. he's stuttering and fumbling over his words, which wheeler is using to his advantage like the dickhead he is, mocking eddie with every fuck up with that stupid fucking face he makes.

eddie calls it a day earlier than usual because his head just isn't in the game damnit, and henderson claps him on the back on his way out, giving him this sincere smile which eddie kind of hates because dustin usually takes every opportunity to add himself into their shithead-ery.

oh god, he was worse than he thought. he needs to hang his hat up and give his job over to zombie boy byers immediately.

eddie doesn't get out of his head quick enough to realise that harrington arrived and left with all of the kids in tow, the sinclairs included.

so when you arrive at the door a half hour later, a confused look on your face, eddie's face fucking falls.

"damn, did harrington want his old job back that badly he kidnapped my kids?" you laugh quietly, all sincerity and jokes as you look around the empty room, eyes landing on eddie with a sparkle.

"it's my fault, i let everybody go early and i-" eddie groans, putting his hands on his hips then dropping them to his sides, "i didn't think. sorry, sweetheart."

sweetheart. why'd he fucking say that? someone needs to get the shotgun and put him down like old yeller.

eddie makes himself busy by packing away all his stuff, pointedly not looking in your direction because he's an idiot piece of shit, and who knows what other mess will come out of his mouth if he keeps letting himself look at you.

"you seem stressed, eddie," you observe quietly, a statement. you cross your arms behind your back, fingertips linking together, "is there anything i can do to help?"

eddie lets out this little self-deprecating laugh, a mirthless smile on his features, "unless you stop showing up here, no, there's nothing you can do."

a hurt look flashes across your face momentarily before it disappears again, masked over with a confused furrow of your brows, "oh. i'm sorry, have i done something wrong?"

eddie's fucking this up. he's a fucking idiot, who apparently can't talk to any girl who isn't ronnie or little erica sinclair.

"just, y'know, consuming my brain so much that i can't focus on anything else lately, so." eddie admits, deflated as he slumps into his chair and rolls his neck until he's looking up at the ceiling. his throat clicks audibly, dry and scratchy.

"oh." you say again, a relieved sigh escaping you as you kick a leg out to bash his shin lightly with the toe of your boot, "why didn't you say something? that's- that's okay. lucas kind of figured, he told me your moon eyes were annoying him."

eddie's kicking them all out. hellfire will be no more. he's sick of these damn kids.

he covers his face with his hands, rubbing against his two day stubble with calloused fingertips. a useless groan escaping him, "sorry, i wasn't trying to be obvious. girls don't. hmm."

eddie stops himself with a grunt, trying to narrowly escape the word vomit that threatens to spill out. he's nervously jiggling his leg, the chains on his jeans clattering together obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet room.

he feels your presence enter his orbit, the soft press of your hand on his knee stopping the motion of his jerky leg.

"don't be so nervous," you scold playfully, voice light like you're trying to hide a smile, "i'm not anybody to be nervous around. i like that you noticed me, that i'm somebody you're interested in."

eddie's hands fall away from his face at that, and he blinks blearily, head lolling until he catches sight of you crouched down in front of him, staring up with these gorgeous eyes that eddie just wants to get lost in.

"really?" he asks dumbly, brain short-circuiting at the sight of you knelt down like this in front of him, his stupid mind wandering into filthy territory.

"really." you nod, smiling up at him with this thousand-watt thing that he's sure could power the whole of hawkins, "i'm interested, too. in case i wasn't being obvious enough by hanging around here willingly every week."

you weren't obvious at all. not at all. or maybe you were and eddie's just a fucking moron.

"can i help relieve some of that stress now?" you ask, head tilted to the side in question, "i'm only down here anyway."

eddie's brain melts out of his ears, he's pretty sure. his tombstone is sure to say here lies eddie munson, killed by the insinuation of a blowjob.

"oh, you don't have to- you really don't have to, ha, your hands are on me, fuck-"

the conversation kind of fades out after that, and you're all action dropping from your deep squat to thud your knees against the floor softly.

and you're so pretty on your knees for him, eyelashes fluttering across the apples of your cheeks that are flushed and warm. eddie practically melts into his chair as you paw at his jeans, fluid motions and featherlight touches like you've done this before, and god he doesn't want to think about that right now, that you've done this for other guys before him. not when you're laid out below him and nudging in between his spread legs with pursed lips, spitting over the flushed head of his dick to dampen it further.

"you should- you should know i've never done this bef- fuck, fuck," eddie stutters over his words, fingers clawing into the arms of the chair when you begin mouthing hot and wet over the leaking slit that continues weeping pathetically with every lave of your tongue.

he tried, okay? he tried to tell you, but he's a weak man and - and you're fucking looking at him with these pretty, knowing eyes like you had a clue from the beginning, and fuck was it really that obvious?

he clenches his eyes shut, trying to will away the images of a neon sign over his head that scream eddie munson, adult virgin.

you start off slow and savouring, lapping at him with these kitten licks and mouthing down the bulging vein on the underside. eddie thinks he's delirious, because he's surely imagining the way you're inhaling the musky scent of him, moaning prettily as you do.

