#I had been wondering what to do with Singularity for a while now. It was my first ever villain and despite everything it means a lot to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scarletwinterxx · 22 days ago

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for tonight and forever - choi seungcheol imagine

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

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

PART TWO HERE

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

for my other svt fics, check them here

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

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nearly choke on your breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yah, you forgot your charger again!”

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

You blink. “How did you—?”

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

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

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

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

He smirks. “You love it.”

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

You hate everyone. Except maybe… not really.

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

He stiffens.

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

Exy raises one brow.

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

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

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

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

“I was in the area.”

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

“She likes them,” he mutters.

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

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

“She calls you a golden retriever.”

“Exactly.”

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

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Exy’s voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good with you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were watching them?”

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

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

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

“You mean polite?”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Her words, not mine.”

Exy eyes him. “Still just curious?”

“Completely,” he lies.

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

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

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

Seungcheol stiffens. “What?”

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

He stares. “Who?”

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

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

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

“Messaging?”

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

Seungcheol’s mouth opens, then closes.

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

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

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

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

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

Exy’s face does not help.

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

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

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

Exy is still grinning when the professor starts the lecture.

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “That’s gross.”

“He’s not wrong.”

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

“So… you and Youngho?”

You blink. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“She totally messed with you.”

“I wasn’t—she didn’t—”

“You thought I was flirting with Youngho?”

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

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

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

He glares at the pavement like it personally betrayed him.

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

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

You look at him sideways, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

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

Another day, another café.

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

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

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

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

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

You wave, catching Minhyun’s attention.

“Minhyun! We’re over here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Totally normal. Totally fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect, his ass.

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

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

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

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

Nothing like the way you talk to him.

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, sure,” you say, smiling.

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

Then it’s just you and him again.

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

You glance up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

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

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

“About?”

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

“What is?”

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

You blink. “Are you seriously—?”

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

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

He glares. “No. Gross.”

“Then what, exactly, is your problem?”

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

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

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

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

He scoffs, eyes wide. “I am not—”

You raise an eyebrow.

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

You hum, satisfied. “Sure, Cheol.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He freezes.

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

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

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

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

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

Seungcheol doesn’t look at him. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They win, of course.

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

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

Loud. Familiar.

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

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

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

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

And then—he lifts a hand.

“One…”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Two—”

It takes you half a second too long.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—”

You barely turn when he lunges.

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

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

“I swear—when I catch you—!”

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

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

“You loved it!”

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You called him baby boy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“CALL HIM BABY BOY FOR ME NEXT TIME!”

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

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

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

You don’t even blink.

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

“Because you counted down like a threat!”

“I was threatening you.”

You shrug. “Wasn’t very effective.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His jaw tightens. “They didn’t.”

“Okay, baby boy.”

“Yah—!”

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

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

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

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

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

“It was poisoned honey.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

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

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

“I heard that.”

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

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

He raises an eyebrow. “Thank God.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You spy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are friends for, baby girl?”

Your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The guy blinks, thrown off. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Thanks.”

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

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

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

“Even calling you baby boy in public?”

He groans. “Don’t push your luck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nice save,” you say quietly.

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

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

Comfortable, even.

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

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

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

“That’s exactly why I stepped in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “I’m sorry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance up, expression innocent. “What?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh, you definitely do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You kick him under the table. Lightly. Mostly.

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

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

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. It’s cute.”

You groan. “Minhyun, I swear—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“With Minhyun?”

“...Do you have a problem with that?”

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

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

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

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

Dead silence. Then a laugh “What?”

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

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

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

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

You’re still waiting on the other end.

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

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

Then, you say, “You’re ridiculous.”

He almost smiles. “Yeah.”

“And needy.”

“Only a little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s different.”

“How?”

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

You snort. “Threatening?”

“To my sanity, yeah.”

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

He’s quiet for a beat too long. Then—

“...Maybe.”

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

“You are unreal, Choi Seungcheol.”

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a long, loaded silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was just—checking.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s annoying.”

“You like her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did you just say?”

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

Seungcheol’s jaw ticks.

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

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

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

“And you wouldn’t?”

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

Mingyu full-on cackles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What vibe.”

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

“Dramatic.”

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

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

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

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

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

He slams the book shut “Why him?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m asking why you laugh differently.”

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

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

“You’re so jealous.”

“I’m just observant,” he grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And don’t think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

No break. No pause. Not even a breath.

“You thinking about kissing me.”

Your brain screeches to a halt. “What—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I was flirting?”

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

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

You glare. “I hung up on you.”

He grins. “Exactly. You panicked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me—”

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

“I am not blushing—”

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

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

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

“Hilarious.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

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

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

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

If anything, he’s gotten worse.

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

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

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

It’s a game now, and he plays to win.

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

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

Not just any jacket. His jacket.

You turn around instantly, already knowing who it is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You are—so—insufferable.”

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

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

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

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

Your heart lurches to your throat.

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

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

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

He’s not fine.

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

He’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We won,” Yuta says, casually. “2-1.”

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

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

“Not cracked.”

“Probably,” Yuta repeats.

Seungcheol glares at the floor.

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

Cheol’s head snaps up. “What?”

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

Seungcheol’s already sliding off the table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whip around.

“Choi Seungcheol—”

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

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

“I was fine.”

“You couldn’t even walk straight.”

“Okay,” he admits, “mostly fine.”

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

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

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

He steps closer.

“Say it.”

You glance away. “No.”

“Say it.”

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

“I already feel like I did.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m gonna throw your cleats at you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You lunge. He laughs then winces.

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

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

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

“You scared me.”

Seungcheol’s smile falters just a little.

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“You done?”

You blink. “No.”

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

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling—”

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

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

“Babygirl ”

“Don’t babygirl me right now—”

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

“Seungcheol—”

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

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

He holds up a pinky. “Scout’s honor.”

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

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

“Still counts.”

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

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

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

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

“I still hate you,” you mumble.

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

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

You swat at his ribs.

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

“You’re lucky I don’t aim lower”

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

“Don’t,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

He’s halfway through zoning out when it happens.

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

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

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

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

Just, “So.”

Seungcheol glances at her warily. “So…?”

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

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

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

“I haven’t done anything.”

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

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

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

“What do you want, Exy?”

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

“I do.”

“Do you?”

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

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

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

He nods. “I know.”

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

Spoiler: she keeps going.

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

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

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

He shoots her a glare. She ignores it.

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

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

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

He’s quiet again. Processing. Thinking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he doesn’t budge.

You stop mid-step, turning. “What—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs softly. “Right.”

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

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

“Dangerous,” you tease.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He squeezes your hand, not hard. Just enough.

“I want to make it obvious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not saying much. Not needing to.

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

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

A FEW MONTHS LATER.

The first thing he hears when he opens his eyes?

Your voice. Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still you. Unmistakably, unapologetically you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. “Charming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even now, knees planted on either side of his hips, straddling him in the middle of your shared chaos of a room. gown half-steamed and a to-do list longer than your patience. You’re going off about last-minute logistics.

“You didn’t charge your camera last night, did you? You said you would, and if it dies while my parents are taking photos, I swear to God, Seungcheol—”

He’s not even trying to keep up anymore. Not with your words, at least.

Just… watching you. The way your brows furrow when you’re pretending to be mad. The way you keep adjusting your hair like it’s not already perfect. The way you’re sitting on top of him like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

And your voice filling every inch of his morning like it always does.

He thinks, Yeah. This is it. This is what he wants every morning to be like. Even if you’re nagging him. Especially if you’re nagging him.

You lean forward a little, pressing your hand to his chest like you’re trying to make a point. “Seriously, if we’re late, Exy is going to murder us both. Don’t give me that look—”

“Babe,” he says, laughing softly.

“No, you always do this—you smile and nod and then forget everything I said—”

“Babe,” he says again, pulling you down gently, your face just inches from his now. “I love you.”

You blink. Mouth still parted mid-rant. Eyes just a little wider. And that second of silence? It might be his favorite part of the whole morning.

He grins. “Like, really, really whipped for you.”

Your expression twists somewhere between smug and flustered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“Hopeless.”

“Absolutely.”

You huff and try to sit back, but he doesn’t let you, arms locking around your waist.

“I’m serious,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Call me whipped. Call me down bad. I don’t care.”

He presses a kiss just below your jaw, and your fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his shoulders.

“I’ll take all of it,” he adds. “If it means waking up to you. Every single day. Nagging and all.”

You try to look unimpressed, but your lips betray you with the softest curve of a smile.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

And you do. Maybe a little more than you’d ever admit out loud.

So you lean down, brushing your nose against his, and mutter against his lips, “Only if you remember the damn cap this time.”

You kiss him, once. Twice. “And I love you, too”

He laughs again head thrown back like you’ve just handed him the world.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The door swings open, the morning sun spilling across the hallway as you bolt out in full momentum. heels clicking against the tile, hair slightly tousled from your last-minute panic fix, your phone clenched in one hand and a rolled-up copy of the graduation itinerary in the other.

“—and I told you,Cheol, if we don’t get to the hall before they start locking seat assignments, I am not begging some underpaid volunteer to let us in. And no, don’t give me that look, you were the one who decided to iron your shirt twenty minutes before we had to leave—”

He follows behind you, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. His cap is still crooked, tassel flipping wildly in the breeze, and he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest.

Not when you’re out here looking like that radiant and already halfway to combusting because of a scuffed shoe or a forgotten pin or God knows what else.

You keep going, barely glancing back. “—and I can’t believe you tried to bribe Exy with iced coffee so she wouldn’t tell me you forgot to RSVP to the post-grad dinner. You know she’s lactose intolerant—”

“Babe.”

“—and then there’s still the trip itinerary we haven’t finished, your mom’s gift still needs wrapping, and I told you at least four times to print out your boarding pass just in case—”

“Baby,” he says again, stepping closer now, his hand brushing your wrist.

You spin toward him, full of momentum and indignation, your mouth already open to launch into another paragraph of minor disasters and contingency plans.

But he just cups your face in both hands, warm and sure, and pulls you in.

Kisses you. Firm and fast. You freeze, lips caught mid-word. Your eyes flutter open in surprise, brows drawing together.

He pulls back a half second later, grinning. “Hi.”

You blink, processing.

And then, just like that, “Anyway, as I was saying—if we don’t get to the photo op on time, your sister will murder us both, and you still haven’t replied to the family group chat—”

He kisses you again.

You make a muffled noise into his mouth, both hands lifting in frustration that he can never let you finish a proper thought.

He pulls back again, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

You glare. “I swear—”

Another kiss. This one longer.

This time, when he pulls back, you're breathless. But still stubborn.

“I hate you.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m smiling because I’m two seconds from kicking your ass in front of your entire graduating class.”

He grins, nose brushing yours. “Still worth it.”

You push lightly at his chest, trying to turn away. “We’re going to be late—”

He kisses you again before you can take a step. And again. And again.

It becomes a pattern. every time you open your mouth to talk, he just silences you with a kiss. They’re quick at first, just small interruptions. But the more you fight him, the longer they stretch. The slower they get. Until you’re not even trying to speak anymore—just giggling helplessly against his mouth as he pecks you one more time, then another, and then another.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble into his shoulder, finally giving up, forehead resting there while he loops an arm around your waist.

“You love it.”

“Debatable.”

“You love me.”

You groan dramatically. “God, don’t remind me.”

He laughs, light and easy, kissing the top of your head as you both start walking again, fingers intertwined, the rush of the morning finally slowing down.

And somewhere between the bickering and the kisses, the nagging and the laughter, it settles in:

You’re still you. He’s still him.

But now… it’s official.

Caps and gowns, travel plans and futures ahead. Whatever comes next—training camps or late deadlines or burnt breakfasts—he’ll have you. And you’ll have him.

Even if he’s five minutes late. Even if you never stop nagging.

Even if the only way to shut you up is kissing you breathless at the door every single morning.

519 notes · View notes

nativegirltapes · 11 months ago

Text

pairing: toxic!rafe x bubbly!kook!reader

you and rafe always took 'breaks', but they never lasted. when he asked you to meet him in the middle of the night you could never say no.

you and rafe had been on your longest break yet, going on 3 weeks. and you couldn't lie, you'd been doing really good without him. but you missed him, a lot.

you didn't know why you missed him so much, it was almost like a drug you just couldn't live without despite knowing you're better off without it.

2AM, sitting in your room, music blasting through your earbuds, paging through your favorite clothing catalog; you felt your phone vibrate right next to you. thinking it was pope; the cute pogue you had recently befriended and been texting, you had a slight smile on your face.

that smile faded when you realized it was indeed not pope, but rafe. of course from some random number because you blocked him on his own.

252-###-### - It's me. Can we talk? Meet at tanneyhill in 15? PLS. I love you.

you sighed, partly of self disappointment because you knew you were going to do exactly what he wanted. but also partly from relief, this being you and rafe's longest break, you wondered what had been keeping him so busy from trying to reach out to you. on previous breaks he'd be begging to see you a few days in.

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ 🍰 . .

rafe was sat on the front steps of tanneyhill, he looked stressed and upset, but really when wasn't he?

"hey," you said softly, standing in front of him, not wanting to get too close.

"hey." he looked up at you. "thanks for coming."

"yeah." your voice was full of shame. it was embarrassing how you couldn't say no to rafe. you liked to rationalize your embarrassment by convincing yourself that you were doing this for him, that he needed you and how could you say no to someone who needed you? but no, you knew deep down your relationship with rafe was self-inflicted and self indulgent. if you tried hard enough you could say no, but the thing was that you just really didn't want to. and that was the most embarrassing part.

you liked getting treated like you were everything one day, and nothing the next. the feelings rafe made you feel were ones close enough to addiction. the highs were so high, but the lows were low.

rafe patted his lap, signaling for you to come take a seat on his lap. of course you did. "i missed you," rafe placed his hand on your inner thigh.

"missed you too rafe." you were basically now bridal style in his lap, ass on one of his thighs, your legs propped up on the other, and your ams wrapped around his neck. you missed being held like this.

"yeah? how much you miss me?" he had a smirk on his face while looking at you. god he looked so good. you hated how good he always looked.

"i dont know," you giggled softly, "a lot."

"heard you been talking to that pogue," rafe looked into the distance, you could tell he was trying his best to remain calm. "what's his name? pope."

you were confused as to how he would even know that, but to be honest it was probably best you didn't know. "just texting." you immediately defend yourself. "just friendly."

"friendly huh?" rafe scoffs. "do y'know how many guys would love to be 'just friendly' with you?"

"really rafe?" you dropped your legs from his lap. only rafe would invite you over to resolve things just to start another argument.

just as you were about to get up from his lap, he pulled you back down onto it. "cmon don't leave now," rafe moved your hair to the side, leaving the side of your neck that was closest to him on full display. "was just teasin'." his hot breath on your neck sent shivers down your spine.

“i don’t want to be teased.” you sighed under your breath.

“what do you want?”

“i want you to love me.” a singular tear fell down your face, rafe immediately wiping it.

“i do love you,” rafe’s voice was soft in a way you’d never heard before. “i love you more than,” you could tell he was really trying to pick his next words wisely. “i love you more than everything.” rafe kissed you on the cheek, his wet lips colliding with your wet tears.

and maybe that was also half the reason you couldn’t leave rafe. you knew that deep down aside from all the bad things he’s done to you; he has real love in his heart, he just doesn’t know how to show it.