"mm, fuck," eddie groans quietly, hips shakily punching up when you finally sink down over the head of his cock properly with your lips wrapped tightly around your teeth, the wet heat of your mouth enveloping him in a way that makes him feel fucking insane.

he didn't know it would feel like this. his brain is gonna explode, scanners style.

your hand reaches blindly for his, guiding his fingers to slide into your hair, and his eyes fly open to meet yours, a pretty haze covering your orbs as you nod slightly to give him the go-ahead to curl his fingers.

"ha, you're gonna fucking kill me," eddie murmurs, but he's gently pulling ever so slightly from the root at the base of your skull, because he may be a virgin but he's not fucking clueless, right? he's read enough skin mags to know how to pull hair properly.

you whimper high pitched and your eyes finally flutter closed, letting eddie move you up and down with his firm hand as you alternate between sucking and drooling all over his length.

he's aware that he's looking at you like he's in love, okay? he can't help it. you're literally sucking the soul out of him, moaning around his girth and running your tongue over him like he's the best thing you've ever tasted. like he said before, he's weak.

"you- you're so good at this, oh my god," eddie's eyes roll back into his head when your free hand runs from where it's gripping the meat of his thigh to slide between his obscenely wide legs and cup his balls, rolling and squeezing them between your fingers.

the room is filled with the whining, high-pitched noises that eddie's really trying his best to hold in at risk of sounding like an absolutely pitiful virgin, and the wet noises of your mouth working over his cock, the slick slide of your fist jerking off what you can't quite reach.

eddie's stomach clenches, and holy fuck this is over too quick, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed because, because-

"i'm coming, you're making me come, holy fuck-" eddie's words die with a groan that sounds breathy and pathetic even in his own ears, his fingers burying so tight in your hair and pulling as he arches in on himself and jerks his hips in aborted little thrusts. he feels the plush of your lips brush against the wild, untamed curls at the base of his cock and he lets out a weak grunt, feels his length throb and spurt out another weak dribble of come at the sensation.

he's so delirious when he finally comes to that he's all but dragging you up from where your knees have to be aching on the floor, dragging you into his lap, and fuck sake his soft cock is still out and covered in spit and come and-

your mouth is on his in a hot press of lips and teeth and tongue, eddie's so out of his element here but the taste of his own spend on your tongue is as addictive as it is mildly disgusting.

"you got a mattress in the back of that van of yours?" you mumble between kisses, smiling into it.

"mhm, yup, a-ha," eddie nods wildly as he chases your mouth with his own, "i think i need some more stress relief. i hear burying your face between a pretty things legs helps."

eddie definitely does feel like he's dying when your thighs wrap around his ears and lock him in face-first.

and what a way to go that is.

[evie-sturns]

missed you - Chris Sturniolo

summary: where you see your boyfriend for the first time in 3 weeks, all you want is his dick.

contains: cockwarming, fluff, swearing, nsfw

——————————————————————————

chris and i have been together for over a year, now that his career is getting busy he takes regular work trips with his brothers, leaving me alone for a couple of weeks.

today is the day where chris finally comes home after 3 weeks, and god have i needed him.

i lay back on chris and i’s shared bed, scrolling aimlessly through instagram as my eyes repeatedly flick up towards the time.

my mind starts to wonder, since chris and i haven’t had sex in 3 weeks i can barely imagine the thinks we are going to get up to.

it turns me on just thinking about it, i don’t even realise the fact i’m squeezing my thighs together desperately. i feel a familiar heat grow between my legs as i let out a sexually frustrated sigh.

click

the door to our house unlocks with a faint click, i shoot up in bed and sprint for the door handle

i swing it open and run down the corridor where chris is standing,

“chris!” i squeal before jumping into his large arms, he lets out a small laugh before wrapping his arms around me,

“i missed you so much baby!” chris smiles before placing me back down on my feet.

“how was it!!” i smile widely, grabbing chris’s hand, desperate for some sort of touch of his.

“mmm, not great” chris hums, dragging his bag towards our room,

“i’m sorry to hear that chris, i have a lot to tell you though..” i say with a small jump.

“do you now?” chris teases, i nod my head with a ‘mhm’

i open the door to our room, “it’s so clean in here.” chris states while rubbing his eyes.

“just for you” i say rubbing my shoulder on him,

“you’re so corny.” he scoffs, chucking his bag in the wardrobe and tossing his shirt along with it, leaving him in just his sweatpants and a red cap.

i jump into bed, the thin fabric of my pyjamas press against my cold skin as i tug the covers up over me.

chris sets himself down on his desk chair, he pulls off his hat with a small sigh before powering his computer up.

i observe as he clicks through the various files on his computer before settling on the one which has all the footage that he filmed this month,

“chris..” i whine quietly,

“yeah?” he turns back to look at me,

“how long is that ‘gonna take you.” i pout,

“about… an hour? maybe.” he replies with a small nod.

i run my hands over my face with a big sig,

“what’s wrong gorgeous girl.” chris smiles,

“i don’t know- ‘m just need you.” i say shyly, chris nods understandably

“need me like how?” he asks, he knows what i mean but his constant need to tease me is taking over.