#⊹₊ works ⋆#⊹₊ fics ⋆#꒰ ⊹ toxic!rafe ♡#꒰ ⌗bubbly!kook!reader ♡ ꒱#rafe cameron #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader

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tojiluv · 1 year ago

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UNVEILING LOVE — uchiha clan ft. sasuke, itachi, shisui, madara, obito [imagine]

context: how would the uchiha men realize their feelings and confess to you? based on “why do you make me feel like this?"

warnings: au. fluff. gn! reader. slight ooc?

notes: this has been sitting in the dust for a while, thank sensen for this idea and motivating me. not my art above.

tags: only for @seneon <3

SASUKE UCHIHA — ❝ THE LAST UCHIHA ❞

Sasuke wouldn’t initially understand his feelings for you, unsure of how they differed from those of a friend to a potential lover. Knowing Sasuke, he wouldn’t confess to you due to his past mistakes and doubts about whether he could give you what you want. But that would soon change once he returned to the village and saw you hanging out with a random guy who kept making you laugh at a vendor shop. When you noticed your teammate returning, you waved at him, not realizing the glare he was directing at your friend. Before you could get a word out, Sasuke gently grabbed your arm and pulled you away, making you follow him out of the store without a chance to say goodbye. He kept walking silently until you were alone in a random alleyway, hidden from prying eyes.

“Hey! Sasuke, what was that about? Is everything okay?”

"Who was that?" he asked, his eyes focused on your delicate features that he had grown to admire. You tilted your head, confused by his question.

"Huh? Oh, you mean Lino! He’s just a friend I've been visiting," you said, not noticing how your comment made him feel a bit jealous. Sasuke kept quiet, pondering whether he should say anything or continue to avoid his feelings for you. He wondered if you truly liked him the way he liked you, fearing the possibility of rejection.

Your eyes grew concerned as you watched the stoic male avoid eye contact. “I hope you know that I… I missed you,” you confessed, shyly looking to the side as his head shot up, eyes slightly widened. “I’m just glad you’re back now, even if it's only for a little bit. I’m happy you’re okay.”

Your heart suddenly raced faster than you could maintain as the stoic male grabbed your hand, holding it lightly before gripping it firmly with warmth. You glanced up, your face warming from the contact as you witnessed a small smile appear on his face. You had always had a crush on Sasuke since you became teammates on Team 7 with Naruto and Sakura, but you always hid your feelings deep down. You doubted that you would ever have a chance with Sasuke Uchiha.

"I’m glad you missed me… 'cause I’ve missed you too," he confessed, pulling you closer as you listened intently. "I… I didn’t understand this feeling, wondering what made me feel this way until I realized it was you."

You held your breath, nothing around you capturing your attention except the male in front of you.

“I thought about you the whole time I was away,” Sasuke sighed, gathering the courage to speak his feelings. “I realized that I’ve liked you for quite some time.”

Surprise consumed you, eyes wide open at the confession. You never expected this, especially from Sasuke, who usually wasn’t the type to express his feelings. But here you were, discovering that Sasuke Uchiha liked you, apparently for a long time now. Your heart swelled as a large smile spread across your lips, gripping his hand more tightly than before. Sasuke felt all the tension loosen from his shoulders as his admiration for you grew stronger from your words.

“I've always liked you, Sasuke, for years. And I will continue to do so as long as I’m by your side.”

ITACHI UCHIHA — ❝ ITACHI OF THE SHARINGAN ❞

Itachi found himself in a rare moment of contemplation, leaning against the sturdy trunk of a cherry blossom tree. He allowed his thoughts to drift to a singular figure that seemed to occupy every corner of his mind: you. Closing his eyes, Itachi attempted to unravel the enigma of his feelings. When had he fallen in love with you? The question lingered in his mind like a persistent shadow.

He recalled the first time he met you, your bright eyes reflecting curiosity and kindness, a stark contrast to the darkness that often enveloped his world. At that moment, something stirred within him, a whisper of possibility that he dared not acknowledge, frustrating his inner being with the thoughts. As time passed, your presence became a constant in his life, weaving its way into the fabric of his existence. Like music to his ears, your laughter echoed in his memories, warming even the coldest corners of his heart. Your unwavering support during challenging missions, and your gentle encouragement in moments of doubt—each interaction etched itself into his soul, leaving an indelible mark.

It was difficult for him to accept a different form of love to enter his complicated heart.

Now, under the cascading petals of the cherry blossom tree, the realization hit him with a gale force. His chest tightened, and he opened his eyes, staring at the soft pink petals fluttering around him, their beauty a stark reminder of his vulnerability. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his emotions settle within him.

"Why do you make me feel like this?" he muttered to himself, the question laden with confusion and a touch of exasperation.

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned his head and saw you walking towards him, your presence immediately calming the storm of his thoughts. You smiled, and he felt the familiar warmth spread through him, a warmth that he now recognized as love.

"Itachi, are you alright?" you asked, concerned.

He hesitated, his usual stoic demeanor cracking under the intensity of his feelings. For a moment, he considered staying silent, keeping his turmoil hidden. But then he realized he couldn't continue like this, trapped in his own emotions.

"It’s you," he said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "You make me feel like this." Your eyes widened slightly, surprise and curiosity flickering across your face. "What do you mean?"

He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "Every time I see you and hear your voice, I feel something I can't ignore anymore. It’s confusing and frustrating, but I can't deny it any longer. I... I love you."

The words hung in the air between you, a confession that felt both liberating and terrifying. Itachi's heart raced as he awaited your response, hoping that the feelings he'd kept hidden for so long would not be met with rejection.

You blinked, absorbing his words, and then a soft smile spread across your face. "Itachi," you said gently, taking his rough hands into your own. "I love you too."

Relief washed over him, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to truly smile. The complicated emotions that had plagued him began to untangle, replaced by a sense of peace he hadn't known was possible. At that moment, under the cherry blossom tree, Itachi Uchiha found solace in your embrace, knowing that he no longer had to face his feelings alone. With gentle tenderness, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your forehead, a silent affirmation of his love and gratitude.

SHISUI UCHIHA — ❝ THE BODY FLICKER ❞

The sound of clashing kunai echoed through the training grounds as you and Shisui sparred under the burning sun. Shisui's movements, usually swift and precise, seemed distracted today, his mind elsewhere. You noticed his unfocused gaze and slower reactions, wondering what could be bothering him. As you circled each other, you saw another opening and took it, landing a solid hit to his head. Shisui stumbled back, rubbing the spot where you had struck him, his expression a mix of pain and embarrassment.

"What’s wrong with you today?" you demanded, frustration clear in your tone. "You're not paying attention and using your full potential."

Shisui sighed, lowering his eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry," he muttered, avoiding your gaze. "I know I should be doing better."

Your annoyance faded slightly as you watched him. Shisui Uchiha, one of the most talented shinobi in the village, was never one to slack off during training. Something had to be seriously bothering him.

"Well, what's going on?" you asked, softer this time. "You can tell me."

Shisui hesitated, his mind racing. He had been overthinking his feelings for you for days, his thoughts a tangled mess of confusion and longing. He hadn't meant to let it affect his training, but being so close to you, yet unable to express how he felt, was driving him to lose focus.

"I... it's just..." he began, struggling to find the right words. "I've been thinking a lot lately, about... things." You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. "Things? What things?"

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "About you," he blurted out before he could stop himself. "I couldn’t understand why I was feeling this way until I realized that I… I like you!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Shisui's eyes widened as he realized what he had just confessed, his face turning crimson. He hadn't meant to say it, especially not like this.

Your eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by his sudden admission. "Shisui..."

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, backing away slightly. "I didn't mean to... I mean, I did, but not like this. I just..."

You stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Shisui, it's okay," you said gently, a smile tugging at your lips. "You don't have to apologize.”

Shisui stood up from the ground, wiping off any dirt as he avoided eye contact, his face still flushed with embarrassment. "I thought you knew," he murmured. "I don’t even use my Sharingan and barely put any power into my movements during our training sessions..."

"I just thought you were going easy on me," you admitted, rubbing the back of your head and feeling a bit foolish for not realizing the obvious signs. However, a warmth spread through you at his vulnerability, and a glowing grin appeared on your lips. "Well, for the record, I like you too."

The relief that washed over Shisui's face was palpable, his tense shoulders relaxing as he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Well, of course, you fell for my charms. How could you not?" he teased, a playful smile breaking through his worried expression.

You chuckled and shoved a hand against his shoulder. "Don’t get too ahead of yourself now. How about we continue sparring? But this time, I expect you to give it your all if you want to win over my heart fully."

Shisui grinned, feeling the weight of his unspoken feelings finally lifts. "Oh, you've got yourself a bet."

As you resumed your positions, you both couldn't shake the feeling that the sparring match had taken on a new, deeper significance. At that moment, under the fading light of the day, you both understood that this was the start of something special. The connection between you had deepened, turning a simple sparring match into a cherished memory. After the match (Shisui won), you sat together, hands linked, feeling a sense of peace and happiness, knowing that you had found something truly wonderful with each other.

MADARA UCHIHA — ❝ GHOST OF THE UCHIHA ❞

Madara Uchiha, a man known for his iron will and unyielding resolve, found himself ensnared in an internal struggle that defied his every attempt at control. His feelings for you had become a thorn in his side, a relentless source of annoyance that he couldn’t simply brush away. In an attempt to cope, he had begun to distance himself from you, hoping that the space would extinguish the unwanted emotions. However, it only served to exacerbate the situation. You noticed his sudden coldness, the way he avoided your presence and cut conversations short. Hurt and frustrated, you decided to confront him. You found him in a secluded courtyard, his back turned as he stared out at the night sky, lost in thought.

“Madara,” you called out, your voice firm. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t turn, his silence only fueling your frustration. You walked closer, refusing to be ignored. “Why have you been avoiding me? What did I do?”

“It’s nothing,” he replied tersely, still not facing you.

“It’s not nothing!” you snapped, moving to stand in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Tell me what’s going on!”

His jaw tightened, and you could see the storm brewing behind his dark eyes. “Just leave it alone,” he said, standing up from his spot to walk away.

“No,” you insisted, stepping into his path. “I won’t leave it alone. You owe me an explanation.”

The tension between you reached a breaking point. Madara’s frustration finally erupted. With a swift motion, he punched the wall beside him, cracks radiating out from the impact of his chakra. Despite the sudden action, you remained unflinching, eyes locked on his as you had anticipated this eruption from the stubborn Uchiha.

“Why do you have this effect on me?” he shouted, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you? It’s infuriating!”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you pressed on, your voice softer now. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” you asked. “Why push me away?”

“Because I’m in love with you!” he roared, the confession tearing out of him. “And I hate it! I hate that I can’t control it, that you make me feel this way!”

The raw intensity of his words hung in the air, his chest heaving from the outburst. You stepped closer, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Madara,” you said softly, “you don’t have to fight it. I love you too.”

His eyes softened, the storm within them calming. Vulnerability seeped through his usually stoic facade as he looked at you. “You... do?”

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady and sincere. “From the moment we met after the war, I knew I did.”

For a moment, silence enveloped them, allowing his words to sink in. Then, slowly, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid you might slip away. “I’ve been a fool,” he murmured against your hair, the tension in his body easing. “I should have told you sooner.”

You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the solidity of his presence. “We’ll figure it out together,” you whispered.

In that embrace, the world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you. Madara finally allowed himself to let go of the control he had clung to so fiercely. The future might still be uncertain, but with you by his side, he knew he could face whatever came next.

OBITO UCHIHA — ❝ THE MASKED MAN ❞

In the hidden depths of Obito Uchiha's heart, emotions swirled like a tumultuous storm, leaving him lost in a haze of confusion. Amidst the chaos of his thoughts, he struggled to decipher the true nature of his feelings for you. He watched you from afar, his heart yearning for something more, yet fearing the consequences of exposing his true emotions to the light. Each friendly gesture and shared moment deepened his uncertainty, leaving him adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Day after day, he found himself drawn to you like a moth to a flame, captivated by your smile, your laughter, your mere presence. Yet, beneath the surface of his admiration, a seed of jealousy lay dormant, gnawing at his soul whenever he saw you with another man. He attempted to suppress the pang of envy that pierced his heart whenever he witnessed you in someone else's company, but the feeling only intensified with each passing day. The mere thought of someone else holding your attention, of another person eliciting the smiles he longed to see from you, was unbearable to him.

Then, one fateful day, his worst fears materialized as he stumbled upon you in the village, your laughter intertwined with that of another man's. A surge of jealousy engulfed him, threatening to consume him whole as he watched the scene unfold before his eyes, witnessing a random leaf ninja bid farewell to you.

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, the words spilled from Obito's lips in a rush of desperation and longing. "I can't stand seeing you with him!" he blurted out, his voice laced with bitterness.

You turned to face him, surprise flickering in your eyes at his outburst and undetected presence. "Obito, what are you talking about?"

Obito took a shaky breath, his heart pounding, struggling to find the right words. "I–I'm sorry. It's just... I've been confused about my feelings for you and the way you affect my entire being. And then seeing you with him... it hurts."

A heavy silence settled between them, the weight of his confession hanging in the air like a shroud. And then, to his surprise, you reached out and took his hand in yours, your touch sending a jolt of warmth through his veins. "Obito… Say it, please."

He sighed, feeling the weight of his emotions pressing down upon him like a suffocating blanket, his face burning from your intense look. “I know we're friends, and I value that more than anything, but I believe there's something more between us. And it's driving me insane because I… I cherish you deeply!”

Awaiting the sudden rejection, to his shock, you placed his hand against your cheek, your face nuzzling against his warmed palms as you graced him with the same sweet smile he had grown to love dearly.

“I've always loved you, Obito, ever since we became classmates in the academy. I knew that the boy who declared himself to be the next Hokage with those big goggles on his face was truly someone I would always admire.”

His heart skipped a beat at your words, a rush of euphoria flooding his senses as he realized how long you had waited for him. He couldn't believe his luck and fathom that the person he had been pining for felt the same way about him for so long. And as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his in a tender kiss, Obito felt as though he were floating on air. In that moment, amidst the chaos of his emotions, he found a sense of clarity and peace, knowing that he had finally found the person who would stand by his side through thick and thin.

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yintual · 4 days ago

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ㅤ( 🍀 ) ㅤ O7.O9PM; ㅤ𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗿𝘆

jungwon thinks you need a break from studying 𖹭 749% > ﹏ <。 𝗰𝘄 # kisses ﾟ glasses bf ! won +PHYSICS mentioned

if there’s one singular flaw you have, yang jungwon finds himself thinking, it’s that you study a tad bit too much.

from his seat directly across you, he’s been watching you mumble about physics formulae for close to 3 hours. the library, too, is now almost completely empty save for the two of you.

it’s not that he wants you to stop—jungwon’s more than aware of how important the assignment you’re working on is. so of course he wants to be supportive. which is why he’s tagged along with you in the first place, after all.

but hell, a guy gets tired of waiting, alright?

especially when his girlfriend just so happens to be sitting right across him—in hand holdable, and even, dare he say, kissable distance.

and you refuse to make it any easier on him with how cute you look when you pout at the page of numericals in front of you. it’s like you don’t even care about his sanity.

he rests his chin on his palm as he watches you furiously scribble something and erase it immediately after.

tone flat, your boyfriend finally breaks the silence. “you know you’re looking at that worksheet like it personally offended you, right?”

you answer without even sparing him a glance. “ugh, shut up. i got the sign convention messed up again. and i hate differentiation.”

“hmm. well maybe, and hear me out here ... what if … the universe is telling you to take a break.”

you don’t answer. he wonders if you even registered the words he’s just said.

“orrr …” jungwon leans forward, attempting to catch your eye to no avail, “maybe spare a glance towards your attention starved boyfriend? i promise he’s more interesting than electrostatics.”

that gets a giggle out of you, which admittedly does make him momentarily proud. but in mere seconds you’re back to locking in. he can’t help but mentally curse the education system for bringing him to this position. because god. this is tragic, really.

with a sigh, he finally decides to take matters in his own hands. without a second’s hesitation, he’s pushing back his chair in favor of getting up and walking over to you.