“need you to touch me.. or something.” i whisper, avoiding all eye contact with chris.

chris stays silent, wanting a better response out of me.

i exhale loudly with a small smile, “i want you.. your dick.”

chris stands up and walks over to me, his large frame leans over the bed as he looks down at me,

“is that so?” he says softly, i nod.

he sits down in bed beside me, his back presses against the headboard as he sits next to me.

“c’mon up.” chris grins, i let the covers fall off of my body as i sit up in bed,

i swing my legs over chris and straddle him, my clothed cunt pressing against his bulge.

“you gotta tell me what you want princess.” he says, looking into my eyes.

“i want to feel you.. inside of me.” i say, “there she is.” chris chuckles.

he tugs down his sweatpants to his mid thighs, his erection springs out as i look at it very obviously

i hover off of chris’s lap for a second to pull my small shorts off, discarding them in the corner.

“you’re so pretty.” chris whispers, i get flustered easily, “stop it chris.” i giggle.

chris wraps a hand around his length, pumping a few times slowly, almost as though he was waiting for me to do something myself.

i take his length into my hands as chris shuffles his back further up the headboard of our bed, sitting him up properly.

i hover up above chris’s tip as i attempt to line his pink tip up with my slit.

“you need some help there?” he asks, i nod, sinking my top teeth into my bottom lip.

he lays his large hands on my waist before pressing me down onto his length.

in the 3 weeks we’ve been apart i haven’t touched myself, it’s not the same without chris. meaning that i’m no longer used to chris’s size at all.

i let out a pathetic whimper as i look into chris’s eyes.

“you’re okay, just gonna give you a little bit at a time yeah?” chris says, all i can do is nod in response.

he lets me sink down further onto him, i feel him slowly getting deeper.

“oh chris- fuck.” i wince from the stretch. chris presses a quick kiss to my lips, “you’re okay, i promise baby.”

“you’re so tight aren’t you.” he whispers into my hair before bottoming out.

i sit fully down on his dick, feeling his tip rest on my cervix.

“w-why does it hurt.” i breathe out with a small laugh,

“you’re just not used to it, ya think?” he smiles, pressing another kiss to my swollen lips.

“yeah, i think so.”

“you wanna just sit here, try something new?” he asks, keeping his blue eyes fixed on mine.

i nod eagerly, letting my head fall towards onto his boney shoulder.

i adjust to his size slowly, chris wraps his arms around my back as he holds me close to him.

“feeling okay?” he whispers, i nod

the sensation of chris so deep inside of me, filling me completely to the brim is driving me crazy. i never want to move from this position.

“this feels.. so good chris.” i sigh, chris lets out a small laugh before pressing a kiss to my cheek.

i sit back up on his lap, earning a groan from chris’s pink lips.

“you like sitting on my cock don’t you?” he teases, reaching one of his large hands up and cupping my jaw, he presses a thumb into my mouth and rests its against his tongue.

i swirl my tongue around his thumb with a smile, “mhm!” i reply eagerly.

i lean back slightly and rest my hands against chris’s thighs from behind me,

“oh fuck-“ chris almost gasps, he reaches out his hand and rubs my lower stomach.

i look down and see a clear stomach bulge, i clench around chris just from the sight.

my eyes widen as i shift around on his lap, my clit rubs against the skin above his dick

the stomach bulge moves around with each of my movements. chris throws his head back against the headboard messily, “fuck you squeeze me so well.”

i let out a loud moan of his name as i repeatedly rut my hips, brushing my clit against his pelvis.

“i’m right here, you got it.” he praises, i clench around his dick and feel the knot in my stomach snap.

all pleasure washes over me, i feel myself release on his length as my cheeks flush.

“oh gosh-“ i pant, letting my head fall onto his boney collarbone.

i feel chris quickly thrust up into me desperately, i let out a small gasp from overstimulation.

“i’m sorry-“ he breathes before thrusting once more, he released inside of me as his hands find my way to my hips,

i feel him coat my insides with a loud whimper,

the only sound in the hot room are our pants, recovering from.. that.

i sit back up and go to pull off of him, “n-no.” chris stutters, grabbing my waist and pushing me back down onto his dick

“chris.. i need to go to get water.” i protest with a cheeky smile,

“no.. i want you to stay here on me.” chris laughs slightly.

“hmm…” i hum,

“please..?” chris whines, looking at me with with pouting lips.

“okay.” i give in, chris lays down onto the bed.

i lay down onto his body, him still buried inside of me, filling me perfectly.

he wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss to my forehead.

"you are so needy" i sigh with a small laugh,

"i mean you do keep giving me what i need.." he teases back

—————

@gabrielle-brun1 @ilovemymannnnnnnn @sturnioloxlver @buckys-goodgirl @sturniol0s @mattybsgf @stupid4sturniolo @lydi2718 @chrisstopherfilmed2 @flosslikeabosss @zturndq @skysturniolo @jetaimevous @sturniolo04 @luxy-nyx @aliceloveschris @livvy4realll @chrissturnsss @ilovemymannnnnnnn @chr1sgirl4life @luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae@sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs @riowritesitall

[slxttybrbie]

BED TIME Cw: smut mdni, college student!reader, dilf!nanami, reader's a babysitter

The apartment is spotless, warm-toned and quiet, except for the low hum of a lullaby playing from the nightlight in the bedroom. You ease the door closed after tucking in Nanami's daughter, who—despite some initial shyness—took to you quickly. A few bedtime stories, a glass of warm milk, and a silly little song you made up on the spot, and she was out.