“baby. i’m talking to you.”

“alright, gosh, i’m—” but you apparently hadn’t taken into account the change in his position. you blink, confused, and realize after a minute that you feel a soft warmth behind you.

and as you turn in your chair to face him, you find his arms caging you in against the table.

“... i’m listening.”

jungwon leans in closer, his expression oddly smug. “don’t you think you’ve practiced enough questions for today?”

“i just— there’s only a few more chapters i have left to go over ..” you’re not fully sure if it’s the close proximity that’s making you flustered.

“no. i think you’ve done enough.”

you want to argue but the finality with which he speaks makes you reconsider your own words.

“we don’t want you getting burnt out, yeah? you need some time away from physics.”

you can barely think to formulate a reply to that as he dips his head down, placing a short kiss to your lips as if to emphasize his point. all you can do is smile into it, kissing him back with a hand resting on his chest to steady yourself.

“think we can both agree my idea was better, hm?” jungwon mumbles, peppering a few short peck along your jaw for good measure.

you pull back slightly, though, much to his displeasure. “well, mr. boyfriend, if you’ve had enough attention, then … i really do need to finish at least one more page.”

“... who said i’ve had enough?”

and then he’s taking off his glasses in one fluid motion before his lips are back on yours swallowing any protests you might have had. gone is the sweet, soft boyfriend who’d been giving you company all this while.

(seriously, he picks the worst times to do these unfairly attractive things.)

the edge of the table digs into your back ever so slightly but you’re much more busy processing how sweet he tastes against you—of desperation. it’s a gorgeous color on him.

you vaguely think you hear his glasses fall to the floor with a soft clink. but with how intent your boyfriend seems upon robbing you of your coherence, you can’t say for sure.

doing physics numericals is overrated anyway. you’d honestly rather just kiss your boyfriend, instead.

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @luvvchn @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @calabaeri @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep @itsactuallylina @puma-riki @starniras ⋆

𝖤𝖷𝖳𝖱𝖠! [ <3 ] do we like layout. yes or yes. + gais i finally understand what timestamps are. its when u write a drabble and don't know what to call it!

ㅤㅤㅤ© YiNTUAL ♡ 2025

#ㅤ(陰) ♡ ──𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗱𝗼𝘁𝖼𝗈𝗆.ㅤ #divider creds to uzmacchiato #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen jungwon #enhypen fluff #yang jungwon #yang jungwon fluff #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon x reader #enha x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #jungwon fluff #jungwon #kpop x reader

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lowkeyerror · 5 months ago

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Our Soul

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: Requested, soulmate au, mostly fluff, like the smallest dash angst maybe

Summary: When searching for coven members, Agatha finds her soulmate. Her nerves about the woman being involved only grow when The Witches' Road turns out to be legit.

An: Sorry the request took so long, I did simplify it a bit I hope that it's still enjoyable.

Masterlist

Agatha made a mistake. The moment she had looked into Y/n’s eyes, she was sure of it. She’d always thought finding her soulmate would be this horrific thing. That the description of having your soul intertwined with someone else's sounded painfully, boring, and wasteful. Yet she had it all wrong.

It was the soft pull of a flower to a summer breeze. It was as if something warm finally reached her freezing soul. The souls were translucent with glowing specs shinning inside. Agatha’s, dark purple like her magic; Y/n's, golden like the tint of her irises sparkling in the sun. They twirled up together, two halves becoming one whole. Then they lay flat, into a singular form.

She visualized it, beautiful, all encompassing, and complete. However she was still horrified in some ways. She glanced at the paper with Y/n’s name scrawled across it and then back at her. It was too late to take back the offer. The way that Y/n's eyes lit up at the mention of the road was impossible to miss.

She’d have to do something about it. There was no way she was going to let her end up like the rest of the people on the list. Y/n dying was nowhere in Agatha’s plans.

Y/n made a mistake. She was sure of it when Agatha’s hand pulled her down on to the road. The way her mind had called Agatha’s hand a perfect fit for her’s. The entire reason she had agreed to come in the first place was now jeopardized. All because of Agatha’s illustrious blue eyes, her cunning smile, and the warm softness of her hand in yours.

She was here to find her soulmate. That’s all she wanted from the road. Yet here she is swooning over Agatha Harkness, known most for her treachery. It felt like she was failing her one true love.

When Agatha stops abruptly at the last step, Y/n crashes into her. Agatha is quick to tug at her wrist, pulling the gorl back into her, rather than tumbling backwards.

“Are you alright sweetheart?”

Y/n watches Agatha’s eyes scan over her, worry easily perceived. The younger woman respond with a loose nod. She was being pulled in by the current of Agatha’s crystal-esque eyes.

“Yeah,” is all she can manage to say.

She smiles slyly knowing she had Y/n flustered. Agatha doesn’t let go of her, the older witch’s pull persisting. The older woman doesn’t trust this road. She knows it isn’t real, that this shouldn’t be happening. Whatever this is, she wouldn’t let it claim you.

While she takes charge of the others, Agatha never strays far from her soulmate. She felt like she had to protect Y/n. After the road’s first test Agatha knew she was right. Mrs. Hart was dead, and everyone was shaken up about it. Especially Y/n.

As everyone walks away from her body, Agatha falls in step with Y/n.

“How are you holding up?”

Y/n’s gaze stays on the ground she shake her head slightly, as if she expects a thought to fall out, “I don’t know.”

“Is this your first time dealing with that kind of thing?”

Y/n tilts her head, “Agatha we’re hundreds of years old. I’m no stranger to death or dead bodies. It’s just… been a long time.”

“Right.”

“Why’d you bring her?” Y/n couldn’t help but ask.

Agatha fumbles for an answer. The truth being that she didn't think things would go this far. This was supposed to end in the basement. She would’ve stolen everyone’s powers then manipulated Mrs. Hart’s memories and she would be none the wiser. She was intended to be a placeholder not a carcass.

Y/n watches Agatha carefully wondering what kind of lie she would tell, how the woman would spin the story. Instead she sees a small dip in the character Agatha was always playing.

“I didn't think she'd get hurt,” it’s a small, but honest truth.

Agatha was scared of the woman’s response. Perhaps Y/n would call bullshit and turn on her. Everyone was always so quick to point a finger at her. She had been taking the blame since she was a child all that time ago. So it would be nothing new to her.

“I believe you.”

Y/n doesn't know why she said it. She didn't plan on responding, but something inside of her was begging her to speak. It was another flaw in her eyes, wanting to bring comfort to Agatha. The woman that was distracting her from her soulmate.

Agatha is fighting the urge to question why Y/n believes her. She didn't deserve the girl's trust. She’s starting to believe she didn't deserve Y/n. Yet that didn't necessarily matter anymore, their souls were already intertwined.

“We should try summoning another green witch,” Y/n suggests.

It causes a bit of commotion in the group, but with no choice left, they try it.

“M’lady.”

When Rio Vidal comes crawling out of the ground Agatha lunges at her. The rest of the group is stunned by their clearly complex past. Agatha’s not the only one who reacts to The Green Witch.

Y/n’s eyes widen, “Oh no.”

When Rio sees Y/n she turns away from Agatha. She stalks towards the woman, cautiously taking Y/n’s hand in her. With a charming smile she presses her lips to the backside of the younger witch’s hand.

“Mi vida.”

Agatha watches with her jaw nearly on the floor. The blush on Y/n’s face told her everything she needed to know.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Rio drops Y/n’s hand, “What? I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd come by, help out.”

“So are you a green witch?”

Before Rio responds Y/n cuts her off, “As green as it gets, let’s keep moving.”

“I like that idea,” Agatha seconds that and begins to walk off, Y/n trails behind her.

The rest of the coven eventually joins.

“So... you know Rio too?”

Agatha keeps her gaze straight ahead, “Yup.”

Y/n let’s out an amused huff of air, “Seems like we know her in the same way too.”

“It does look that way. I gotta say, I would've never guessed she was your type.”

“At one point in time I thought she was my soulmate. You have to admit under all that cunning is someone so tragically lonely, but eternally beautiful. I always doubted that love would exist without fear of her."

Agatha knew what the girl really meant when she said ‘her'. Death had an air of beauty about her not only in appearance.

“Rio is everything you said, but you forgot to add irritating,” Agatha adds.

Y/n laughs at her, “Always showing up at the most convenient times for herself. Which just so happens to be inconvenient to everyone else.”

“I can't believe you thought she was your soulmate.”

Y/n looks away bashfully, “Well you must’ve too all things considered.”

Agatha disputes the statement instantly, “I never really bought into the whole soulmate thing.” She takes a moment to look into Y/n’s eyes, “At least not until recently.”

“Why not?”

“Agatha didn't believe in any of those kind of happy ending fairytale like romances sweetheart, just not in her character,” Rio steps in between the pair to get in on their conversation.

“Something to do with you maybe?” Y/n shots at Rio.

Rio gasps in faux-shock, “No, I’m the perfect wife. Right, my love?”

Agatha rolls her eyes, “Ex-wife, current thorn in my side.”

“Aww she’s so grumpy without her magic, Y/n. She’s usually a much more cheerful spirit.”

“Fuck off,” Agatha starts walking faster.

She reaches over Rio, to grab Y/n’s wrist pulling her along in a similar way she did down the road in the first place.

Whatever conversation that was going to play out died upon seeing another trial. By the look on the witch‘s face it was obviously Alice’s. The outfits, the rock band, the grunge of it all was a bit fun at first. Yet the fun never lasts in these things, especially when threatened by a generational curse.

The ballad was once again the key to the trial. Almost reminiscent of your way onto the road, singing the ballad helped Alice defeat her curse. However it was not without a cost, as Teen had some how gotten injured.

The responsibility fell on a group. A second trial and second death was looming over the group. The care and distress in Agatha’s movement was stark contrast to what had happened when Mrs. Hart died.

Y/n couldn’t help it as she silently asked Rio if it was the boy’s time. Lady Death stood silent, pensive, as if she herself was gauging the situation. Then she shook her head.

It was during this time that his wound was healed. Though he lay unconscious, it was general consensus that he'd be alright. While this placated the others, Agatha was not leaving his side.

The rest of the coven went to set up camp for the night. Y/n knew she wasn’t obligated to stay with Agatha and Teen, but she wanted to.

Whatever Agatha was feeling, for once it was plain on her face. The moment was fragile, something Y/n was mindful of as she sat quietly next to Agatha.

“Have you ever lost something so pivotal to your existence that without it, you no longer feel whole?”

“My brother,” Y/n’s gaze lingers on Billy.

“Do you… have you seen him in other people?”

Y/n nods, “Sometimes I can’t help it. I see someone that looks like him or likes the things he likes or acts like him, but they’re not him.”

Agatha turns her attention to Y/n. The far away look in her eye makes the older witch move close to her.

“What happened to him?”

Y/n’s bottom lips curls up into her mouth, “I happened.”

Agatha’s hand finds it’s way on top of Y/n’s. The younger witch intertwines their fingers. Y/n lets out a large breath, trying to center herself.

“My son,” Agatha whispers. “I see Teen and I see the kind of boy that mine could’ve grown to be .”

“Agatha,” Y/n says her voice softly.

Agatha clears her throat, “Let’s go see what kind of camp they’ve set up.”

She stands abruptly, but makes sure to extend her hand to the other woman. Y/n takes the help to stand. Agatha is reluctant to drop the girl’s hand, but she does. That doesn’t keep the woman away from her. Y/n walks close enough that their arms brush as they walk to camp.

When both sit, the other’s are full of laughter, reminiscing about their battle scars. Agatha shows off her's and the rest give her a roar of laughter that she didn’t expect.

The laughter dies down as Rio talks about having a scar. Something that both Agatha and Y/n know to be false. The younger of the pair can’t help, but glare as Rio spins a tale of a woman. Someone that Y/n knows to be Agatha.

A trick to rile the woman up. It works as Agatha storms off. Rio tries to go after her.

“I think you’ve done enough,” Y/n stands to stop her.

Rio raises her hands in defensive before gesturing them in the direction Agatha ran off in, “By all means then, you go after her. Just remember at the end of the road, your soulmate will be waiting for you.”

“Fuck you Rio,” Y/n goes after Agatha.

She finds Agatha just standing in a field. Y/n approaches her, moving to stand in front of Agatha. The powerless witch doesn’t look at her.

Y/n takes Agatha’s face in both of her hands. Agatha’s expression has a million facets to it. Sorrow, regret, anger, but most prevalently Y/n sees a plea.

“Death has a nasty way of lingering doesn't she?”

A single tears slides down Agatha’s cheek. Y/n wipes it away with her thumb.

Her laughter is shaky, “You didn't have to come after me.”

“Agatha, I wanted to be here,” Y/n reassure her.

“I don’t deserve you,” she leans into Y/n’s touch.

It’s like Y/n’s says it to herself when she speaks, “ I decide what I deserve.”

Agatha’s crystal blue eyes meet Y/n’s, “And what about your soulmate?”

“This isn’t about that.”

Agatha’s holds Y/n’s in place against her face, “What if it is?”

Y/n’s eyebrows furrow, “What are you saying?”

Agatha steps out of the woman’s hold. Her hands move wildly as she talks, “Don’t you feel it? When we locked eyes, I saw our souls mixing. I know that you're too good for me. I’m this no good evil hag, with a reputation that makes dictators seem like saints. I don’t deserve to have a soulmate, especially one as good as you.”

When Y/n looks into Agatha’s eyes she feels it. She sees what Agatha saw when they first met. Their souls coming together, in what is certainly the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Tears form in Y/n’s eyes. She strides over to Agatha, again cupping the woman’s face in her hands. Y/n smiles through her tears.

“I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

A smile fights it's way onto Agatha face, “Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Agatha I’ve dated the physical embodiment of death. I don't care,” Y/n tucks a piece of Agatha’s hair behind her ear.

“I’m no good-”

Whatever Agatha had planned on saying didn’t matter to Y/n. The younger girl plants her lips on Agatha’s firmly. The older woman melts into the kiss the words dying on her lips.

“You’re good to me,” Y/n breathes out as the kiss ends.

Agatha hugs Y/n’s waist, keeping her close. Their foreheads rests against each other. The brunette’s eyes slowly open. There’s fire behind the blue orbs

“I will be, I promise.”

The road wasn’t finished and Agatha had yet to regain her power. However, she already felt more complete with Y/n in her arms. A part of her restored upon connecting with her soulmate.

#lowkeyerror #agatha harkness #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness imagine #rio vidal #billy maximoff #agatha all along

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erwinsvow · 4 months ago

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imagine being in kie’s place when shy!reader and rafe got kidnapped by mr signh (ive given up his name keeps autocorrecting) and seeing him in his tux and buzz for the first time and instead of the two being scared they js fuck LOLZ😝

oh my god yes yes yes. this is my fave concept i can't believe i haven't expanded on it yet. sorry it took me a year to reply.

you have to keep reminding yourself to take deep breaths. deep in a foreign land, separated from all of your friends and trapped in a mansion with only locked doors and guards at every corner, this is probably the most anxious you've ever been.

and that is truly saying something.

you wanted to try and plead with the guards again, to explain yourself and your innocence, but you couldn't find the words. why should they believe you? what would you even say? you were never the one coming up with the crazy escape routes or talking your way out of problems. and it seemed that teary doe eyes didn't work quite as well on paid guards as it did on your best friends back home.

so you resigned yourself to start believing a singular truth—the only way out, is through. you stopped pounding fists and yelling for help, rather complying wordlessly, like when the pretty dress made its way onto your bed. you even ate the fruit in the room, deciding that you couldn't think of an escape if you starved to death first.

you don't know why the man who took you wants you clean and dressed up, but you do that too, and it's not until the door opens and you poke your head out from behind the wall, expecting the worst, do you realize just how out of the loop you really are.

you could cry.

"rafe?" you stare up at the familiar boy with watery eyes, confusion and hurt painted all over your pretty face. for a moment you believe that he might be responsible for all of this, even you couldn't have dreamed that he'd be this cruel, when-

"what the hell are you doin' here, kid?" he looks around the room quickly, like he's worried someone is going to come out from behind the walls. in one motion, he guides you to the furthest corner from the door, gripping your wrist tight while he has you sit on the edge of the bed.

"a-are you with them? t-the people outside?"

"what? no, no-they took me too. how do they have you? don't tell me those fuckin' idiots let them take you-"

"it's not their fault-"

"don't make excuses." it comes out so sternly, you shut up immediately. "i'll get us out of here. i just need to figure out-"

"b-but it's not so bad, right? at least we have each other." your words come out softly, partially because you're afraid someone will hear you and partially because you can't believe what you're saying.

your relationship with rafe is tumultuous at best. he's never had a real issue with you, and he's seen you at tannyhill with sarah several times before, but it's always been clear that he hates your friends, even if he was ambivalent—or less than—to you. you could never really tell and you didn't spend much time trying to figure it out, until now.

rafe looks back you, his eyes still showing the panic that was in yours, but mixed with something else, something you couldn't make out.

"yeah, kid. we have each other." rafe takes another deep breath, running his hands over his head, barely brushing through his buzzcut. "i'll get us out of here."

time in the room with rafe passes by slowly. you didn't know what time it was before, but rafe's watch shows that it's only noon. you can't even hear the guards footsteps anymore, the silence making your eyes droopy while you wait for something, anything to happen.

you stay perched on the bed while rafe paces, curled up into yourself and resting against the bed frame. your dress reveals most of your legs, all the way to the tops of your thighs when you sit like this, but you can't bring yourself to care right now.

you stare at rafe while he treads the tiny space, wondering when he cut his hair and if he'll ever grow it back. you liked his longer hair, you think briefly, before dismissing the thought entirely. you have no business liking anything of rafe cameron's.

but then again, he's the one here with you, trying to figure out how to get you back to safety, and your friends are the ones who got you here in the first place. you try not to think of it like that, but rafe's words from earlier seep back into your mind. he's here, you're here, and everyone else is fine. so who was going to watch after you?

"rafe?" you ask quietly, and once he stops pacing and turns to lock eyes with you, your whole face feels hot. his eyes run up the course of your exposed skin before finally making eye contact, and even in this state you can tell what thoughts just ran through his mind.

"yeah, kid?"

"do you wanna sit down? you've been walking for a while."

"i need to think, baby, otherwise i'd sit down." he resumes his pace and your entire face is on fire. the nickname is enough to make your brain short-circuit for a minute. suddenly you think that you like the buzzcut, and you like the nicknames he gives you, and you like that he keeps saying he'll get you out of there. you believe that he will, no, you know that he will.

but you're not so sure you want to leave anymore. with a surge of confidence appearing from thin air, you move towards the end of the bed, sitting with your legs hanging over the frame and facing rafe, looking up at him.

"can i help you think, rafe?"

he stops walking, staring down at you while you stare up.

"do you know what you're saying right now, kid?"

"wouldn't you think better if we calmed down first?" the words come out in one shaky breath. maybe you don't know what you're asking for, but you're certain it's what you want right now. you don't break eye contact—a first for you.

"lay back for me."

you comply immediately. it's not until a knock several hours later, with a strange man walking in on you and rafe wrapped up in his sheets, that you remember the severity of the situation you're in.

oh well.

#hahah the ending is trash sorry. insert ten pages of crazy smut there #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 months ago

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Hi hi! I’m coming over here for a fluffy idea I had for series Ena. I just want more fluff tbh lmao

Maybe where the reader likes giving small trinkets to Ena and Ena wants to get them something back, but sadly has no clue on what to get them and feels bad. Then reader just makes Ena feel better knowing Ena is a good partner and that’s a gift on its own.

LEAVE ME ALONE AND MY FLUFF! 😭

Anyways- thank u for when you do this request!! Have a wonderful week! <3

"Ah, another fine addition to my infinite collection!" Ena hummed to herself as she set her most recently-received trinket on the shelf, taking a few steps back to admire it.

Yet again, you've found something truly fascinating for her.

This time, it was a cheap-looking giftbox with sharp teeth, which growled and tried to bite her like a feral animal. But while aggressive on the surface, it coughed up a sweet little surprise once she got permission to open its maw:

A simple note that expressed your utmost adoration for her.

Fitting, of course, as today marks one year of you two being a couple. She couldn't be happier, knowing you started your day thinking of her and finding this gift to leave on her doorstep.

Your giving habits didn't just start during this relationship, but they were persistent back when you two were just friends.

While you didn't initially know much of Ena's interests, you'd always find some interesting object. Things that reminded you of her, and even things you didn't think she'd find useful ended up helping her one way or another.

What often surprised her was that it could be a perfectly ordinary day, and you'd give her some new trinket simply because you can and wanted to. And not once have you expected anything in return.

There aren't enough words in the dictionary that could articulate her immense appreciation for you, being a caring and generous soul in a world where..not many people seemed to like her.

And yet, as she stared at her collection...one, singular thought began to linger in the back of her mind, but just thinking about it was enough to immediately bring it to the surface.

"Ohhh...what am I supposed to get them now??? I can't just give them nothing!!" She whined, her Sad side taking over, her gaze going to the ground. "I didn't even think we'd last this long! I'm....I'm awful!! They'll hate me forever!!!"

Sinking to the floor, she began to sob, unable to cope with the fact that even on this special day, she didn't have any gift ready for you.

She's been trying to find the perfect one--for days, in fact--but everything she touched has either glitched out of existence, dissolved into tiny particles, got stolen by someone else, or simply grew legs and ran away.

It's like the universe was playing cruel tricks on her.

Moony wasn't much help either, as eventually she got annoyed with Ena rejecting every possible item she showed her--being met with a "nope", "nada", "nay", or something to that degree.

The lunar entity was fed up, and rightfully called her out on it.

"You're their girlfriend, aren't you? I'm sure you'll figure something out in time."

Yet here she was, crying alone in her room, because she unfortunately could not figure it out in time.

What would you think?

"Hey Ena? Hope my gift didn't attack you or any......oh no. What's wrong??"

Through hiccups and static tears, Ena noticed you were now in her room, standing there with worry written all over your face.

You'd typically show up uninvited, so sometimes you'd catch her being either drunk, sad, or..well..normal. But it never bothered her. In fact she welcomed your visits every time.

Seeing you here now, however, only made her feel worse.

"I'm sowwy. I'm...I'm so selfish!" She shakily stood up and wobbled over to you, practically falling into your arms. "Just take back everything you gave me!! I don't deserve these nice things!!" She sobbed even louder.

"What? Of course you do." You held her steady, frowning. "Besides, it'd be pretty hard to return all that stuff now. Can I ask what made you think that? Did Moony make fun of your collection?"

"No, it's just...it's our anniversawy. You gave me the sweetest gift. And I...I twied so hard to find something perfect for you, but I failed! Admit it, I'm the worst girlfwiend ever!! I ruined everything!!"

Her words made your heart sink, especially as her Sad side was still not convinced you truly loved her and you weren't date her as a "joke". But you always knew what to say to make her feel better.

"None of that is true. Because you've already given me a gift."

Confused, she quieted down and looked at you, sniffling. "I...I did? When?"

"It's you, Ena. You're the best gift I could've ever received." Smiling, you held onto her shoulders, wanting her to see how serious you were. "Being my partner, making me laugh, showing me all that this world has to offer....you can't replace that with anything of material value."

"...is that twue? I'm...your gift?"

"Precisely. You don't have to get me anything to prove you love me. I already know you do."

She just looked at you for a few moments longer, before her face abruptly glitched back to normal. "Whew...that's a relief." Her yellow half smiled at you brightly. "Thank you for the reassurance, my dearest. I didn't mean to put a damper on our special day...that was rude of me."

"It's fine." You chuckled, holding her hands. "There's still plenty of time left in the day to make it special again."

"True! You know what? I heard about this new store opening nearby that may pique your interest. I'll buy you whatever your heart desires! That shall be my gift to you." She declared.

"...Ena, it's okay. You don't have to-"

"Nope! It's final. Say what you want, but I am determined to reciprocate your generosity!"

"....alright." You sighed in defeat, mirroring her smile. "I guess I can't argue with that. Let's go."

#finally doing series!ena justice after like 3-4 years #clanask #anonymous #ena x reader #joel g ena x reader #fluff #hurt/comfort

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crescenthistory · 8 months ago

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hi pookie!! it was actually my birthday a few days ago and i was wondering if maybe you could write a regulus x reader fic where it's reader's birthday? (prompt b.12) if not, that's totally fine! take ur time bub :))

~🍓

i'm usually not a birthday fic kinda gal, but i'll make an exception for you my love<33 i hope you had a super birthday the other day, sending you big bday hugs!

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, slightly suggestive (implied aftercare), kissing, toothrotting fluff, wolfstar reference, implied black family trauma (super brief)

Your chest is still slightly damp beneath Regulus' t-shirt that he gave you about twenty minutes ago, but your breath is coming at slow, regular intervals again. The dorm around you is wonderfully empty, Barty and Evan banished for the night, which they only reluctantly agreed to when you gave them a “it’s my birthday tomorrow and I want to wake up with my boyfriend” pout. It feels private, intimate, in a way you relish in.

Here, curled up against Regulus’ chest with your fingers tracing constellations between the moles on his fair skin, is the first comfort you have felt all week. The kind that sinks into the bone and warms you through winter. His sheets are warm too where they are draped across your forms, and you feel increasingly like one singular being, heartbeats synced.

His lips are tracing faint butterfly kisses across your hairline and forehead, absentmindedly, as if it’s second nature to him by now. Maybe it is.

This is all you needed.

“What are you thinking about, amour?” His breath fans across your face as he murmurs against your skin.

“You.” The word is spoken around curved lips and you feel his begin to match yours as he hums contently into your hair. “How nice this is.”

“It’s been a hectic week for you, hasn’t it?” he says, voice laced with empathy and understanding.

You just hum in response, burying your face deeper into his shoulder. You begin kissing at the skin you find there, light and soft in comparison to the passionate ones you shared earlier. It feels right to have both, like your heart is being completed.

“So good. You’re so good,” he whispers adoringly, and while you don’t know if he is referring to your handling of said week or something else, you’re fairly certain you’ll accept any and all praise slipping from his lips.

You tilt your head up to look at his eyes and find them already gazing at you. Regulus’ hand comes up to brush over the side of your face, from your temple to your cheekbone and jaw. “Yeah?” you ask through a smile.

He breathes out something akin to a laugh and whispers back, “Yeah. The best.”

Stretching your neck only slightly, you lean up to give him a soft and delectably slow kiss, savouring the feeling of his lips between yours. He reciprocates in full, humming against you when you support some of your weight with a hand on his chest. You feel his heartbeat beneath it and burrow your fingertips deeper, as if in search of it.

“Do you have anything specific you want to do tomorrow?” Regulus muses when you separate and you begin pressing kisses along his jaw and cheek instead.

“Nothing at all. Not leaving this room.” While your heart means it, your mind is a more logical being and thus doesn’t, so your words come out with a slight laugh, a joke at how stupidly good it would have been.

“Hiding out from the world with me?” A cheeky grin before he captures your lips with his again briefly. “Sounds like the best birthday ever.”

Supporting your own weight isn’t ideal when you’re still a tad worn out, so you lay down with your head on his shoulder again and he runs his hand comfortingly up and down your arm when he feels it shaking. You keep your eyes on his though, head tilted up with a look that contains more worry than Regulus cares for.

“I still have to do quite a bit of reading for my History of Magic project,” you say in the same tone as someone would use to convey their life sentence in prison. “So I’m going to have to hole up in the library for quite a while tomorrow, birthday be damned.”

Regulus cannot fight the tsk-ing sound that escapes him as he frowns in sympathy. “I’m no expert on the perfect birthday, but I’m quite certain that’s not in the recipe.”

“I know,” you groan, burying your head into his flesh. “I know, but I have to.”

“You have to do no such thing, pretty girl.” He kisses the top of your head to coax you back out from hiding. “Don’t think about the project tomorrow, I’ll help you get back into it the day after.”

“Absolutely not,” you try, but you recognise the look in his eyes as one you are rarely able to defeat. “Reggie, baby, you have enough on my plate.”

“Yet the most important thing on it is you.” He says it almost fiercely, passionately, but when you lift a smug brow at him at his unintended double meaning, he jokingly swats at you. “Don’t sully my declaration of love, you heathen. I’m saying I’ve got you.”

You kiss him part in apology and part selfishly because his lips jutted out enticingly when he pretend pouted. “I know, and I love you for it, but you can’t help me with that big of a project baby, you just can’t.”

“There is no such rule in the boyfriend handbook,” Regulus says solemnly, as if reciting scripture. In theory, he technically is because when Regulus first opened up to Sirius about his anxiety of ruining things with you, the older boy made the ugliest homebound book titled How To Be A Good Boyfriend When Your Parents Fucked You Up Real Bad.

When Regulus questioned Sirius’ expertise on the matter, he said Remus made it based on all the missteps Sirius already had made in their relationship.

“Maybe not,” you reply. “But you forget the first rule: a girlfriend’s word is always more important than any silly rule in any stupid handbook.”

Regulus rolls you over onto your back so he can attack your neck with kisses, likely because he had no actual argument against that. “Querulous girl,” he made out between kisses but your laughter drowned him out.

When he came back up to hover his face above yours, bicep flexing beside your head as he held himself up, his hair was somehow even more messed up than before and oh so pretty. His eyes too, filled to the brim with love and humour, softening as he saw the clear flash of admiration across your own face.

“Let me spoil you,” he whispers, kissing your cheeks, your eyes, your forehead, your nose. “You deserve it, amour. You deserve everything.”

You thought you heard a small “I don’t deserve you” muttered when he kissed your head, but you couldn’t be certain. Nonetheless you brought his face into your hands to press a resounding kiss to his lips to shut down any such stupid thoughts.

“I love you, you know.” Your smile was blinding, but Regulus looked good in the light.

“I know,” he whispers back. “I love you. And I am not letting you sit in the library on your birthday, no matter how many cute dates we’ve had there. Tomorrow is about you – nothing matters but you.”

Tears almost well in your eyes, but you blink them away. Your voice is still watery when you whisper a soft, “Okay.”

“Okay?” A grin starts to form over his previously soft smile. He gives you no time to respond before his lips sweep down to catch yours once more.

He captures your bottom lip between his two, swiping his tongue slowly across and breathing a soft sigh into your mouth as you allow him access. Leaning more of his weight on you, he continues to deepen the kiss, feeling you completely, as he has so many times before and as he will again.

You aren’t certain when it was you fell asleep, time floating around you like soap bubbles, irrelevant but beautiful in its presence nonetheless. What you do know, is that when you fall asleep it is with your body held close to his. And that when you woke up, it was to soft kisses across your face and a “happy birthday, amour” whispered in your ear.

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soubeomies · 1 month ago

Text

꒰୨୧◞ ₊˚ 𝓘 𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐.

⤷ 𝓟𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 ﹕ taesan x fem!reader

⤷ 𝓦𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ﹕none! this is all totally fluff :)

⤷ 𝓖𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾 ﹕fluff

⤷ 𝓦𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝓒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ﹕600

⤷ 𝓐𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋’𝗌 𝓝𝗈𝗍𝖾 ﹕i've had the worst feeling writers block omgg... i hope im back!! this is kinda bad?? i cant really tell LOL enjoy!