You sink into the couch and exhale. Babysitting wasn’t your first choice, but between school, rent, and the laughable pay at your campus job, you were desperate. When you saw the ad—“Evening babysitter needed. One child. Quiet home. Good pay”—you jumped.

And the man who interviewed you? Intimidating. Broad-shouldered. Polished in a suit and tie with that deep, thoughtful voice. He barely looked at you during the interview, only nodded at your qualifications and said, "You're hired."

Professional. Cold.

Which is why it throws you completely off when the front door opens, and Nanami steps in looking... not that.

He’s in his usual suit, yes, but the tie is loose. The first two buttons undone. His blond hair slightly mussed. And when he takes off his glasses to clean them with the hem of his shirt—revealing sharp eyes and tired shadows beneath—you feel something unfamiliar ripple through you.

Want.

"You're still here," he says, his voice deep and low, a little softer than usual. "Thank you."

You blink and stand quickly, grabbing your bag. "Of course. She was great. Went right to sleep. I was just about to head out."

"You hungry?"

You stop. "What?"

He walks toward the kitchen, rolling his sleeves up. His forearms—strong, veiny, dusted with light hair—catch your attention more than they should.

"I figured I’d make something quick. Nothing fancy, just pasta. You’re welcome to stay."

You hesitate.

But your stomach growls, and his gaze flicks down to your abdomen for a fraction of a second before he turns and opens a cabinet.

"...Sure. I guess I could eat."

Dinner smells like garlic and fresh basil. The kitchen is dimly lit, cozy. You sit on a stool at the counter while he moves with practiced ease. He's quiet, but not cold. More... observant. The kind of silence that watches.

“You’re in college?” he asks as he sets a plate in front of you.

You nod. "Second year. Double major."

He hums. "Ambitious."

You smile a little, feeling warm. "Trying to be."

Halfway through the meal, the conversation softens. You talk about your classes, about his work (he’s vague), about the city. But every time your eyes meet, the air feels heavier.

You excuse yourself to the sink, rinsing your plate. His comes next to yours a second later. He’s behind you—close. You can feel the heat radiating from his chest.

Then, quietly: "You shouldn’t wear shorts that small around me."

Your breath catches.

You look down at your legs. They’re modest enough. Mostly. But now you feel the burn of his gaze against the backs of your thighs.

"I—"

"Don’t worry," he cuts in. "I’ll pretend I haven’t been looking."

He steps closer, his hand bracing against the counter beside your waist. You turn your head and he's right there, his mouth inches from your ear.

"Unless... you don’t want me to pretend."

You swallow hard. "I don’t."

He exhales like he’s been holding back for hours. The next second, your back hits the counter, and his lips are on yours—hungry, restrained but crumbling. His tongue slides against yours, and the low groan he lets out makes your knees weak.

He lifts you onto the counter with ease, spreading your thighs. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your ass, one slipping under your shirt and tracing up your spine.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he mutters, kissing down your neck. "Coming here smelling all sweet, looking like temptation in a tank top and too-short shorts."

Your fingers clutch his dress shirt. You’re dizzy from the kiss, from the tension finally snapping.

"I didn’t mean to," you whisper.

He chuckles darkly. "Doesn’t matter. I’m done pretending."

His hand slips beneath your waistband, fingers brushing over your panties. You’re soaked—shamefully so.

"So wet already," he murmurs, pushing the fabric aside. "You were waiting for this."

Your head falls back as he circles your clit, slow and deliberate.

"Tell me if you want to stop," he breathes against your ear.

"Don’t stop," you plead.

His mouth crushes yours again. Fingers pumping into you—slow, then faster. Curling just right. You moan into his mouth and he swallows every sound.

"Such a good girl," he pants. "Letting me do this. Letting me touch what no one else has."

Your orgasm hits hard—embarrassingly fast—but he doesn’t stop. He draws it out, fingers still working you as he kisses the tears from the corners of your eyes.

"You can take more," he says. "You’re gonna take all of me."

And you want it. You want all of him.

Even if it’s wrong. Even if you’re never just the babysitter again.

ꨄ︎slxttybrbie | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

[M.list]

[floralpools]

Guard Dog

Warnings: Part one of two (is smut), stalkerish lol, fluff, mentions of death, mutual pining

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x you

Summary: Set after joining Alexandria, Daryl's overtly having issues settling in, and even more problems leaving you alone.

Word count: 1.8k

...

You and Daryl have known each other for years. Through thick and thin, your found-family has each other's backs. But your group has been wearing thin. From Beth to Tyreese, now in Alexandria, a strange and new environment— it's safe to say, Daryl’s been on edge. He was losing his nerve, and that somehow entailed keeping you close, very close.

Every and any second you're alone, he appears, determined to invade your space, and it's becoming difficult to keep your feelings at bay, because you’ve been in love with him since your time at the prison. Even then, when shit hit the fan, he raced to get you out. Though you feared your affections for him made such a delusion — one that posed he would think to save you first— his recent clingy behaviour has made you believe in said delusion.

Today, he's back at it. You’re alone gathering food for dinner, for less than 10 minutes, before he marches into the garage. Bearing in mind that he has no reason to be here, and spent most of his time hidden from the locals, his appearance would be considered unusual.

You let Daryl silently stand there, patrolling the entrance for a few seconds, till your heart gives out.

“Is something the matter?” You utter, shifting your eyes to his dark ones, and they snap to you, slightly taken aback. “Nothin,” is all he grumbles before looking outwards to your surroundings, observing and scanning like the hunter he is.

“Daryl, we’ve been here for weeks," huffing, "we’re alive, and well,” you state, swallowing quietly. “You can relax you know.” You turn to lift a basket of supplies. When heading for the exit, Daryl swiftly steps in front of you.

“I ain’t doin' nothin' but standing,” he rumbles defensively.

“Standing in front of me, might I add,” you retort, smiling, trying to ease the strange tension, but his face remains stoic. Daryl stares directly into you, and a shiver rolls down your spine. His intense gaze doesn’t last long, as he chooses to walk off without a goodbye. Your shoulders instantly deflate, and you exhale, closing your eyes.

“Now what was that?” Sasha’s voice makes you flinch, popping your eyes open to peer at her. “You tell me,” you sigh and she laughs.

“I’ll be damned if I ever try to read that caveman's mind,” she grins, “You're better off leaving that question for Carol.” Her smirk tells a different story, one that says she knows something more, and you can’t help the second shiver that racks through your body.

...

Desperate to figure out Dixon, you go to Carol’s, asking for her assistance with dinner as a cover.

As you both cook, it takes little time for her to notice your incessant gawking. She pronounces your name, and your eyes snap back to the sizzling food. “Cmon, you can talk to me,” she assures.

When you decidedly stay hushed, she releases a sigh that eases into a snicker. “You should speak soon before Daryl finds us, or you, rather,” she mentions, attempting to contain her humour. You spin to face her. “What do you mean by that?” You question far too quickly, that the words practically jumble together. “Exactly what it seems,” she smiles pleasantly, ignoring your eager tone. “You’ve got yourself a lifelong, loyal guard dog.”

“Why? I mean, Daryl’s protective of everybody? But why does he only follow me?” You ramble, “Doesn’t he trust me to not end up dead, in a friendly, gated community?” You pout and Carol laughs again.

“That isn’t quite why,” she dwindles.

“Please just spell it out for me, I can't take it anymore.” Now square to her, you drop the stirring utensil, and tug your apron over your head. She watches you move, absorbed in her thoughts, as you jump to sit on the edge of the kitchen island. “He’s making you uncomfortable?” She asks warily.

“Yes,” you pause, “and no.” Your head lowers in embarrassment.

After a moment, you look at Carol, while she refocuses on adding more ingredients, to the dish you abandoned. “Why does he do it?”

Her moving actions falter, and she pivots to face you. “It isn’t for me to say, but being around you, knowing you’re safe, clearly calms him." Though you don’t truly get it, you nod slowly so Carol goes back to finishing the meal.

Just as she puts meat in the oven, Daryl waltzes through the door, without so much as knocking or giving some sort of warning. You yelp when you spot him. When you lock eyes, you refuse to hold it, so you turn your head over your shoulder quickly, with a grimace, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Daryl.

“What? Somethin' happen?” His hoarse voice sounds almost panicked. As you swivel your neck to soothe Daryl’s unnecessary worry with a "No," he suddenly grips your wrist, far too roughly. You squeak as he grabs your full attention.

You assess how he stands motionless in front of your knees, eyes widened, regarding his hand as it holds your wrist. He looks kind of appalled, as if he couldn’t believe he touched you. He then briskly lets go of your arm, like it burned him, retracing into himself.

You gulp and your bottom lip trembles. 'Was he disgusted? Did he see you as a child? What had you done to warrant this behaviour?' You think anxiously.

You look between Carol and Daryl now, as they share a lengthy stare. You swear under your breath, then push Daryl's chest with your fists, shocking both of them.

“I’m leaving, do not, follow me.” You order, with a vexed, yet hurt look. His mouth gaps with a soundless word, and you leave.

...

Sitting alone in your home, your empty stomach growls, and you start to seriously regret what you did earlier, which left you too ashamed to stay for dinner.

As your thoughts run wild, a quiet knock at the door diminishes them. You stay still, almost wondering if the noise is no more than a tree branch, moved by wind, but he bellows your name.

"Daryl?" You respond, and his voice simply calls your name again, almost like a plea. You turn the lock and knob, opening to find Daryl, fidgeting on his feet uncomfortably at your doorstep. "Um, come in?" You allow meekly, and he enters, faintly brushing your side.