⤷ 𝓢𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ﹕taesan, who knows just when you're in need of some new flowers when the previous ones are wilted.

picking out the perfect flowers for you, not because it was a specific occasion.. it was only because he simply wanted to. he walks down the street while he just observes the bouquet, wondering if you'd like them the way he expected you to.

much to his pleasure, you were over the moon when he handed you the bouquet. “taesan-ah, you didnt have to!” you say as you breathe in the sweet scent of the flowers, accompanied with a satisfied hum. he just smiles, “but i did, i hope you like them.”

you did notice though that there was an awkward empty spot in the bouquet, though you brushed it off. “you’re probably just over observing things.” you thought to yourself. placing the flowers in a vase, smiling gently at the sight.

⋆˚࿔

taesan smiles to himself as he walks into the dorm, a singular flower in hand. yeah, he kept one flower from the bouquet to know when to get you new ones once these ones had wilted. he gently placed it in a vase whilst smiling to himself.

a few days later, taesan was walking out of the shower. ruffling his wet, red hair with a towel to dry it. “taesan hyung!” woonhak calls out. his head peeked from a corridor of the dorm, curious as to what woonhak was talking about. “what?” he replies. “the flower you brought! its dying!” he claims.

taesan walks over to the vase, seeing a few of the petals had fallen onto the table he set them on. “ah.. i need to get her new ones.” he murmurs to himself. woonhak looks confused, “what do you mean new ones? why did you just have one pathetic flower anyways..” woonhak’s voice was filled with curiosity as to why his dear hyung kept a singular flower.

“i picked one out from y/n’s bouquet, so when this one dies i know hers does too.” taesan said calmly as he grabbed the flower to discard it. woonhak processes his words for a few moments, “OOOHHH!! I GET IT!” woonhak pauses, clearing his throat. “.. so you're gonna get her new ones now, right?” he questions.

taesan replies with a silent nod. the silence gave everything woonhak needed to know, “alright then hyung! good luck with that!” he says as he goes downstairs, humming a random melody to himself.

⋆˚࿔

taesan finds himself in the florist shop yet again. he browses through the various different types of flowers as he picks some out and pays. walking out of the shop, the door closing behind him with the faint sounds of the bells attached to the door. he walks down the street, making his way to your apartment.

lounging on your couch, engrossed in a new k-drama series you’ve been binge watching. an interesting moment unraveling, only for it to be interrupted with the soft knocks on your door. you basically groan as you pause the series, walking to the door. you twist the doorknob, ready to tell off whoever was disturbing your k-drama marathon– “taesan?”

all the frustration melted away when your eyes met his. your gaze then wandered and landed on the bouquet of flowers he was holding. you look behind, back into your apartment, realizing that the flowers he had gotten last time had died and wilted. you then looked back at him, a little puzzled.

“woah! you– you knew just when the other flowers died?” you say in awe. he smiles at your reaction, it was then when he realized that it was all worth it if he got to see that spark in your eyes.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ networks : @kstrucknet @k-nets

#soubeomies #( ⋆˚✿˖° ) kstruckfics #kpop #fanfic #kpop fanfic #boynextdoor #bnd #bnd x reader #taesan fluff #taesan #taesan boynextdoor #taesan x reader #han taesan #han dongmin #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor imagines #bonedo #taesan x you

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meazalykov · 11 months ago

Text

mind is well beyond my years

ingrid engen x reader

part one - part two here

summary: age wasn't going to stop you from being with the older woman

warnings: age gap (5 years) , reader being a flirt

as you step into the lounge, your eyes immediately start searching for her.

it’s a typical afternoon tuesday at the training ground, players scattered around, some deep in conversation, others scrolling through their phones, some breaking in their new cleats. but your focus is singular—ingrid.

you spot her near the window, her dark hair catching the light as she laughs at something fridolina said.

that laugh, it always does something to you, makes your heart skip a beat and your thoughts scatter. it’s been like this for a while now, this crush that you can’t seem to shake.

she’s older, more experienced, and undeniably out of your league, or at least that’s what you tell yourself every time she brushes off your flirtations.

but you’re not one to back down easily.

you make your way over, a casual smile on your face as you lean against the back of the chair she’s sitting in.

“hey, ingrid,” you greet, your tone light but laced with intent.

"hey, y/n! how are you?" she smiles.

“I’m okay— i just wanted to say that i saw your post from last night. you looked amazing in that ivory sweater, as always.” you comment.

“thanks, y/n,” ingrid replies. she glances up at you, her expression now unreadable from the smile she had moments ago.

her tone was polite, but almost distant. it’s the same response she always gives—acknowledging your compliment without giving you anything more to work with.

it’s frustrating, but you can’t help yourself. there’s something about her that draws you in, despite the coolness in her responses.

“I'm serious” you continue, undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm.

“you have a way of looking good all of the time, I'm not sure if its jealousy or something else." you hint.

“you’re exaggerating.” she shakes her head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“not at all,” you insist, grinning. “just calling it like i see it.”

before you can push any further, fridolina walks over, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she looks between the two of you.

“mind if i steal ingrid for a bit?” she asks, not really waiting for your answer before she’s pulling ingrid up by the arm and leading her toward a quieter corner of the room.

you watch them go, your curiosity piqued. something about the way fridolina’s whispering and the slight tension in ingrid’s shoulders makes you wonder what’s going on.

you’re not usually one to eavesdrop, but this feels different. your gut feeling tells you that its important.

edging closer, you try to be as discreet as possible. the last thing you want is to get caught, but you can’t help it. you have to know what they’re talking about.

“i don’t know what to do,” ingrid’s voice drifts to you, low and uncertain.

“she’s just… she’s so young, frido. i can’t get involved with her, can i?”

your heart skips a beat. are they talking about you? you lean in a little closer, holding your breath.

“she’s only a few years younger,” fridolina replies softly.

“and she’s clearly crazy about you. honestly, ingrid, i think you’re overthinking this. nobody would judge you if something were to happen between you two.” fridolina continues.

“but i’ve always kept things professional with her, you know? and now i’m worried i’ve gone and caught feelings.” ingrid sighs, and you can practically hear the conflict in her voice.

your pulse quickens at her words. ingrid likes you? you’re not sure whether to be thrilled or terrified, but one thing is clear: you need to talk to her.

walking into that corner of the room, you take a deep breath and call her name.

“ingrid,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. both women turn to look at you, surprise evident on their faces. “can we talk?”

fridolina gives ingrid a knowing look before excusing herself, leaving the two of you alone. ingrid fidgets with the sleeve of the black training kit, avoiding your gaze.

it’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen her, and it tugs at your heart.

“so,” you begin, taking a step closer, “you've caught feelings, huh?”

ingrid’s cheeks flush slightly as she finally meets your eyes.

“you weren’t supposed to hear that,” she mutters, but there’s no real anger in her voice.

“maybe not,” you admit, a small smile tugging at your lips, “but i’m glad i did. because i think it’s time we stopped dancing around this.”

“y/n, you’re so young. you're twenty-one and i didn’t think you were serious about… all of this.” she lets out a small, exasperated laugh, shaking her head.

“i’ve been serious from the start. i just thought you were out of my league, you know?” you raise an eyebrow, giving her a playful smirk.

“you? thinking someone’s out of your league?” she teases back, and you’re relieved to see the tension in her shoulders ease slightly.

“you’ve never been shy about flirting with me.” she walks forward. you don't bother to step back.

“well,” you say, voice dropping to a more sincere tone, “that’s because i’ve always liked you, ingrid. and i’d really like to give this a shot, if you’re up for it.”

ingrid’s eyes search yours, and you can see the conflict still warring within her. but then, slowly, she nods.

“okay,” she says softly. “let’s see where this goes.”

“i promise you won’t regret this.” you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face.

“you’re impossible, y/n.” she chuckles, shaking her head.

“impossible to resist, you mean,” you quip, earning a genuine laugh from her this time.

the sound is music to your ears, and as you walk out of the room together, you smile at fridolina who understands the bond that was just formed.

part two here

my master list is here if you want to read more fics <3

#ingrid engen #woso community #woso fanfics #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #norway #fc barcelona #champions league #woso imagines #woso soccer #woso #woso appreciation

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makeitworse · 3 months ago

Text

LIKE A CAROUSEL

with nothing left to lose, you decide to confront your illicit past with ji-yong. old habits die hard (or maybe not at all).

⋆˙⟡ ibelongiiu part three 𓂃 c/w: fem!reader x sub!jiyong. angst | smut | fluff. age gap. cheating. conflict. breakup. confessions. endgame. nsfw content minors dni

like promised, you and ji-yong hadn’t spoken since that night. there was no “we should talk” text. no explanation of what it meant. just clean-cut silence. and that was for the better.

you went your separate ways once again— him, working on the new album. and you, going back home to your boyfriend.

you clung to the safe, mundane life you had with him. you pretended that you hadn’t just thrown it all away for a hit-and-run with your ex.

it was little more than just a singular, impulsive, meaningless night. you tell yourself ji-yong probably felt the same. and for a while, it works.

until the photos surface.

blurry, grainy; obviously shot from a phone camera with shaky hands. you could laugh at how low quality they were, if you weren’t sick to your stomach.

there’s one of you and ji-yong standing in a dimly lit corner of the chanel show. another of him leaning in closer while you’re speaking. and then one that makes your insides flare: ji-yong mid-conversation with someone else, craning his neck to stare at you from across the room.

thankfully, the articles don’t name you— just “a mystery woman spotted with g-dragon”. but, it still found its way to your boyfriend’s algorithm. he sent you the link to one with a question mark. then came another.

it wasn’t long before he finally approached you, holding out his phone.

“this was him?”

you barely glanced at the photo. the way ji-yong’s looking at you in it has been burned into your memory.

“yeah,” you answer, keeping your tone light. “it was just a surprise catch-up. i didn’t even know he’d be there.”

that part, at the least, is true.

what you neglect to mention: the locked hotel door. the drink you shared. the way ji-yong looked at you after you shoved him, like he’d let you do anything you wanted.

but for now, it’s enough to reassure your boyfriend. you just hoped that’d be the last you’d hear of it.

come february, and übermensch drops like a bomb.

his comeback dominates the media. you only skimmed a few headlines before muting all mentions of his name. they’re saying it’s dark, sexy— raw in a way that feels like the carrion of a secret dragged into the spotlight.

you can’t help but recall the lyrics he used to hum against your skin, the verses he’d draft while writing late at night. you wonder if any of the ‘just between us’ songs made it to the final cut.

of course, fate’s got a sick sense of humour.

your boyfriend walked to you in the kitchen, phone in his hand and a strange look on his face.

“have you heard this?”

your throat tightens. you know he must’ve listened to the album. it can’t be anything good.

your boyfriend presses play on a song. it’s got a sensual tone to it. ji-yong’s voice is deep, the words raw.

you realise it must be bonamana— the one that fans have been whispering about online. track seven. the confessional. the one he sounds like he’s bleeding in.

you bite the inside of your cheek, keeping your gaze ahead as you listen. your boyfriend’s studying you.

ji-yong’s quite literally rapping about a girl with someone else waiting at home, but you’re tossing up the explanations in your head— this could all just be fiction, it’s a misunderstanding..

until the song reaches a particular verse. you’re floored. ji-yong’s practically retelling your encounter that night in the hotel: how you pushed him, got on top of him.

and he put it into a song for the whole world to hear. because of course he did.

your reaction’s louder than words. your boyfriend stares at you with his jaw clenched. he pauses the song— he’s got his answer.

“it’s about you, isn’t it?” his eyes search your face. “tell me i’m wrong.”

you swallow. “it is.”

he takes a step towards you. “when.”

“it was just the one time—”

“don’t do that.” he groaned, shaking his head. “don’t act like it was meaningless when the whole fucking world knows what it meant to him.”

there’s no use fixing it. you had this coming.

you gathered your things in silence while he paced the apartment like he was still waiting for something to change. for this to somehow be just another fight, not the end.

but it was. he wanted to hash it out, find some compromise and recover from this. but you refused to stay and ruin him any more than you already have. you would at least do him that grace.

and yet, in retrospect, it almost feels like there was nothing solid to end. like you’d been in limbo the entire time— pretending something steady existed between you, when really, your heart was never his to begin with.

you zipped up your overnight bag. he stood in the doorway, watching you with a hollow look.

“i’m sorry,” you say quietly. it’s all you had left to offer him. pitiful, too little too late— especially after ji-yong had bared the truth of it all to the world, immortalising your betrayal in his music.

your now-ex didn’t yell. didn’t cry. you shared a knowing nod as you turned the door knob— the kind of look that said all the things his mouth couldn’t.

before you walked out, his voice comes softly: “you chose him. maybe not out loud, but you did.”

he’s not wrong. and what’s worse— you’ve started to think that this was always how it was going to end. you, finding your way back to ji-yong. it just shouldn’t of taken someone else’s heart as a stepping stone for you to get there.

you were two bottles of wine into your wallowing. alone in your apartment, a cigarette burning idly between your fingers that really hadn’t done much to take the edge off.

a coworker from your new firm, who’d become a good friend, was just checking in on you— and you, in your boozy woe is me state, bluntly mentioned the breakup. it was half a joke, half a cry for help. if you had sent that sober, you would’ve contemplated suicide for being so embarrassing.

she must’ve passed the word on, because hours later, your phone buzzed with a call from a familiar number. someone from your former styling team.

“we’re all going to the album listening party tonight. you could come out.” her voice is hesitant, like she’s unsure if she should be asking.

you weighed the options: a third bottle of wine, or going to your ex’s celebratory party (who was also the reason your last relationship just ended).

you couldn't decide which option would cost more of the last shred of dignity you had left.

“ah, fuck it. where do i meet you?”

guess that number’s below zero now.

the venue was all flashing lights and booming bass, full of industry faces and overlapping chatter. your back stayed glued to a wall, nursing a drink while you chatted with your old team.

your name hadn’t even been on the guest list— but someone from his team ushered you in without a second glance. you didn’t know how to feel about it. inside, you tried to ignore the way people’s gaze lingered on you, like they had a faint idea of who you were.

you watched the crowd sway to the music. personally, you weren’t paying it much mind; ji-yong had already played some of the demos for you.

but then you hear the start of one you don’t recognise. it’s groovy and upbeat— his voice doesn’t have that usual grit to it.

then the chorus comes, and your breath catches.

take me, i’m yours.

you recall hearing that before, except it was said in private— ji-yong had once cooed those words to you, gazing at you with heart-eyes while his head laid on your chest.

he must’ve wrote this while you were still together. you wonder just how much the rest of the album had your memory etched into it. is that why they called you here? how many people knew?

a lump formed in your throat. it’s all too much.

you scanned the room— searching, needing— when your eyes land on him, already looking at you. ji-yong, drink in hand, with youngbae’s arm slung over his shoulder. he looked untouchable under the pulsing red lights.

everything else around him fell away. his eyes are burning, flickering with something you can’t quite place. and when you don’t avert your eyes— he puts down his drink, and he’s moving. so you excuse yourself from the table and wade through the crowd.

you trail ji-yong to a quiet corner of the room.

as you approach, you stop in front of him, close enough to hear his breath tremble. you don’t speak first.

“didn’t think i’d see you here.” he says, quiet under the music.

“me neither.” you admit.

take me’s chorus booms in the background— ji-yong’s own voice begging to be taken by you. he huffs a shy laugh, lifting his straw hat to ruffle his hair.

how he can act so flustered, when he’s the one who put it out there for everyone (or perhaps just you) to hear. speaking of which;

”i heard bonamana,” you start. ji-yong’s head raises at that, his eyes anticipating your reaction. a smirk tugs at your lips. you scoff. “you’re a mess.”

ji-yong fidgets with his sleeves. there’s a small smile on his face. it’s cute, how shy he is. seems like he really wasn’t expecting this.

“wanna talk?”

his reply is instant, soft but certain. “not here. come with me?”

and you do. because of course you do.

ji-yong leads you into a quieter lounge room tucked away from the rest of the venue, the bass of the party muffled by the door as it clicks shut behind him.

there’s low lighting, and a velvet sofa against the wall that you perch on. ji-yong’s standing there with his hands in his pocket, his stance more relaxed.

“you really listened to it?” he asks, soft.

you met his eyes, cocking a brow. “you’ve got nerve, releasing that while i had a boyfriend.”

his mouth pulls into something between a grimace and a smile. “had?”

you sit up straighter. “well i’m here, aren’t i?”

he nods slowly. his eyes drift, avoiding yours, like he’s scared he’ll say too much if he keeps looking. your hands curl to fists in your lap.

“couldn’t this have been a phone call, ji? did you have to… sing it all?”

his head tilts back, face cracking with a smile. there’s no humour in it though— he’s trying to hold himself back.

“i thought you were done with me.” his jaw clenches. he shifts in his spot. “i got to keep you close to me when i wrote about you. even if i didn’t get to be yours.”

you’re quiet. ji-yong goes to step towards you, but restrains himself. he settles on playing with his ring instead.

“i didn’t plan this. i swear, i didn’t approach you in hong kong intending to drag you back into my life. but when i saw you..” he exhales a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut, like he’s replaying the memory of that night. “i hoped.”

he pauses, staring at you intently— like he’s daring you to look away. you hold his gaze, and he’s sure of himself enough to slowly step towards you.

“i hoped you’d still remember us the way i do.”

your throat tightens as you watch him hover above you in the chair. you stand, and your faces are dangerously close once you’re on your feet. you can hear the faintest noise from his throat.

“i can’t forget.” you murmur. “and that’s the fucking problem.”

“then let’s stop pretending.” his eyes soften. “please.”

you look at him. really look at him. and for the first time in a long time, you feel the mask slipping from your face.

and then you hear it— the intro to gyro-drop bleeding through the walls. you blink at him, registering the lyrics. ji-yong watches your reaction, face a cross between amusement and dread. your face splits in a laugh.

“you’re really letting everyone know you bottom, huh?”

he winces with a boyish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “it wouldn’t be right otherwise.”

you hum in response, pinching the brim of his hat teasingly. he watches with bated breath as you lift it from his head. tossing it to a side table, ji-yong snatches your waist into his hands with a newfound impatience.

“i missed you so much,” he says breathlessly. “been waiting for you.”

“mm, i heard.” you drawl, cupping his jaw in your palms.

and then the tension boils over. ji-yong’s yanking you into a kiss, mouths meeting with months worth of pent-up hunger. by the lapel of his jacket, you pull him down onto the couch with you, wasting no time straddling his lap.

you’re both hurried with the rocks of your hips, trading messy kisses that left your chin stained with saliva. it wasn’t long before hands were being shoved down pants, and clothes swiftly pushed to the side.

you fucked ji-yong right there on that couch. his hands on your hips, looking up at you with heart-eyes as you rutted down on his dick. he was a whining mess— sloppy thrusts trying to match your pace.

you had to muffled his mouth with a kiss as he came— you worried he’d be louder than the music.

as you both winded down from your highs, ji-yong pressed his forehead to yours, strands of hair drenched with sweat.

“i’m yours.”

and in that moment, with your heart thudding against his and your lips brushing softly, you kiss him— sweeter this time. it’s not just want, it’s a promise. and it didn’t need to be said out loud. you’re his.

the dressing room buzzes with a life that could only be described as an organised chaos— stylists flitting around with last-minute touch-ups, his team checking monitors and cue sheets, the distant roar of the crowd beyond the stage.

in the eye of the storm, ji-yong’s calm. he’s seated in a chair at the vanity, head tipped back and eyes closed while you adjust his chains.

“these will wilt if you keep sweating,” you tease, poking the fabric of his rose jacket.

he cracks one eye open with a smile. “promise to dry me off?”

you roll your eyes and flick his ear, earning a low chuckle from him.

you check your watch— showtime’s in just a few minutes. ji-yong’s hand finds your waist with ease, tugging you closer so you’re standing between his legs.

instinctively, you go smooth over the fabric of his shirt, fix up the neckline. despite being well-established at your job, you still find yourself reverting back to your habits from being ji-yong’s stylist.

you brush a stray strand of hair from his face. “you nervous?”

he shrugs. “night can’t get much better than this.”

you arch a brow. he cracks open an eye to scrunch his nose at you, pulling you down for a kiss.

it’s brief, a soft press of lips, but it grounds you both. a reminder of what it took to get here. of the time you spent apart, the quiet hope buried under all the words unsaid.

how now, you can kiss in front of his staff without anyone staring sideways. how you can support him before the first concert of the tour, by his side and in the public eye.

how he’ll go out on that stage, and the crowd will sing along to the words he wrote in reminiscence of you. hoping you’d come back to him. waiting.

a crew member distantly yells the two-minute call.

ji-yong exhales, taking your hand in his. you give him a reassuring squeeze.

“i’ll be watching from the side.”

“well, now i have to do my best, don’t i?”

you watched him as he positioned himself on the platform, giving you one last smile as ji-yong, before he emerged on the stage as g-dragon.

ji-yong to you, g-dragon to the audience. and all of him, belonging to you.

a/n: and it’s done! hope you enjoyed reading this lil series as much as i did writing it, thank you all for readin ♡

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#gdragon x reader #g dragon x reader #gdragon smut #bigbang x reader #kwon jiyong x reader #sub!gdragon #sub!bigbang #g dragon smut #bigbang smut

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h5eavenly · 9 months ago

Text

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty-two - Make it easy. warnings: smut, dirty talk etc (not between reader and jake if that bothers you for whatever reason skip it), mentions of grooming and sexual abuse and lastly angst.

Masterlist ✶ prev ✶ next

Heeseung has been a constant in your life for as long as you remember. It wasn’t a specific moment that had stopped you in thought while looking at him but rather akin to a gentle breeze that passes by, almost seemingly unnoticed but the warmth it delivers stays. On the skin of your arm and in the curl of your smile.

You still remember the first time you met as if it was only yesterday, remnants of that night circles throughout your mind every now and then.

You were only a junior, dragged to a party that you surely did not belong to but when you’re that young wasn’t chasing a sense of fitting in is all what was yearned for? However, none of it really mattered. Not when you wobbled your way to the backyard of the house with anger burning fresh in your blood. Almost as sizzling as the alcohol

“Fuck!” you scream once you’re alone, your voice shakes with indignation too deep for you to make sense of “What a fucking cunt.” You mumble to yourself as you reach into the pockets of your ripped up jeans in search of a cigarette only for the pack to come up empty.

With a deep groan you throw it on the ground and step on it multiple times, in futile attempts to release some of the heat off your body, you weren’t sure if it is the hot weather or vexation that had you sweating hence why when your eyes fill with blistering tears you aren’t sure what to blame either.

“Damn girl. Are you okay?” you almost jump in terror, had not expected anyone to be here so when you turn around and come face to face with Heeseung, your cheeks color pink not at anything but the fact that he had witnessed you acting like a crazy person.

“No.” you answer as singular tear rolls down your cheek, a pathetic hiccup follows “My best friend just kissed my now ex.” You aren’t sure why you tell him that even though he didn’t ask perhaps you just needed to get things off your chest, perhaps the few last weeks have been rough at home and now your only joy has been stolen from the tips of your fingers by none other than your best friend.

“What a bitch.” Heeseung replies voice muffled by a cigarette lodged between his lips and your eyes flit down to it instantly.

“Can I have a cig?” you sniffle as your hand fiddles with your bracelet, s cheap gift that was given to you by your ex earlier that night, the metal could turn to rust with how awfully wrong it feels around your wrist.

“Sure,” Heeseung lips curled into a smirk, a puff of smoke tumbling out his lips as he extends his hand out to you “come get it.”

Ultimately you and Heeseung ended up having sex, it didn’t really mean anything. Not to you who has in need of a distraction from the magnitude of your hardships or to Heeseung who was into everything but relationships. So now years later when you’re sharing a cigarette on the balcony of your apartment as you spill the contents of burdens taking place upon your heart. It feels like recollections from that night.

“Sure, I might have worded things wrong, but did I really deserve that?” you ponder after you have just told him everything that went down last time you saw Jake at his place.

“No. he was being a dick.” Heeseung answers. Taking your cigarette from between your lips and you huff in something closer to annoyance.

You don’t find anything to say back so you fall silent, your eyes briefly shifting to the night sky, decorated with dozens of stars. You can’t help but wonder why they don’t sparkle as brightly as you remember, why it feels like a resemblance of the dull vacant corner of your heart.

“yn can I ask you something?” Heeseung asks, titling his head to look at you in time to see you nod “Do you like Jake?” your eyes widen at his question. Had not expected it and your first instinct is to deny.

No of course I don’t. are words that feel suitable to follow and yet they’re lodged in the middle of your throat and in counted seconds you decide that you don’t like that question. Because your eyes are darting everywhere as if stumbling upon an answer could lay in-between your hands or the metal rails.

You think it would have been much easier to deny if the question didn’t come from Heeseung. Perhaps it was his odd ability to look through every nook and cranny of your mind without you voicing it. To unveil your concerns one by one and then – much to your dismay- give echo to your hankering, your doubts. You were absolutely petrified to say it out loud, because saying things out loud gives them power, breathes life into every word and before you know it; it’s an inescapable reality.

“I- I don’t know.” You finally answer, an undeniable honesty fettering every word. Your insecurity nestles its way into you with a familiar route and then it’s all flashing before your shaking heart.

All the times you have asked yourself, “How many girls were here before me?’’ every time Jake’s hands sneaked around your waist with fervor, every time he laughed and then his eyes found yours as if he was checking if you felt the same, as if he wanted to make sure you were dripping with same joy coursing through his being.

And as you were fidgeting with your rattled heart, a part of you knew that you knew. A part of you knew you were running away in fear of rejection.

“Okay.” He says after a few silent beats.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“well-“ he lets out a sigh and your body grows slightly tense, as if he senses it Heeseung inches closer towards you, your shoulders brushing as he keeps his gaze ahead, the cigarette finished and you stare at the ashes “I think you did overstep. That of course doesn’t make anything he said is right or okay.” You listen curled with quiet “But we did talk about this before and this crosses the line of whatever ‘causality’ you guys agreed on. Just because you opened up to him doesn’t mean he should do the same yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out a sigh pulled from the depths of the feelings you refuse to voice “I- okay. Is it wrong for me to want to be closer to him? hoping to know more about him?” your being shakes with the vulnerability of your inclinations, Heeseung’s lips curl up in smile stitched with warmth the weather lacks, tinted with comfort you lean into.

“there’s nothing wrong with that but we don’t do things in hopes for them to be reciprocated do we baby? Especially not in these circumstances where everything is so gray.” His words filtrate through the uneasiness in you so effortlessly, despite the abiding ache you manage to find solace in them.

Silently you close the very small remaining spaces between your bodies and lean your head on his shoulder, his body makes room for you, your proximity welcomed as his arm circles your waist comfortably.

“You’re right.” You whisper and you almost feel the pride flowing through his body, at knowing that your lips twitch upwards. it's knowing when you feel like an outcast in the world Heeseung will always be your home.

“Did you guys talk after what happened?”

“No. he tried but I avoided him.” Heeseung only hums in response, resting his head atop yours.

“I do think you should talk to him. Maybe tell him about how his actions confuse you. because mr nation’s sweetheart have been crossing the line too and what he did was very wrong and assholey of him,”

Your body vibrates with chuckles as you attempt to look up at him as much as you can “Very assholey? Really?”

“I’m trying to be a good friend here.” He retorts with a roll of his eye.

“You have always been a good friend, Hee.” You say with a much lower tone, an unyielding tenderness coats your words, a warmth he silently allows himself to soak in for a couple of minutes.

“What is it that have been bothering you?” you ask after a while and Heeseung feels himself stiffen inwardly.

He contemplates for a bit if he should chase this conversation away, maybe he will convince you to a dawn a couple of drinks instead. A covered-up attempt to avoid looking into the mirror, he’d much prefer to stay curled up through the night than be awake to see the sunrise. But the ineluctable truth is that Heeseung is tired.

“A few weeks ago I slept with this girl and- you-“ his voice comes out croaked as if the silence of his concerns have manifested in the middle of his throat, he clears it “you know how I told you before about hating not feeling in power?”

“Yeah, I remember.” You reply tentatively, words woven with amiability as your gaze flickers over his face.

“that girl was very..persistent. and it reminded me of very awful things to say the least.” His hand moves aimlessly through the air and your brows furrow, a crease of a frown deepens.

“What- what do you mean by persistent Hee?”

“Don’t worry it’s not like she forced me or anything. The whole ordeal just made me uncomfortable and brought back awful things to my mind. so, I guess I haven’t been feeling like myself for a while.” He explains, an awkwardness tints his words as he puffs out a breath, a lackluster chuckle.

“I’m sorry about that stitch. you shouldn’t ever have to feel that way.”

“Yeah.” he replies looking down and stays quiet for a few minutes as your hand moves up and down his clothed arm in tries to provide comfort “no one should feel that way” he repeats.

“Is there anything I could do to help?” you ask, hand dripping to the end of his arm before slipping your fingers through the cracks of his and he grins “how about some ramen and drinks?” the same grin clambers over your face.

After a long and a very unnecessary debate over who should make it, you finally manage to force Heeseung to cook with the excuse “you’re the one who works in a restaurant!” despite the grunt he lets out, he obliges.

You sip on your glass of wine and watch him, teasing remarks thrown his way that have giggles erupting from between your lips with ease and an even funnier sight of a glare remains plastered upon Heeseung’s face. The night unravels with the same geniality spreading across your chest and needed quietude settling onto your mind.

It’s only when there’s a concerning amount of alcohol in your system that you both make the questionable decision of dying Heeseung ‘s hair, after his many complaints of being sick of the purple.

“i’m sure I have a hair dye here somewhere - aha I found it!” you’re standing on the tips of your toes in the middle of your bathroom while Heeseung leans back on your bathtub with a hazy mind, fogged by the number of drinks he dawned. With his arms crossed he watches you in your pajama shorts struggling to reach for the wanted box dye sitting on the top shelf but then you’re huffing with defeat.

He shouldn’t let his eyes wander, but they do anyways.

“I’ll get it for you.” he tells you.

“Thanks-“ he doesn’t give you enough room for his words to settle, for you to move before you feel him against his back. His chest presses you further against the sink and you almost wither away with a hushed gasp.

You aren’t sure if it’s the heat radiating off his body but when he arches his eyebrow at you, his familiar annoying smirk etched onto his face and the dye now between his hands while looking down at you, it ignites a familiar feeling all the way to your core.

“Red? You wanna dye my hair red?”

“And what’s wrong with red?” you counteract, praying the blush seeping into your face somehow isn’t noticeable when you walk past him.

“Now come on. Let’s get to work.” You grin and Heeseung follows with the shake of his head.

The process of dying Heeseung’s hair turns out to be a lot more fun than you expected. It helps take your mind from things you hope not to worry about right now. And despite Heeseung’s malicious attempts at getting dye your nose red (it’s almost deemed successful if not you dodging it in time for the color to splash onto your white couch) you manage to make it to the end of it with the both of you sane enough but not sober enough. It’s two minutes past twelve when you’re finally washing the dye out of his hair. With him sitting shirtless on the floor of your bathroom and leaning on the tub as you angle the shower head correctly.