Picking up his musky, pine scent, you bite your lip examining him, slowly leaning back on the closing door. He looks around agitatedly, seeming completely out of place, and somewhat flustered.

Growing stiff, you can't bear the awkward silence for much longer.

"I'm sorry," you mumble an apology for something, you're not sure what, and clearly, neither is he. He whirls towards you, stepping into your space. "For what?"

"I was rude earlier and-"

"Not rude, just, confusing." He interjects, brows furrowing in tune with his sentence. You scowl, "Well, if I'm being honest, I wouldn't say I'm the 'confusing' one here." Your remark reminds you of your previous feelings, and they bubble to the surface.

When he says nothing, you continue. "I'm safe here Daryl, and pretty happy, all things considered," you breathe out in exasperation. "Is there some danger that I should know of? Is someone here out to get me?"

"No-"

"So why do you keep chasing me around?" You just about shout, interrupting him. Daryl flinches and looks as though he wants to be anywhere but here, with you. He fixates on the door behind you. "I ain't doin' nothin-"

"Daryl! Please just," you cut yourself short as your voice escalates. "Please be honest with me, after everything we've been through, you owe me that," you beg.

His tense frame withers in defeat. "I just can't leave your side," he grumbles, his words barely understandable. "Why?"

"Don't wanna lose ya," Daryl's voice trails off as his head wheels to the side. "You won't, and I can take care of myself, just like the others, who you don't follow around." You fail to hide your ignominy, visibly disappointed that he believes you need special attention, over the rest of the group. "Can't," he mumbles.

"'Can't' what?" You inquire, now stepping into his space, voice rising.

"I can't, 'cause I don' wanna lose you," he exclaims again in a burst. Your face twists further in ignorance. "Christ woman," he runs his hand down his tormented expression. "Daryl, please stop dancing around what you mean." You cry out, "'Lose me?' Tell me what you mea-"

Abruptly, he grips your shoulders. "I want ya." He states, baring his teeth as if it were a threat. "I want you, I want you to live."

"You 'want' me... To live...?" You ask slowly and his eyes roll back in frustration. "No, not just to live-"

"Because I love you," you blurt and immediately try to pry your shoulders from his clutch. He stills with you firmly in his grasp, so close that his nose nearly grazes yours. His hold increases its strength, and he shakes his head to himself, seemingly battling his own thoughts. "Daryl?" You whisper.

"How can you?" He utters so quietly it's barely audible, so quiet you don't think he expected to say it out loud.

While his eyes squeeze shut, you snake your arms around his waist, and his entire build clamps up. Now afraid of a possible rejection, you loosen your embrace. But his hands move from your shoulders to your upper back, arms drawing you to him, fully caging you in. You take in his broad chest as it presses against your less impressive one. Your fingers seize his leather vest, aching to know how it feels in your palms.

His heavy breathing fans your nape, and you swear he sniffs your hair, as his nose and scruff tickle the skin behind your ear. His fingertips tease the ends of your hair, and you take this as an opportunity to breathe him in. Just as you do, he pulls away, moving you to an arm's length. You blush.

"Sorry," he mutters and your brows crease. "I smell bad, I know," he murmurs and goes fairly red himself. "I don't mind," you say sweetly with a smile, ignoring the urge to tell him you like it.

Finally getting a chance to gaze into his eyes properly. You virtually melt when his pupils appear glassy. You've only seen him cry once, after losing Beth. 'So would he really be brought to tears over a confession? From you no less?'

"Daryl?" He peeks up from behind his fringe. "Do you 'want' me, or like me, like I like you?" You ask, trying to minimize the pressure he may feel to admit any feelings, but you so desperately want to know —how desperately you want him to hold you again.

"Both," he rasps.

You nod and smile sheepishly, "I can work with that."

When a comfortable silence envelops the room, your stomach growls loudly. A modest smile takes shape on Daryl's face. "I put some food aside for you, back at Carol's." He emits, gesturing to the door behind you, wordlessly asking you to go over there, with him. You nod a yes and your heart pounds, swooning at his thoughtfulness. "Thank you."

You reach your hand out, and he very hesitantly holds it, after wiping his twice down his thigh. You beam, heading out the door.

Part two

[theballadofharkness]

Housewarming

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Summary: At your housewarming party, Agatha becomes overtaken with jealousy when she overhears Jen and Alice talking about how they wished it was them welcoming you into their home, not her.

Word Count: 2.3K

The cottage was buzzing with activity. Boxes were stacked high, the soft hum of chatter filling the air as Jen, Alice, Lilia, and Billy all pitched in to help you move into Agatha’s home. It wasn’t a huge house, but it felt like a world of its own, tucked away from the chaos of the outside world. It was warm, welcoming, and full of the kind of magic that only Agatha Harkness could bring. And now, it was even more of a home with you in it.

Agatha was lounging in the kitchen, a glass of wine in hand, while Billy sat at the counter, animatedly talking about his boyfriend’s latest driving test failure. He was always full of energy, and Agatha let him carry the conversation. For the most part, she was content to listen, her attention drifting from him to you. You were in the living room with Lilia, talking about her newest leggings designs, the quirky side hustle she’d been building. Your laughter rang out in the space, warm and infectious, and Agatha felt something stir in her chest every time she heard it.