You’re so focused on getting the color completely out that you’re not paying attention to how far you have leaned over him, with him ending up between your legs and absentmindedly his hands have taken claim on your waist. It only manages to steal your attention when you feel the tips of his fingers sneaking under the thin material of your shirt.

“Hee stop.” You complain with a breathy giggle, attempting to move a bit away from him without getting water everywhere. Your fingers brushing through his strands

“Stop what?” his hands tighten around you, and you squirm with another giggle when his fingers inches upwards, it feels cold against the warmth of your skin and goosebumps take over your body alongside a shiver.

“I’m serious! It tickles.” You berate through broken laughs and his rises alongside yours.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been on top of me like this.” He teases. His lips yearn to curve upwards at the sight of pink seeping into your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

It is more than enough for you to point the shower head at his face, drenching him in water.

“Okay okay! I’m sorry stop!” he tries to cover his face with his palms in hopes to block your makeshift gun.

“I can’t hear you.” you grin and only provide him mercy when it feels like he’s about to choke on said water.

The towel that’s on his head works as a barrier. Albeit a feeble one it is still a barrier. You tell yourself as you’re attempting to dry his hair. Yet there’s a slight tremble in your fingers, rattled breaths escaping you and suddenly you’re too focused on the way your chest falls up and down, you’re too aware of Heeseung’s eyes – stare lingering on your body. So, when he looks up, catches your gaze with a shift in them, a glint that isn’t a stranger to you and one that you are sure manifests in yours just as strong.

You couldn’t pretend to be surprised when he slowly inches upwards and towards you, his eyes darting between yours as if he’s garnering your reaction. He’s giving you time to back out but you’re only pausing in your movement, your breathing grows shaky as if you feel like you wait and wait and wait until his lips finally touch yours. It isn’t gentle- nor slow but rather two bodies clearly hungry for more.

For a split second. A mere blink of an eye, an image of Jake flashes in your head and you wonder if you should stop. It’s a ridiculous thought and you know it because no matter how many roads you’ve crossed, how scarred the tips of your fingers are, how they bleed of trying to knit together your strings of fate – it all comes down to nothing. You and Jake are simply nothing.

And you just wanted to feel something. You wanted for the first time in a while – the first time since Yeonjun and now Jake to feel good. Without stumbling upon hideous feelings like worry or jealousy or unambiguously fighting for the approval of what seems to be unattainable. You have grown weary of tolerating your own heart, bargaining back and forth in hopes of holding on for a little longer. It's the only reason you answer the way you do when Heeseung leans back just enough for him to whisper;

“Are we sure we wanna do this?” your breaths are mingling and you miss the heat of his mouth on yours already.

your body kneels into cravings; more, more, more.

“We both wanna feel good so why the fuck not?”

“Fuck yeah.” His smirk doesn’t last enough before you’re crashing your lips onto his.

It is the sole reason your gasp comes out as audible as his groan. His hands dig into your thighs as he pulls you onto his lap.

The towel falls to the ground silently as his hands roam your body, from your hips up to palming your breasts, there’s roughness dousing his movements, hurriedly traveling everywhere with purpose akin to forgetting and it is the same one that has your arms sneaking around his neck.

“You taste like soy sauce,” Heeseung murmurs, pulling back slightly with a lick to your lower lip.

“You’re the one who put so much fucking soy sauce in my ramen.” you snort, your fingers tugging lightly at the ends of his still damp hair.

“mhm. I’m not complaining. I fucking love soy sauce.”

You don’t get to register what he’s saying before he’s flipping you onto the bed and climbing atop you ardently and then he’s leaning down with intent to capture your lips yet again, his other hand sneaking down to undo the buttons of his jeans. He thinks his head is spinning, he thinks the room is bleeding crimson and he isn’t sure if it’s merely his desire.

“Wait!” you frantically stop him with a hand to his bare chest.

“What?” his brows furrow, eyes fliting down to your lips then back up.

“I don’t want you to stain my sheets.”

“Huh?”

“Your hair. It’s red. It’s gonna stain everything and I just washed my sheets.”

There’s a moment of silence that settles in, his expression falls as he studies you in what seems to be ventures to know if you’re serious – because there’s no way you are – not when he’s rock hard and he’s sure you can feel him, not when you’re sprawled under him with a flushed face and a heaving chest. But your gaze is determined, lips pursed.

“yn,” you blink at him “I don’t give a fuck if I stain your sheets. They’re gonna be ruined either way.”

You open your mouth to argue, you’re annoyed. Probably by his grin that’s doused in pomposity, and he can see it all, but he doesn’t give you a chance to let the words out before he’s crashing his lips onto yours eagerly, messily. You try to fight it, your hand curled onto a fist, and you think you’re pushing at his shoulder with all your power, but it’s all deemed worthless, especially when you’re melting against him. Your lips separating with a moan as his tongue caresses yours.

“You got so much better at kissing.” He comments with a quick wink as his hands pull your shorts and panties down. He licks his lips at the view of your glistening pussy, the room somehow grows hotter, the walls are caving in.

“Well, you’re still bad.” You roll your eyes, your hands pulling your top over your head.

“Do you have any condoms?” he asks pretending he didn’t hear your insult.

“Bottom drawer.”

“Are they Jake’s or Yeonjun’s?”

“Why does it matter?” you raise your brows at him.

“I’m just curious.” He grins, holding up his hands in surrender as he moves from atop of you “I just wanna make sure they fit because you know how massive I am.” You throw a pillow at him and with seemingly godly powers he manages to dodge it with a laugh so loud and deep from his chest that almost has him lying down on the floor.

When he’s on top of you once again it’s clear that both of you are no longer in the mood for stalling or teasing remarks. When your lips meet, desire coats your mouth as much as his. Your brain is turning into mush, not a single coherent thought exists as you feel his hand on your thigh spreading them wider, the other on the base of his cock as he guides it to your entrance.

“Ready?” he taps the tip of his cock against your clit.

“Uh-huh.” You breathe out fervently. Your palms cradling the sides of his face, and you think if you weren’t so horny you’d be making fun of the way he asked.

In spite of desperation clinging to your bodies, Heeseung sinks into you slowly. You’re not sure if he means to make you feel every inch of him or if he just simply likes moving like he has all the time in the world. Whatever it is, it has your head falling back with absolute bliss. A drawn-out moan – that is embarrassingly loud if you focus on it too much – escapes your mouth.

The stretch hurts so good.

Your body relaxes, almost melts onto the sheets as Heeseung starts moving inside of you, every thrust pulls a breathless melody out of you, and it’s met with a groan of his. A wet messy kiss atop your lips. With your eyes lolling back you almost forget who’s the person you’re with. That is until he speaks

“Oh- fucking shit. It feels like I’m diving into an ocean.”

“You’re so gross!” you complain with a whine, pushing at his shoulder.

“What?” he chuckles, resting his palm next to your head as he angles his hips better “You don’t like dirty talk?”

“I- shit” a moan interrupts you, forcing your words to fall apart “I’d prefer you shut your mouth.”

“You don’t like your boys whiny?” a smirk disperses across his lips as he quickens his movement. His forehead glistens with sweat.

“I like them dead and quiet,”

Fortunately for you, Heeseung doesn’t really say anything back to that. Only laughs as his thrusts grow deeper and faster seeming to be focusing on his need to cum and you follow.

“’m gonna cum.” He pants as he keeps pounding into you, grunts tumbles out his lips with every thrust.

Your moans are growing louder and whiner as little encouraging ‘yeah’s’ is all what he lets out till both of you are tipped over the edge of ecstasy. Your orgasm hits you so mind-blowingly hard that even when Heeseung rolls off you with a sigh, your body is still shaking.

“I gotta say,” he starts after a few short whiles of silence, and you hum “that was a pretty good therapy session.” His lips pull into a toothy grin as he gives you a thumbs up.

You roll onto your side with a heartwarming laugh, one that has him genuinely smiling as he watches you with softened eyes. with your messy hair and flushed face and yet you still gleam like the first time he saw you.

“Cured all my problems. 10 out of 10 would definitely recommend.” he adds, and your laugh grows louder in volume but softer in the way you it leaves you, like it flees your being without fight.

“Me too.” You smile at him.

It’s only twenty minutes later when both of you are cleaned up that silence fills the little spaces between you. It isn’t confining in any way, in fact it’s a much rather peace that you welcome as Heeseung rests his back against the headboard. Eyes glued to the screen of the tv as toy story 3 plays and you’re next him chewing on a birthday cake cookie.

“Hey stitch?” you call after finishing your cookie, dusting the crumbs off your fingers.

“Yeah?”

“Earlier when you said that girl reminded you of awful stuff,” you hesitate for a moment, yet it’s gone as fast as it comes “you meant when you were a kid, didn’t you?”

Heeseung does not avert his eyes away from the movie. His expression does not shift, and his few seconds of silence has you slightly faltering. It’s like he knew this question was gonna come up someday, maybe he’s a little more than glad it’s just you and no one else.

“Do you remember that time me and Ryujin were trying to kill a spider but then I got really angry at her?”

“Yeah, she said 'our baby boy is scared' and you snapped at her to never call you that again.” You reply as the memory comes back to you without needed proficiency. It’s solely because Heeseung was never the type to get angry. so moments where he isn’t as controlled are glued to the back of your mind.

On the screen Andy is packing his toys into a trash bag, despite your lack of love for those movies you have watched them so many times thanks to Heeseung that you think if you were to be quizzed, you’d able to recall every single scene easily.

“My teacher used to call me that.” His voice has dropped into a whisper, one that comes from shameful confessions and if you were to lean closer to him you think you’d be able to pick on the broken vulnerability that colors them.

It all clicks in your mind, like loose threads finally connecting into an actual string, pieces of a puzzle that had finally fallen into place. You recall all the times you have played truth and dare and Heeseung has spoken about losing his virginity while he was only twelve years old. The majority of you thought he was just a teenage boy playing games, exaggerating his experiences to appear cooler because when you’re that young what else do you have?

But the longer you’ve known him, the more signs you have noticed. The more you have become aware of the type person he is. The person who would never exaggerate in the favor of a lie. All the times he had warned Niki about teachers. They were all warning signs that he had to endure first.

“I’m sorry, Hee. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” You say, inching closer to him and resting your head on his shoulder just like earlier tonight. Yet your heart weighs heavy in your chest, sinking with the anguish you know remains in him.

“I had a feeling you already knew anyways,” he replies with a shrug yet his eyes sparkle like the kid you used to know or maybe it was just the light of the tv reflecting into his irises.

Was it slivers of agony or relief at letting loose?

“What makes you think that?”

“Because you’re you,” this time his eyes shift, turning to you and a slight smile tilts his lips upwards “you always notice the small things people do or say and then worry about them in this little head of yours.” He ends it with a harmless poke with his index fingers to your forehead and you push it away with a small giggle.

“Well should I be worrying about you or are you okay?” you softly ask, your words nearly drowned out by the arguing voice of Woody and Buzz.

“I will be.” He asserts.

“You know you can talk to me about anything right? I’m always here for you.” you stare at him incredulously. Despite your thoughts that you don’t voice, mostly directed at how strong you think he is. Heeseung has never seen a gaze as clear, as strengthened as yours.

“Yeah, unfortunately I’m stuck with you.” he teases with a smile and the loud gasp of offence you let out has him cackling.

"I love you, stitch."

"I don't think you should say that after we just fucked."

Your expression drops and you wish to dig your nails into his arms until bleed seeps out but you know even then that won't be enough so instead you march towards the tv and unplug it.

Heeseung's loud scream of pure pain sounds like music to your ears and you can't but laugh like a villain that has finally taken their revenge.

Heeseung has been a constant in your life for as long as you remember and you know he’s always gonna be.

There’s a weakness that coats your flesh, it remains even throughout hallow promises of collecting power during the weekend. You thought the idea of not seeing Jake for a few days would make it easier, yet it remains, remains, remains.

It wraps around your quivering heart that has been screaming for nothing but the tenderness that colors affection. It’s one that runs through the tips of your fingers as you brush your hair. It’s in the longing seeping into your gaze whenever you look into the mirror. in the sparkle stolen from the light as it reflects on the necklace around your neck.

You don’t understand how it is all possible for this to unfold. How does longing manage to break through your anger, dwindle it into nothing as if it never existed, it shakes your bones from beneath and then you’re staring at your palms with a knot forming in the middle of your throat and the realization comes vigorously fast, akin to a beaten kid coming home from a battle she was too young to face, too naïve to discern the type of conditions she was surrounded with. Too far gone into dreamland and yanked back into reality with no time in your hands to deem yourself ready. Forced to dismantle through your delusions one by one only to finally make peace with the fact that they were nothing more than that.

Delusions.

You are no liar and yet how come you are so good at spilling endless fabrications to your reflection? Because the truth is, no you hadn’t found enough willpower in you to make peace with anything, surely not with the longing leaking across your pillow despite Heesung’s lingering scent.

The sunlight infiltrates through the spaces of your curtains announcing the beginning of a new day and sleep slowly escapes you. Your ceiling stares back at you as you ponder on the thoughts of missing Jake and wondering all the same if he feels like he lost someone important as well?

Your thoughts only seem to upsurge in volume as you go through your morning routine after you stumbled out of your empty bed, no traces of warmth are anywhere to be seen, only an ignominious ache.

It was an odd feeling. To mourn someone that wasn’t yours to begin with. You have had one-sided crushes throughout your life, gone through relationships that left you with scars that felt imprinted upon the surface of your heart enduringly yet despite all your experiences, despite all the tears you shed thinking that nothing is gonna hurt as much as this. It was nowhere near close to what you have felt these past couple of days. Switching from missing to hurt then anger and then nothing.

Distracting your mind from overthinking this is a trying task, forcing yourself not to be a coward because deep down you know every word of counsel that has tumbled out of Heeseung’s mouth is nothing but the truth. You knew you couldn’t keep running in the name of wounded pride covered up by your refusal to accept your feelings.

On your way to work you dwell on which part of you is more embarrassing, which layer of skin you wish you could peel off of you, was it your ceaseless ability to fall for the wrong people or was it the fact that you feel like you’ll forget your own name before your heart stops calling Jake’s name?

For perhaps the worst kind of luck or maybe the luckiest you could ever get (you aren’t very sure yet). You don’t get the chance to talk to Jake in the early hours of the morning. Nothing but the words “Good morning” with a nervous smile was thrown from your way to everyone else before he was pulled into his own cycle of seemingly endless work. Although it had you growing unnerved at first, somewhere along the way you fall into distractions from the fastening beats of your heart and intermingled anxious thoughts as well.

It's only during lunchtime that you stumble into him, for what feels like the first time in a while. You had wandered into one of the dressing rooms, looking for a missing piece of document you had to print out for Jay. And surprise had climbed up your face with speed you are not able to conceal at the sight of Jake slumped down onto one of the couches, his lunch half eaten on the table in front of him.

“Oh-“ you pause with a rattled breath when he looks up, his darkened gaze catches yours enriched with odd power you pretend not to know where it comes from “I was just looking for something Jay asked for-“ you hurriedly explain, as if you had managed to stagger into a space where you weren’t welcome.

But then as if every word lingering at the tip of your tongue withers away, it’s replaced with a tenacious softening in your stare, it darts between the weariness clinging onto his face, the lethargy dragging his eyes down, the weight of the earth drains the color of life from his skin and it is enough reason for tenderness to emanate from the depths of your heart.

“Holy shit.” your words escapes forcefully when your eyes land on his hands. They're badly scarred, with evidence that he had fallen into the habit of over washing them again "are you okay?" you can’t help but exclaim as sincere as you will ever know to be. Your concern only seems to deepen, pulling like tightened knots at the corners of your heart when Jake’s eyebrows drop in closer defeat than anything else.

you bite down on your lip wishing you hadn't lost control over your words.