It had been a few years now that you and Agatha had been together. You’d been through a lot—dark spells, moments of chaos, and quiet days tucked away in this very house, but now, with you officially moving in, Agatha was feeling a kind of protectiveness she hadn’t quite anticipated. Her feelings for you had always been intense, but living with you was a whole new experience. It made everything feel more real.

Billy’s voice cut through her thoughts. "…and then he showed up at my place holding the steering wheel in his hands, I’m still processing it, but you know how he is!"

Agatha couldn’t help but chuckle. Billy was a ball of energy, and she did enjoy his stories, but she was distracted now. Her eyes flicked back to you. You were sitting on the couch, legs tucked underneath you, looking utterly at ease with Lilia as they shared a laugh over some joke Agatha didn’t catch. You looked so at home here, and that feeling both thrilled her and made her want to keep you close.

Then she heard Jen’s voice from across the room. She had been sitting with Alice, both of them sipping wine and quietly observing the chaos of the move. Jen’s words made Agatha freeze, her grip tightening around her glass.

"She’s absolutely stunning, though, right?" Jen said, her voice light and teasing. "I mean, when I first met her, I thought for sure she was going to be this… intimidating figure, like one of those powerful, unapproachable types. But no, she’s just so sweet and… beautiful."

"Yeah, she’s gorgeous," Alice agreed, the admiration evident in her tone. "And honestly, I don’t get it. How does Agatha, the witch killer, land someone like her? Surely, she’s going to end up walking away one day. I mean, how could she not?”

Jen let out a soft laugh, but there was an edge to it, a kind of flirtation that made Agatha’s blood boil. "When I first met her, I’ll admit it… I was a little jealous. I wanted her all to myself. I could just tell she had that something."

"Same," Alice admitted, her voice light and casual, but Agatha caught the undercurrent of truth in her words. "I was actually thinking about asking for her number, you know? She’s just so easy to be around. But I didn’t. I figured it was too obvious. The way she looks at Agatha, it’s… different."

The words hit Agatha like a slap. She’s mine, she thought, her teeth clenching involuntarily. That sharp, possessive instinct surged inside her, mixing with the jealousy she didn’t like to admit was there. She wasn’t used to feeling like this—this insecure, this vulnerable. It unsettled her.

Her gaze snapped back to you. You were sitting on the couch, still talking to Lilia, completely unaware of the conversation happening behind your back. Agatha’s mind raced with thoughts of you and what Jen and Alice had said. The idea that someone else—anyone else—could want you, that they could see the same softness in you that she did, made her blood run cold. She had to remind herself. You’re hers.

She wasn’t going to stand here listening to this. Not when they were talking about you like that, like they could take you away from her. Agatha stood abruptly, cutting Billy off mid-sentence, her glass of wine abandoned on the counter. Without sparing a second glance at the group, she moved across the room, her steps purposeful, every inch of her body radiating a quiet intensity.

Billy looked up, but Agatha was already gone.

When she reached you, she found you laughing at something Lilia had just said. She paused for a brief moment, just watching you. You were so effortlessly beautiful, so completely hers, and the thought of someone else seeing you the way she did made her chest tighten with that possessive ache.

Without a word, Agatha moved closer, her presence almost overwhelming as she slid onto the couch beside you. She pulled you toward her with a firm but gentle hand on your waist, guiding you into her space. You blinked in surprise, but before you could say anything, her lips were on yours—firm, insistent, but not rough. It was a kiss meant to remind, to claim.

You gasped softly at the sudden intensity, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you kissed her back, meeting her fervour with your own, even as her arms wrapped around you in a hold that felt possessive, protective. Her lips moved against yours, her hands threading through your hair, pulling you impossibly closer.

When she pulled away just enough to speak, her voice was low and thick with emotion. "You’re mine," she whispered, her forehead resting against yours, her breath shaky. "Don’t forget that."

You were breathless, but you didn’t mind. There was something intoxicating about the way she kissed you, something raw, and you could feel the tension inside her—the need to mark you as hers.

"Agatha," you said softly, your hands reaching up to cradle her face, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. "I’m yours. I always have been. No one else matters."

She sighed, a slow, almost contented exhale, her fingers brushing the side of your face as she gently cupped your cheek. Her eyes were softer now, but the intensity didn’t leave them. "I just had to remind myself," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "It’s just… hard sometimes."

You smiled, your thumb brushing her jaw as you gazed at her, loving the vulnerability she rarely showed. "You don’t need to worry," you said, your voice light but earnest. "I’m not going anywhere, Agatha. I love you." you breathed, your body stilling for a moment as Agatha settled you in, her fingers tracing small patterns along your arm.

"Agatha?" you asked, a soft question in your voice, though you didn’t pull away. You had learned by now that Agatha’s moods could shift quickly, but you knew it wasn’t ever about you. It was always a storm within her that needed quieting.”Are you okay?”

She leaned down, her lips brushing lightly against your ear as she spoke, her voice low but filled with affection. "I just needed to remind myself that you're here. You're mine."

Your breath caught in your throat, the sweetness of her words filling you with warmth. Agatha’s possessiveness was rarely explicit, but when it surfaced like this, it felt like a declaration. You turned your head to meet her eyes, soft and sincere.

"I’m yours," you whispered, your fingers reaching up to gently trace her cheek, feeling the subtle tension in her. "I’m not going anywhere, Agatha. My box of stuffed animals in our hallway are here to prove it” you teased.

She exhaled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing a little as she let her head rest against yours, her lips brushing against the side of your face in a tender, almost apologetic kiss.

"I know," she murmured. "I just… sometimes, it feels like I might lose you. Like someone else could…"

"Agatha," you interrupted softly, cupping her face in both your hands, pulling her attention to you fully. "You won’t lose me. Ever."

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words settle in, her hands moving to rest on your waist, pulling you a little closer. She didn’t say anything, just held you there in the silence, the warmth of your presence enough to calm the storm inside her.

Lilia, who had been watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow, finally spoke, her voice teasing but kind. "You two really are a sight, you know that? The way Agatha’s got you wrapped around her finger… she’s got the softest heart, when she lets it show."

Agatha rolled her eyes, though there was a hint of affection in the gesture. "Oh, stop. I’m just making sure everyone knows where they stand," she said, her fingers lightly brushing through your hair as if to emphasise her point.

You laughed softly, the sound light and easy, as you leaned in to kiss her gently on the lips. "I know where I stand," you whispered, your lips brushing against hers. "I stand with you."

Agatha’s hand slid down to rest on your lower back, the possessive streak never fully leaving her, but now tempered by the softness of the moment. She kissed you back, just as gently, a quiet promise between you two that no one else needed to hear.

"Good," Agatha said, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, her voice steady again. "Because you’re mine. And I’m not going to let anyone forget it."

Lilia snorted from across the room, clearly amused by the exchange, but she didn’t press the point any further. Billy, too, had caught wind of the moment and gave Agatha a playful wink.

"Alright, alright, you two. Enough of the lovey-dovey stuff," Billy called out, his grin wide. "Come on, let’s crack open that bottle of wine, yeah?"

Agatha, still holding you close, let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief, though her fingers lingered possessively on your back. "Oh no, I’m not allowing the designated driver to get drunk," she said, her tone still a bit teasing. "You need to get these women home so I can give my girl a real housewarming."

You flushed red, leaning into her embrace, feeling the softness of the moment between you. "Save the bottle, we can have it in bed," you murmured, Agatha’s eyes glinting with desire, her lips curving into a smile. You kissed her again, this time a little slower, a little sweeter. And Agatha, for all her usual fire, melted into you.

“Well,” she announced, her voice unusually chipper but with a sharp edge that made the coven shift uneasily. “This has been lovely, but I’m afraid the party is over. Let’s wrap it up.”

A collective groan rippled through the group, led by Billy and Lilia, who exchanged knowing smirks.

“Come on, Agatha,” Billy teased, folding his arms. “The night’s still young! Surely we can—”

Lilia cut him off with a laugh, nudging his arm. “Oh, don’t bother, Billy. You know why she’s kicking us out.”

Agatha smirked at them, raising a brow. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.” Lilia gave you a wink. “Sure thing, Agatha.”

The group began gathering their things, murmuring and chuckling amongst themselves as they filed out the door. Agatha kept one arm loosely around your waist, her body language protective, as she nodded polite goodbyes.

Billy paused in the doorway, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Have fun, you two,” he said, earning a swat on the shoulder from Lilia as she dragged him out.

The last to leave was Jen, lingering near the threshold with her purse slung over her shoulder. Agatha pulled her into a hug, her hands pressing firmly against Jen’s back as she whispered in her ear.

“Listen closely,” Agatha murmured, her voice low and lethal. “If you ever try anything with her—anything at all—you’ll live to regret it. Understand?”

Jen stiffened in the embrace, her eyes darting nervously to you before nodding quickly. “I wasn’t— I wouldn’t,” she stammered.

“Good.” Agatha pulled back, her smile sharp and unyielding. “Have a safe trip home.”

Jen mumbled a hasty goodbye and practically scurried out the door, her nervous energy almost palpable. Agatha closed the door behind her, locking it with a flick of her wrist before turning to you. The room seemed to settle, the heavy atmosphere lifting as Agatha’s shoulders relaxed.

She leaned against the door, crossing her arms with a smug grin. “Well, that takes care of that.”

You laughed softly, walking over to her and wrapping your arms around her waist. “What did you say to Jen?”

“Oh, nothing important,” she said breezily, pulling you closer. Her grin softened into a fond smile as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Now, let’s focus on us, babygirl. Tonight’s all about you and me.”

“Upstairs. Now.” She ordered, swatting your ass playfully making you squeal as you ran upstairs, Agatha hot on your tail.

And just like that, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in the cozy warmth of your home.

A/N: So I’m thinking of making a part 2 to this including some possessive Agatha smut… let me know if that would be something you guys would be interested in 💜

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