You are oblivious to how torturous your kindness is. How the way you look at him makes his skin crawl in the worst way possible not because it’s doused in pity but rather genuine worry for his wellbeing. He is so frustrated. At you, for being so loving, so giving and so kind, so you. and then he is more than anything is infuriated with himself, with how he rolls out of bed feeling displaced in his own body, his own skin. He is extremally irritated with the cruelty of his words that echo in his mind like a broken record and then he finds irritation directed at you yet again, he wishes you would treat him just as cruel as everyone else. He wishes you weren’t as forgiving as he had hoped the world would be. He wishes you didn’t look at him as the human he always yearned to be.

He wishes

“I’m okay,” he clears his throat, his hand runs through the locks of black on his head when your distress only intensifies with unconvinced eyes cutting through him “yn.” he calls and you melt, a stranger overbearing urge to wail clambers over your being and him overtaken with an ache to crumble under your presence just the same, you for finding sentimentality in the cadences of his tone and him, for the way your name tastes foreign with seriousness on his tongue.

“Can we talk? Please.” He finishes, the last word pushed with a clouded whisper.

You hesitate, he thinks he senses it in the way your fingers tighten around the doorknob ever so slightly, yet only you are aware of the hastening beats of your heart, trashing around the walls of your chest and then you let out a breath, seemingly to travel from the depths of your being before you nod.

“Sure. I’ve been meaning to talk to you as well.” Your answer comes with a subtle smile titling your lips upwards.

You close the door behind you with an almost suffocating nerves tinting the air, steps twined with strained nervousness at the thought of being alone with him. Truthfully it hasn’t been that long and yet you somehow feel like it’s been decades since the last time you had his arms around you, since his lips touched yours.

“Should I start or you?” he asks when you’re sitting in front of him, your eyes dance around each other as if you had finally found time to drink each other in, as if this was the last time you’ll ever have the chance to.

“You, first.” you reply after a stretching silence.

And then it stretches a tad bit longer when Jake looks down at his intertwined fingers, seeming to collect his thoughts into words with enough meaning away from your clear gaze. He deems himself underserving of being looked at with anything other than disdain.

“I- I’m not sure how to begin but-“ he stammers, his words staggered as if lost in direction and your mind flees with the same lack of direction simply because you had never seen him this unsure – this unknowing “I know last time we talked I’ve said some really fucked up shit- that you definitely did not deserve to hear.” He looks up, his gaze unwavering compared to his trembling words “I just- I don’t know I guess I was deflecting or running away. But the point is I’m sorry.”

His sincerity renders you mute for a few counted seconds, it’s as fleeting as your hurt, your anger. As fleeting as the cracks that had formed on the surface where affection beats.

“You really hurt my feelings, Jake. It was especially hurtful because I had opened up to you and it felt like you used that against me.” you speak after a while, a bite to your lower lips as your gaze travels across his face and you watch, with devoted attention to the way his eyebrows furrow and an almost sunken expression takes over his face.

“Fuck. bunny I know.” He hisses as if the fact that pain found place in you because of him hurts him just the same “I’m really fucking sorry. I wish I could take it all back.” He continues and you chew on the insides of your cheek, seemingly unsure of what to say.

“If it means anything I want you to know none of the words I said were anything close to the truth. Niki is really lucky to have you. and I – holy fuck I think you’re such a good sister – you’re a good person and anyone to be lucky enough to have a drop of your generosity should be endlessly thankful.”

“Do you mean that?” you ask, cheeks coloring pink and your lips twitching skywards.

“I do.” He answers with a sigh.

“Okay.” your smile stretches against your will, your eyes tentatively catching his and there’s a shift in the air as his shoulders drop in something akin to relief, you’re not sure if it’s at the sight of your smile or the forgiveness that disperses across your being with no intentions to hide.

“You forgive me?” he asks, softly and weirdly vulnerable. It feels ill-fitted, yet it pulls at your heartstrings effortlessly, has your mind wandering into a hole of memories, trying and failing to pinpoint when did exactly Jake have this strong of an effect on you as your eyes loll anywhere else.

“I would be lying If I said I won’t feel a pang of hurt every time your words come back to me.” you start, your thumb and forefinger toy with your bunny necklace in what seems to be a growing habit of yours “but I know you’re being sincere right now and I appreciate that. It’s just gonna take me a while to forget.” you smile faintly, hoping to ease the bitterness that follows your words.

A deeper part of your essence knows that you have already made enough room for Jake to take pieces upon pieces of your soul, it knows that the only reason hurt would ever unfurl into your heart, it is solely out of self-doubted pity at yourself, saturated with questions upon questions that you cannot find an answer to. Simply because there’s no right for you to question him.

Did you also feel like you lost someone important?

“That’s fair.” He replies and unlike you his eyes stay glued to yours, reminders of how paradoxical you are to him, how your gaze abides with a gleam that lights up his insides, a darkened corner that shall never be illuminated by anything other than you, your existence almost helps him forget he came from poison.

It's too much for him to bear, perhaps it’s why his tendency to flee comes to life mostly around you, perhaps it’s why he would never show, perhaps because the bigger remnant of him would never allow it.

“You said you wanted to talk to me as well?” he questions when you finally catch his gaze, falling into a familiarly dangerous game that always starts with you praying not to lose.

“Oh yeah,” he had almost forgotten how easily your emotions betray you with displays you cannot hide, and now he can’t look away from the tint of pink settling upon your cheeks “I’m also sorry about pressuring you. I just thought we were growing...” your fingers sheepishly trail to your necklace once again, the dullness in his soul slowly dissipates the longer he watches you cradling what feels like a fragment of him.

For a scarce moment, a transient second where his self-control falters, he wonders if you feel the same way.

“Closer.” You finish with a smile tinged with nervousness, cutting through his moment vastly enough to compose himself.

“We were.” He exhales, a deep breath that feels stolen from the depths of your chest “I’m just an idiot so do not ever apologize to me.”

There’s a brief silence that settles upon the two of you, it’s woven with a mountain of unspoken words, it’s in the way your gaze softens so marginally and the way conflicting emotions seeps into his. Albeit not much time has passed at all, with the knowledge of your own feelings you feel more wavering than ever, easily swayed by every syllable.

Now that you’ve given a name to plaster onto the truth, you grow scared, a part of you cowers in fear. Were you foolishly drowning in your feelings that you’ll end up suffocating on this growing tension? Or were you just easily far gone, seized with an impotent lack of power? of being unable to feel solid again?

“There’s something else I need to tell you.” you breath out, as if your body is sinking with the heavy tension staining the air.

Jake nods with conformation for you to continue.

“I know we promised we would be honest with each other.” You clear your throat, the seriousness dousing your voice has him regaining focus “So...” you’re toying with your fingers, pads brushing upon your own knuckles and somehow, you’re unsure why you’re growing to be this nervous to spill the past events that has taken place.

“What is it? You can tell me.” he encourages, the softness inundating his voice feels unjust it almost has you curling onto yourself, hoping to shrink in size just so you won’t be witnessed by him.

Were his eyes always this sharp like he had the potency to peer into your inside?

“I had sex with Heeseung.” you bunglingly confess, and with curiosity filling your being, you gauge his reaction as your eyes dart everywhere upon his face.

You don’t know what exactly you were expecting to see but what ends up being reality isn’t very far from the image you dreamt of in your head on the way to work. Jake is stoic, compared to you, his eyes reveal nothing, the few parcels of softness emanating from him mere minutes ago are washed by what seems to be a silence tinged with confusion.

“Heeseung your friend that you always talk about?” you nod and something closer to surprise travels up his face vastly, in the raise of his brows you find yourself tilting your head slightly “The toy story guy?” he asks again with evident disbelief coating every word.

“Yeah, him.” You trail off slowly, your own brows furrowing when Jake opens and closes his mouth a couple of times as if he isn’t sure of what to say.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?” you ask, a deeper frown of dubiety settling onto your forehead.

“I thought you guys were just friends.”

“We are.”

“I’m just a bit confused about your dynamic.”

“I thought you didn’t care who I fuck.” You don’t know why you’re growing frustrated; it trickles its way into you unexpectedly, maybe because this type of reaction was the only option you hadn’t thought about, or maybe it’s because your limbs feel heavier with what feels like judgment and it’s the sole reason why your words came out like a snap. Sharpened enough for Jake’s eyes to widen slightly.

“Of course you are free to do whatever you want.” His words come out easily, draped with certainty that pushes you further and further into frustration.

You tell yourself it’s not because it’s the opposite of how you feel.

“Then why do I need a reason?” you need to stop.

“Maybe I was just tired of feeling like shit after sex,” stop, stop, stop

“And Heeseung doesn’t make me feel that way. In fact I felt really good after.” It’s too late for you to stop anything, not when your words – like splashed blood- percolates through his gaze.

“Right.” He mumbles – barely audible and yet you catch it with your tightened chest.

You sink your top teeth into your bottom lip with something akin to regret for spilling the truth in a time when it wasn’t meant to be revealed. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, and the ugliness of your hurt shouldn’t be this visible, not when you had finally been able to exchange a few words with him.

“Anyway.” You say with an attempt to get out of whatever this was “I know being clean is important to you. so, I did get tested, and I told Heeseung to do the same,” you speak when nothing more escapes his lips, you try not to let your disappointment manifest but the shake in your fingers as you rummage through your bag for the piece of evidence could ever be telling “He didn’t send me his results yet but- “

“It’s fine. You don’t have to do any of that” Jake’s voice cuts through the air.

“What?” you pause, looking up at him.

“I’ve been thinking about everything,” his eyes flit to the table momentarily before stumbling upon your stare once again and your ribcage tightens even more around your heart “I think it’s best if we stop this whole thing.”

“Oh.” This time it is you who sinks into silence, your eyes falling upon your lap with the same loss of hopefulness, another futile try to not be witnessed.

It is all a façade you put on, draped with concealed disenchantment at yourself for wanting him so badly and then at him for not wanting you the same way. However, your mind is plagued with thoughts threatening to increase in volume. Louder and louder maybe that wasn’t the full story, it never is. Did you perhaps ruin another thing yet again? Have you spoken too much? Have you crossed the line? Have you-

“This whole thing between us- feels like it has strayed away from what it was originally meant to be.”

You don’t realize you have been staring at your open palms as if you’re looking for what type of blame to throw upon yourself until he speaks, his tone is as soft as you remember it to be. Similar to the way he speaks on gray skied mornings or starry nights. You look up, unaware of what kind of expression you’re wearing yet the lack of emotions etched onto his brings you some kind of relief. At least you aren’t displaying the nails digging into your fragile heart.

“You’re right.” You say, more like a hushed revolution between the ache in your chest and the hollowness taking place in your stomach.

It shouldn’t come to you as a new discovery, yet it does, like a bucket of unanticipated cold water after soaking under the warmth of the sun for too long. There’s no way for you to be the reason behind anything because Jake never cared about you that way. It’s not like this relationship that isn’t even anything closer to an actual relationship were meant to last a long time either way. It was you who stumbled; it was you who was colored with ugly yearning, yearning, yearning… and it was you who got hurt over and over again. And it was you who was willing to go back despite it all.

What a fool.

The words you wanna say are scattered and endless, doused with vines of inexplicable unsightly emotions. your vocal cords itching to pour out your anger, bear your bruised heart out at him with screams to look at what pining for you have made of me!

“it’s not anything personal. I just feel like I keep hurt-“

“It’s fine,” you cut him off with a strained chuckle “you don’t need to give me excuses.”

“They’re not excuses, bunny. I truly-“

“Seriously Jake it’s okay.” You look up at him and his mouth falls shut with inexplicable emotions of his own, you could only hope your irises don’t shake under the weight of your unspoken truth “It’s not like this was meant to last anyways. We both had our fun and now it’s over. It’s not that deep.” Your smile comes up twirled with coldness he had never seen in you, it waters his self-hatred, embraces it with whispers of I told you so.

“Yeah.” he utters, weighted down and the room darkens with you two existing in the same space.

So much time has passed, so many tears have descended your cheeks with scalding realizations. Perhaps you are a liar, perhaps you have driven yourself into insanity and have surrounded yourself with imaginations that are nowhere near reality. Because there’s no way whatever has traverses between you is anything close to the truth, not when your chest keeps tightening and an awful ache to weep clambers over your being.

Perhaps it was all in your mind.

“Well! I better get back to work.” You speak with faux cheerfulness; with a slight clap of your palms, you stand up with attempts to pull pieces of yourself together, covets to remain strong enough to look at him in the eye, despite the awkwardness that rises in the room, despite the misplaced softness seeping into his gaze.

It’s all unfair and you wish he wouldn’t look at you like he had more to say, you wish he wouldn’t look at you the same way he had tattooed his counterfeit claim on your back before everything fell apart.

How violent it is for him not to look at you like you are as fleeting as you wish to be.

“Jay is probably looking for me.” you add, your eyes slowly travel down to Jake’s intertwined fingers. The aftermath of his own pain marks his pale skin with scars. It remains a tragic sight to behold.

“Yeah, I’m sorry if I have- you know” he clears his throat “kept you long.”

“Yeah.”

Your limbs quiver with demands for you to just leave and yet your heart fights back with pathetically human emotions. It’s the same bit of you that have always pushed you into too far in, constantly. The same bit that had you slipping into Jake in the first place.

How could this ever last when both of you were stringed together with loneliness and blood?

Silently you rummage through your bag for a healing ointment you had bought for him a while back. Your mind keeps screaming at you to just leave, leave, leave! and your heart cries – begs to risk this small gesture of care that will surely break you down, release this small wave of affection that will surely overwhelm you.

“Bunny I’m okay.” Jake speaks when you place the small tube of medicine onto the table, his eyes flickering between it and you.

“You have so many important shoots coming. Photoshop can only go so far.” You reply and he looks away, as if looking at you is unbearable and you wonder why his soul seems to shake the same away yours does.

Come on.

“You should take care of your hands till then.”

Make it easy,

You don’t wait for an answer from him and instead you’re turning away in mere seconds, the space between the door and the couch were sitting on feels incredibly long and you curse yourself at the way your eyes fill with tears before you make an escape. Before you’re far enough from him. But truthfully, no distance on this earth feels enough.

Jake has already stained you, tainted your insides. And now as you lean on the nearest wall as soon as you’re in the hallway, your hands clamped on your mouth to quieten your sobs, your tears fall one followed by another with refusal to cease, you realize you shouldn’t have let yourself waver, you shouldn’t have lied to yourself with lies like slipping is nowhere near as painful as falling, that you had it all together. You shouldn’t have allowed yourself to wander through this overgrown field of affection with whispered lies.

Inside the dressing room, Jake has his face buried in the same palms that had cradled your face countless times but you’re nowhere close enough, not for him to feel you anyway.

Jake abides with a semblance of unamended broken bones, wounds too deep to heal, the marks are everlasting evidence that stays. And you remain a semblance of overflowing forgiveness akin to running water that quenches the thirst of by passers. Yet he is unworthy, so unworthy in ways you would never understand.

Jake is tarnished, scabbed, evil and unforgiven.

You will remain unaware of the harshly stabbed knives into his heart each time he’s faced with the fact that he hurts you, you’re unaware of the abhor that runs alongside his blood for himself, for existing and for persistently bringing misfortune to everyone that breaths the same air as him.

And he remains unaware of the way your body, heart and every atom of your being aches for him.

The world, as big as it is, in this mere moment feels too small for the torment setting on you and him, it’s in the way he flinches when he catches his reflection in the scars on his hands they’re not deep enough, not ugly enough and they don’t hurt enough to punish him, it’s in the way you flinch when your body shakes with fallen tears as your yearning heart weeps, his, rattling with immense agony that feels impossible to fathom. It screams and screams;

Come on

Make it easy,

Say I never mattered.

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